I was watching Dr. Phil today, and i was again astounded at the high level of abuse, physical and verbal, that young women are willing to tolerate from their so called "loved ones" , but in particular, their boyfriends or husbands.

For weeks now i have been thinking about posting a story of something that happened to me in 1973 i think it was. One day i think, yeah, i'll post it, then the next day i change my mind...i think because i do not want to be perceived as a "victim", because i am not one. That is not to say that in the past i wasn't, because i certainly think i was. I was also very young and stupid, i engaged in risky behaviour without even giving it a second thought. I i think to some degree i was a bit of a "creep magnet". However, i am certainly not one now... (so i guess maybe next week i will publish the "scary story"...)

But in this day and age, when we have so much knowledge, how is it that women (and some men) are willing to tolerate so much abuse? And i know, i know i know i know, all about the "cycle of violence"...i just have a hard time believing that people cannot use their intellect to control their emotions. We can put our mind to anything, why do we not want to use our minds to give our emotions advice?

As the woman on the t.v. today was telling Dr. Phil about her boyfriend, who, even after he had beaten her up, and was actually doing jail time: she is saying: ".....but i luvvvv him" - i thought to myself, "oh brother, you stupid bitch, get a grip" - how uncharitible of me, eh? - anyway, when i heard her talking about how he said he would take her to the airport, but instead started to drive off in the other direction i remembered a guy i had once dated.

It was approx. 1975

I think we went out for a couple of weeks, and you know, being the '70s, things progressed quite fast, and soon i realized that this man was wayyyyy too possessive and controlling for me and told him i did not want to date him anymore. He was very upset, but i thought that he was accepting of my decision until he started to telephone me incessantly, at home and at work. I eventually let him wear me down, and agreed to meet him for lunch.

At this time i was working out at UBC, and had only an hour for lunch; he insisted on picking me up, and against my better judgement i agreed. I thought we would find somewhere close on campus to eat, but when he picked me up he drove off quickly, ignoring my protestations, and said he had a picnic lunch arranged and we could enjoy the sunny weather down at the beach, about a 10 minute drive away. (at this point i realized that i should have insisted that he meet me at the Pit or the Student Union Building but....oh famous hindsight!) I had no choice and when we got to the beach, there was no picnic lunch packed in the car, and all he wanted to do was maul me, and tell me how much he loved and needed me and attempt to persuade me that i should give "us" another chance.

I was adament, and had to fight him off, and as the hour wore on, and we both had to be getting back to work, (he worked downtown), he drove out of the parking lot, turned left and started heading in the direction of town. I said, "you're going the wrong way, where do you think you're going, turn around and take me back to work please." Totally ignoring me, he just kept driving very fast, and it was clear that he had no intention of taking me back to my work. I grabbed the stearing wheel, in the process ripping the finger nail off my pinky finger, and yelled at him: "Turn this car around damn it all and take me back to work!" He got such a fright he stopped the car, and said: "If you want to go back to work, you can just walk back"...so i quickly jumped out the car (you should have seen the surprised look on his face) told him to go to hell, and slammed the car door shut.

It took me about 25 minutes to walk up the hill back to the Alumni Association building where my office was; my co-workers were astonished at my sweaty angry appearance, and my bloddy finger, and fortunately my boss was on his own two hour lunch, so i did not get into trouble. But i was furious! And then when i got home, stuffed under the door of my apartment (and i don't know how he got in the front door) was a plastic bag. Inside was a T-shirt, a lovely soft cotton, good quality article of clothing. Right accross the front was written: #1 Bitch! and in those days, that was pritty inflamatory! oh, yes, and a note from him...."wear this with a smile".....hah, little did he know!!!! Friday night was coming up, party time at theYoung Alumni Club at Cecil Green (that was where i had first met him)

.....sooooo, i got all dolled up, my hair was just growing out nicely from when i had shaved my head, and was as soft and shiny as a baby seal hide. I wriggled into my new jeans, body hugging and smooooooth as velvet...put my best fitting, up-liftingest bra on, and pulled the new T-shirt over my head...scrutinizing myself in the mirror, i was impressed with how the word "Bitch" hugged my breasts...thinking to myself, "number one bitch eh, you don't know the half of it baby!" I LOOKED FABULOUS! Then i put on my beige trench coat, buttoned it up and headed out the door.

We (my girlfriend and i) arrived fairly early and the place was fairly empty and i could see he was not there yet. I propped myself up on a bar-stool, with a good view of the front door entrance, and ordered a drink. My friend wondered at my tightly-buttoned up coat and my mischievious grin... about 1/2 hour later i saw him come in, as he caught my eye, i stook up, un-buttoned my coat, and stuck my boobs out, and gave him my most dazzling and charming smile!!...followed by a wink...well, his expression was priceless! -- and he never bothered me again....

