The mission of justexhale.org is to raise awareness of the STIGMA associated with Mental Health in our society and its crippling real-life affects by speaking openly of harsh truths.
Mother lived with bi-polar disorder and was a complete drama queen alcoholic my entire life in her house.
She was extremely overly-protective to my DETRIMENT. She was a Supreme Narcissist. She got sober just as I was running out the door to college to get away from her. She was unfit. But, she was my mother and I loved her.
Through everything she did that ultimately hurt me, I know she always loved me.
She was always there for me and into my adult years she offered support and advice. She was an excellent grandmother to my children and I know this is hard for them to know. My youngest son will never know her. He was barely two when she took her life.
ONE THING she taught me, and she'd say it over and over;
"People will only treat you
the way you allow
them to treat you."
This is not only true, but it's helped me piss some people off. People that needed an eye-opener, in my opinion.
I wish she told me that when I was thirteen.
Mother was abused so horribly by her mother. This woman, my grandmother was so evil in the name of God. This woman paid $50k in the 1990's to have her name etched in a stone at her church while my mother suffered horrifically from breast cancer, not once, but twice. Grandmother wouldn't give Mother a penny because she was from HELL. Mother not only went through TWO bilateral mastectomy's and still had complications that were unthinkable. The doctors just butchered her and she got infected to the point of black. Grandmother had her own life. I would say it was hard because it was for everyone then for basics. Her parents died young and she raised her siblings. For me that is zero excuse for the way she treated my mother.
When I was 22, my husband left me with two children to move to Paris with a Bi-polar, bullemic model. Grandmother blamed me. As she screamed at me about how it was my fault that my children were "bastards". I never spoke to that woman ever again. She passed away a month after Mother took her life.
These are things that lead to being a target down the road.
Domenic EULA was elated to know and take advantage of me by using this knowledge against me.
It takes a special type of freak to do that, or even try.
Domenic EULA - put so much garbage and lies in my head at a time when he knew I had put my guard down.
Now, I know to never let my guard down again as well as to not allow myself any HOPE.
What is the point of living without hope for something better?
If a lawyer is ever on my side I know there is plenty of grey area to say I was like this before.
Well, I wasn't. Nothing like this. Trapped, berated and treated like tar on someone's shoe over four years is enough to break just about anyone.
Domenic EULA knew every story. Every pretty messed up story. He couldn't wait for more as he planned to use it to destroy me if I left. HAH!
But it wasn't often I was allowed to speak of ANY of it.
The moment I was in his lair - One ground-rule: No weepiness or crying, no moodiness, not even a deep sigh. I would get called out if ANY of those things were possibly to happen on 'his watch'. His house was museum quiet.
Domenic EULA is deaf in his right ear. But if I were to sigh in a different room he'd miraculously hear me and freak. He said it made him feel like he was 'walking on eggshells' when I did that.
A deep sigh is a side effect amongst many other favorites you had no idea you did - such as hum; when you live with anxiety. He would mock me for humming.
Mother did that too - hum without realizing it. Drove me nuts. Here I am.
This is trauma, no matter how you slice it.
Domenic EULA really got fed up by my presence. I'd arrange things differently on a shelf. Different from exactly how he wanted things. Or how he's had it for years. It would grate on him and we'd argue about it for days. When I say 'argue', I mean he'd bitch about it and wouldn't let it go. But he'd SAY it's "water under the bridge" and "forgotten" but then I'd still hear snide, under-the-breath comments which of course, I'd call him out for.
That is disrespectful.
To anybody in any situation - anytime, ever.
Domenic EULA has zero respect for women or human beings at all. He believes he is superior.
He will praise you with his highest praise which was never that high.
Before I agreed to move in with him I asked him point-blank and repeatedly:
Promise you'll never tell me what to do. He agreed profusely.
Promise you will not try and control me.... of course, he's a man. He agreed.
I could have had that signed by Domenic EULA in blood and it would do me no good.
Those are two different questions and I harped on it.
Did nothing for me.
This man is quite charming. He's extremely well-read, he holds a Master's degree.
He's very confident. Almost like royalty. He is equally persuasive and manipulative with compliments.
The same compliment by an opponent of his would pale by comparison.
I taught Domenic EULA a new word at age 78. The word was empathy.
He was certain it had the same meaning as sympathy. [This seriously embarrassed him]
Here I am with my far inferior little Associate of Arts. He and his masters.
House rule: PTSD does not exist. Period
Rule #2 My way or the Highway
Rule #3 No mental help or therapy
Domenic EULA considered it a waste of money to lay on someone's couch. A perfect curmudgeon answer.
This was not up for debate. I was to spring happily out of bed with a Julie Andrew's smile and skip about my day.
He knew about my issues more than he wanted to.
Seriously, he did NOT want to hear about it.....but then he'd ASK a QUESTION that would prompt something for me to feel defensive about, and there you go. I was invited to find a shovel and pick a spot in the yard to bury "all of my problems".
My ONLY choice to get Mental Health Help was through Medicaid at the time. This was after he had thrown me out altogether. This was in the 4 Corners area of Colorado.
I was given the choice of a male or female counselor. I thought, it really shouldn't matter, right? I chose a man simply because women can be catty. Bad Choice.
The man I was appointed seemed "fine" at first. Although he seemed to talk about himself quite a bit. I wrote that off as him trying to connect on my level. Then he began giving me $20 bills each session in a planned but nonchalant manner. I immediately put that into the gas tank of my then Dodge Ram pickup and didn't put too much thought into it because I had bigger worries flying at me every minute, or so it seemed at that time. It didn't dawn on me that my counselor was hitting on me. That was where my head was at that time. It was 2019. Once I collected my thoughts and put them in writing in the form of a complaint, I'm guessing maybe I wasn't the only one. He is no longer licensed in the State of Colorado.
It just did not stop.