There's No Place Like Home ... Thank Goodness!

I was doing a little reminiscing not too long ago and decided to google the address of my childhood home. When I found the latest real estate listing, I was surprised by how little it has changed. The landscaping is a bit different, the lot is now fenced, there is a flag pole in the front yard, and there are a few other cosmetic changes and updates inside, but overall? It looks very much like it did in 1966 when my parents bought it new.

That window on the far left? That was my bedroom from the time I was 2 until I moved out at 19. There was one winter when the snow drifted all the way up to the bottom of that window - extremely unusual for the Seattle area. That is also the window I used to look out from for hours, waiting for my alcoholic father to make it home safely from whatever bar he was at that night.

That driveway? It's where I dropped and shattered an empty mayonnaise jar (I was catching bugs) when I was 8, then tried to pick up the shards of glass with my bare hands so I wouldn't get in trouble. I sliced open the side of my right hand. I still have the scar.

It's also where my dad, in a fit of drunken anger, threw his keys at me, splitting open my lip, because I had been talking to a guy on the airplane we had just been on. A guy who was old enough to be my father. My dad accused me of flirting with him and called me a slut (I was 14 - the guy was helping me with my calculus) right before saying, "I'll make sure you never think you're cute enough to do that again!"

17 years of my life, and as I sit here thinking about it, I can't come up with any great memories. In fact, it was a prison in many ways. There were some really terrible things that happened behind those walls, and as long as they stayed behind those walls, everyone thought we were the perfect family.

This house is full of secrets that no one ever saw or heard about.

17 years.

I hope the people who have lived there since have filled that house with enough laughter and joy to make up for the 17 years of on-again, off-again, terror that I experienced here.

Pearls Anyone?

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Remember this little Snarky Pearl of Wisdom?? It was number 1 on my list of 10:

There is no such thing as anonymity in life -
not in the "real" world and not in the "cyber" world.
You might get away with your shit for a while,
but not forever. Being sneaky will always catch up with you.

"A while" met "not forever" yesterday ...

I receive a phone call from husband. He asked if I could come over and cut the cat's nails (a normal request) but he sounded odd. I knew immediately something was off. I asked if he was OK. He said it depended on my answers to a few questions he needed to ask me - "we needed to talk"

A million scenarios ran through my head. I was concerned, but somewhat calm knowing no matter what it was, I had a home to go back to.

He placed a box in front of me. It was a box I received as the winner of a blog drawing. It had been sent to the house - HIS house - OUR house.

He asked me what it was. I told him it was a prize package I won over 2 years ago in a drawing from someone I met through blogging.

He asked specifically about the card - a passage that read:

Of course if the chocolate does melt you can just smear it all over you for a HNT post. Ha! My brain always goes in just one direction.

There wasn't hesitation. I told the story. I admitted to looking for the attention on-line that I wasn't getting at home. I admitted to giving up on the marriage in the last year we were still living in the same home.

In a strange twist, husband's concern was not really the content of the card once he realized this was not someone I had actual physical contact with. No, his concern was the fact that I had a package sent to OUR home by someone I had never met. Not only did this "stranger" have my real name, but he had my (our) home address.

He was right. Although the choice to give this particular blogger my full name and address was well thought out and quite safe, husband did not know that. I had - in essence - invited a stranger to come in through the front door of our home.

He asked me what I was thinking. I told him I wasn't thinking about anyone other than myself, and really hadn't been for the last year of the marriage. I apologized.

After some discussion, it became clear that both of us had been doing our best to hurt the other in the last year or so of the marriage. He knew my Achilles Heel. I knew his. We had both become angry, hurtful, spiteful, ugly people.

It was a good conversation. I'm not sure where things stand at this point, but I know that one of my greatest secrets is now "out there." There is immense relief in that. Letting that secret be known put me in line with the person I want to be more like. It was liberating.

No, the blog isn't going anywhere and it's not going private. I don't know if he will choose to seek it out and read it, or if he was more concerned with my lack of respect for his privacy. I believe it was the latter, but I know he may also read (and ogle) every last thing I've posted. Hiding the blog now would be little more than a futile attempt to lessen who I am, and I'm done with that.

Blogging, in and of itself, was not the primary topic of the conversation - my lack of respect for the things important to him was.

He was right. I didn't respect him. I didn't care. And it felt so good to finally admit that to the person who needed to hear it.

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