<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:52:48.698-08:00</updated><category term='abuse'/><category term='making a change'/><category term='spousal abuse'/><category term='suicide'/><title type='text'>Tyrone's Abuse Blog</title><subtitle type='html'>misandry, abuse, abused men, domestic abuse</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-5339439882913401097</id><published>2008-02-27T14:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T14:36:34.696-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Object Constancy</title><content type='html'>The first memory I have of my wife and her lack of Object Constancy comes from before we were married.  I was living in a different city and she came on the train to visit me one day.  I was waiting for her on the platform excited to be reuinited with her after what felt, to me, like an eternity of separation (2  weeks).  I saw her through the window of her car and was happily and excitedly  waving at her.  She just blankly stared at me.  When she disembarked, she gave me a cold, formal, unsmiling hug and kissed the air beneath my ear.  "Is  something wrong?" I asked.  "What did I do?".  "Nothing.  There's people here."  was her response. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It felt thoroughly surreal to me.  A couple weeks ago she had no problems with me.  She was happy to see me.  What had happened while we were away? I swallowed  my discomfort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later, when she was acting more "normal", we talked about her behaviour at the train station.  She remarked that she was afraid that she would not recognize me. Huhh?  I thought by that time, knowing me for 2 years and dating for almost one,  she would recognize me and be happy to see me! I could identify her by her dental work by that time!  "I didn't know _Who_ you were or what you were like anymore." She explained.  "It's only been two weeks.  You make it sound like we've been  apart for years."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's like I don't exist if she can't see me every day.  This has happened many  times in various forms throughout our life together.  She honestly cannot  remember the _feeling_ of me (and others) being with her.  The _feeling_ IS her reality.  She couldn't remember the _feeling_ of my love for her (without seeing me each day) therefore, I don't love her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-5339439882913401097?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5339439882913401097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=5339439882913401097' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/5339439882913401097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/5339439882913401097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2008/02/object-constancy.html' title='Object Constancy'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-816864110346756855</id><published>2008-02-27T14:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T14:34:04.405-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stop Walking on EggShells</title><content type='html'>I am currently reading Stop Walking on EggShells written by Paul Mason and Randi Kreger (of &lt;a href="http://bpdcentral.com"&gt;http://bpdcentral.com&lt;/a&gt; )  It seems to be the bible for people trying to deal with Borderline Personality Disorder in the lives of their loved ones.  I intend to write thoughts and memories invoked by this book here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-816864110346756855?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/816864110346756855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=816864110346756855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/816864110346756855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/816864110346756855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2008/02/stop-walking-on-eggshells.html' title='Stop Walking on EggShells'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-7666159860550893298</id><published>2008-02-26T10:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-26T10:42:29.096-08:00</updated><title type='text'>last night</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span class="511561916-20022008"&gt;I don't know what to  say.  What can I take from last night?  What am I for you?  What is my purpose  in your life from your perspective?  It is clear to me from last night that you  consider me to be a source of money.  When that source of money shows signs of  being unstable or reduced, you behave like you have been cheated out of the deal  you thought you had purchased.  It is also clear from last night that no matter  how _I_ feel or what my hopes, plans, and dreams are, or what I have happening  in my life, that your feelings are more important.  No matter how tired I am, or  late it is, I MUST bow to your emotions.  It is also clear that you feel that I  am uselessly immature.  I cannot be trusted to be wise -- or even to consult  with professionals about anything of substance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-7666159860550893298?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7666159860550893298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=7666159860550893298' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/7666159860550893298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/7666159860550893298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2008/02/last-night.html' title='last night'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-178987949815286986</id><published>2008-02-11T14:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T14:13:01.085-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chess</title><content type='html'>My wife has recently taken a liking to playing chess.  We are very close in chess abilities: she is a morning person and she [naturally] wins when we play in the morning, I am an evening person and I win when we play in the evenings.  Yesterday evening we were playing and I was winning, as the game progressed, she dug deeper and deeper into the "black" side of things.  When I tried to abort/concede the game, she took a large jump to the dark side.  I ended up engineering my own defeat while making it look like an honest win for her.  