Because I am Not a Prostitute

I am not going to sit here and tell you that it is always going to be ok.

 

Because some days will be really shitty.

 

I don't care who you are or what your life is like, you will have bad days.

 

So it isn't necessarily a matter of making every day amazing---it seems like the heart of the matter is making sure we are strong enough to handle the days where we are punched in the stomach over and over.

 

Sometimes our safe places are compromised.

We build them. They seem like they're strong. And then someone finds a way to destroy a piece.

 

We have to learn to rebuild them over and over again.

Because we are going to have to.

 

I was so happy yesterday.

My safe place was life yesterday.

I had counseling and had almost nothing to talk about---which is good because I truly wasn't hiding anything. I wasn't being afraid. I was just doing good!

I felt like life had hit a stand still of happiness.

Just give me a few days, please?

 

But my life just doesn't seem to work that way.

 

I hit a bump in the road.

 

 

Last night, Peter accused me of being a prostitute. And I'm not joking even a little bit. Like not even the teensiest, tiniest bit. He was acting like an ass and kept sending me weird texts about photography and when I'd ask what he meant, he would reply, "You know what I'm talking about...", as if I'm the world's greatest ass hole reader.

 

Unfortunatly, I am not.

 

And after a bit of asking and a while of ignoring his idiocy, he told me a friend had showed him pictures of me from a Craigslist ad.

 

What. The. Fucking. Hell.

 

I'll tell you what my first reaction was---I wasn't worried at all. Because even as a rebellious teenager, I have never in my life taken and/or released inappropriate pictures of myself on the internet. Ever. But my next reaction was anger and hurt all mixed together.

 

I told him I would not be playing his mind games and that if he would like to email me proof, he could do so and then we could discuss it further---or not---because really, either way, it's none of his business.

 

With some coaxing and then a little more ignoring, Peter called me on the phone to apologize for upsetting me---because apparently, that was never his intention. Who knew!?!

 I told him without him sending me proof, our conversation would be over so as I sat on the phone with him, he sent an email with a picture attachment.

 

A picture attachment that consisted of a busty woman's cleavage---and her head cut out of the picture.

 

And I couldn't help but bust out laughing on the phone.

Is he really this much of an idiot?

 

Well, my laughter offended him---because remember, he is just looking out for me. He claims there were multiple other photos that were more inappropriate and showed sides of this woman's face and that it looked like me.

I asked how "his friend" would even be able to recognize me. I also pointed out that his friend {and he} needs therapy. Like yesterday.

He claims he matched my freckles to the freckles in the picture because, remember, "no clear-face pictures were involved in the making of this soul-selling ad"

 

And all I could think to say was, "Peter, it really offends me that you would even consider that being something I would do."

 

And he replied, "We haven't been together for a year. I don't know what you are doing with your life."

 

And I felt waves of trauma hit me because right then and there, I remembered how little Peter knows me. I remembered how little he gave to me in the seven years we were married. He doesn't know the real Wendy because he could never see her for who she is.

 

She isn't a prostitute. I can assure you of that.

 

 

I'm not better. In fact, most of today I have been feeling anxious and jittery and dirty---which is confusing because those pictures weren't even me. But I feel dirty even thinking someone was looking at pictures BELIEVING it was me.
I cannot imagine Peter would spread rumors but the worst part is, Peter has done a lot of things I never would've imagined he would do.

Never in my life would I have thought I would be accused of being a prostitute. That just wasn't even on my radar.

So it's thrown me for a loop which is just so effing ironic because I was GOOD in counseling yesterday. And now I want to go back today but because I've been doing good and I'm trying to save money and I'm trying to be brave, I go to counseling every two weeks now.

Awesome, Peter. Thank you for that. youareaneffingasshole

Thank you for reminding me why I have to fight the urge to hate you. Thank you for reminding me why my worth has nothing to do with your broken brain. Thank you for reminding me that YOU are the one with more problems than I can even count on this page.

And to think, I was planning on using my Friday night to write about my eating disorder. I was planning on getting on here and telling you how, for the first time in...ever..., I am struggling to eat every day. Where the hell is my bulimia? At least that was familiar.

This isn't.

None of these feelings are familiar today.

I'll get to that post someday. I'll write it out and process it and learn things from it.

Today my writing taught me something I hope to never forget---I cannot rely on the actions of other people to determine my life. I am fighting against the urge to hate Peter. I am fighting against the urge to swear at him and post nasty things about him all over the internet. I am fighting the urge to lay in bed all night and cry. I am not a hater. And I am not going to become something that I'm not just because someone hurt my heart.

I am going to spend tonight with friends and I am not going to let my fears override my fun.

Not this time.

You can't take that away from me, Peter.