writing helps me... POEM

[VIDEO: "What is parental alienation?"]

I have figured out that keeping a private blog and/or diary that my uBPDh can´t get a hold of or read helps me a lot. It´s like my time to put things down on paper and understand what really took place and what´s really going on. I write what I feel and it keeps my head straight to what events I did go through (what really happened). This is also good because I usually get the story a couple years down the line with lots of twisted stuff in it. Helps me remember the real vs. twisted version of things. But in the midst of all my writing, I wrote this poem yesterday. The more I read it, the more I cried. It makes me realize, why in the world haven´t  I packed my bags and hit the road? Just because of the kids? Or is it more? Any normal person would have gone by now... .I put the poem below, and I really am not a poet - and I know they are a few grammar mistakes - but I do need an honest opinion: Am i insane to stay? Why don´t I leave? I just can´t figure it out. But before anyone reads the poem - it really does NOT offer much support. So if you´re going through a tough spot, i´d advise not reading it. It really just makes me cry. My question is - who´s more messed up - him or me?

I searched for a dog to adopt in newspapers and fairs

But none seemed to come by the standards I bared.

But then one night, walking alone in the breeze,

I came across an abandoned dog, which was just what I needed.

He was sitting there, just waiting for someone to come by

With that look of “Love me” stamped in his eyes.

He was a strong dog, well built, could guard me well…

Seemed perfect for protection and made me feel swell.

But as I got closer, I saw he was blind in both eyes,

for some accident had left him there to die.

Blind in both eyes, my heart came to cry

“I can care for this dog”, he and I.

So I thought to myself, this dog is a good, strong dog,

makes me safe and secure.

I will take him home and care for him indeed.

Love is all he needs; love will make him see.

I cared for this dog, and feed him,

walked him, nurtured him and made him well.

Life was swell.

But one day this dog lashed out at me as we played,

and he growled, drewled and started to bite.

I told him to stop but he said “no” in malicious delight!

He just answered “That´s the way dogs play”.

I thought it was strange, and could not recall any others dogs that played this way.

His reply was that I was too sensitive and was complaining a lot,

And the incident was forgotten and cast in the back of the lot.

I cared for the dog, and we became friends again,

and we had great times as we chased the birds with a grin.

But one fine night, when the stars we´re out

I thought I could clean the wounds in his eyes – I was helping him - with out a doubt.

He jumped at me and his teeth sank deep into my skin,

the blood gushed out and the stars started to spin.

This ferocious and vicious dog was not one I knew.

This was not the dog that I grew.

“No!” I keep yelling. “What are you doing? This is me!

It´s me your fighting! It´s me your biting!

Wait! Stop! I didn´t hurt you! This hurt is not about me!

I´m the one who loves you! I´m the one who cares… 

Who are you biting? Who are you destroying?

It´s me…

It´s me”.

Little had I forgotten that this dog could not see,

So little did it help to cry out “It´s me!”

He kept biting and ripping away my flesh.

The sounds were horrible, piercing at the ear in a horrifying mess,

I could not see through all my fear and just waited for the worst to disappear.

I crawled up into a corner and there I stayed, sacred of the dog I made.

I tried to patch up my scars and wounds, wondering if he really meant to kill.

But the scars are too deep and the hurt is deeper still.

So that is why I’m scared of dogs, and cats for that matter too.

Any little critter that flutters by, I quench with my teeth,

I have been shattered and wounded beneath.

I have questions that hurt to ask- I have doubts that will not pass.

Why did I think that love could make a dog see?

Why didn´t the first time, I just flee?

Why didn´t I keep walking that first night I saw him?

Why didn´t I keep up the pace?

What made me fall in love with that blind dog in the first place?

What does that say about me?

Was I blinder than him, that dog that could not see?

[Monarch Butterfly]

I have figured out that keeping a private blog and/or diary that my uBPDh can´t get a hold of or read helps me a lot. It´s like my time to put things down on paper and understand what really took place and what´s really going on. I write what I feel and it keeps my head straight to what events I did go through (what really happened). This is also good because I usually get the story a couple years down the line with lots of twisted stuff in it. Helps me remember the real vs. twisted version of things. But in the midst of all my writing, I wrote this poem yesterday. The more I read it, the more I cried. It makes me realize, why in the world haven´t  I packed my bags and hit the road? Just because of the kids? Or is it more? Any normal person would have gone by now... .I put the poem below, and I really am not a poet - and I know they are a few grammar mistakes - but I do need an honest opinion: Am i insane to stay? Why don´t I leave? I just can´t figure it out. But before anyone reads the poem - it really does NOT offer much support. So if you´re going through a tough spot, i´d advise not reading it. It really just makes me cry. My question is - who´s more messed up - him or me?

I searched for a dog to adopt in newspapers and fairs

But none seemed to come by the standards I bared.

But then one night, walking alone in the breeze,

I came across an abandoned dog, which was just what I needed.

He was sitting there, just waiting for someone to come by

With that look of “Love me” stamped in his eyes.

He was a strong dog, well built, could guard me well…

Seemed perfect for protection and made me feel swell.

But as I got closer, I saw he was blind in both eyes,

for some accident had left him there to die.

Blind in both eyes, my heart came to cry

“I can care for this dog”, he and I.

So I thought to myself, this dog is a good, strong dog,

makes me safe and secure.

