.

How about a short story of love, betrayal, and revenge to end the week?

Enjoy.

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The divorce had just become final and she was preparing to remove all her remaining belongings from what had been “their” house.

On the first day, she sadly packed her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.

On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.

On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining-room table, by candle-light. She put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar, and a bottle of spring-water.

When she had finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimps dipped in caviar into the hollow centre of the curtain rods.

Then she cleaned up the kitchen and left.

On the fourth day, her ex-husband came back to the house with his new girlfriend, and at first all was bliss.

Then, slowly, the house began to smell.

They tried everything; cleaning, mopping, and airing-out the place.

Vents were checked for dead rodents, and carpets were steam cleaned.

Air fresheners were hung everywhere.

Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which time the two had to move out for a few days.

In the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting.

Nothing worked!

People stopped coming over to visit.

Repairmen refused to work in the house.

The maid quit.

Finally, the ex and his new girl couldn’t take the stench any longer, and decided they had to move.

But a month later – even though they’d cut their price in half – they couldn’t find a buyer for such a stinky house.

Word got out, and eventually even the local realtors refused to return their calls.

Finally, unable to wait any longer for a purchaser, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to buy a new place.

It was then that she called her ex-husband and asked how things were going.

He told her the saga of the rotting house.

She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for having the house.

He was so desperate to get rid of the unsaleable house, that he agreed on a price that was only 1/10 th of what the house had been worth.

And because he knew she could have no idea how bad the smell really was, he wasn’t going to give her any time to visit the place again.

The deal was good only if she would sign the papers that very day!

She agreed.

Within two hours his lawyers delivered the completed paperwork which she duly signed.

A week later her ex-husband and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home…….

. 

……and to spite the ex-wife, they even took the curtain rods too!

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Aren’t happy endings just great?

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==============================

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Where is Adam?
Who is Adam with?
Can Adam afford this divorce?
What should I have for dinner that will make Adam happy?
Should I ask the kids to go upstairs so things are quiet for Adam?
How can I do more for Adam so he isn’t so stressed out?
Adam

Yes, that pretty much is the start of this list. I know it can be longer. But if I wrote more, then I would be worried about Adam again. And he’s on my Don’t Worry List.

It may be Thursday, but this is the blog post that I should have written yesterday.  Had this week resembled anything like a ‘normal’ week, then I would have written and posted my daily blog post on time, but this week continues to be wrought with challenges that leave it looking and feeling anything but ‘normal’.  While this week’s obstacles may have derailed my daily practice of writing about one thing I have done for myself and others, at least it did not derail the daily practices themselves.

On Monday, my ex-husband’s father suffered a massive stroke that left him unconscious and with no brain activity, and he is now near death.  Monday evening, my ex-husband made the nearly 500 mile drive to be with his mom and siblings, as they gather around his dad to share memories, shed tears, and say ‘good-bye’.  Having not lost either of my parents, I cannot imagine what he is experiencing, and as much as I wish that I could, I cannot change the situation at all or erase his pain.  There are some things that I can do, though, so, that’s what I focused on yesterday and will continue to do.

When he called me, I listened as he shared his feelings of sadness and grief, and I offered words of support and comfort.  I am taking care of our daughters and helping them deal with the impending loss of their dear grandfather, and I have made myself available in whatever way needed to help him during this extremely difficult time.  We may be ex-spouses, but more than that, we are the parents of our extraordinary daughters and the very best of friends.  The change in our marital status did not change the fact that we love and care about one another and always will, especially during the most painful of times.

What I did for myself was to let go of my plans and expectations for this week, as clinging to them in the face of the family crisis we all are dealing with, was causing me to feel stressed and anxious.  I had to give myself permission to let go of some household tasks and errands that I had planned, in favor of providing support for my ex-husband and our daughters and to allow myself time to begin the grieving process.  There is some comfort in keeping a regular schedule during times of turmoil, as long as the structure does not become suffocating.  I am being gentle with myself and taking it one day at a time, and that is the best that I can do.

Just one thing each day. . .

A few months back I ran into John Doe’s ex-wife, our paths having not crossed in quite a while as our children having gone in different directions.  Still bitter about her divorce and what John Doe did to her, she is always eager to divulge information about him.  She reported to me that John Doe was in the process of having his vasectomy reversed because the cute 23 year old he was now married to, of course, wants to start a family!

It freezes me;

It confuses me;

It intrigues me;

But will it help me?

I’m not a poet. I know that, but today’s topic is fear. Oh there are tons of quotes about fear. There are websites, books, professors, and doctors who will all give you advice on fear.

People will tell me the fear is hard, but I will reward me in the end. They will say don’t let fear paralyze me from making decisions and moving on.

So I’m going to come up with a new meaning for fear:

• F – Future
• E – Endeavors
• A – Are
• R – Real

Rant of the Day: Writing seems to be working, I’m very calm today.

Guiding Card of the Day: Three of Pentacle (reversed) ambitions rising

Goal of the Day: Read the book Lucy gave me. She wants our own book club.

Marrying someone who has children from a previous marriage carries along a certain amount of baggage and a ton of patience. The interests of that child ALWAYS has to be first, no matter what you and the ex think of each other.  I know I am not this man’s best friend. I don’t even know if he considers me a friend or not. I think if circumstances were different, we could be very good friends and, maybe someday, we will be.  For now, I think it is tolerance of each other. I am not sure. Tenuous, yes. Hatred, no…not on my part anyway and I don’t think he hates me either. I don’t hate the guy. Not at all. I don’t agree with everything, but I respect what he does (he’s a counselor and has seen and dealt with things I probably would be unable to cope with) and respect the fact that he is a Dad, Preston’s Dad. I think we’ve gotten past the early distrust and, now, we even help each other.  He took it upon himself to prop up our fence. Neither myself nor my wife asked him to do that. I’m sure he had Preston in mind, but, nonetheless, he did help us (a tree had fallen on the fence during one of our freaky snow storms…several inches fell, but was all gone in a day. Typical, for this part of Virginia.)

Sometimes, being the stepfather is hard. Seeing the disappointment on Preston’s face when his Dad leaves and I’m still here. Being only five now, he doesn’t understand. Someday, he will. 

Preston and I get along great and we have fun, but I’m not his Dad and he knows that. I try to comfort him, in times like that, but his mother usually is the one who gets him calm and relaxed. I’m still learning how to do that.

Discipline is another tricky and slippery slope. When both Mom and Dad are around, I will usually defer to one of them when it comes to correcting Preston. Of course, sometimes I have to interject and that’s OK.  When it is just myself and my wife, I do correct him.  Even so, we have different ideas as to how to do that. Sometimes my way works, sometimes its hers. We learn together.

