And Other Rituals that Help Me Feel Safe // Trigger Warning: Abuse

Image created by author; symbol is Jester's original design

I sit down on the bed as Jester pulls my skinny jeans down. His hands are warm on my thighs. “How was your day, baby?” he asks as he works the jeans off, managing not to tickle the bottoms of my feet.

“It was OK,” I say, in that tone of voice that means it was not OK. “Little B kept whining all day and July got mad about that stupid truck, the girls wouldn’t stop fighting, and Dusty was such a brat…”

I hold my hands up to let Jester pull off my shirt, my energy drained from the…

Blogging about my experiences is the scariest thing I have ever done.

Image created by author

I read about narcissism in the summer of 2019. I won’t remember how I stumble across the idea, but I recognize my husband, Atlas, in almost everything that I read. The way he is slowly warping my sense of reality until it is so twisted that I can’t trust any of my own perceptions. The way he has gradually worked up to calling me a cunt and telling me that there isn’t a man out there who would want me for anything other than that they could sleep with me.

I find myself, more and more, feeling the things that…

Here are four changes that could make incarceration more humane

Image created by Jester and author

My brother looks pale when Mom gets home with him. His hair is longer than I am accustomed to seeing on him, and his skin is dry and flakey due to his skin condition going untreated.

“This is crazy,” Jax says. “It feels like there’s so much space in here, you know.”

It has been over two years since I last saw him. …

The Suit of Cups

Image created by author

The Universe, I believe, has ways it likes to communicate with us. It sends us signs and synchronicities that are too incredible to be coincidence; too insistent, at times, to be ignored.

It may communicate with you by giving you knowledge about a course of action you should take, a “gut feeling” about something. It definitely communicates through your intuition.

Of course, there is the idea that it isn’t the Universe communicating with you at all, but your own subconscious mind.

Perhaps it means the same thing, either way.

I have been reading Tarot for about a year and a…

Even the man who carries the world on his shoulders will, eventually, be crushed by its weight.

Image created by author; I drew this when I was about 19, just after I had met Atlas but long before I had found that name for him.

I come in the house like a whirlwind. It is not an instinct that overtakes me very often, but I roll with it when it does. There is something fierce and slightly feral inside me, something very deep that knows the fire must be kept going.

Dusty and July are running around in the living room, wearing shorts and t-shirts. The woodstove, somehow emanating the cold in its depth, sits darkly in the middle of the room. Even though I haven’t seen them in over two months, I don’t spend much time saying hi to the boys. Soon.

Instead, I…

Sex after abuse is physical.

Jester; Image created by author.

I notice him notice me as soon as I walk in. I forget about it as quickly as I had noticed it, though, and go about my business. I am on a mission - a mission to feed everybody relatively cheaply without having to prepare anything myself. I give the girl at the deli my order and pick out five juices and a tea. The kids are all waiting in the Tahoe.

He glances at me again as I wait in line. He is sturdily built, long blondish hair falling over his shoulders and paler skin than I am accustomed…

So I’m going to go ahead and write one.

Taken by Jester

Misty was born when I was about ten years old. Moon isn’t her maiden name; that came much later. I was playing in my room, imagining that I would one day write a riveting publication called Virginia Underground, and I would write as Misty.

I have kept a journal on and off since I was seven years old, but Misty wasn’t behind the writing when I was so young. …

Abuse hurts the abuser, too.

Image created by author

June 2019

Our room is quiet, the curtains pulled against the bright summer sun, and the air in here is still. In the middle of a summer day, when the boys are upstairs playing calmly and the girls are asleep, it is like the house is taking a break, holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

I have a love-hate relationship with our bed. It sits high off the ground on a frame that Atlas built when we moved in, held up by four cedar posts that he cut, stripped, and nailed to the frame raw. …

Disorder inside his head.

Death Tarot; Author's original design and property

We built it slowly, over time. We didn’t really know what we were doing at first - just a few crude pieces, a pendulum. It was something to focus on, something to do. It brought a sense of order to the chaos.

There was once a time when there was no disorder, but that was a long time ago. The beautiful balance of infancy decayed, became corrupted, and the homogeneous purity of the mind fell to disorder. As it will always eventually do.

A state of perfect order can never be maintained.

The particles of the psyche needed direction. The…

Misty Moon

Writer, mother, narcissistic abuse survivor. Misty is the narrator inside my head.

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