I have a story.

April is sexual assault awareness month. October is domestic violence awareness month. While I am generally a little put off by "awareness months" and colored ribbon campaigns as a whole, it is generally during the month of April (which has always, as a rule, been a hard month for me, memory-wise), when I am prompted, by whatever source, to tell "my story." Fortunately for me, or maybe unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, this month has been great and I haven't been moved to share what happenned to me, until now, as April draws to a close without a hitch. And, ironically, what moved me to tell this story now is the fact that I haven't been moved to tell it in a long time. For me, that's wonderful news. However, I've grown strong enough to be comfortable talking about it, and if what I have to tell can help even one person, somewhere, gain the strength and confidence to get out of an abusive relationship, then I have achieved an important goal by telling my story. So here I am, and I have a lot to say, so bear with me.

My sophomore year in high school, I somehow found my self dating @sshole (we'll call him that for purposes of this story - everyone has an @sshole, right?). I was kind of a nerd, I confess, honors classes all around, and a's and b's in those classes. He was captain and star-goalie of the soccer team. Very popular. Not that popularity was an issue for me, I had been dating one of his best friends the year before, and I had plenty of friends of my own. In my high school, the nerds were actually the biggest jocks and party animals in the school, which was a bit odd in and of itself. Things were going well in my little corner of the world. For a few months. Somewhere along the line, though, the relationship got out of my control. I was always a strong, confident girl. I played sports my whole life, I was captain of my softball teams, my figure skating team - hell, I figure skated for 15 years, for God's sake, and that alone takes an @ss-load of strength and confidence, trust me. But alas, somehow, I found myself in this horrendous situation where I was dating this uber-popular guy who suddenly completely controlled every aspect of my life.


And by every aspect, I mean every aspect. I didn't have a say in the clothes I wore or how I wore my hair or who I hung out with outside of school, or, to some extent, in school, or anything else that matters when you're in high school. And in the beginning, in my head, that was my decision. I liked being around him, and I wanted to do what he wanted to make him happy - whatever it took and whatever the cost. I can't remember now how long it took me to fully grasp what was happening to me, and what I was becoming, but somehow I don't think it took all that long. For a while, I had friends who were dating friends of his, and we would all go out together, but then he became beyond possessive and we couldn't go anywhere, because he didn't want anyone else to so much as look at me.

He was violent in a number of ways, and for a while that really was never directed at me. He got in fights a lot, in the most random places, he was an extremely aggressive driver and I never liked riding in the car with him because he would get very angry at the other drivers around him, when it was clear that he was the one driving like a maniac. He was like a hand grenade that someone had already pulled the pin on, and you were just waiting for it to explode at any second. It was inevitable that he would explode, you just couldn't really tell when it was coming. At some point, and again, I don't remember the exact turning point, but I feel like it wasn't all that far into our 2-ish year relationship, the violence turned on me. At first he would just yell at me, threaten me, demean me, and generally just cut me down. Severely. At some point I lost whatever self-confidence I may have had, especially when I was around him. Sometimes, if he wasn't around and I was just with friends, or if I was skating, I could come out of my shell, and sort of act like my old self, but I can remember that becoming more and more difficult as the time went on.

You know the next part, right? After I was broken down enough emotionally, it was only a matter of time before the violence became physical, and from there, obviously, sexual. And so it was for the better part of my high school life that I found myself being abused in every way that I could think of. I was a shell of myself. I forever wore long sleeves and pants, no matter what time of year; turtlenecks became my friends, despite my previous hatred for them (I still don't love them, either), as did concealer. Although, he was a smart abuser, if that's not too much of an oxymoron - he generally wouldn't touch my face, or places that he knew bruises would show. But there were a few times, like when he pushed me up the stairs and I smacked my forehead on the steps in front of me, or when I'd try to argue back or fight back and I'd catch an elbow in the temple (that, of course was my fault for fighting with him). He cheated on me with probably half the girls in school, but would go off on me if he saw me so much as look at a single guy in any of my classes. There were a lot of double standards, which probably goes without saying. But, like any abuser, he'd always apologize, buy flowers, take me somewhere I had been really wanting to go, the usual bullshit. But we'd both know that it was only a matter of time (sometimes day, often hours) before it would happen again.

It went on and on. I'd threaten to leave, he'd threaten to kill himself if I did - hell, he'd threaten to hunt me down and kill me if I did. So I stayed. My friends all saw what was happening, but didn't know what to do other than to be there for me when I'd let them be. Because outwardly, I tried so damn hard to make it look like everything was my idea, or my fault, and that we had this great relationship. I hid it because I was ashamed of the situation that I had let myself fall into, and terrified of the fact that either I'd never get out of it, or I would die trying. I lost a lot of friends, and seriously alienated my family. Everyone around me recognized that something was terribly wrong, but because I was so brainwashed, I would not let anyone close enough to even try to help me.