By the end of the game, she was back to white.  After reading this co/BPD stuff I realize that I have "enabled" her "emotional blackmail".  But practically, what can I do?  I'm trying to run interference for my son to create some peace in the house.  This literal game is a wonderful metaphor for my life: I can't quit, I can't win -- if I do either, I hurt my son.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-178987949815286986?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/178987949815286986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=178987949815286986' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/178987949815286986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/178987949815286986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2008/02/chess.html' title='Chess'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-6001954507554747839</id><published>2008-02-07T20:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-07T20:24:58.427-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Developments</title><content type='html'>I need to do my blogging surreptitiously so I don't get to post very often.  I was planning on writing about how my wife had exploded and berated me and our son for no identifiable reason. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I first found links to Erin Pizzey on fathersforlife.com  After reading her book and looking into her background, I stumbled on "menweb.com" (don't try "mensweb" -- it's a porno site). From there I found batteredmen.com.  From THERE I found out about "Borderline Personality Disorder" (BPD).  The descriptions I find there make me feel like someone has a hidden camera in our house!  It is incredible.  I have only been reading about BPD for a couple days, but it seems to me like it really fits my situation.  In the Borderline community parlance, I am a "co-dependent" "non" with a "BPD" wife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Treatment for my wife doesn't look very likely, and I need to talk with our Family Dr. about future steps, but at least I don't feel so alone anymore!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really AM living in Oz!! I thought it was just me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look up bpdfamily.com, bpdcentral.com, and bpd411.org.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-6001954507554747839?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6001954507554747839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=6001954507554747839' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/6001954507554747839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/6001954507554747839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2008/02/new-developments.html' title='New Developments'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-5957727165591635527</id><published>2008-01-23T19:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T19:22:21.454-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids website</title><content type='html'>My son and his friends have been talking about creating a website to share video game tips, school assignments, and such.  I figured that there are a lot of completely unsupervised sites "Out There" on the information superhighway.  But I'd rather they not play unsupervised on any sort of highway.  So I created a webserver that they could play with.  A week ago, my wife even arranged for my son to go to a friend's house to work on this site.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday when I got home, my wife was FUMING.  She was angry that my son and his friends were using the site!  "What if someone downloads pornography?" I answered "It's supervised honey!  I get notified whenever things are added to the site." This very quickly devolved into "You two HATE me -- that's why you use the computer.  You don't want me in your life.  What use am I to you anyway. I just cause pain in your life.  Why can't I just kill myself -- we'd all be happier."  How on earth do you answer that?  If I spend 5 minutes on the computer when she's around, it's a guaranteed explosion. "What do you need me for -- go kiss the computer".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is jealous of anything that takes my time, or she doesn't understand, or doesn't like.  Whenever I mention names of female co-workers she gets very agitated and angry.  She tells me not to talk to them -- even at work.  If any male friends who call me at home,&lt;br /&gt;she accuses them of being gay and tells me to keep my distance from them outside of work hours.  Argh!  I can't even have friends anymore.  She's jealous of time I spend playing with my SON!  At times, she has asked me to do something with him and within 5 minutes I am accused of ignoring her and trying to make her feel left out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Argh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-5957727165591635527?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5957727165591635527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=5957727165591635527' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/5957727165591635527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/5957727165591635527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2008/01/kids-website.html' title='Kids website'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-8405426584572197597</id><published>2007-12-01T21:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-01T22:04:59.650-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dollar Store Ruler</title><content type='html'>today was a busy day running errands.  One of the things I was to buy was a ruler for my son.  Fine.  I bought two from a dollar store.  When I get home, I am berated for buying the wrong kind.  He needed a clear ruler with marks that go right to the edge.  One of the rulers I bought was opaque.  The other was clear but didn't have marks that go right to the edge.  For this, my intelligence is insulted. I am told that I am useless.  That I can't be trusted with money.  That I can't be trusted to make decisions.  That I am filling the house with useless junk.  That my wife must keep her eyes on me at all times.  I didn't complain earlier in the day when she dropped $50 on clothes that we didn't need!  