The End of Abuse

I have a confession to make.

I’ve been in an abusive relationship for the past 16 years.

In the beginning, I couldn’t see it, despite the fact that I had my friends and loved ones urging me to open my eyes and see the truth. I began questioning my self-worth when my damaging relationship constantly reminded me I had a weight problem. I had nowhere to turn when several of my aquaintances began ridiculing me about my weight.

I tried to stop the abuse, exercising endlessly, trying to lose the disgusting poundage that caused me to hang my head in shame when out in public. It mattered not. I lost 37 pounds, and was still told I was fat. It was only later that I found out I was being lied to, when the fact that I had only 88 pounds on my 5’3″ frame was staring me in the face.

It’s gotten better, on and off, in more recent years.

As in most relationships, I’ve noticed I receive better feedback when I’m stark naked. When I’m wearing clothes, I’m reminded, “You’re fat! You’re ass is the size of Manitoba and if you go out in public in that, people will be gawking at you in disgust!” There are a few good days, though. Usually, it’s in the morning when I’m commended- “You’re doing better today. That 1200 calorie coffee you had yesterday hasn’t plastered itself on your ass just yet. Keep it up.”  On those days, my confidence is elevated, and nothing can touch me. It lasts, though, only as long as I can restrain myself from snarfing down that large french fry from Mickey D’s, or until the 12 glasses of water I drank completely bloat me. Then it’s back to- “Yeah. You weigh the same as 4 ten-year-olds full off of Doritoes and Ding Dongs, you slob. You might as well park your fat ass in the back of a two-wheel drive F-150 so it doesn’t fish-tail during a rainstorm.”

This morning, I decided enough was enough.

No longer will I subject myself to such hurtfulness. No. I will never have the sleek and slim form that graced Audrey Hepburn. I cannot let another 16 years go by with the voices saying, “Just hurry up and die, you repulsive tub of lard. Make room for someone more worthy.” I will no longer be controlled by one with such cruel and malicious intentions.

It’s time to throw the bathroom scale away.

 

An Open Letter to Those Who Bring Happiness

Dear Maya Angelou- I appreciate you putting into poetry the words I so forcefully think in my head- “Life doesn’t frighten me, no not at all.” Even though there are times when life makes me want to crawl into a six foot hole dragging the dirt in after me. But nevermind about that.

Dear Lady Gaga- I greatly look up to you and your bizzare get-ups. I adore the fact that you don’t seem to care how scary you end up looking, and that you are still at the top of the charts while doing so. It will make it much easier for me to become famous now, because nobody will be looking at my style faux-pas; they will all be looking at you.

Dear my Incredible Auntie- When people say that we look exactly the same, I do not cringe, because I aspire to look like anyone who has fantastic kids like yours, has her own business that she enjoys immensely, and isn’t afraid to pray- “Dear Jesus, thank you for chow mein.”

Dear Audrey Hepburn- Thank you, thank you, thank you, for being beautiful and amazing and classy. You are proof that one or two failed marriages is not something to worry over, and proof that a “princess” is not just someone you can play in a movie. I am saddened that you are dead, because it would have been nice to meet you.

Dear Gramma- Despite the fact that you have grown increasingly blunt in recent years, I find it quite humorous when you truthfully tell me that my choice in hair color is “hideous.” I would like to inform you once again that as a child, my hair was blonde, and it never has, in fact, been beautifully natural black like you tell everyone it is. I think you are confusing me with my half-sister. Thank you for being always honest- even if it is in an Alzheimer’s patient kind of way.

Dear Prince (to clarify- the artist formerly known and once again known as)- I want to thank you for noticing that “all that glitters ain’t gold.” and for your funky falsetto, as it has greatly entertained me for many years. I find you to be immensely talented; however, I regret to inform you that though I would love to be a guest on one of your albums, I will not be asking you to produce my debut album. Your style is a little bit too messy for my taste. Kudos on the Under the Cherry Moon soundtrack though.

Dear H.E Ellis– Even though my Rockstar doesn’t find me worthy of marriage, I know you are out there ready to marry me whenever you turn lesbian. You are very good for my ego.  XOXO

Dear numerous candy-producing companies- Without you, I would have drifted through life without the benefit of sugar-induced energy. Thank you for providing me with Starburst, Butterfingers, Milky Ways, Laffy Taffy, Blow Pops (which also served me in my first attempts at learning how to give a blow job), 5th Avenues, etc…

Dear Jim Beam and Co.- Thank you for providing liquor strong enough to get my Rockstar jumping on the bed with his guitar. Also,  with your help, I found out he can sing just like Sinnead O’Connor. That was a little bit disturbing, but highly entertaining. It  gave me good fodder with which to tease him mercilessly.  You also induced the most amazing drunken sex I’ve ever had. Thank you again for that.

Dear Chris Meloni- Thank you for your beautiful scowl. And other beautiful parts of you.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

A Monday in Heaven

Don’t worry, my Lovelys. I have hog-tied and gagged Scary Sparklebumps who posted the angry rant yesterday. She has been appeased with copious amounts of french fries and books, and shall not (it is hoped) rear her ugly head for a good while.

I may have mentioned I sort of inherited a bunch of books recently. My Rockstar’s sister-in-law’s mother passed away, and as the Sister-in-Law was packing up her mother’s house, she thought, “Hey! Sparklebumps likes books. Maybe she will want these.” Ummm… yeah. Just maybe..

Kidding! All of you should know by now that there was no damn maybe about it! I was completely thrilled with the prospect of receiving books, even though when my Rockstar asked his brother what kind of books they were, the response was, “I don’t know. I don’t read.” Blasphemy!

What I was NOT expecting was a delivery of the books on Saturday morning, and one whole wall of the garage we rent being stacked higher than I could reach with boxes and bins of beautiful books. I have always prided myself on having a slightly extensive library; I now have more books that the actual public library. Sadly, I had to go work for 12 hours on Saturday before even opening one box, so the entire day was spent in a disastrously distracted state. (which may explain my angry rant from yesterday.)

After finally arriving home yesterday from church, I got to begin the wonderous process of going through the books. I have been informed that I may sell whatever it is that I don’t want, so there is really no going wrong here. After every box I opened, I realized that this woman who died was so exactly like me it’s not even funny. Except for her strange obsession with cat books (those will have to be sold), and a few boxes of religious books (I kept SOME of those- after all, I’m not a COMPLETE heathen), she had the exact taste in books as I.

My Rockstar cannot understand why adults buy children’s books. To this question I have no answer except, “Unless you are a book person, you cannot understand.” There were many many boxes of children’s books, many of which were books I had stashed away at my bookstore before I got fired. I guess this is God’s way of making it up to me.

There were a multitude of biographies, (because I like to read about people’s lives) and  religious fiction books, (because I used to be a good church girl) and books with photography, (because I love beautiful things), and cookbooks, (Because I like to eat). I even found a package of beautiful napkins with gerbera daisies pictured on them. (I have a thing for daisies.)

I have just now this moment finished going through all of the boxes. I now have the awesome job of sorting into categories, alphepetizing, and shelving said books. (While trying to make room.) It shall be a glorious day!

Of all the books I have received, here are my favorites: an exquisite encyclopedia of Audrey Hepburn (she is my other idol, because she is just wonderful) complete with faux letters written to and from her; a complete set of The Chronicles of Narnia WITH color pictures (which I had slowly been stashing away at the bookstore and never boughten); an American Heritage dictionary, (because the only dictionary I had before is 100 years old, literally) and two thesauruses (because words are my favorite.)

P.S. I have been informed that I need to open my own used bookstore. I shall name it The Book Whore…