I will take him home and care for him indeed.

Love is all he needs; love will make him see.

I cared for this dog, and feed him,

walked him, nurtured him and made him well.

Life was swell.

But one day this dog lashed out at me as we played,

and he growled, drewled and started to bite.

I told him to stop but he said “no” in malicious delight!

He just answered “That´s the way dogs play”.

I thought it was strange, and could not recall any others dogs that played this way.

His reply was that I was too sensitive and was complaining a lot,

And the incident was forgotten and cast in the back of the lot.

I cared for the dog, and we became friends again,

and we had great times as we chased the birds with a grin.

But one fine night, when the stars we´re out

I thought I could clean the wounds in his eyes – I was helping him - with out a doubt.

He jumped at me and his teeth sank deep into my skin,

the blood gushed out and the stars started to spin.

This ferocious and vicious dog was not one I knew.

This was not the dog that I grew.

“No!” I keep yelling. “What are you doing? This is me!

It´s me your fighting! It´s me your biting!

Wait! Stop! I didn´t hurt you! This hurt is not about me!

I´m the one who loves you! I´m the one who cares… 

Who are you biting? Who are you destroying?

It´s me…

It´s me”.

Little had I forgotten that this dog could not see,

So little did it help to cry out “It´s me!”

He kept biting and ripping away my flesh.

The sounds were horrible, piercing at the ear in a horrifying mess,

I could not see through all my fear and just waited for the worst to disappear.

I crawled up into a corner and there I stayed, sacred of the dog I made.

I tried to patch up my scars and wounds, wondering if he really meant to kill.

But the scars are too deep and the hurt is deeper still.

So that is why I’m scared of dogs, and cats for that matter too.

Any little critter that flutters by, I quench with my teeth,

I have been shattered and wounded beneath.

I have questions that hurt to ask- I have doubts that will not pass.

Why did I think that love could make a dog see?

Why didn´t the first time, I just flee?

Why didn´t I keep walking that first night I saw him?

Why didn´t I keep up the pace?

What made me fall in love with that blind dog in the first place?

What does that say about me?

Was I blinder than him, that dog that could not see?

[PrettyPlease]

He kept biting and ripping away my flesh.

The sounds were horrible, piercing at the ear in a horrifying mess,

I could not see through all my fear and just waited for the worst to disappear.

I crawled up into a corner and there I stayed, sacred of the dog I made.

I tried to patch up my scars and wounds, wondering if he really meant to kill.

But the scars are too deep and the hurt is deeper still.

Hi Monarch Butterfly,

I saw another of your posts, and then read through your New Member post and the others that you've done since.

I want to congratulate you for having made it this far. You tried several other boards in the last week, commenting on others' posts, and finally started your own thread. And in this thread you're getting to the heart of the matter. Fear and hurt. But what I've read makes me afraid for you, and your posts so far have been spread out in a way that makes it difficult to figure out what's happening in your life.

I want you to know that you're among friends here, and you can open up further, say things directly here that you've never dreamed you could say to anyone. The poetry is a good start -- and I wrote many poems as cries of anguish when I was with my now-ex uBPDgf -- but in your situation I think it would be good to go further. As another poster asked on you New Member board, "Are you safe?"

Looking across your various posts, I see a story that tells that you may be in a DV (domestic violence) situation. I think it would be good to get that story out directly, on this board, either in this thread or, maybe better, in a new one started for that purpose. DV doesn't require that there is ongoing physical violence. You've spoken of hiding from him, of his abusive criticisms, of his inability to go to therapy, of the porn addiction. You wrote "Help!" about the amount of sex he wanted. You're blaming yourself. You've been there 16 years. Taken together these are indications that you may need help getting out of the difficult situation you're in now. It's highly unlikely that blaming yourself is a good route to follow, although it's a common part of DV; a kind of brainwashing that comes when you live in chronic fear and hopelessness with a person who says that you are wrong and they are right and you're not allowed to leave.

So, again, welcome Monarch Butterfly. And please tell us more. I believe, from reading your other posts, that you've made it to the correct board: your question that you started with in your first post, is "should I leave?"

In figuring out how to answer this, I'd like to comment on those last questions in your poem: all seven of them are questions about the past, about what you could have or should have done. But I think it might be better to look to the future.

What do you want, in your life and in the relationship?

Do you feel safe, now?

If not, what needs to change for you to feel safe in the future?

PP

[bombdiffuser]

Amazing poem! Struck a chord with me for sure! I can see it being the intro to a book about BPD.

[Ironmanrises]

Monarch... .

That has to be... .

One of the most... .

Powerful... .

Poems... .

I have ever read.

I just broke down in tears... .

Reading that.

You painted... .

In words... .

What you... .

And all of us... .

Here... .

Have gone through.

Hang in there.

Your words... .

Have been heard.

[LaSuede]

Monarch... .

That has to be... .

One of the most... .

Powerful... .

Poems... .

I have ever read.

I just broke down in tears... .

Reading that.

You painted... .

In words... .

What you... .

And all of us... .

Here... .

Have gone through.

Hang in there.

Your words... .

Have been heard.

I can only agree with Ironmanfalls.

And writing in rhyme has become my healing too, just can't stop.

What I just don't want is to send  the lines to my ex boyfriend,

Although I have been pretty close sometimes.

Thank you. I got into this forum today/yesterday and already feel grateful.