Why is she complaining about $2 worth of rulers?  Her happiness is worth more than $50 to me.  Why is my happiness worth less than $2?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-8405426584572197597?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8405426584572197597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=8405426584572197597' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/8405426584572197597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/8405426584572197597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2007/12/dollar-store-ruler.html' title='Dollar Store Ruler'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-5155209612983758237</id><published>2007-11-27T17:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T17:48:41.196-08:00</updated><title type='text'>facebook</title><content type='html'>A couple days ago, after paying the bills online, I visited facebook to see if there was anything new from any of my friends.  A friend had added a new application so I visited her profile to see what the application was.  After looking at her profile for a few seconds, my wife came in and saw that I was on Facebook.  She immediately exploded and demanded to see the entire page that I was looking at.  She found that it was the page of a female co-worker.  She accused me of obsessing over other women and surfing internet porn (There were no questionable photos or suggestive poses of any sort on the page).  She accused the co-worker of trying to steal me.  She asked how I could expect her to trust me when I started surfing porn as soon as she left the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Argh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-5155209612983758237?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5155209612983758237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=5155209612983758237' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/5155209612983758237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/5155209612983758237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/facebook.html' title='facebook'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-9159317082035806730</id><published>2007-11-08T19:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-08T20:06:50.691-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='spousal abuse'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='making a change'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='suicide'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='abuse'/><title type='text'>Breaking the Cycle</title><content type='html'>Another reason I can not leave is that I must break the cycle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My wife's family thought that they could not control their emotions.  This is why they abused my wife physically and emotionally.  When they felt like hitting someone, or destroying their emotions, they felt it was impossible to restrain themselves. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It reminds me of a story of a friend of mine.  His Dr. asked him to get a urine sample.  He went into the Dr's washroom and started filling the little bottle.  Only once he had started did he realize that the toilet was already plugged and overflowing.  My friend says that he was struggling to stand on his toes to urinate into the sink while holding the specimen bottle in one hand.  When I pointed out that he could simply stop the urine he was baffled.  He never thought that it was possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's the way it was with my wife's family and their emotions.  Her father felt that he deserved to die, he felt that he didn't have a choice and killed himself.  You see, his family felt that they had no control over their emotions and had abused him.  This cycle repeats on both sides of her family as far back as we can trace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family has our share of problems too.  My father's mother was emotionally abusive and controlling.  My father married a controlling woman.  So did I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this brings me to my son. What a rotten heritage he has.  Abusive on one side, and seeking abusers on the other.  This cannot continue.  It MUST stop with ME.  I cannot quit.  I cannot leave.  I cannot waver.  I must stand and take whatever comes.  I cannot allow my son to naively find an abusive spouse.  I cannot allow him to think that he cannot control his emotions.  I must teach him the rotten truth and not try to hide it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;from him&lt;/span&gt; like it was hidden from me.  If I left, my wife would kill herself.  That would wound my son like it has wounded her.  That cannot happen.  I would sacrifice my happiness, my career, my health, my life for this purpose. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cycle MUST be broken.  I am already wounded.  But the cycle will stop with ME.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-9159317082035806730?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9159317082035806730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=9159317082035806730' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/9159317082035806730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/9159317082035806730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/breaking-cycle.html' title='Breaking the Cycle'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-2657664446893329992</id><published>2007-11-07T19:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-07T19:50:56.125-08:00</updated><title type='text'>She Needs Me</title><content type='html'>I know this sounds dumb and foolish.  But she needs me.  I can't leave her.  After we married, I discovered that she was unable to sleep through the night most of the time.  Memories of abuse that had happened to her in the past would haunt her dreams.  She would often wake screaming in the middle of the night, terrified and in a panic.  I would hold her, help her wake enough to resist the dreams, and comfort her to sleep again.  All these years later, the nightmares are much less frequent!  But the thought of sleeping alone still scares her.  She is sooo helpless at these times.  She's like a little child who needs help, shelter, and protection. