Still here

I just concluded a conversation with a new friend who, it turned out, knows this blog.  He told me I have more people watching it than I realized —- and that some had assumed that maybe I’d changed my mind about gay marriage, the whole fight, really, because I’ve been inactive so long.

I’ve not.  My opinions are not only unchanged since I began this blog, I find them being more and more strongly confirmed as more men and women come out with their own stories about toxic marriages to gays, or the sufferings of their being raised by gay parents.

The embarrassing truth of it is that having sole responsibility for this blog and being so immersed in this subject matter is oppressive to my spirit.  I live with depression (and, btw, I have yet to meet a former spouse of a homosexual who doesn’t also battle The Black Dog) and sometimes I have to budget my low energy levels as miserly as I can in order to cover the necessities.

But I’m so grateful — no, I’m still sitting here well after midnight shaking my head . . . simply amazed at being known and recognized and  told “Oh, yeah, you’re quite well known among my friends —” —

So let me take a moment to tell you all hello, and to thank you for looking for this blog and for your prayers and whatever positive thoughts you’ve had about what I do, here.

I’ve been collecting things to post here.  I’m looking for a couple other women to post, as well.  I won’t abandon this blog completely — even though sometimes I find I don’t have energy sufficient to post.

The fight really is just beginning.

Getting through it all SOBER

My friend Gina – her husband left her about ten years ago for another man – ugly, ugly situation. Her doctor gave Gina something to “help her relax.”  The drug was Ativan — and he’s had her on it for EIGHT YEARS.

There’s something unconscionable and unethical about putting a patient on an addictive drug for that long.

And did Gina need it in the first place?

Look, of COURSE your nerves are shot — you’ve been living with a homosexual – a misogynist – for how many years? And now you know the insanity you’ve been blaming on yourself (and he’s probably been blaming you for) is because he’s homosexual? and the earth is rocking and rolling under your feet and you don’t know which end is up and at any minute you’re absolutely sure you’re going to toss your cookies?

WELL, DUH — of COURSE YOUR NERVES ARE FRAYED. OF COURSE EVERYTHING AROUND YOU IS GOING BATSHIT CRAZY.

IT is — not you.

And so you toss your cookies.  Is it really the worst thing that can happen to you? Personally, I think continuing to live with a psychologically abusive and severely disturbed spouse is far, far more undesirable.

Look.  You can take the immediately easy way out and medicate with booze or prescription drugs in order to numb the immediate oh-God-I’m-losing-my-mind feelings.  But I’m telling you, you’ll still have to face the music when you sober back up or the prescription expires.  And if you’re on the junk long enough, you’ll have compounded problems, coming off the crutch AND facing your reality all at one time.

Problem is, the crisis doesn’t go away just because your brain checks out for a while. It will sit and wait for you, however long you try to run away from it.

It’s a LOT easier to grit your teeth and just body-surf through the batshit crazy until you can find some terra firma to plant your feet on.  It takes ten times as much work to pull yourself BACK together as it would have done simply to hang on for dear life in the first place.  Yes, that’s a borrow from Mockingjay — in which book too damn many needles are used to get Katniss and Finnick — to CONTROL THEM instead of healing them. Because, dammit all, it’s so much easier to drug your way through a crisis than it is to have to think and work your way through.  Until you sober up and the emotional upheaval is still right there waiting to say GOTCHA!
Stay sober.  Honestly.

Ineffible Grief

I’m not at all sure what has set it off this time.  I thought it was long since resolved. I thought I’d made peace with my losses, past and future, and with the alternative life I’ve seen stretched out before me.

But something has set it off.  Maybe it was seeing something from my daughter and realizing how badly damaged she is.  The sweet, gentle-spirited, loving girl has grown up to be a crass, defiant, almost-militant woman who, it is obvious, has embraced her daddy’s causes and still can’t get him to take her seriously.

Dear God! How long and how far must the hurt and the wreckage be flung?

It’s bad enough I’m damaged beyond repair. I know I’ll never be able to trust my own judgment about men, or the honesty or integrity of a relationship.  And, yes, I still have periods of grieving for the loss of the old dreams of a close (and large) family. Of love. I still resent having been used, reduced to being less than a person in my own right just so he’d have someone to hide behind. I resent the psychological abuses he inflicted on me so that when I needed help I trusted no one, not even for a long time my own judgment. I resent, still, that he had to be protected at all costs.

Because the cost has proven far too great.

Now that cost involves our children, who didn’t ask to be born, but whom he’s manipulated and used and abused to hide behind, even now.  Nothing is his fault, he will not face his own failures and responsibility – everything is “your choice,” said with a sneer and a look of utter contempt. He will always think of them as he has done of me: as idiots.  Useful idiots, perhaps, but idiots all the same.

