Inventory after the fact...

Like an Inventory of Being, this is written after domestic violence.

Alone, again
never quite whole, again
my side feels empty
without a man, again...

I am woman, hear me roar
*squeak*

A lioness naked without her mane...

I chopped off all my hair for him
I nearly changed my name for him
I belonged, body, mind and soul to him...

I let him spank my little girl.
(I'll never forgive myself for letting him spank my little girl.)

She made him mad.  She woke him in the night, with her fears; he had work to do, he had shift-work to do, he had dangerous welding-he-could-die work to do... she kept coming through, he kept complaining, there was nothing I could do ... so he said he'd deal with it, and he did -- he scared her and spanked her and I wasn't allowed to comfort her.

He's gone now.  She wakes less in the night now.

I don't sleep so well.

He spent all my money, he smoked it and drank it... he ran up my credit card and trashed my credit score... he owes my mom $$ he owes me $$ .... he's gone now.

He has a new woman now. Less than six months have gone by and he is going to marry her. She is going to take his name.  Maybe she doesn't argue when he expects her to do all the cooking, and cleaning, and shopping, and manage the bills and plan the meals and plan the weekend entertainment, and have dinner ready when he gets home, and be naked in the kitchen, and in the mood for his desires whenever the mood strikes, in sickness or in health, 'til death (which never comes soon enough).

I miss him.  I think.  I don't know what I miss about him.  I miss me more -- I miss the confidence I had when we met. I miss the woman I was who could attract a man like that ...... like what I thought he was.  Now I can hardly leave the house... I'm terrified to try. I'm afraid that if I find someone I'm interested in that I wont know how to find the warning signs... I'm afraid of myself.  I can hardly spell the word confident, let alone wear it feet-first.

Its good now, with just my little girl and me. We laugh more. We talk more. We snuggle and tell silly stories more......

Her bedtime is before 9pm.  

The late nights are quiet.  The weekends when she is visiting her dad are quieter. The two weeks at a time in the summer when she is gone are almost unbearable.

I'm free... but I'm not sure how to be me.

Who am I? What do I want? When will my hair grow back??