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When her temper progresses, she usually turns to a phase of self recrimination.  At these times she has beaten her head with her fists or against a wall.  She needs love.  She needs, and I supply a loving hug that stops her from hurting herself.  She never saw this from her parents.  She needs a loving parent to let her see her own value.  All other people who could do that role in her life have abandonned her.  Until I came along.  I will NOT abandon her.  I will help her and stay with her even if it kills me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-2657664446893329992?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2657664446893329992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=2657664446893329992' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/2657664446893329992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/2657664446893329992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/she-needs-me.html' title='She Needs Me'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-4773519682413857245</id><published>2007-11-06T18:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-06T19:36:51.470-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Am I a mysogynist?</title><content type='html'>Many times in abuse literature, women complain that they "don't feel safe".  What does that mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was an episode many, many years ago when, during a tantrum, she (my wife) picked up a large kitchen knife and wildly waved it around screaming something to the effect of "Somebody needs to die tonight"  I don't remember the actual quote (and she has not involved physical weapons since then).  Was I safe?  I don't know.  Did I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;feel&lt;/span&gt; "unsafe"?  I don't know.  I felt ready for a fight.  I felt extremely aware of everything that was happening in the room.  I felt like the world was moving in slow motion.  I kept my left hand behind my back (I'm left handed) and calmly kept my right hand ready to defend myself.  I honestly did think that at most she could remove some fingers from my right hand-- but I could disarm her with my left.  Remember, I weigh twice as much as she does.  I would sacrifice my life for this woman; a few fingers is nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, does the fact that I am not aware of "feeling unsafe" in this situation means that I was NOT being abused?  What do the feelings have to do with it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it true that women are physically weaker and this puts them at more physical danger than men if their spouses are equally out of control?  If this is the case, does this not imply that men can bear a larger burden than emotionally equivalent women?  I can be "safe" losing fingers -- but a woman in the exact same scenario would not be "safe".  If a man &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;can&lt;/span&gt; bear a larger burden, then he &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;must &lt;/span&gt;bear a larger burden.  If a man does bear a larger burden, then is he not, in some sense, "better" than someone who cannot bear as large a burden?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the past, I put women on a pedestal.  I always supported them to have more maternity and parental rights than men.  I always agreed with them being able to take time off work to "find themselves".  I always supported their rights for self-determination and control.  But now... Now I wonder.  Are they protected on that pedestal because they need to be?  Are they really the weaker sex and need to be cared for?  Are they incapable of bearing the same burden that I bear?  If women are equal, they would need no special consideration. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a change of philosophy for me.  I don't know where I fall on this issue anymore.  I am more concerned with my day to day survival -- and helping my wife keep her emotions in check.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-4773519682413857245?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4773519682413857245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=4773519682413857245' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/4773519682413857245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/4773519682413857245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/am-i-mysogynist.html' title='Am I a mysogynist?'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-5345380939098437222</id><published>2007-11-05T20:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-05T21:13:21.625-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Am I abused?</title><content type='html'>I was surprised that of the first page of google hits on "Am I abused" only had a few links which assumed that the abuser is male.  TV commercials and programs always seem to assume that men are the aggressers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if I am really abused or not.  I guess figuring this out is part of why this blog exists.  I took an online test at &lt;a href="http://www.allthetests.com/quiz22/quizpu.php?testid=1177078936"&gt;http://www.allthetests.com/quiz22/quizpu.php?testid=1177078936&lt;/a&gt; and it claims that my relationship is "Seriously abusive".  But I don't really know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.nmsvdv.org/AmIAbused.htm"&gt;http://www.nmsvdv.org/AmIAbused.htm&lt;/a&gt; has a small questionnaire.   &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Does your Partner.....&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;                   &lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;constantly criticize you and your abilities as a spouse, partner, parent, or employee?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                Yes.  "How can I trust you, you're too fat".  Explicitly over-ruling me in front of my son.  Saying that I am too lazy to be trusted.  Saying "I TOLD you to leave your company years ago!  If you had listened to me we'd be rich by now."  "I don't want  you to take a different job, I want you to keep making good money at the one you have already.  