Our situation is unique and I am glad that Preston’s father is the way he is…making Preston the focus and working with us and not against us.  I’ve seen how nasty things like this can get and it is the children that lose in the end.

Preston is fortunate in that he has three parents who do love him. I think of him as my own, but I would never stand in between him and his Dad.  A father-son relationship is very special, I would be the last person on the planet to interfere with that.

One of my favorite routines is balancing my budget. I know – GROAN! But over the years, I have found comfort in knowing I can pay the bills and save for the future. First I used Quicken, which is very good. But it was an old version and it didn’t really help with my understanding of budgeting.

A couple of years ago I found You Need a Budget. http://www.youneedabudget.com/ Since I’ve been using it, I’ve been able to track our money and we’ve saved a lot. It is very easy to use and understand. Now this is an unsolicited plug for YNAB. This product is the best!

Things were really looking good. Then, Adam made his announcement.

Historically, Adam does not budget. He wants nothing to do with the checking accounts. He has little understanding as to where the money goes. I’ve tried for years to engage him in the process, but I would get a glazed look and would be told to handle it. Well, I did.

Prior to Adam’s announcement we had $30,000 in joint savings. In December, I told him he was in charge of the accounts. As of yesterday, Adam had $4,000. Granted, we went on a vacation and for the first time I didn’t pay for it. But still! This is what happens when your soon to be ex-wife quits her job because she is deemed useless. HA! I’ve been covering your ass for years.

So now, Adam owes me $25,000 for the value of our cars. He needs to pay his portion of private school – $21,000. As far as I can tell, he has not retained a lawyer – $5,000. Now I’m not mathematician, but I don’t think $4,000 is going to cover these costs. And yet, he’s not worried.

This officially goes in the column of NOT MY PROBLEM. I should really write these columns down.  Maybe you’ll see that tomorrow.

For those of you feeling sorry for Adam right now, please remember I don’t have a job. I’ve haven’t been able to have a career since I’ve had to move every four years for him. I’m not quailfied for anything and that’s with an MBA.

Rant of the Day:  Adam’s parents and great aunt paid for his college education and gave him his first car. Adam’s not sure if he can help his own children in the same manner. This is disgusting to me!

Guiding Card of the Day: Two of Swords – be careful not to close off my heart. Be open and honest, not passive aggressive.

Goal of the Day: Hair appointment – always my favorite day. I’m going to miss my hairdresser.

Note: I will attempt to place specific trigger warnings prior to a triggerable incident. However, I cannot make promises if I’m in the thick of this, as I assume I will be.

This is the entry I’ve been dreading since I began to do this shadow working. It’s this particular aspect of my past with my ex-husband that makes it supremely difficult for me to move on in any context. This is where I get to show everyone that not only is he at fault in the downfall of what we were together, but I also get to show you how I managed to survive. I did not do good things in order to survive. I was not a nice person to other people in order to survive. There are days where I look back in my grief and pain, in my terror and horror to those moments where I knew what I was doing was not about living in ma’at but about survival. I am not a hero in this. No one came out of this situation as a hero. We all did what we needed to in order to survive.

The Doorbell Demon incident was a turning point. Prior to this, it was easy to shrug things off. It was easy to assume that my ex-husband was just having a bad day or he was having a bad week. Working for the company that he did wasn’t exactly a cake walk. He saw a lot of things that ate him in a place that I had no ability to heal. However, he’s always been a control freak. Whether that is a quirk of personality or a quirk of how he was raised, I honestly cannot say. All I can say is that he began to try to influence both myself and the Sister in what we thought, what we wore, and what we believed. At one point, he accused the two of us of the Doorbell Demon incident with our very occasional, far-between rituals together. As he had allowed us to have a ritual at Samhain in the house, then that meant we had asked for something to enter our house. We made it worse by practicing divination.

Odd thoughts for a supposed Taoist, if you ask me.

I’ve said before, rather nastily, that he proclaimed his religious affiliation with Taoism. I don’t know a damn thing about Taoists or Taoism to be honest, but from the bits and pieces I’ve gleaned over the years, he was not a Taoist. After the incident with the Doorbell Demon, his beliefs were intrinsically tied with his childhood religion of Christianity. He professed otherwise, but how often he was to denigrate both the Sister and I for our divination practices, our rituals, and our beliefs say otherwise. I don’t think he ever went so far as to quote that stupid, incorrectly translated Bible passage about not suffering witches to live or anything at us, but it was pretty obvious that’s how he felt about it. It was easy to place blame on an outmoded Christian belief – that by seeking alternative forms of religious practices is to “invite the devil” in your home – but it was really and probably just attached to his conflicting, angry roil of emotions.

Whatever the case may be – demon, monster, abusive – we all suffered for it.

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real

The Sister really integrated well with the friends she made in college. I’m more of an outsider, wallflower persona so I didn’t mesh nearly as well. She was quite fundamental, from my perspective, in that group. She has this knack to bring people together that don’t necessarily belong. It’s weird. I don’t know who suggested that we all go to the Goth club on Fetish Night, but this sounds like something the Sister would suggest. The ex-husband, the Lumberjack, the Sister, and I were all going to go, meeting up with the college friends we had made. Plans are all fine and dandy, but they end up breaking all the time. That wasn’t going to necessary prevent the Sister from going to Fetish Night, though.

I believe it was just prior to this group date that the Lumberjack broke up with the Sister. She was inconsolable for the first few days after the break up, but I think the ex-husband’s “on high” proclamation that she must have fucked something up there that made her get over it. She wanted him back because she didn’t want to be alone – not because she loved him, not because he was the best sex of her life, not because of anything other than the fact that she wanted to be in a relationship that was not with ex Demon Boy. I feel this so hard it’s amazing. That’s probably why the ex-husband and I were together as long as we were, honestly. It doesn’t matter. The first part of the group date plan got a little fucked up because the Lumberjack. The other was because of my ex-husband.

His best friend, who we had lived with prior to our move to Texas and his best friend’s move to join the air force, came up for his first visit to Massachusetts since joining the air force. He had one night to hang out with his best friend and that night was Fetish Night. The plan was that the ex husband, his best friend, and someone else would all meet up with us at the club a little later. The ex husband and best friend decided they wanted to stay at home and play chess or maybe they were going to do their roll-playing online game thing together. I don’t remember. But, it became that the Sister was my date and we were going out in style.