I can remember the Pearl Jam song "Better Man" came out while we were dating. It was my personal, secret theme song. He even joked about that in the car with one of his friends one night, that I sing that song to myself about him - haha, he thought that was a great joke, and I couldn't help but feel terrified that he would actually find out that I really did feel that way about him, and what would happen to me then. All I thought about was how to leave and do it safely and cleanly. I was 17, I couldn't exactly pack up and move. One Friday afternoon, after school and before work, I was sitting in his bedroom in his house, silently watching him play violent video games and scream at the games and at me, and thinking that I couldn't let this happen for much longer. I commented on how much I hated sitting and listening to him scream at the games, and how boring that was for me. He obviously said something mean about me not having a choice in what we were going to do, and I should be happy just to sit there with him, because he was my boyfriend and that's what I was supposed to do. I stood up and said, "Okay I'm leaving."

I must have looked kind of serious, because he asked me "you mean, like, for now, or for good?" And while when I first stood up, it was for now, because I had to go to work, and I figured I would see him later that night or whatever and the vicious cycle that had become my life would continue. But when he asked me that, I almost felt like a door had just opened in front of me and I could suddenly see some kind of light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Like he was offering me an out. I got dizzy. I was in a daze as I pondered what might happen if I actually said it, and the rest of that day and the whole week that follows remains kind of a daze to me. I remember vaguely nodding my head and answering "For good. Yup, for good," and then turning and walking out of his bedroom, down the short hallway to the stairs, descending and opening the front door at the bottom to leave. As I opened the door is when I heard the thunderous footsteps behind me and felt the grip on my upper arm yanking me back in to house. He became desperate. I never, ever could have guessed that this would be the actual result of my actions. He cried. I cried. I just kept saying that I had to go to work, and I was going to be late, and no, I wouldn't be back. He didn't hit me. He yelled a lot, but he didn't hit me. And he was angry, but also desperate, maybe even hurt. But somehow just saying those two words: "for good," I had momentarily gained back years of lost confidence. I yelled back. Then, with a completely empty promise to call him after work, I got in my car and drove away from that house for the last time.

The whole time I was at work, I watched the door, ready to yell "fire!" the second he walked in. He never did. I didn't call when I got home from work. I slept like a baby that night. In the morning, he called. I took the phone and told him not to ever call my house again, that I was done, and that if I had anything to say to him, I'd call him, and that I would call the police if he tried to come anywhere near me. When I told my parents I had left, they cheered, hugged me and told me how much they loved me. My mom bought me almost an entire new wardrobe that week. When I told my friends, they had the same reaction, except the clothes; they took me out for ice cream instead. I think maybe he realized that he had driven me away himself. Like maybe somewhere deep in there he knew what he was doing was wrong (in more than just the cyclic sense, like maybe he actually knew that he wasn't right in the head). I say this because he pretty much let me go. He didn't chase me; he stopped calling; eventually he stopped driving by to see if I was home and waiting outside school to see who I left with; he never approached me again, except one about 6 months later, when I had him thrown out of a club (it's nice to know the bouncers). It's been almost 12 years since I got out of that relationship, and to this day, I cannot say where the courage came from to just stand up and walk away that day.

And none of that matters. What he did to me is unforgivable, and everlasting. I still suffer with the remnants of what he did to me. Like I said, normally not a month goes by that I don't have at least one breakdown. My husband might say that sometimes maybe I use my past as an excuse, and to some extent I might. But it's a legitimate excuse. The high that I felt after leaving him was very much temporary. Within a very short period of time I was involved with starting a group for girls in my high school who were either currently in or recently out of abusive dating relationships. That was heartbreaking. There were about 30 of us in one high school, ranging from freshman to seniors. College was very ugly for the first two years. I went away to school to try to start over, to escape. There's no escaping your past until you face it. I was in counselling for about 4 years, on anti-depressants for a long time. I was incapable of having a healthy, committed relationship, because in large part, I no longer understood what that meant. I had to rebuild myself.

I tell this story because I hope that I can help even one woman get out of a terrifying situation. You are not alone, and you are strong enough to rise above. Seek help, you don't have to do it on your own, and you don't have to feel ashamed. It is not your fault.