I'm always proud of how much money you earn&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;behave in an overprotective manner or become extremely jealous?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                YES!! Jealous of EVERY female co-worker I have ever told her about!!!  She tells me not to speak to women at work.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;call you names or fight with you in front of friends or family?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                Not too much -- but when her temper blows, it blows big!  My parents (now divorced) are quite afraid when she loses it in front of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;threaten to hurt you, your children, pets, family members,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                Umm, not really, She has asked if she can kill our dog a few times -- but I can tell from her voice that she doesn't really mean it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;friends, or himself/herself?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;               Herself, yes.  Many times.  You see, her dad did.  Whenever she is in "THAT state of mind" and knows that she is abusing, she takes her father's cue.  Usually it is "You would all be much better off if I was dead.  You would have new lives.  You could actually have a wife who loves you if I were dead.  Why can't you just kill me?"  But she (we) have been escorted under armed guard for an emergency psychiatric evaluation!  I'm sorry, but it is funny; an armed guard for a person who would hurt themselves is just absurd.  I imagine them saying "Stop hurting yourself or I'll shoot!"  Bizarre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;prevent you from seeing family or friends?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                She doesn't like my friends.  "They're too superficial." "They don't understand me."  "I don't like his wife, she looked at you." That's ok.  Nobody ever invites me out after work anymore anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;suddenly get angry or lose his/her temper?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                All the time.  Usually there's a trigger -- but not always.  This past week has actually been relatively good.  She only lost it once!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;destroy personal property?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                Not intentionally -- she's not trying to destroy the things she throws.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;deny you access to family assets like bank accounts, credit cards, and cars?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                No.  Not really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;control all your finances or withhold money from you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                Umm, hard to say.  If I buy something (like a slice of pizza for lunch) and she finds the receipt, I'll get the 3rd degree.  It is almost a guaranteed explosion if I buy a $20 item without her pre-approving it.  On the other hand, I DO have access to money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;use intimidation or manipulation to control you or your children?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                Emotionally only -- but that's hard to measure objectively.  I guess thats another thing this site is intended to discover.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;hit, punch, slap, kick, shove, spit on or bite you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                No spitting.  I think that she thinks that the biting is "playful" -- but it hurts.  The other things she does, but it doesn't leave any scars or even hurt too much.   It hurts me more that she &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;intends&lt;/span&gt; to hurt me.  I remember once a few years ago, we went to see a movie.  It was sold out and she lost it.  She had discovered that the skin on the inside of my bicep was thin enough to actually be painful when she pinched and twisted it.  This time, she pinched and twisted WITH fingernails.  It was really weird.  I was wondering HOW I was going to survive the emotional turmoil -- but when her fingernails punctured the skin I suddenly had infinite energy.  I felt like I could withstand it forever without saying a word.  Nothing mattered.  I was a superhero -- other than the blood starting to drip down my arm.  We then met some of HER friends who also missed the movie.  So there I was, standing there, putting pressure on the hole and acting as if nothing had happened.  I don't know if any of them ever knew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;prevent you from going places?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                Not physically -- just by complaining that it is a waste of my time for me to go -- and throwing temper before I go and after I get back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;force you to have sex?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                Now wouldn't THAT be nice.  No.  Why isn't forcing a person to NOT have sex ever considered abuse.  When it was clear that we were only going to have one child -- no more sex.  When I had wet dreams, she would lose it (read "hurt himself/herself" above)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;                       &lt;p style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;harass you at work?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Garamond;"&gt;                If my boss knew how much time I spend on Messenger trying to keep her emotionally together, they'd fire me.  If I don't answer Messenger, she phones me.  It is really awkward at times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's enough of me whining for now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-5345380939098437222?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5345380939098437222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=5345380939098437222' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/5345380939098437222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/5345380939098437222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/am-i-abused.html' title='Am I abused?'