Here’s the weird thing about this. The ex-husband was nominally okay with this. I think it’s because his best friend was there, so he couldn’t quite fly off the deep end in front of him. I honestly do not know. However, the really weird part was how much the ex-husband freaked out over the Sister’s outfit. I was wearing a long slinky skirt, boots, and a tube top that barely covered my tits. She was wearing a pink-and-white corset with a pink skirt that was kind of see-through. Technically, we were both wearing the same amount of cloth on our bodies, but it was the Sister’s outfit that made him flip out. “You can’t go out in that,” I believe he said at one point. This illustrates a few things to me.

He had realized that he needed to begin controlling and manipulating the Sister. I think he decided this because he had begun to realize how much influence she had over me, possibly in regards to our tacit agreement about how ridiculous his Doorbell Demon shtick was. He thought he would start with innocuous things first. He apparently had not actually met the Sister in any way prior to this. If there was one thing that she would never budge on, it was going to be how she deemed fit to dress up when going to a club. He had realized that he had fucked up in letting her live with us. This point is dependent on his being aware, even in the remotest of his consciousness, of his controlling behavior. But he realized that he needed to start forcing his opinions on her, possibly because the Lumberjack was no longer around to do so.

Funny story of all funny stories, guess who showed up at Fetish Night.

During the month of November, our computer stopped working. I don’t remember what was wrong with it, honestly. It could have been a virus. It could have been the Internet. It could have been a lot of things that caused the Sister and I to be unable to use the Internet. In my more Machiavellian moments, I wonder if the computer was broken at all and this was just another attempt of my ex-husband to control the two of us. To me, it is sad and depressing to even remotely be able to think that about someone who you used to profess love for. However, it would be one more act that he committed in an effort to get whatever he wanted.

The computer was down for about a month. And in that time, I began to very quickly become the introvert I used to be. I had an online blog that the ex-husband had complete access to. He was able to read it at any time he chose and he could easily, easily find out what the password was. I never kept anything hidden in that blog, but I think he thought I did. I did not create certain categories that he would be unable to see. I did not create a new blog to bitch about him in. The blog, however, was yet another way in which he could not control me. I could write and say whatever I wanted, when I wanted, on that blog. So, really, it would not surprise me to learn that the computer was “broken” for that long on purpose.

So, in that time as I became more and more introverted, more and more quiet, more and more lost in a world of fantasy that I created in my own mind, I finally broke. I had to speak with someone outside of my home. I began to talk, at this time, with TH on a more friendly basis. He was, you see, part of that group of college friends. The Sister had other people she reached out to, but I chose TH. I don’t know why or how or when, really, but he became pretty fucking important.

The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

As I’ve said, I’ve always had a very wallflower persona. I may have been a core component to some high school groups I belonged to, but I didn’t really say anything. I was just a figurehead, or more appropriately, I was just always there. To not have my presence in that group would have been like walking out of the house without socks. This may have been the case, later on, with numerous groups of friendships I had. In fact, there are days when I think of how much the Sister got along with our group of college friends and how I had one or two I spoke with frequently. It was this intense desire to keep my trap shut about everything, to internalize anything I was feeling at any given moment, that I ended up bottling up a lot of stuff.

The month of December was hell.

The original start date for my depression of that year was October. I know that clearly. I had not prepared myself in any way to contend with working, going to school, a mentally not-all-there husband, and the memory crush of a really awful month. I think I was able to push back the side effects of that time period and all of the non-preparation I did for that month after years of being away from really having to face any of it. (I know I’m being hopelessly vague but my next shadow working series will contend with how much October sucks and why.) However, after the disaster with the Doorbell Demon and the Sister relying heavily on me to fill in the “I don’t want to be alone” gap that the Lumberjack’s leaving created, I had no real-time to at least mourn or at least attempt to confront my pains head-on. And it was easier to put it off in the face of the oddity of my ex-husband’s behavior.

TW: Depression/Suicidal Ideation
I let that depression eat at me in many ways possible. I did very little eating. I did very little speaking. I did very little of anything except to either read or watch television. I did learn how to knit, although I’ve forgotten most of what I learned back then. (Even though the Sister has re-taught me twice since then.) I did a lot of things with my depression except to face it. When I finally began to realize how morbidly and frighteningly depressed I was, I began to experience severe suicidal ideation. As someone who had been a cutter and depressed before, I knew the signs. It would get to the point where I would fantasize about taking the Neon out for a drive and wrapping it around a tree. When I realized what was happening, I knew I needed help.

I don’t know who began the conversation first, myself or the ex-husband. I remember trying to address what was happening to me with him. It wasn’t the first time in our relationship that I had tried to explain my feelings to him and failing utterly. I may be good at writing things, but I am not so good at saying those very items out loud. The worst part is that after confessing that I needed help, that I was scaring myself, and that I needed some fucking help in all of this, he said to me, “You’re behaving like every other section-12 I’ve ever had to transport.” This is a double slap in the face. A section-12 is a mentally ill patient and paramedics do not take any section-12′s comments, concerns, fears, or statements seriously. Maybe this has changed in the last seven years, but back then, that’s how it was for my ex-husband. And that’s how I’ve come to see it in most paramedics.

I bowed my head low and said, “I need help,” in the face of his accusation.

I was reaching out and trying, and he was accusing me of making everything up. I honestly don’t know what caused him to say what he said. And I can only speculate about how he actually meant those words. I can only comment on how I felt when he said that to me, which was that my problems were not real, they were imagined, and that I was not important. He quickly realized he had messed up and reached out to a therapist in our area and got me in to see her a month later. But, the words had been let out. He had said something very, very, very fucked up.

It hurt. /TW

I still had a month until therapy, though, and in that time I tried to use my friendships as a good bouncing off point to ease the ache. I made it abundantly clear to TH that I was morbidly depressed. I honestly don’t know if he was able to figure out what was actually causing the depression – holdovers from past traumas coupled with an unsupportive husband – or if I told him. It doesn’t matter. He didn’t really say anything, which was a boon. He just listened. And he had the best hugs to provide: broad shoulders for crying and snot, gentle hands to relax the tension in one’s back, and the right noises to keep the skittish from bolting. I didn’t have to tell the Sister anything. She lived with us, heard the fights, and invariably I told her about them on our way to school or late at night. Besides, it wasn’t difficult to discern that the deep bags beneath my eyes were simply from lack of sleep.