My new favorite wine

A few weeks ago (because, yes, it has been that long), I was driving home from work on a sunny, seasonably warm afternoon, and found myself craving a sort of sweet, crisp, sort of fruity, cold white wine. But I craved something different. Something beyond the sauv blancs and pinot grigios I had been consistently enjoying. So I came home, changed my clothes, and googled "sweet fruity white wine." Once I sorted out the Rieslings (which I also decided is not strictly for dessert), I discovered something called Lugana. The brand that I've been buying is Zenato, because that's all I have been able to find among 3 local liquor stores. Wow. It's sort of like a Sauv Blanc, but better. I'm not so good at wine descriptions, so I borrow from Wine Enthusiast:

"Here is an attractive straw-colored wine, based on the Trebbiano grape, with green fruit and vanilla aromas. On the palate, there are soft, ripe fruits. It is full-bodied, with more character than many Italian whites. The acidity keeps it fresh and refreshing, with a ripe, soft aftertaste."

Yeah, that about sums it up. I'm contemplating buying by the case. I wish I had a wine fridge or at least a proper rack. I think if I did I would certainly purchase by the case. I'm not kidding, go and buy yourself a bottle. Now. If anyone can point me toward another brand that I might be able to find, I'm more than willing to try, and I'd love to know some (or at least one) restaurant around here that has a lugana. Even if it's only by the bottle. Yummmmmm.

Spring Training

I've always felt that there was something a bit magical about Fenway Park. If you've seen Breakfast at Tiffany's, maybe you understand the idea that there are places in the world where nothing can be wrong; or at least places that can make you feel that way. I've just always found Fenway to be one of those places. When I was a kid, the place seemed so huge, but all my favorite sports stars from TV were right there, up close and personal - I guess baseball parks generally are this kind of place, especially to kids.

But even today, a few years ago was the first time I had been at Fenway in years - it must have been 2003 or 2004 - before they won the series in '04, anyway. And isn't it interesting how there are certain events around which there will always be a "before" and an "after"? The 2004 series win is one of those times. Anyway, when I finally went back, and Yawkey Way had been all opened up (or closed off, as it were), for pre-game festivities, with Rem-Dog doing the pre-game show right out there, and the smell of sausage and peppers, and everyone wearing their Sox gear - it was like magic to me. I was immediately aglow with happiness, and the $7.50 a beer price tag wasn't even such a bad thing. Ever since that day, I have busted my ass to get tickets for as many games as I possibly could, and to spend as much time in that park as I possibly could, whatever the cost. And everytime I go, I have that same happy, glowing feeling, just by being there. Nothing can be wrong when you're at Fenway.

I recently discovered a whole new kind of magic, in the form of Red Sox Spring Training in Ft. Myers, Florida. Last weekend, we flew down on Friday morning, went to three games in three days, and flew home on Monday. We didn't get close enough for autographs or meet any players or anything, but just being there was so great. On Friday, as soon as we picked up our car, we went straight to City of Palms Park, because the two trophies were in town and on display for pictures, so we got pictures with the trophies. That was totally unexpected and awesome. Then we were able to go on a tour of the park, which let us walk on the field and sit in the dugout and everything. When we went down there, we had tickets for Friday night and Saturday afternoon games against the Twins at their stadium, so we were just glad to get to see City of Palms at all. But the ticket fairy wa sitting in front of us at Saturday's game, and she sold us her tickets for Sunday's game at home. So we also got to go see the Sox play at home, which was a surprise. City of Palms on game day is just as great as Fenway. And what makes it so neat is that so many of the fans that are there have flown in from all over the country, like they're on a little pilgrimage to Spring Training - for so many of us, a little respite from the long, cold, baseball-free winter.

Now we're back home in the cold, waiting for the proper season to start in a few more weeks. We get to change the clocks next weekend, so that will at least make the time more enjoyable, with a little more daylight and everything. Anyway, here's some of the pictures from our weekend getaway:

On Chesil Beach (Spoilers)

This is by Ian McEwan. Before I read it, I heard a few spoilers, but only enough to make me more interested in reading it. Most were about Florence's relationship with her father and were generally feeling of expecting to learn that there was something there that was causing her to feel the way she did about sex, but that nothing ever came out in the book, and that was kind of a let down.

Let me backtrack. The book is about a young newlywed couple (Florence and Edward) in the 1960s, on their honeymoon. Both are virgins, for different reasons. They've been dating for a few years, and he has essentially been "waiting" for her, believing her to be the sweet, innocent, chaste young girl. She, meanwhile, is completely repulsed by the whole idea of sex and everything that comes with it, and always has been. She is very driven and focused in terms of her career and future in her string quartet, where she is lead violin. She never corrected his misconception of her beliefs or feelings, knowing it was wrong to lead him on all this time, but accepting that one day she would have to sleep with him, no matter what her feelings were, because that was what wives did. There is excruciating detail about their wedding night, through dinner and their brief encounter before it all goes very wrong, alternating with some history of each of their upbringings and family backgrounds. Overall it was a good book, and I love McEwan's writing style. I haven't read Atonement, but I definitely will now that I've read this.

