Last night human remains were found in a big city in my state.
In a trash bag, left near a dumpster, was a body, wrapped in fabric/sheet, part of the head and teeth exposed through a tear in the bag.
"Police say the investigation is ongoing — and they say they do believe this is a suspicious death."
I understand caution, especially where contact with the media
is concerned. Especially when there are few details, even before they
can even do an autopsy, which will be today, I guess.
Suicides. A baby assaulted on a plane. By the way, the monster that verbally abused the baby and his mother before slapping the child has an attorney who is publicly cautioning people to not rush to judgement before all of the facts are known. Really?
No one is safe. I knew that before, have known it for a very long time and I know it now. But, the sad and inescapable truth is that even if someone has not experienced accidental or intention assault by someone else, and that it is my preference to believe that I live in a loving Universe, stuff still happens, people are hurt or killed or destroyed in countless ways.
And, I am sure that I am aware of and tuned into hearing/noticing death more than I did before nearly dying myself' so, whilst it is difficult still to hold some reasonable perspective on violence, particularly of the domestic kind, I am doing my best to keep all of this stuff from temporarily, well, not exactly destroying me (because I think that I am healing past that), but still feeling a bit frightened by all of these reports. They seem to be nearly weekly mentions, often more than one.
I am not accustomed to watching television and my exposure to these stories were limited to the very occasional news reports on the car radio. Now, I have this little television and an antenna thing and can watch five or so channels. This exponentially increases my awareness of news of all kinds.
Each time this happens, I am newly terrorized. I cannot seem to prevent that initial response. I am writing as much as I can, hopefully divesting this self-imposed burden of shared grief. I am spewing like crazy during therapy, knowing that I am such a bore to concentrate on the violence in the news, but unable to stop. I am meditating like I mean it. I am drawing. Reading. Working. Volunteering, which is probably the most helpful, as it constantly informs me how truly lucky I am for just about everything.
My therapist keeps reminding me of when we first worked together, and I expressed my difficulty moving forward because it had been a month since I fled my house. She brought it up again last week. I am now three days from that, the day I left. I should be so much further along. I should not still be waiting for my ex to man-up, stop stealing our joint resources and just generally screwing me over.
Okey-dokey, so there are still factors holding me enmeshed in this mess. I do not think it unreasonable to want it to be over. Court orders, particularly those connected to divorce, are mostly unenforceable. I get that. I also get that my ex is doing all of this to impoverish me, knowing that because he has stolen everything that I do not have the resources to fight for what is mine.
I am so much fortunate than other women in my circumstance. I have responsibility for only myself and CoolCat. I can just manage to keep us safe from the elements, keep us reasonably well-fed and keep us as safe as it is possible to be. I can get to work and to see my babies at least once a month or so. Other than that, I have nearly depleted my financial resources from the sale of the house.
Most of the time I am fine with this. I am naturally frugal and being so suits me well. One year past leaving, I am living below the poverty level, although I do not expect to be homeless again; and my ex, well, who knows what he is doing with all of that money, but you can bet your big girl panties that he is not worrying about how the pay the heating bill or anything else. I do not agree with the saying that money cannot buy you happiness. I believe that, in addition to freeing me from worry and stress, that having enough money could go a long way to adding to my core happiness.
Enough. I would love to be above such feelings, but I am not. He continues to do whatever he can to make me suffer, including his near-demand that I file joint taxes with him for last year so that he does not have to pay his tax liability without help from me. That is not going to happen, but my investment in all of this is me, alone, increasing his ability to continue the abuse.
Enough. I have to find ways to release all of this.