The Sister had her own stuff at this time that’s important. She got back together with the Lumberjack. This was a bad idea all around. She’ll admit to everyone that this guy was a mistake, not the capital M kind, but it was just not a good idea. I’ve stated before that this was an act to get away from her ex as much as possible and the Lumberjack was his total opposite. She succeeded in that regard. However, the Sister is a very passionate person in all things and the Lumberjack was not. I think his passions went to Naruto and the Dresden Files. Part of me believes that some of the aches and pains she began to suffer during this time was due to the fact that she was forcing herself into a situation that she had no business forcing herself into.

One night, she just fell the fuck over in the middle of our kitchen. The paramedic didn’t react. Her boyfriend didn’t react. I rushed over and started flipping the fuck out. I wasn’t the one who was supposed to know what to do in a situation like this. My ex husband was supposed to be jumping up and doing his paramedic thing. However, I think at this point he had decided that everything and anything that the Sister said was a lie or a made up story. I think he also felt that whatever she did was a lie. This is a recurring theme, I think, with him. It’s possible he was aware that she was already cheating on the Lumberjack with ex Demon Boy and maybe he thought her guilt was forcing this on her. I don’t think that; I think she was in some damn pain.

We took her to the hospital – as I said, she was in a lot of pain. Neither the paramedic nor her boyfriend stayed with her. I did. I read Timeline by Michael Crichton to her, I think. Or maybe it was another book about time travel. She still had a lot of kind of wacky ideas in her head placed their by ex Demon Boy and time travel was something she was still very interested in then. I don’t think she is now, or not nearly as much as she was. I held her hand as they made her loopy on drugs. I did my best to get the nurses to listen to me when they tried to give her 4cc’s of morphine. Drugs react fast in her and I wanted them to give her a half dosage. The mean nurse wrote down 4cc’s after I told her not to do that. The nice nurse who administered it gave her a half dose, which was even better because we found out that the Sister was allergic to it. It was also really great that the nice nurse was carrying around some anti-morphine shit in her pocket because she had had 2 people experience allergic reactions to it that night. Later, we made jokes about how she would never be a heroin addict.

That was the first real time we told official people we were sisters.

The next week, I barely passed through anything. I was in my own little world. The Sister did not bother telling me about her reopening of her relationship with the ex-Demon Boy. Later, I would get incredibly suspicious. But at that time, I was very much lost in my own head. I wasn’t paying attention to anything but my own misery. It was around this time that I was asked not to use my cell phone so much because we “didn’t have the minutes.” It meant that the two out-of-state resources I had – my ex-Christian friend and my mother – had suddenly become off limits. TW: Suicidal Ideation I began to feel extremely isolated and more depressed than before. The thought of wrapping my car around a tree was looking very very very appealing. /TW

I was invited to a party, actually, by TH. His girlfriend-of-the-time had decided on a huge, huge party for their six-month anniversary. Never mind the actual feels of what TH wanted – something quiet and romantic – but she decided, “His house will be empty of parents and little brother. Yes, we need to have another excuse to behave like children.” It’s one thing to behave that way when you were TH and most of the people we hung out with were 18. She had a kid and was only a year or so younger than me. She had no right to behave like some moron who was going spring breaking for the first time. But, I had been invited. I said “no” because I had to work and then because the Sister wasn’t going to go for whatever her reason was and then because I was sure the ex-husband wouldn’t like it.

But, I had to do things for myself, sometimes. There were moments when I could stand up and say, “I am a human being and I will do things like human beings.” As TH pointed out to me at one of his last minute, “please please please come to my party because everyone is friends with [girlfriend's name] and I want someone who is my friend there for me.” And I was one of his friends… so I went.

It was nice. It was that night that I realized why I had always felt like I knew [girlfriend's name] before that. She was a year or two younger than me. She had gone to the high school down the street. And she had slept with my boyfriend-not-boyfriend in my bed. It’s more complicated than that, obviously, but that did not predispose me to liking her. The fact that she treated TH like complete shit after taking away his virginity (yes, he’s slept with two people – me and her) and using him like everyone else in her life? That really didn’t predispose me to liking her any more. It would only get worse with time.

So, I went to the party for a little bit. I wasn’t there long because I had to drive back to my own house. I had a while to be free and quiet and without anyone else around. I was looking forward to the drive home when TH walked me to my car. We both talked a little bit in the ice cold of winter, snow on the ground and sparkling under a very lively moon. We hugged and pulled back and there was a moment where time froze. You know those moments? Time freezes because you will it to or just because it forgets how to move forward. And in that moment, I could have kissed him with his girlfriend inside and my husband at home and it would have been much too insane. The moment passed and we ignored the awkwardness of our final goodbye. We didn’t say anything about that almost-kiss.

Stress is a funny thing. It makes people do insane and crazy things. I began to get severe nervous stomach issues. I’ve always had a nervous stomach. Even though TH and I had not kissed and even though my ex-husband was completely unaware, it made me nervous. Coupled with the fact that finals were coming up, I was often feeling incredibly nauseated and generally nervous. The Sister was having her own issues with nerves since, you know, she was busy cheating on the Lumberjack under our noses. We all had our problems. None of us would have known what the ex-husband’s were since he didn’t confide in us. It doesn’t matter what we were all feeling at this point. There’s still no excuse.

The ex-husband and I were arguing about the dishes. I believe the Sister was making dinner at this moment. I think we had requested that he do a load of dishes because she needed something to cook in. I don’t remember. He told us that all we did was go to school, so we could do the damn dishes “once in a while.” This is hilarious – I did the dishes a lot. The Sister did a lot of our cooking, so she was mostly exempt. This left dish duty to the ex-husband and myself. None of us were good housekeepers (though I would like to think that the Sister and I are better at it now) and we knew that going in. The ex-husband and I had volunteered for most of the dish duty and I had promised I would clean the bathroom. (I like cleaning the bathroom, I guess?) So, at this point, I felt that the ex-husband was pretty fucking obligated to the do the dishes especially after telling us we were lazy layabouts, more or less.

TW: Threat to Personal Safety
We started fighting about it. The Sister was behind me at first, I think, and he turned with a sharp knife in his hand. I think I had started maneuvering myself out of his way or I had been leaving the kitchen because the argument wasn’t doing anyone any good. I don’t remember. I just remember turning around for a final snotty remark when I saw him holding a knife towards the Sister’s midriff. I know I didn’t realize that he was threatening her with it right away. And I know for a fact it didn’t dawn on me until much later that he had started the threat at me. I don’t remember what she said to him about it, but she does. “What are you going to do with that? Do you know how many people will kill you if you so much as touch me?” I think he may have said something snide about her having no one in her life. I blocked out the rest, I know, but the Sister says that it continued along the lines of, “I am not under your thumb. I will scream to high Heaven and tell everyone what you did. And my father, my grandfather, my uncles, and my brother will kick your ass from here to the equator.”

