Writing Successes: Today was an art day. Visit my Angel Asrial page and take a gander.

Music Playing: K103. Why it's playing Michael Jackson, I've no idea.

Exerpt from "...And You Think You've Got It Bad"

Etiquette and Courtesies - Man is Such an Awkward Creature - My dear girl, do not call one's men friends by their Christian name, when you show familiarity you invite it. A maid must not do the wooing, or play the coquet, our eyes may reflect love but not send out an invitation.

Short but sweet. I enjoy the opening of this one and all of the wording. You just can't call me "coquet" enough, really. This really shows how different our thinking is now, I felt. Mind, what this has to do with MEN being awkward, I've no idea. It comes RIGHT after yesterday's paragraph. Now, don't be sending me anymore invitations with your eyes, hear?

I've had a weird week. I mean this quite literally. One comment before we start, I rarely cry. I "sob" at movies, and get teary at commercials and weepy when people win big on game shows. I just don't generally cry. That said....

Tuesday was Buffy. They....did something to someone that quite literally HURT me. I mean, they reached in and they tore my heart out. I started crying. The really hard kind of crying, where someone has run over your dog or something. Over a TV show. I know the person in question is FINE in real life, of course. I know that's not real. But it was .. . bad. Very, very bad. I cried for at least 5 minutes and the residue of the absolute sadness that caused in me lasted well into the next day.

Later that same night was the wonderful discussion with the DH about getting a job. Please see the previous post for that rant.

Wednesday was all right, but I was depressed. I just couldn't shake the day before off myself. My brother-in-law came over and talked with me for at least an hour, about many things. He agreed that just before bedtime is no time to talk about stressful things. Anyhow, by the end of the day I was doing all right. Angel helped restore my soul a little. I enjoyed watching him and Connor sing. (LOLOLOL)

Today was better. I wasn't as depressed or sad for no reason, and things went fine during the day. Made some great PSP objects, which I'm proud of. I'll probably put that up on my "fan pages" part of the site. I was just really pleased with how it turned out.

Then my elder son came home. I raked him over the coals for having lied about a big project he hasn't been working on (the teacher had made him call earlier in the day). I told him he was going to sit back here and work on it until it was finished. Basically, grounding him to this chair. So he takes his foot and puts it through the chair, breaking the back off and slamming that piece around the wall and onto the computer. (It's hard to explain. It's a metal chair with "pads" on the back and to sit on. They aren't attached very well. This is why they were at cheap.) Then he stormed off into his room.

I followed him and put my hand out to take his Magic: The Gathering cards away. See, he takes these to school and spends a lot of time playing with his friends and trading them with his friends before and after school, things like this. I figured this would cut down on some of that. He advanced on me, slammed his hand down on the cards and I threw them around the room, scattering them. Enraged, he slugged me in the face and arm before I could turn and twist away, spin around and slap the back of his head and grab his arms (more to stop me from slugging him). I told him I didn't want to see him the rest of the day and left, crying, from the room.

I got as much a hold of myself as I could and called my stepmother. In situations like this, one requires instant help. Especially if one has been slugged around as a small child. The instant memories of fear, loathing, helplessness; they come back in these moments. You feel walked on, again. You're reminded of weakness, again. You're toasted. So I called. She came as quickly as she could.

My father called shortly after (mind, I'm crying this entire time. It had to have been 10 straight minutes, if not more) and helped me move into at least a workable frame of mind. This was amazing. He knew what to say and what to talk about to get me around it, to try to explain what had gone on, this kind of thing. And he stayed on that phone until my stepmom arrived with her husband.

They talked and talked until my DH came home, then the four of us talked and talked and talked. They left when we both felt a lot better and had a plan of action in mind. To say her advice was great is to underestimate her advice.

We got the kid out of his room and back here at this desk, working on his project. Cause the end result of this trauma is to not do the work. In fact, he was in taking a nap. While he began to get to work, we calmly removed all the "perks" from his room. TV, radio, clock radio, Magic cards, keyboard, Gameboy....whatever we thought he'd turn to. These will be returned as he proves his worth.

The hitting thing? Next time I will call the cops. This is really hard for me. I know the cops and how they work. They take first and ask questions later. But I'm not going to live in fear of my own son in my own home. I'm not the victim I once was. It won't happen again without my calling for the police.

Situation resolved, I cook some dinner and try to shake off the tears and see how bad the bruise will be (hardly none, although it does hurt) and the kid logs on to do some research. Right after he does, my stepmom calls back asking me to call her.

I dry my hands (I was doing dishes) and call her back. She has some information about this doctor she recommened the kid might see. We considered the possibility that he might have ADHD or some other thing that's pushing him over the anger edge. Anyhow, she calls with this. Then she has further information, another doctor's name....and she gives me the name and says.....(hold on to yourself)

This is the doctor that did my sisters breast reduction. My father will pay (most, not all) for me to have the surgery.

I'm tearing up thinking of it. I mean...I mean...there are not enough words for this. She says that she told him it "was time to step up" and take care of this. She offered to go with me to the appointment and that she'd call and MAKE the appointment herself, since the doctor is already familiar with her. She did explain that dad wasn't comfortable talking to me about it, because....well, I don't actually remember. I was too busy crying, again....(which he had mentioned) to really keep up.

I called dad after. My opening sentence was, "You are a strange little man." Which is true. Then I said thank you, which seems so woefully inadquate. I mean it's just not ever going to be enough. But I tried.

Then I ate my dinner and watched my shows. And in the background of my brain? "I'm going to ...." and I stop. Cause I just can't believe it's true. That it's possible. That its even within the boundaries of my reality. I will probably not believe it until someone puts a mask over my face and knocks me unconscious and I wake up from that....free.

Cause having this problem is to be chained. Mentally tied up in knots, in ways you didn't even know you were tied up. And to have someone come along and just unlock that....is freedom. I still can't concieve of the concept.

To say I'm tired is an understatement. It's been an exhausting day, an exhausting week. I'm crying, again, from hope and gratitude. I should probably go right off the internet and just go to bed. *wipes tears* G'night.