Squaw Make Silent Tears Thirty-Two Years

Disclaimer: This is based on a true story. Certain names and details have been changed.

July 23, 2012 – Ten days prior to Aaron’s suicide attempt, I wrote the following text to my friend J_:

Me: I may be a widow before I ever become a divorcee. Kids say they are bracing themselves for the phone call. Aaron sent a message this morning telling me he hasn’t wanted to live ever since I left. His demeanor is mirroring his brother’s demeanor just before he took his own life four years ago. I get texts from Aaron that vacillate from one extreme emotion to another. I don’t need to write a book. Aaron is writing one for me, text by text. I can start the book with his older brother’s suicide, move on to Aaron’s self-harm during our courtship, then his aunt’s suicide, then my nephew’s suicide, then our daughters suicide attempts, then his younger brother’s suicide, and then conclude it with Aaron’s suicide. There might be enough material for a trilogy. But in truth, J_, though I jest, Aaron’s demise is so painful to witness, the kids and I can hardly bare it. The nightmare continues in the outer fringes of my pretended happiness.

July 23, 2012

J_: Poor Aaron.  Earth life has been so difficult for him. You took good care of him for so many years but he was beyond repair. You can always feel good about your sacrifices.

July 24, 2012

Me: Aaron’s in good form today. Here is the message he cc’d to me:

“Use to be White Eyes (me) had Squaw…just needed TeePee…now Whites Eyes in Heap Big trouble and Big Fork in the Road…now White Eyes need new Squaw…and TeePee…what White Eyes to do?

Maybe White Eyes need to ride horse better…not get thrown off by squaw while napping!

Just a little levity

Dad”

I no longer respond to Aaron’s texts unless absolutely necessary. But I would’ve liked to have written this in return: Maybe if Whites Eyes do not nap so much he could have bought BIG teepee for 10 cow squaw wife. Now Whites Eyes, squaw and papoose’s all have red eyes from cry too much.

July 24, 2012

J_: I love your response. You have so much self control in not sending it to him.

July 24, 2012

Me: I learned about a month ago that one cannot fight the devil and expect to win no matter how witty one thinks one is. I gain nothing from responding.

July 25, 2012

Me: Squaw make many new friend at LDS Singles. Meet big chief Craig Terry of Craig’s List and now on special email list for much sand volleyball, raindance and parties. No more 10 cow squaw wife. Price gone up since squaw still have nice ass, silk skin, much brain, white teeths, happy smile and papooses grown and not in teepee. Squaw not have to hunt food, make big cook fires, clean, be like white slave girl while White Eyes sit on lazy ass in teepee, keep warm by fire, nap much, shop much much much. (Oops. Not all tomahawks buried yet.) Squaw work hard still. Squaw build better life. Squaw free prison now White Eyes gone.

July 25, 2012

J_: Man oh man I wish you could send that to White Eyes.

July 25, 2012

Me: White Eyes have evil orange eyes. No can send. Squaw laugh silent laugh just like silent tears thirty-two years.

Party of One

Sometimes, I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched and look for a red laser beam on my chest. I always close my blinds when the sun goes down.

Sometimes, I wonder what day he’ll choose for his suicide/homicide. My birthday perhaps?

Sometimes, I wonder whether or not to attend a dance or special event because “he” might be there with a loaded gun.

Sometimes, I wonder about seemingly selfless acts of kindness. Why is this guy being nice? Who is he really? Who will he become when my wall comes down?

Sometimes, I jokingly say, “All men (and women) are sociopaths until proven otherwise.” I’m not really joking.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll go to my grave having never been loved.

Sometimes, I wonder if Humpty Dumpty is laughing at all the king’s horses and all the king’s men trying to put my shattered soul back together again.

Sometimes, I remind myself that I can’t possibly go to the grave having never been loved because I love me…and, it’s okay if I’m just a party of one…because I’m a f**king awesome…worthy of love.

Note from Lucy Furr: If you suspect that you’re in an abusive relationship or have been in one, I have several tips and resources that helped me escape my perpetrator. They are as follows:

  1. You don’t have to be physically assaulted to seek help from the women’s shelter. When I landed in the women’s shelter, my then-husband had never beaten me, though I lived in fear that he might.
  2. If you’re not sure you’re in an abusive relationship, seek help from the women’s shelter. They can help you sort out your emotions and answer questions.
  3. If you don’t want live in the women’s shelter, contact them anyway. They have an out-reach program that offers many resources and classes that are helpful.
  4. If someone is holding you hostage via suicidal threats, you’re likely in an abusive relationship. The women’s shelter can help you learn how to deal with suicidal partners in a healthier way.
  5. I strongly recommend reading the book, “Why Does He Do That?” by Lundy Bancroft. Even if you’re not in an abusive relationship, this is the best book on the market to learn about the red flags of manipulation and control. It’s the most important book you’ll ever read. All young girls should read this book before they start dating. (Note: The book isn’t just for women. It’s written for men too. The author didn’t want to say he/she throughout his book so he chose one gender for ease of writing.)
  6. Leaving an abuser is the most dangerous time for a victim. If your perpetrator hasn’t physically assaulted you yet, he/she might easily escalate to physical violence when he/she believes you might leave. Most domestic related homicides take place when a victim is leaving his/her partner. Don’t let your perpetrator know that you’re leaving.
  7. Just because a controlling person has no record of having been physically violent in the past, this doesn’t mean he/she won’t become physically violent in the future.
  8. Don’t jump into other relationships after leaving an abusive partner. Trust me. You’re f**ked up. It will take time, therapy and a lot of self-reflection to break the pattern of abuse.
  9. Movies and television don’t depict sociopaths accurately. They don’t look or act anything like Dexter or Hannibal Lecter. I highly recommend reading the book, “The Sociopath Next Door” by Martha Stout.
  10. Before you attempt to date again, I recommend reading the book, “Dating Game Secrets to Marrying a Good Man” by Alisa Snell.
  11. Educate yourself about sociopaths. Visit: LoveFraud.com or PsychopathFree.com

The Knucklehead – a f**ked up poem

Disclaimer: This post is based on a true story. Certain names and details have been changed.

The knucklehead shot his head, then bled dark red.

I am well-bred, well-read, web-fed

and fought him not…then fled instead.

 

Note: The knucklehead survived without debilitating him, though his pearly white smile is drastically altered. In 1980, when we were dating, I tried to break up with him. (My first attempted escape.) To keep me, he resorted to self-harm and cut his face and hands with a broken beer bottle, then arrived, bleeding, at my doorstep with the words, “Evil spirits took over my body. I don’t know how I got away. I only feel safe with you.” I didn’t know anything about personality disorders or mental illnesses so I didn’t realize this was a great big red flag–a weapon of control. As a Mormon, I believed it was my christian duty to take care of this broken man. Instead of running from him I married him. When I finally left him thirty years later, he resorted to the only thing he believed would bring me back: self harm. This time his self harm didn’t work because I’d been educated about psychological manipulation and control. My then-husband wasn’t really attempting suicide. Hell, he was a hoarder and had an arsenal of weapons at his disposal. Choosing a .22 pistol pointed at the back of his throat was his lame attempt at winning me back.When he came out of surgery, the first thing he wrote on a piece of paper was my name.  So romantic. It’s a wonder I didn’t go running back.