Or something.

I don’t remember.

I don’t remember him threatening me.

I don’t remember him as anything but holding the knife while the Sister stood in front of me. I was back towards the door to the hallway and she was between the stove and the kitchen table. I don’t remember… it’s a theme. I block it all out. And I know it’s for my safety because I’ll wake up one night, screaming as my mind goes over the edge. The man who swore to love and protect me was threatening me. And when my best friend got in his way, he threatened her, too.

He played it off, of course. “It was a joke.” But is threatening to stab someone ever a joke?
/TW

At the end of the month, TH confessed he had feelings for me. I know I openly reciprocated. I remember writing a very cryptic blog entry about it in my old blog, in which I mention that I wouldn’t say a damn word in case the ex-husband was monitoring me. I do know that I internalized the fear and anxiety of someone who was cheating… even though I wasn’t cheating. It felt that way, in a way, that I was doing wrong. And after his threatening our safety, I began to really fear the ex-husband. I internalized this with more nervous stomach. Everyone thought I was pregnant, at school, and I laughed at them. I laughed like a hyena in all of their concerned faces. “I can’t get pregnant; the ex-husband said so.” I’m not sure if I told anyone that, specifically, but that’s how it was.

I can remember running to the bathroom one day in between finals. And I can remember trying to throw up. And I can remember TH’s [girlfriend's name] coming in to check on me. And I knew she wasn’t there because she wanted to be there, checking up on me, but that she had been ordered to check on me by TH. And I was grateful that someone cared as to why I was throwing up bile in the toilet.

Lucy was trying on her new dress and realized she needs different undergarments. Instead of asking me for help, she went through my drawers. Instead of asking for new undergarments, she cut mine shorter to fit under the dress. Instead of telling me the truth, she lied.

It was horrible! I’ve been dealing with Lucy lying for months. I have asked Adam to step in and he never did. Of course because then he would have to admit to his lying. Back in May I asked Adam to step in to help with Thomas and his inappropriate actions with his girlfriend. And Adam didn’t because he would have to admit that Adam was also have inappropriate actions.

Bottom line, it hit me hard. I’ve been a single parent for YEARS! I was reliving all of the deceit. It was crushing.

I called Adam and asked for help. He of course was taking it at his own pace. He likes to avoid conflict unless it slaps him. It dawned on me there is no way I’ll be able to ask for his help after we move. 16,000 miles is not conducive to co-parenting. I was going to have to figure this out on my own.

Family meeting time! On occasions, I’ve called family meetings. They’ve never been really productive because I was the only on interested in setting up family goals. But I was determined to make this one work. And it did. The three of us determined what Lucy’s punishment would be. All three of us were satisfied with the results.

Then we opened the floor to all topics. Many things were covered. Then it hit. I had to tell the kids why I was so sensitive to discussions on Buddhism and Thailand. Remember, Adam’s whore is Thai and a Buddhist. Lucy was suddenly devastated. I couldn’t figure out why. Then she tells me.

Adam and she had been practicing Thai. Lucy thought it was to be able to speak while on vacation. Also, Adam and Lucy had a plan to move to Thailand after her college graduation. She realized that all of this planning with her father wasn’t about her. It was about him and his whore.

I have to tell you the look on her face was sadder than finding out there’s no Santa. She had a hard time describing her feelings. Finally, she came up with “disappointment.” How do you comfort a child when she finds out her father is an ass? We both cried.

Rant of the Day: Adam stated he hates it when I go with him to the store, but then invites me to go with him. I’m confused as always.

Guiding Card of the Day: Ace of Cups (again) – express love and be open to love

Goal of the Day: I don’t have one, but I’m starting at the gym. Adam wants to meet for coffee after working out. Can I count having coffee as my workout?

One of the issues I have found in finishing this project up is that, as I grow closer to the end of my time with the ex-husband, I find it harder and harder to be as neutral as I think I should be. This, I feel, is borne out in my last post on the subject (linked below) in which I feel that I was more accusatory and victimized than I had hoped the entry would convey. To me, part of the point in shadow work is to be able to look at the whole experience objectively. I’ve spent the last six years ignoring the victim I had become and being angry at the whole of it. By entering the realm of shadow work, I should be able to see it all from each perspective, I think. In not being able to do so, I worry that I’ve failed at the work in question.

A few weeks ago, my co-worker and I were discussing one of the telltale traits of an emotional abuser. This trait is that, invariably, they will separate you, whether you know it or not, from your friends and loved ones. As I thought about my and my co-worker’s conversation later, it really hit me that, if nothing else, my ex-husband is supremely guilty of this. I’ve said it before, in various arenas, that there would never have been any evidence of his abuse because it was all the mental and emotional variety. However, after this conversation, it was really brought home to me that I really am an abuse victim and that I survived, magically. What makes it ten times worse, as I’ve mentioned to the Sister about this particular blog entry arc, is that I have to come to grips with the fact that I was a victim. Me. A victim. I was victimized. I let it continue on and on, well past the time when I should have said, “hey, I’m done now,” and that really irritates me.

By not being made to remember what an emotionally abusive person will do to you, I was able to shrug the whole thing off easily. I can’t shrug it off anymore. I have to face the facts: I was a victim.

If I ever had to legitimately guess as to where my ex-husband made the mistake, it would have to be with the Sister. For months and months after moving up north, he had been on me to become friendly with her. While I’ve outlined some of the funner highlights of what an emotional abusive person will do, I’m left with the evidence of his failure based solely on the Sister. He pushed me to be friendly with her. He allowed her to move into the apartment we lived in. This leads me to believe that he was not consciously aware of the emotional abuse, which is possible. You don’t just wake up one day, I would assume, and say, “I’m going to emotionally abuse my long-term girlfriend/wife today!” If not for her living in our house, I honestly have to wonder if I would have ended up dead, either by my own hand or his.

Really, the Sister saved my life.

What if I wanted to fight
Beg for the rest of my life
What would you do?
You say you wanted more
What are you waiting for?
I’m not running from you

We moved into the new apartment together, the three of us. It was a matter of days before the Sister and I went back to school. We were both going for our liberal arts degrees with a focus on history since we’re both humongous geeks. My passion is Russia, Medieval England, and ancient Egypt; her passion is the Civil War and Victorian England. It is through her that I’ve come to realize that as much as I want my history degree, I never knew what I wanted to use it for. But, she gave me the idea about fact-checking and I can get behind that. I could look up random facts. In a way, that is exactly what I do at my job now, but that’s a different tale for a different time. Both the Sister and I began matriculating at our local community college (local being a completely relative term as the school we were going to was a 30 minute drive through ridiculous amounts of traffic) with a new lease on life. We were both pretty excited and positive about things.