And I can’t help my children, even less than I can help myself.  And I don’t know how to climb out of this pit of grief.

LGBT vitriol

I questioned why the professional community taxed with screening gender reassignment candidates has not been more capable of recognizing the severe dysfunctions operating in the LGBT community, particularly in those lesbian households that are putting little boys on the transgender trainwreck. But perhaps the answer to that lies here:

“. . . the aggression shown by the LGBT community toward people who question whether children should prepare to have their genitals surgically altered and be injected with massive doses of hormones is such that clinicians are terrified to continue searching for the truth.”

The original article is available from the Wall Street Journal, but they demanded I subscribe before I could access the article.  I’m not in the market for a paid subscription of a work I only use a few times a year, rather than daily, cover to cover.

The LGBT community certainly is aggressive, even hostile, in the face of opposition.  Last week I posted a story by Janna Darnelle about her experiences divorcing, or being divorced by, a man who’d decided to come out of the closet.  Later in the week, this article appeared with an update, revealing that, in the aftermath of Janna’s article’s publication, and widespread sharing on the internet, the Gay Mafia has gone berserk with trying to punish her.

I highly recommend Rivka’s update, full of great information and insights such as this one:

“You want to marry a man and you are a man? Society does not owe you women’s children, women’s eggs, or women’s bodies.”

I would add, ” . . . or our hearts and souls.”

Isolation

For such a small, neglected, and insignificant little blog, I hear from a surprising number of women fairly regularly.  This always surprises me.  Someone takes time to post a comment, or to send me an email . . .

The recurring theme of the messages I receive from other women is that of feeling isolated.  “No one knows . . .” they say.

They’re right.  No one who hasn’t been through a marriage and divorce with a gay man has any idea what we go through. It’s a subtle and insidious form of abuse, what we live with in the marriage

And, as one woman recently pointed out, when we divorce a gay man, the social reaction is different.  A woman divorces a man who’s been committing adultery, everyone sympathises with her, supports her, sympathises with her in the sense of the betrayal she’s experienced, the humiliation . . .

But when a woman divorces a man for being gay, or he leaves her for another man, the ex-wife is completely overlooked in the general rush to applaud the man for being gay.

That’s all that matters in this society — he’s gay, he’s got to be the hero. Isn’t it wonderful! isn’t it good! He has finally been able to come out and to live honestly.  Now he can be happy – – –

So it’s terribly lonely, even more so than a regular divorce.  And, as this same (very astute) woman pointed out to me, “I know a lot of women who’ve gone through divorces, but none of them have a gay (or transgender) husband.”  So our situation is odd and we go through it very much alone.

 

Recommended article: The Soul-Crushing Scorched-Earth Battle for Gay Marriage

No, it doesn’t have anything to do, directly, with the ex-wives of gays. But one can extrapolate a LOT about the mentality of the “gay rights” movement, which reflects very directly on the attitude directed toward women (especially We The Ex-Wives) and the attitude that any method of control is acceptable because, after all, no one else matters.

Robert Oscar Lopez wrote an article in which he used his experiences and observations as a young man raised by his mother and her lesbian partner to defend the recent sociological study by Mark Regnerus which outlines the problems of children growing up in same-sex, gay households. That article is entitled “Growing Up with Two Moms: The Untold Children’s View,” and it’s here, for your reading pleasure. Or angst – there is always the risk of pain when we enter these territories.

Well, Lopez has taken a veritable verbal beating from the gay community for having the integrity to stand up and publicly state, “I bear significant scars as a consequence of being raised by two lesbians.” This demonstrates a great deal about the overall, militant disposition of the gay community at large, which we need to be aware of — especially those of us who are still raising children.

Lopez’s further response , and further reflections on the inherently violent, take-no-prisoners tactics of the gay movement, is the immediately recommended article which appeared here this week in American Thinker.

Violent? That guy who shot the security guard at the conservative, Christian-based Family Research Council in Washington, yesterday, was angry and resentful over the FRC’s opposition to gay marriage.

I earnestly urge you to read both articles. Take them to your lawyer if you’re still engaged in custody battle. Take them to your children’s pediatricians and clinical psychologists –

And, if I may be so nosy and bossy and presumptuous, if you don’t get a supportive response from either of those professionals, you might want to read the writing on the wall and recognize that these people have bought into the lies that the gays are promoting in order to further their agenda. That is, they are more concerned with promoting the party politic than with protecting your child – and do not deserve your patronage any longer. You need, and are worthy of (I hate the phrase, “you’re entitled…”) professional services that help you protect your children and minimize the trauma and confusion that comes of having a gay parent.