Now, as for the thing about her father, and the expectation that the reader would find out that there was some sort of history of abuse there. I feel like that possibility was definitely there. Just because McEwan never reveals it, there are some hints around it. Edward points out that her father seems a bit too happy to marry her off, and is extremely accepting of Edward, perhaps overly so. The father is doting and loving toward his other daughter, Florence's younger sister, but hardly so much as looks Florence in the eye. Florence recalls a memory of sailing across the English Channel with her father when she was younger, and laying still in her bed on the boat, listening to the sound of her father undressing, and feeling as though she was ashamed, perhaps because of her lack of sailing ability . . . I don't know, I can see why everyone said that they expected something to come out later about some abusive past with her father, but I feel like that as there, just not expressly said.

And speaking of behavior and upbringing - there is something to be said about Edward's situation as well. The two of them are so very in love with one another, almost blinded by their love for one another, but his selfishness (?) seems ultimately to overwhelm and ruin the whole relationship. The questions mark is there because I'm not sure whether that's the right word - greed, maybe? Pride. His pride is ultimately what sinks their ship, so to speak. Their relationship is not ruined in the room, but later, on the beach. And it is in large part his pride that follows throughout his life, preventing him from ever looking her up or checking on her career, despite the intense, acknowledged love he continues to feel for her throughout his whole life. And I think that does go back to his upbringing and the problems that the family had with his mother, and again, his pride. It seemed as though she felt the same way about him at the end too, as she looked at the one seat in the theatre when her quartet played in the theatre. Her explanation for never trying to contact him was clear and reasonable, after what he said on the beach, he made himself pretty clear.

Either way - my criticism of this book was that the ending was so very focused on him, and barely mentioned her. It worked, don't get me wrong - the ending definitely made sense and worked, but I would have liked to know more about her life after the night on the beach. But over all, highly recommended.

Vantage Point (spoilers)

We went to see this last night. It came out on Friday, and we had free passes. We have mixed feelings about it. It tells the story about an assassination attempt, but from a few different points of view. So with each telling of the same story, you learn a little more. The deal is, the US president is in Spain, along with leaders of a whole mess of other countries, for a summit on preventing terrorism worldwide. As soon as the president takes the podium, he is shot twice, and then all hell breaks loose with bombings and everything. The points of view we see are: 1) TV news producer Sigourney Weaver, watching every camera angle and bossing around her reporter and cameramen, as she watches the events unfold while maintaining come composure over her live broadcast; 2) Dennis Quaid as a secret service agent back on his first mission after taking a bullet for the president six months earlier; 3) Forest Whitaker as an American tourist with a video camera, which mysteriously still works after he pulls it out of the rubble after the bombs explode; 4) A Spanish police officer, who seems to have been unwittingly roped into playing a role in the whole attack; 5) the US President, who has worked so hard at this summit, only to be replaced by a double for the event in the face of intelligence indicating that an assassination attempt and terror threat will occur; 6) the mastermind behind the attack, who may or may not be connected to a cell in Morocco, and who flawlessly executes the whole attack remotely from his iPhone; 7) A would be assassin who has also been seemingly unwittingly roped in by the kidnapping of his brother, who will be returned to him in exchange for his use of his special forces skills to kill as many members of the president's entourage as necessary to assist in the kidnapping of the president; 8) Matthew Fox, as the other central secret service agent, who also plays an important role in the attacks, as we realize that all of the inside information that the attackers had came from him.

Eventually, as you see the last point of view, the whole thing comes together, and the last 1/2 hour or so is like a normal movie, without the rewinding and reshowing of the same events. The movie is fast paced and well-executed, with an original premise and a very strong cast. Dennis Quaid is excellent as the slightly jittery, newly returning secret service agent, and Forest Whitaker is endearing as the stereo-typical lonely tourist witness to history. The mixed feelings come from the level of detail and unresolved plot points that were lost in the action. While the president's advisers urge him to bomb a known terrorist camp in friendly Morocco, where they believe the orchestrators of the attack are harbored, the president refuses, and we never learn whether the attackers are actually related to that camp or not. Quaid saves the day, and the president, while all of the individuals involved in carrying out the attack are killed, leaving no way for everyone else to ever fully understand what went on, or who the attackers were working for or why. We never get anything behind the attack itself, leaving you feeling a bit unsatisfied. The car chase wherein Quaid commandeers a car to tail Fox, who's masquerading as a Spanish police officer and driving a police car, is a bit long and generally unbelievable. The camera angles used make for impossibly narrow near-misses and those ever-popular accidents where our hero (Quaid) gets nailed, but somehow the car spins exactly 360 degrees and he just continues the chase. The extreme close-ups were nauseating, and I felt motion sick when the chase finally ended.