One of the ways that the Sister has saved me is by going to school with the intent of making new friends. That was not my intent, at all. I wanted to go to school, get my damn degree, and leave. I didn’t want to be nice to anyone. I didn’t want to do anything with anyone new. I didn’t want to have discussions, hang out after classes, or anything. I just wanted to be that asshole with the heavy backpack, a frown perpetually on her face as she walked from one building to another. The Sister was under this weird impression that she needed more friends – I believe this was a holdover hang up from her ex Demon Boy – and so, she made new friends. She demanded that I meet them and it was through that initial meeting that my life changed irrevocably in numerous ways.

School and my job took up my life, which didn’t go over very well with my ex-husband. He was needy in a way that I can’t even begin to describe. The weirdest part is that he really wasn’t needy before as all of that. He may have required that I be the center of his universe, and vice versa, when we were in Texas, but “needy” isn’t really how I would describe him. However, there were people and places that I was a part of that he was not a part of, for once. Even our jobs, in Texas, were nominally tied to one another – and he would often regale me with how I got the job at my condo’s front desk “because of him” – so we were one functional unit, not just on the island and with the people, but even so far as the condominiums we each worked for. With me going back to school and having a job that took me off to it on weekends, I had no time for him to be the center of my world. And frankly, as much as I hated the job thing, it was kind of nice to be on my own for the weekends… even if it meant I never had a day off and that 90% of the calls were ridiculous.

That first month of us all living together – September of 2006 – was a honeymoon period. The three of us were getting to know one another in ways that we hadn’t had to get to know one another. I had been living with the ex-husband for almost the entirety of our relationship at that point, but I had never seen him as a paramedic before. This was new. As we got used to our new schedules, living with a new person, and generally trying to survive what we were putting ourselves through, the ex-husband’s job was already beginning to take its toll. He would come home from the job and just stare some nights. Other nights, he’d hop into the shower with his boots, pants, and shirt on. And still other nights, he would come home and smoke my entire pack of cigarettes after claiming to have quit. It was eating him alive.

The thing about paramedics is that they will only ever meet you on a really bad day. You may be able to meet a firefighter or a police officer on someone else’s bad day and not yours, but that’s not the case with paramedics. You will only ever meet them when you or someone you love is hurting, was hurt, and are having a very bad, no good kind of day. I believe it was that month that he came home, staring blankly at the walls. He said, “I had to transport a vegetable today to Boston. The boy… he was twelve and his mother beat him so badly that his brain barely works. And all because the system thought a mother was a better care provider than a father.” I remember the haunted look on his face as he told me in paramedic language – using words and acronyms to distance himself from the situation, like “vegetable,” that he had to see – of all the horrors he could. No names. No specifics. Just generalizations. And it ate at him. I don’t know if the Sister saw this eating at him as much as I did, but it did.

And I honestly believe that’s part of the reason he was the way he was at the end.

With new friends came a whole rash of jealousy the likes of which I cannot even begin to convey. Both the ex-husband and I had been insanely jealous towards one another and towards opposite sex friends in previous years. However, I had rapidly revised my stance on jealousy over the years. I used to be, before I was with the ex-husband and his constant cheating on me, a rashly jealous person. If you so much as looked at someone, then that meant you were thinking of leaving me and I didn’t have the tact to shut my trap about it. However, one of the positives of his cheating on me, as if there could be any, was the fact that I managed to learn how to temper my jealousy. However, one of the side effects of being a chronic cheater is a sudden and intense belief that your significant other is cheating on you. I wasn’t, but it was a conversation that happened often. With the addition of new names in my and the Sister’s vocabulary, it became commonplace for him to demand if I found anyone good-looking or if I was looking for My Ex-Husband Number 2.

There comes a point where, when constantly accused of cheating, you begin to think about it.

The thing is that I was in a nasty, nasty, and deep sex-depression at this point. I think this, more than the fact that we had new friends, was why he became so jealous and would lash out with it. As someone who had been raped and molested, I have severe issues with sex. As in, I don’t have it. It will have been a year in July since the last time TH and I had a sexual encounter. As the Sister has often said, I was “in a sex-camel phase.” Yes, well, this phase had long-lasting consequences. I’m still reaping the benefits of that, but that’s for later.

Now, let’s talk about the changes. At the end of September, all of our college friends hung out together at a party. The Sister and I took our significant others of the time – she was with the Lumberjack – and everyone got along. The ex-husband brought a friend for one of our single college ladies and they hit it off. (Considering how that relationship ended and what I know of that person now, I wonder if their relationship was as bad as she made it out to be. But, there were times where the stories I got from the Sister about that girl’s relationship with the ex-husband’s work buddy could mirror shit the ex-husband had done to me. And if there’s any truth in that, then I wonder if it is just a paramedic thing or if my ex-husband was only friendly with people like him. I don’t know.) The ex-husband was slightly mollified that nothing would happen between me and any of these new people. He also seemed pleased that I had friends and we went off with the understanding that no one but him meant anything to me, minus whatever the Sister’s and my relationship happened to be.

The month of October is a bad month for me and it was no different being back in places where memories are stronger. That was part of the reason I was such a sex-camel. But there’s so much more to October… and I’ll get into it one day with these entries, when I get that far. But suffice it to say, I flew very deeply into myself and prevented myself from caring. The ex-husband’s jealousy rants began to take off about then, I believe. And I think it had to do with the affair he was having with his paramedic partner. I’ve met her and as with all the other girls he was with “behind my back,” she was tall and reminded me a bit of “the one who got away.” He also began talking to “the one who got away” around that time.

November was when the shit hit the fan, though.

On November 2nd of that year, the Sister and I attended a haunted tour of our college with John Zaffis. During that tour, while on the grounds of the college and in one of the basement areas students are not allowed to go, I saw a little old man who I dubbed, “Father Time.” I think the Sister saw him, but I’m uncertain. He followed me home and I was frightened. Dead people, astral people, whomever or whatever this old man was… I didn’t know him and prior to this any “cracking out” I may have done was fantasy living only. Nothing had ever followed me home and I was at the point where I was never, ever going to see the dead as much as I may have wanted to. (My father was dead so, you know, wanting to see the dead was kind of important.) I admitted to the ex-husband about this man following me home and he flipped his shit. The argument we had about it later was of epic proportions.

