Abuse & truck repairs = craptasticness

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This week has been what is known as craptastically crappy.  I am pretty sure I am living under a black cloud, my own personal cloud of doom.  And it’s been raining poo upon me.  A disgusting visual, I know, but one that accurately describes my week.

Craptastic:  Level 1
Over the two weeks my hubby was home on R&R, we shelled out several hundred dollars on the repair and maintenance of my vehicle of doom my money sucking truck my SUV.  So the last week and a half has involved living carefully until pay day, which is today.  Normally I would be shouting for joy and kissing my ATM card with the knowledge that we have money again.  Except for the fact that my my vehicle of doom my money sucking truck my SUV is in the shop again to have it’s ass end looked at by the truck proctologist.  No, seriously, something that involves the words “rear”, “gears”, and “seal” is in need of repair.  Fine.  My husband was quoted $210, plus the cost of inspection.  Currently, we are sittin at $335, with the promise of brake pads and possibly rotors, too, in the near future.  The moral of the story is that the craptasticness never ends.

Craptastic:  Level 2
And that is the good part of my week.  The bad part began Wednesday and is sticking with me still.  I have a tooth in the front and the bottom of it that should be covered by gum is exposed.  So I went to the dentist.  As it turns out, I have significant issues that are going to require a crap ton (a technical measurement) of work to fix.  Apparently it is a case of things are worse than they look.  Craptastic.  So I had a crap ton of x-rays done and I have to go back in a few weeks to talk treatment plans,… and the fun begins.  Deep cleaning to start things off, possible extractions, braces, implants, etc.  I have a lot of bone loss and bone damage to my jaw and teeth and if it doesn’t get taken care of now, I could start losing teeth.  Craptastic.

And you know what?  The dental work doesn’t scare me.  I love my dentist, and I have never had a fear of going to the dentist.  My issues, and I have a crap ton of those, too, are all with the reasons and the events that make all of this necessary.  18+ years after the fact, after years and years of moveing past and beyond it, my past is hitting my square in the face.  Literally.  I had a very abusive ex-husband.  He had some mental issues that resulted in some very severe anger and violence issues.  Yes, I tried to escape, but that isn’t as easy as it sounds.  I got away, he followed, trapped me, and violence ensued.  Over and over.  I won’t go into the depths of the violence right here and now, but trust me when I say it was at times both horrific and frequent.  I have had bone scans done and my entire skeletal system is riddled with healed fractures, both hairline and more.  Now 18+ years later, I am in all kinds of pain, both big and small, that are the direct result of some of that violence.  I have been in some level of pain for so long that I usually don’t even notice anymore.  It is just something I am used to.

But this is the first time I have been as confronted with it as I am, the first time I have really needed massive treatment in order to fix the damage.  After the inital examination, the assistant gave me a speech about my lack of dental hygiene, assuming that was the root cause of my issues.  When those x-rays came back, she changed her tune once she saw the damage on the films.  Too late.  I felt like crap.  When the dentist came in and began to talk, it was obvious he knew there was trauma involved.  It was only too obvious.  I sat in the chair struggling not to cry.  He noticed, and I broke down and explained.  18+ years later and it all has come rushing back to me.  All the pain, the fear, the hurt.  All of it.  The fact that I am having to do all of this because of what that man did to me hurts me in my heart and in my soul.  I can’t close my eyes without the nightmares coming back to me.  Every time I close my eyes, I see him in front of me, bashing me in the face with the butt of a rifle.  I see him lashing out at me with his fists, a mag light, whatever he could get his hands on.

Part of me is angry, so angry.  Angry because he did this to me.  Angry because I have to go through all this.  Angry because it is all coming back to me.  Angry because it still bothers me.  Another part of me is so full of resentment that I feel like my head is going to burst.

This isn’t healthy for me, but some part of me feels like I need to give myself permission to feel what I am feeling and accept it as a part of it.

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