The Evolution of Dizzy

I’m at a pivotal stage of my evolution. I’m beginning to lighten up on my man-hater stance. I think it’s sad that it’s taken the loss of someone special and many years to get here.

CAUTION: This is going to be a heavy read. Proceed at your own risk!

The men in my life have earned their spot through trial, error (usually on my part) and YEARS! Most of the men in my life, I’ve known forever, i.e. at least 15 years. Only one or two don’t meet the lengthy year criteria. I have serious trust issues and always have. Don’t get me wrong…when I’m in a relationship, I trust you 100% at least when it comes to other women. I am not one of those women that check up on their men, because if I have to do that, you’re too much work for me.

My issues stem from the Anti Christ Step-Father. Ok…it’s going to get a little deep here. These are things I don’t normally talk about or tell people. Only a couple of people know the details and the fact that I’m about to put it out into the Internet ether scares the crap outta me. But the ACA classes say that “you’re only as sick as your secrets”…so

The Anti Christ (let’s refer to him as AC to alleviate some typing) came into my life around age 4 (my brother is 14 months younger). He was an ex-con and an alcoholic, but my Mom had extremely low self-esteem and continually hooked up with losers. He is driven by the need to exert power and be smarter than anyone around him. The sad thing is, he’s a complete idiot, but it took me awhile to realize that. The parentals decided to get into the Jehovah’s Witness religion, which put a whole new spin my childhood. AC was driven by the need to be the best witness possible, and expected us to do the same. He eventually became an Elder in the Kingdom Hall (church) and we were expected to have our bible verses memorized, and to be the ultimate example of what witness children should be. The pressure was enormous.

Our home was a “spare the rod, spoil the child” home. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but the older we got, the more violent the beatings. My sister came along when I was 8 years old. Since she was his biological child, she was never beaten like we were. I’m not upset about that because it meant that I didn’t have to try and deflect any anger going in her direction. But my brother could never quite measure up to whatever it was that AC wanted, so I had my work cut out for me there.

AC was a master at the ultimate mind fucks! He was constantly trying to mess with our heads to get the upper hand and make himself feel superior. The older I got, the better I got at these games, and soon, I was manipulating situations so that my brother wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of ACs anger. Don’t get me wrong…I could not save him all the time, but more often than not, I was able to deflect ACs attention from him to me. AC was also a screamer. It got to the point where mentally, I could shut out the sound of his voice and not hear it…but then I’d get in trouble if he was yelling for me and I didn’t come running. I didn't realize that it took me well into my twenties to break this. Once someone would start yelling, my hearing would click off.

Around age 11, the method of punishment changed from a leather strap to his fists. I don’t know if my mother chose not to see it, but I do know that she had her own prison and often had bruises, black eyes, etc. I didn’t realize it at first, but AC loved to see us cry. He felt like he made an impact if he could get that response from me and my brother. The tables started to turn soon after a trip my parents made. They had found some weed in a drawer on their trip and smoked it. They then confessed to the Elders of the Kingdom Hall and AC was demoted very publicly at the Kingdom Hall. I took this as the ultimate betrayal. “You expect me to be perfect, and punish me when I’m not, but you can do whatever the heck you please and we have to suffer it?” And from there, his control started to slip with me. I think he realized it but didn’t quite know what to do, so he just got more violent. Eventually, both parents were excommunicated due to infidelity, and my thought was that due to the hypocrisy, I no longer had to follow the religion.

I was about 14 when all hell broke loose. He had left a set of instructions for house chores for me and my brother. He had drawn a line down the middle to delineate today’s chores versus tomorrow’s chores. However, he moved his line around, which made it confusing for us. So we did what we thought were all of the day’s chores. He came home, looked over the list and was furious because we’d left one of the chores undone (thinking it was for the next day). He started yelling and screaming and calling us liars and thrusting this paper in our face to try and make us change our story and say that we lied. My brother caved in (self preservation) but I got angry. I wasn’t going to cave and let him push me around anymore. I told him that I wasn’t changing my story. His face turned purple with rage and he hauled his fist back and let it fly. He hit me so hard, I flew over our sofa and hit the floor.