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-2739684523522121371</id><published>2007-11-05T19:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-05T20:08:54.331-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Blog</title><content type='html'>Why am I blogging this? Good question.  There are a number of reasons.  Partly as a scratch pad for collecting my thoughts.  My thoughts get scrambled with the day-to-day emotional survival stuff and I forget what I was thinking about and the experiences I've had.  This is a way for me to write notes to myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to find a way to avoid my son from going through what I and my father have gone through.  If I preserve my thoughts, it is more likely that we can keep history from repeating itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am working through issues in my mind.  On the off-chance that somebody actually reads and comments on this blog, I can get input from others without exposing my situation.  For example, I wonder if I am becoming msogynistic as a reaction to the misandry I experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Possibly someone else out there is being abused and can either take some strength from my writing, or can avoid the mistakes I am making.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-2739684523522121371?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2739684523522121371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=2739684523522121371' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/2739684523522121371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/2739684523522121371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/why-blog.html' title='Why Blog'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3047461306449046787.post-9116859874382749128</id><published>2007-11-04T17:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-04T20:45:39.852-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Introduction</title><content type='html'>My name is Tyrone Jones.&lt;br /&gt;Ok, that's a lie, my real name is not Tyrone Jones.  I will not use my real name here because I am in an abusive relationship.  I am afraid of what would happen if my wife found that I was making the info. in this blog public.  But I am also afraid of what would happen to my state of mind if I don't "Get it out" somehow.  So, I will change some details of my life for this blog so that it won't sound too much like the real me.  If you know the real me and ask me about this blog -- I will claim not to have heard of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a slightly overweight 6' black man who works with computers.  My wife is white and weighs about half of what I weigh.  She can hit me as hard as she can and I don't even bruise.  I can roll over in bed wrong and bruise her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is not really surprising that my wife and I are in an abusive relationship; we both come from abusive families.  I know that she was physically and emotionally abused by many members of her family.  I suspect that there are many examples of abuse that I do not know about.  Her father, in my opinion, did the ultimate abusive action to her when he killed himself.  She has never recovered from that.  This was a really cowardly thing for him to do.  I do my best to not harbour grudges against anyone -- but this is really hard for me to swallow.  And why is it that he only invested 13 years in her life, but he has more influence over her today than I do after 18 years?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In retrospect, I can see abuse in my own family too.  My father's mother abused him.  I have heard stories from her about forcing him to eat food that he was allergic to.  She didn't trust him.  She thought he was lieing about the food making him sick.  She tried to control him into being the person SHE thought he should be.  As a result, he became a dropout.  He ended up marrying my mother who also tried to mold him into something that he wasn't.  She was just as controlling as his mother.  I can see now that he seems to be drawn to controlling women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I grew up being afraid of my father.  My mother would often tell me "You had better not do xxxx like your father!"  and "If your father was a real man he would &lt;xxxx&gt;" and things like that.  She would often belittle his intelligence in front of me -- then later blame him for all of our problems.  I think I internallized this.  I developed a fear of being a quitter.  I feel like harmony in the home is the man's responsibility.  Any tangible or financial problems are the man's job to solve and failure to solve them in a timely manner diminishes he manhood.  The man MUST withstand all punishment from the family and the world without a word or else he is incompetent, unworthy, weak, uncaring, and immature.  To tell you the truth, I still believe this.  I also had an extremely high esteme for women.  They are the bearers of life!  They are to be protected, provided for, treasured.  Any weakness is to be accepted at any and all costs.  A competent "Proverbs 31 woman" is the ideal woman.  A man's main job in life is to facilitate his wife's self-actualization.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it is not surprising that I too was attracted to a woman I felt was intelligent, practical, competent, organized, and controlling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/xxxx&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3047461306449046787-9116859874382749128?l=tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/feeds/9116859874382749128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3047461306449046787&amp;postID=9116859874382749128' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/9116859874382749128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3047461306449046787/posts/default/9116859874382749128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://tyronesabuseblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/introduction.html' title='Introduction'/><author><name>TJ</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16386801744505953666</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