I don’t really remember the start of the argument, but at one point, he said to me, “This is why I shut down every fucking house I’ve ever lived in from spirit fucking contact. But our house was pure and I didn’t have to do it. And now? Now I have to do it, thanks to you.” The ramifications of this statement hit me like a slap in the face. I can remember crying in the entry way with him on the stairs and screaming, “Thanks to you, I’ve never fucking felt or seen my father in all the time we’ve been together when before, he was a constant presence in my life. I hate you.” It was as though he was taking my father away from me all over again.

As a child, and as a teenager, I had been able to sense my father’s presence. My mother and my little brother, to some extent, had similar experiences with him after his death. But in all the time I had been with the ex-husband, I had never felt him around me unless I was alone on the beach or with my mother. I just thought our relationship was changing or something, but to learn that the man I had tied my life to was the reason he had stopped coming around? It really and honestly felt just like he had stolen away my life in that moment.

In a kind of repentance for being with the ex-husband for so long and being without contact with my dead father for so long, I think this is why akhu veneration is as important to me as it is now. The psychology behind it holds, as well as the fact that I do enjoy venerating some akhu. But, now as I think back on it, I think the reason it’s so important is because of those six years where my father’s ghostly influence was incredibly minimal.

The argument could have, and probably would have, escalated but the Sister diffused this argument, as she would in future with the rest. I hate it when mommy and daddy fight. She had told us this was what she would do whenever we fought. She had wanted to do it when living with a [previous] married couple, but I don’t believe she had ever had the ability. All I know is that it was what she was going to do with us, as she had forewarned. And for a while, it worked. It stopped the rages in the two of us for a while. There’s something ridiculous about a 24-year-old woman whining this at two other adults.

Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you
Look in my eyes
You’re killing me, killing me
All I wanted was you

For a minute, let’s break while I talk to you about the Sister at this time frame. Her story is intensely tied to my story and it’s tantamount that some things are known before I move on.

The Sister, as anyone who has been reading my blog for any length of time knows, was diagnosed as bipolar disorder, type two in 2007. We were living together prior to her official diagnosis and she was not on any medications for depression. She did have Ritalin because she is also ADHD. It is because of this living together pre-diagnosis that I am incredibly able to handle her disorder and be her buddy. If I could survive her deep depressions and her insane manic episodes prior to medicating them, then I can survive anything she throws at me.

One of the joys of her diagnoses is that she also suffers from extreme paranoia. This started due to her ADHD and people being unable to follow her conversations. Quite often, she would stop in our conversations – as she does less so now – to ask me if I understood how we went from discussing window treatments to a philosophical religious conversation. I have almost always been able to follow the pathways of the conversations, as someone who has lived with ADHD people all my life, and as “a buddy.”

Since she was undiagnosed as bipolar for so long, quite often, she will have days where she thinks she is “crazy.” The diagnosis is a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, we have evidence as to why she would hand over her bank card to me, periodically, and say, “Stop me. I want to buy a tuba.” And we also have evidence as to why the next day, she would lie in bed as little more than a blob and hate the world. However, the diagnosis is public knowledge and now, most people are less likely to listen to her about anything real. They tend to equate bipolar disorder with “liar,” “manipulator,” and “story teller.” While previous doctors, prior to diagnosis, probably just thought she was psychosomatic with her aches and pains or possible a hypochondriac, now everyone chalks it up to her bipolar diagnosis.

In one instance, she was never listened to because she was a hypochondriac. In the next instance, she is never listened to because she is bipolar. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

I tried to be someone else
But nothing seemed to change
I know now, this is who I really am inside.
Finally found myself
Fighting for a chance.
I know now, this is who I really am.

In November, the Lumberjack was a constant feature at our home. If the Sister wasn’t going to the boonies where he lived, then he was spending the weekend at our home. The Lumberjack is exactly as he sounds. He was a very tall, meaty guy who favored jeans and flannel shirts. He was incredibly simple in his wants and desires, but he was also incredibly complicated as an individual. He and the ex-husband became very close, very tight friends during those weekends. They would talk and giggle and just generally have the manly version of pillow fights and scary story-telling whenever the Lumberjack was over. It was around this time, not long after our haunted tour at the college, that the doorbell started ringing for absolutely no reason.

I have to assume that the ex-husband had “spiritually shut down” the house by this point. I know he didn’t ask either of our opinions on it, but neither the Sister nor I were pleased. I’ve already illustrated why I was not happy about this above. The Sister disliked this idea because she has had her own ghostly happenings with her grandmother. She liked feeling her close by and I don’t really fucking blame her. It was these little visits the Sister had with her grandmother that could bring her out of some of her deepest funks. But, the ex-husband had his own ideas on the matter and we were not asked our opinions on this. So, anyway, the doorbell began to ring after this and I laughed heartily. At one point, I believe I said it was my father since he had a habit of ringing the doorbell at the house I grew up in whenever his cat wanted in.

My ex-husband wasn’t particularly pleased with this. Whenever the doorbell would ring, he would run to the door to see who was there. At first, he went the rational route. He thought some kids were playing around or someone was mistakenly at our door. However, no one was there. This happened a few times during one of the Lumberjack’s weekend visits. It got to the point where my ex-husband completely, and with back up from the Lumberjack, decided that it was a “demon” who was ringing the bell. Looking back at it now, I often wonder if he wasn’t correct in this summation.

Earlier, while thinking of some of the other bits I need to discuss with this entry arc, I have had to wonder if a demon didn’t actually end up taking over the ex-husband at some point. Maybe he was correct in his [possibly mistaken] belief that it was a demon at the doorbell. It didn’t matter. Both the Sister and I made copious amounts of fun at the two of them. “What?” I believe I said at one point. “It’s the fucking Doorbell Demon?” I went to the door and looked outside, opening the door. I called out to the alleged “Doorbell Demon” and found nothing going on, felt nothing outside.

Life would go back as normal, I suppose, but the Sister and I would remember this moment years later and giggle uproariously. It was either that, or I scream in horror at the pain and terror of the next few months.

To be continued…

The result: I think we were intimate. However, I have a feeling he had sex. The difference?

• I like to connect with the person I’m with. I want intimacy.
• Adam has a mission in mind.
• As I’ve told Adam several times, you want sex on Friday start romancing me on Tuesday.
• As Adam has told me, I want it several times a week. Adam supports sex on demand.
• I want to cuddle.
• Adam wants to pass out.
• I agree with the song title – Let’s Talk about You and Me
• Adam thinks it should be Let’s Talk about You OR Me…or maybe Me and ME

The funny thing is since “The Great Announcement” Adam has been more caring towards me than he has in years. Also, the sex is better.