...and to top it off, that was the night i met my next boyfriend, an adorable 6' 6" hunka munka, but that's another story.....

...to be continued...


NB; I kept that T-shirt for many years, and on days that i felt fragile and insecure, i would put it on, smile, and be instantly transformed. I kept it until it was too small, and too tight and full of holes, and i had to throw it away. And many years later, when i had to leave my husband, i had another one made up, with the face of a lovely Doberman Pincer on the front, and below it the words: "The Bitch Is Back!" - but i don't have much use for it these days....


[I'm doing these posts now, because i don't understand why a lot of young women (and some men, as well as individuals in same gender relationships) are willing to put up with such "shit" just to have a relationship. I know i should be more patient, working in the field that is do, but given the knowledge we have about how violent bahaviour only escalates without treatment, i just get so frustrated with people who are willing to minimize abusive and distructive behaviour.]]

Harper's new Budget: Stay-at-home mom's given Tax Break while single working mom's are "screwed"- a louzy 1% off the GST on stuff they can't even afford to buy!! - what's that all about? - discriminating against single mother? i smell a rat!

(This is my very cluttered office space.)

CAUTION: The following post may be disturbing to some readers.

FINDING “ SELF” – Yes…coming home to the Heart

First documented on March 1st, 2006

“Trying to find myself” … not a meaningless phrase from the ‘70s…no…literally trying to rediscover who I used to be [and who I was meant to be when that zygote first found it’s way down to planet earth] …before life’s experiences shaped me on a cellular level (i.e. as bad experiences touched me my body was affected at a cellular level). I realize now that I have not necessarily being “trying to recapture my youth”, because I am actually fairly content with who I am, in this moment. But I am trying to discover who I once was, before I was changed.

I AM trying to recapture that energy, that essence that joy and exuberance, that attitude that I see in this photo that was slowly and insidiously beaten out of me by an accumulation of negative and traumatic events. .. ..

...the first one occuring shortly after my father died...

Knowing the father was gone, and the mother was away at work... the monster slithered over our threshold, invading our family. Being careful not to slam the screen door, he stole into the kitchen, knowing that he would find his tender prey alone on those hot summer days…..

… he almost succeed in destroying me…because for a long long time I was “not myself”, and as I write this I realize that it is no wonder my family did not want to be around me.. They did not recognize me after what he did to me! They did not know what he did to me…because I did not know how to tell them…they could only wonder at my strange behaviour, (coming home to find me hiding in the huge laundry hamper) my temper tantrums, my surly grins, no longer the sweet, bright and shiny joy-filled playful child they once knew, they now confronted a dull little monster…

….darkness and dankness surrounded her, the soul smothered, the light in her eyes instantly snuffed out…and the fear…no one to blame but the monster who lurked outside, watching, as the others left the house…waiting until his prey was all alone. With all the stealth of a cat burglar he stole into the sultry still kitchen and only the creak of the screen door warned of his presence – too late…

Then, years and years of darkness – the mind crippled by fear, the body struggles to survive, driven only by sheer animal instinct, the autonomic system driving it like a locomotive – slow and heavy, relentless, mindless… the sympathetic nervous system locked into high gear, fragmented by periods of darkness and turmoil and tears.

The mother moans: “Oh where oh where has my little darling gone?”…not knowing the truth…not knowing that the person she thinks of as a friend has stolen her little girl away…and left this crazy husk in her place…

Angry tears, sad tears, bitter tears. And silence. Deadly silence and terror. Waiting and wondering. Caught up in a hailstorm of madness, with only glimpses of sanity…the child was shattered, pieces of soul scattered, broken shards of heart strewn about the universe …

…like an automaton programmed to perform its mindless tasks…left right left right, one two three step turn, on and on , on and on.

The clocks tick, the seasons change, but the frantic dance remains the same.

Cook, clean, sweep, “perform”,…cook, clean, sweep, weep, “perform”…weep, grin, march,; march through life’s agenda…the intrinsic self lost, ah but not forgotten, buried somewhere in this body as it changes into a teenager, then a woman…as the years go by…the lost woman wanders around in despair, - dancing, cackling, doing doing doing, keeping busy, “getting on with life”, running running, and wildly dancing to someone else’s tune - - yet somehow knowing she has to find her way home….home to herself…knowing that somewhere there is a beautiful sensitive creative being living beneath the damaged cells…how to purge the dis-ease that has created its insidious havoc in this once beautiful child of the universe?

…to be continued…

ground view of the Enchanted Forrest, as seen from Sleepy Hollow

"...the lonnngggg and winding road...dah dah dhum...leads me there, to your door....."