An odd feature of my disability I know what's wrong and can discuss it.
For instance, my sense of proprioception, my sense of where I am. What does that mean? Driving is a good example, I couldn't keep track of my location in relation to the other cars around me. Walking around I occasionally run into things because I can't process their location in time to stop.
When I was young I had a terrible time learning to walk as a result of this. I was about 2 before I learned. My aunt has said she doesn't remember my exact milestones, but she and my grandmother often commented I was reaching them far beyond my slightly older girl cousin. She would do X at 6 months, I would be 9 or 10 months. I was actually diagnosed as "borderline retarded" as an infant. Let me tell you that sent my mother into a spiral. Even as late as my teens, my "performance" was always a solid 80 or so (limited) in comparison to sky high verbal intelligence scores.
God can and does make beauty for ashes, because of all this, I have an evangelism ministry. That said the old proprioception/;;;;" got me last night and I smacked the outside of my hand, on my hand cart, as I brought a heavy case of Bibles in the house. It's an incredibly minor injury, the cats do far worse to me regularly. It did bleed a fair amount. I was standing in front of the sink, dripping blood, laughing because it's the same finger I broke when I fell on the Bible Handout a few years ago.
Like I said, incredibly minor. I was surprised how much it bled. I also thought that is funny 2x at least I have been hurt sharing the gospel to the point of shedding blood. I don't think a lot of Americans can say that.
But I just have a different life and I have come to accept that. A lot of cats, a lot of evangelism. A thankless retail hustle. A nice safe place to live but in the ghetto every time I leave my neighborhood.
My allergies have been pretty bad so I tried some Flonase last night. I slept pretty well but I had a Flonase headache this morning. I'm glad I'm off.
Biscuit got under the covers with me this morning which thrilled me. Cats hate, hate, hate being under the covers. I don't even try. But, on his own, he wiggled under there next to me curled up on my side (that's just how I sleep), he snuggled into the curve of my body and stuck his head out from under the covers. I would have loved a photo. I wrapped an arm around him (not over, they hate that too, around) and just enjoyed him. He left about 10 minutes later. What a sweet boy!
Spotty got up in my lap while I was doing the earlier part of the blog.
I double checked the schedule and I'm still off for 4 days with a 4 hour shift on Monday!
One of my friends who drives a bus late at night called me last night to verify I wasn't riding. It was miserably cold last night and I thought that was tremendously sweet. People love me, I am seeing that.
Ron did a real number on me.
Here's another one. I'll even put up a link:
So he got very drunk and beat the crap out of me, if you don't want to read the link. I was black and blue for weeks. Arms, legs, he hit me in the face but it didn't bruise.
Side note, a coworker accidentally smacked me in the face with something, was hugely remorseful (this woman is made of sugar and not a spiteful bone in her). I said, absently "Don't worry, I've been hit in the face plenty and it never leaves a mark" I heard a choked gasp and I looked up at her goggling at me, mouth open. I simply said "My husband" and went back to work.
So my face was OK but the rest of me was not. I stayed with my aunt and uncle for a while. 1. Because, like I said in the post, I wanted to kill him. 2. I didn't want him to kill me. 3. I had to figure out where I was going.
Long story short I went back. I thought the blackout was a one time deal.
Side note, Ron actually told me, when we were dating "I have blackouts and I beat up my girlfriend during one of them, but she had it coming and I don't do that anymore. You're not like that I would never hurt you and I don't drink anymore" I didn't realize what that meant. I read part of a report written on me that said, in part "Heather is extremely naive and trusting" and boy was I.
Anyway I thought he had learned his lesson, he acted remorseful. I also found out Ron would lose his federal security clearance if he was charged with domestic violence (a good idea, actually), so we would both be unemployed if I pressed charges. I would lose my home, the cats, my whole life. For what? He made a big production out of pouring out the alcohol. Swore he would never drink anything stronger than wine and only a box a month.
Ron had a really bad habit with the drinking. He would drink more than he had agreed and say "See, I'm fine I don't need these rules" and that happened pretty quickly.
This isn't really about that, awful as it was. This is about when I came back. So I came back and Ron acted like the victim. He would make big, dramatic, apologies in front of other people but in private basically tell me I had it coming because I tried to keep him from walking on broken glass in his bare feet. He would do these long, pitiful speeches about how "I really messed up' to our regular drivers who would feel sorry for him. He beat the crap out of me! If I'd pressed charges he would have gone to prison!
That, to me, was the sickest and most disgusting thing. That he would beat the crap out of me and make himself out to be the victim. Side note: everyone, and I mean everyone, kept asking me "What did you do to make him beat you up?"
It doesn't work that way!