The risk is real: I did not understand what I was up against when DH and I divorced. I did not believe he would ever be so ungodly…   and to this day, he insists to our daughters that his being gay had nothing to do with our divorce, and our older daughter is now very much a heterosexual, “fag hag” gay activist of sorts – at least, a very vocal proponent of gay rights, and an utterly miserable woman.

Personal experience biasing my vision? Possible. But if it happened to me, you are not immune.

Think about it. And God bless you.

 

So – More on Travolta being gay hits the fan(s).  Just reading this junk brings back all the feelings of nausea and soul-sickness I went through when I found out about DH.

I’m praying for Kelly Preston Travolta – I hope you will, too. It’s bad enough going through this in private; I cannot imagine (thank God!) going through the ordeal of the public synthesis of one’s husband’s every… everything. She’s going to need all the moral and spiritual support anyone can give her.

Healing begins with Forgiveness

Hard week. Can you tell? I haven’t posted in days. It’s been one of those anniversary weeks where a bunch of junk has come out of the background noise, where it usually sits, to the fore of my brain, distracting me and wearing me out.

This has been accompanied by a small surge of emails and contacts from people who’re reading this blog. One of the really hard thing about doing this blog is hearing from so many people – I’m astonished how many people have contacted me! – to tell me “I’m going through this,” or, “My close family member is going through it. The really upsetting thing is the acknowledgment of depression in 100% of the people I’m hearing from.

And being angry for you compounds my anger – because I’m really angry for me, right now.

The balance of holding on to my joie de vivre, my joy of living, is sometimes fragile. Weeks like this, the memories of incidents, words, attitudes are vividly close. Believe me – I get depression.

But I am not willing to let DH have me this way. I mean, holding on to my anger and resentment like one of our daughters used to cling to her “blankie” doesn’t inflict a moment’s unease or discomfort on him. It only eats away at me – at my soul.

So I – so you, too – have to let go. This letting go is the practical process of forgiveness. It’s refusing to cling to the hurt. It’s recognizing that rampaging about what a selfish bastard he is doesn’t have the minutest impact on him – but it will rot me from the inside out and turn me into something bitter, selfish, hostile and ugly if I don’t let go.

Forgiveness means recognizing that there’s really only one justice for us – and that’s the justice of the Judgment Seat of Christ. He’ll get his, on that Day…

And so will I, by golly! So I’ve got to keep laying it down. Every time it sneaks up on me and throws itself in my way, trying to dominate my thoughts and feelings – I’ve got to lay it down.

Our Lord told Peter – we have to be willing to forgive 70 x 7. That’s not for 70×7 offenses – it’s 70 x 7 for a single event. Every time the bitterness rises, when our gorge rises… that’s one time of forgiveness. Now we have 70 x 7… minus 1 to get through.

But this really does have a redemptive value. This really, truly does serve to our good. Here’s another verse for you: all things work together for the good of them that love the Lord… (Rom. 8:28) All things. God will take our sorrows and wounds and sufferings and use them for our greater good and for His greater glory…

But we have to begin with forgiving.

Painful memories

I’m clearing out some paperwork this weekend, a quiet activity in this 100-degree heat, and I have come across some old journal pages dating back to the time DH and I decided to separate. I had to sit down and read them – probably a mistake; it’s painful in the extreme to see how emotionally fragile I was by that point. I had two friends I clung to as to life preservers, both of whom have now gone on and I don’t even know how to contact them to thank them for keeping me from being utterly sucked under.

The wonder of it is, as I read these notes, there were two men who were very … shall we say, attentive? during this time, and somehow by the grace of God I didn’t fall  into an affair. I was terribly vulnerable for one – I was warned by a counselor working with James Dobson (Focus on the Family) that I was extremely high risk for one. But somehow it never happened.

Part of it was because I had a belief that God would give me a miracle and save my marriage if I were just a good gal and followed the rules. Part of it was because these two men – very human men and not particularly “principled” in that regard – apparently felt very protective of me and never pushed their advantage.

If they had, I’m not at all sure I could have held out. I was starving for affection and affirmation – even more than I remember, according to what I’m seeing on those old journal pages. And both men found me attractive because I’m smart, as well as being … well, whatever they saw in me that they found attractive. (Modesty forbids me to look too closely at those possibilities).

Grace of God, to be sure.

I have said, we are vulnerable. That observation cannot be overstated: We are vulnerable. VULNERABLE.

And right this minute, after being alone for a decade and fighting out some tough stuff and becoming stronger than ever, and opinionated and stubborn and really pretty doggone comfortable (and even smug about) being single… if He Whom My Soul Loves (or, maybe, Richard Armitage) were to walk in the door right now and offer to carry me away to… I don’t know, it would have to be somewhere COOL! – I’m not at all sure I could smile at him and say, “Aw, how sweet, but no, thank you.”

They say forewarned is forearmed. I sure hope it’s true.