He waited for the crying, the sobbing, the “I’m sorry”, the changing of the tune, but it didn’t come this time. I hauled myself up and stared at him, waiting to see what would come next and somehow knowing that this was a defining moment that would change the rest of my life. What proceeded was a beating of a lifetime, but I didn’t make a sound. I shoved everything I was feeling down and showed no emotion. I didn’t even raise my hands to protect myself. When it was over, I stopped talking. I wouldn’t say a word to him or my mother. This went on for a couple of weeks and we had a family vacation looming. He was worried that my silence would ruin the trip, so he kept trying everything he could to get me to talk and participate. I did end up communicating on the trip because I wasn’t going to ruin it for my brother or sister. But from that moment on, he knew that he lost his power over me. No matter what he did, said, or how he punished me, I stopped responding and he hated that.

This is when I became a militant female. I had pretty much formulated in my mind that I would never be treated like my mother and I would never let a man hit me and not suffer consequences for it. I would learn to be independent and self sufficient so I wouldn’t have to rely on a man for support. The problem with this is… I didn’t know where to draw the line. If men can’t be trusted, then how can I allow a man to emotionally support me? How can I bare my soul and hand a man the means to damage it?

Lucky for me, some really great men are a part of my life and have been for years. RW, CH, MM, RK, MK, MM, NT have all somehow managed to tear down the barriers that I put up. They know I’m damaged and that I’m vocal, independent, militant, etc., but they somehow understand and love me nonetheless. The funny thing is, I generally prefer guy friends to girl friends and in my earlier years hung out more with guys. Marriage kind of changed that to a certain extent, but I have guy friends that I hit happy hour with and stuff. My girl friends have attributes that are similar to mine in some ways so they’re familiar to me.

Basically, this is where all the piss and vinegar comes into play. This is why I challenge every man that comes down the pike. This is where my “I don’t give a fuck” mentality comes from and why I speak out the way I do. It doesn’t make me a feminist (as I’ve said in the past) it makes me a survivalist. This is why I usually try to sabotage a relationship so I don’t have to run the risk that a man will screw up my life. But I’ve lightened up a bit. While I’m more of a “want a man vs need a man” in my life, I’m beginning to question what would be wrong with needing. Don’t I want someone to need me? Not to the point where I have to take care of them all of the time, but is love needing or wanting or both?

I freely admit to being an emotional cripple. It’s why I don’t always read signals correctly. The man I’m with may be sending me a signal that he wants me to tell him how much I care about him, and I don’t always read it that way. You know how women expect men to read their minds and to know what they need, how they need it and tell them all the time that they love them? Well, in this analogy…I’m the man. You have to be upfront and blunt for me to get it. Once I do, I’ll make sure to follow through. I am not the kind of woman to ask a man if I look fat in an outfit (a GF, yes)…I don’t want to hear the answer and I don’t care. While I may have body dysmorphia issues, you will not hear me say “I look fat” (it’s the scars that bother me). As every second goes by, my confidence level is higher and higher and I am getting more and more comfortable in my skin. So much so, that aside from my momentary lapse of reason in Cabo, I generally take charge in sexual situations (yes, it must be a partnership, but I’m not going to just lay there and take it without giving back). And since I can’t read your mind, I want you to tell me what you want, how you want it, etc. Just expect the same from me.

This is why, in my dreams, I don't drop the weapon when it comes time for fight or flight. I'm the chick with the katana and I just start hacking away. Or if its a gun, I pull the trigger when necessary. Or if its my fists, then I'm planting one right in your face. This is why, in life, I come off strong. I don't want you detecting any weakness about me. I want the man that is even considering stopping to harass me to be thinking twice about it. But don't make the mistake that I won't follow through, because I will go down fighting...I always have and I always will.

I know this was a heavy read, but I don’t have a heavy heart writing it. I used too, but I’m so much more ahead of the game now. Whether I like it or not, I learned some lessons that other people never get. With a little luck, I’ll just about have my evolution figured out….right about the time I leave this earth in my late 90’s or early 100’s (unless my niece is reading this…then I’ll be about 200...oh, wait, I'm not allowed to die until 3015).