Overall, though, I'd still recommend it if you enjoy action films. it was really good and definitely keeps your attention and keeps you guessing. Although if you've read this, I guess there's no mystery left in it for you. Just take the action and enjoy it, knowing that the reasons and background will never be explained.

More internet babble

I have an on-line book club. Anyone who saw my old blog knows about TheKnot.com, that seemingless limitless abyss of all things wedding planning. Well, after one gets married and "graduates" from TheKnot - it's founders, in all their wisdom, created TheNest.com. The Nest is loaded with chat boards about all number of things, from local discussions (where you will find all of your old Knottie friends reunited again), to budgeting, to cooking, to - you guessed it - books! So that is where many of my recent book recommendations have come from. On top of general chat about books, there is a monthly discussion on one particular book, all voted on and selected democratically months in advance.

Friends think this is odd. Whenever I say something like, "no I'm waiting to read that until April, when it's the discussion for my book club," the inevitable response is, "you're in a book club?" The discussion then often goes something like this:
"Yes, well, kind of - it's on-line."
"But how do you discuss books online?"
"Well, it's a mesage board, and everyone just posts and responds to each other, it's kind of neat actually. I don't actually have to set time aside for book club discusion, I can just post whenever I have a chance, and that's what everyone else does, so it works out well. Sometimes the discusions are really good and go on for days."
"Cool, where'd you find out about it? Can anyone join?"
The comes the slightly weird stage where I have to explain "well, yes, anyone can join, but you'd have to join this whole other on-line thing . . ."
And maybe it is a bit odd, but I really like having an on-line book club. And these are people I can "talk" to all the time. It's all pretty anonymous, but it's neat that I can ask for opinions on a particular book, and potentially get 100 responses (there's never that many, but you get the point). And none of the books are required reading, so to speak. If the democratic process worked in a way such that you have no inclination whatsoever to read a particular month's book, or you just don't have time, don't read it! Chances are, your imput will not be missed. Now, clearly the point of the book club is discussion, but when there are so many people involved, one missing doesn't generally matter. This can, of course lead to the tragedy of the commons type of problem - where if everyone adopts that train of thinking, there's no discussion. This happenned in December, what with the holidays, no one cared to discuss Catcher in the Rye at any great length. A few people had some discussion, and some asked to postpoe the discussion until they could finish it, but it generally just wasn't up to par. But for the most part, the discussions are generally pretty lively and in-depth. I enjoy having an on-line book club. Perhaps more so that I would enjoy having a real life book club.

** Just as an aside, I can picture what real life book club with my friends would look like - only 1/2 of us, if that, would have actually finished the book, for one thing. And there would be alcohol involved, probably lots of it. Maybe even "book themed" drinking games (if there's a will, there's a way). If any discussions of the book ever actually took place, it would be in the form of wise-ass remarks made at one another's expense, making some minor reference to the story. In short, it would amount to yet another reason to get together and get wasted. **

I have an addiction

It's name is King.com. Seriously, it's a problem. OK, King.com is a silly, silly game site. I mean like, Majong and matching and tetris like games. Silly waste-of-time games like that. You have to sign up with an email address to play the games, but it's all free. Actually, it isn't all free. You can become a "gold member" for whatever amount of money, and then you can play in money tournements and win money prizes and everything, but ultimately, that's just a waste. I just like to play games. But really, this post is taking me forever to write, because I'm typing in between games of Memory Matcher! All the games are set up tournament stule, and you play against other King.com members, from all over the world. If you don't play for money, then the prizes are these little jewels, and when you have enough you unlock more things you can do on the site, like send challenges to other people, or edit your avatar, or make your avatar do things when you win or lose. It's all VERY ridiculous. I don't really care about winning the foolish jewels or about my avatar, but I can not stop playing these foolish games. My favorite games include: majong masquerade, block party, and top ace. They are the only three that I play with any frequency. Memory Matcher, which I'm currently playing, is new. But I often play with such frequency that other parts of my life suffer. I skip cleaning my house to play games. I put off cooking dinner to play games. I skip phone calls to play games. I have missed meals because I was playing games. It's out of control. I'm writing about it here, though, because I want everyone else to become as addicted as I am. Go, play games!