So I ask, is having Sex with Your Ex a good idea or a bad idea? If you Google this, you will receive 468,000,000 results. The good news is that I’m not the only one crazy enough to want to have sex with the ex.

Our “marriage counselor” (and she’s in quotes because I think she’s terrible) does not recommend sex. She says it gives me hope that our marriage will continue. Well, most of Adam’s actions give me hope. However, hope is generated by the heart.  My brain is still functioning.

From what I can tell, the only real problem is it leaves me confused. If I ask what it meant, he will respond with “nothing has changed.” And it will hurt my heart again. If I ignore everything, I will drive myself crazy wondering what is going on.

At this point, my mind is so full that I’m wondering if the moment was worth it. Sadly, I think it was.

Rant of the Day: When you start a text conversation, it is polite to tell the person when it has ended. Otherwise, they wait for a response that never comes.

Guiding Card of the Day: 2 of Pentacle – have more fun.  Hmm, isn’t that what caused this mess?

Goal of the Day: Today is our day out for lunch and book shopping.  My goal is to NOT throw a book at Adam’s head.

Do you remember those cards that had on the front “Happiness Is”. Then underneath there was some thoughtful (sometime sappy) statement.

Do you remember jumping in the waves at the ocean? Kids are always laughing when they jump over waves.

Do you remember the last time you laughed with uncontrolled laughter? Or felt true happiness?

Sadly, I don’t.

• When petting tigers in Thailand, I wondered if my family was taking photos of me like I do of them.
• When zip lining through trees, I was concerned that my daughter wasn’t having fun.
• When watching lions mate in the African bush, I was concerned that the other people in the truck couldn’t get a clear view.

My guiding card today says to look for happiness – true happiness. So now I wonder what truly makes me happy?

Rant of the Day – Adam can’t complete any task. Our therapist told me to give him a list of things to do to help me. Back in January I gave him that list.  It had 6 items on it.  In March, I threw a fit and two items were completed. I did one item. That leaves 3 more to go.  We have about 50 days. Who wants to guess how long it takes for him to complete 3 items?

Guiding Card of the Day – Four of wands: celebrate freedom and happiness

Goal of the Day – Do something fun AND enjoy it.

Turns out, the key to owning me is to say you love me, hell, hint at it once & I’ll put up with anything, do anything, be anyone you need. I’ll raise your children, buy you furniture, cook & clean. I’ll be your mother, your lover, your (literal) punching bag, your scapegoat, your defender, your cheerleader- all this and you don’t even have to be nice to me, just occasionally say you love me. (Or in the case of one very long relationship, hint occasionally that you almost love me & I’ll jump through hoops trying to get that carrot.) It’s funny, a ThatFriend told me once that he wished I would be half as kind & giving to myself as I was to others, I thought he was being flattering. I think maybe I get what he was saying now.

I started thinking about it more, wondering why just the words were so important, I mean, even my mom said it sometimes (though usually with an audience), and more often than not she was saying just the opposite, so why are the words so important to me? But that’s when I saw: Being told that someone loved me was a reward. If I was really, really good, someone would say they loved me. Or if there were a lot of people around (appearances are important), so that maybe explains a little bit my need for people, too, I guess.

But the thing is, I don’t believe in words anymore. I don’t even believe in love, at least not when it comes to me. Sure, I can believe that my friends have found love or at least a type of companionship that combines friendship with sex, but I absolutely cannot believe that anything of the sort could ever happen to me. Anyone who has ever said they love me has used it against me, has used it to manipulate me and eventually to hurt me, starting with my parents and going clear up to my ExHusband- though for what it’s worth, I knew it wasn’t real by the time he came around. I knew I was “settling” so to speak, I just didn’t know how very low I’d set the bar.

Whereas once upon a time, the idea that one day someone would love me provided me with great comfort, now the thought that someone might say it to me terrifies me and fills me with anxiety. Even in my safe little fantasy world, that place I’m told all abused children apparently make in their heads, I can’t deal with the idea of love there- which is funny since that’s the one place I consistently felt loved. Maybe that’s the problem? Maybe I made up an unattainable version of what I thought it would feel like? I’m not above taking the blame on that. But the point is, even when I try and put myself in that warm, safe headspace, I start to feel cornered, anxious and at risk. My only Safe now is Alone. The only love I believe in is from my dog.

I concluded over a year ago that I need to be my own hero, my own champion, my own mother and father, my own spouse, my own source of comfort, love and acceptence. No one will ever do it for me, clearly I’ve learned that by now. The trick here lies in the doing, though, in the trusting myself enough to stay single and not give in to the occasional loneliness. I fear that I’m going to fuck up, I always do, I’ll probably relapse, but I’m only human and mistakes are okay as long as I can start working to see when I’m fucking up and work toward fixing it. I’m doing well so far. In the past year I have let one person kiss me, and I was drunk which surely excuses me a little bit- I did specifically tell him that I wouldn’t fuck him, so that’s something. I have started to announce my celibacy, I wear it like a badge: NYV does not have sex! So don’t even try! I refuse dates, I have effectively taken myself off the market. When people talk about the person they’re dating, I counter by talking about my dog. It makes me feel safe.

And then there’s this: If I don’t let anyone get close enough to pretend they love me, I’ll never get hurt again.

Anyway, the lawyer then sends me a couple of forms to complete. I’m thinking it is going to be basic stuff.  YIKES again! This is going to take me all weekend. I don’t want to think about this all weekend.

Maybe I should put my head into the sand. It’s been working for Adam all these years.

Sorry for the short post. I’m overwhelmed. Under rested. Side tracked by other things. Feeling slanted. Upside down. And every other angle you can think of.

Decon Chad Cal Geary @xychad 14h
iCloud Control Panel 2.1.1 for Windows I LOVE YOU #APPLE SO MUCH

God I Love #Itunes & #CoffeeBreak We Just Had a Lesbian & Gay Anal Sex Coversation During Chem Lab!! :]

Had a Fun Night #CoffeeBreak & Now Emailing The PO Over a Cafe Breve Carmel Pecan Latte, & Getting Checked Out By a Cute Boy At My Shop

*end of Tweets*

( The Above & Below Was Just Posted To My Facebook –> ) https://www.facebook.com/deconchadwickcall.geary

Trying to Re-Find Myself & Who I Was / Am.
Just Got To Re-Work on My Goals & Plan On a Great Summer With Friends
& Lift, Swim, Tan, & Go back to School For Computer Science.

Thankful for Good Friends Old & New As Well As My Ex’s

My Tests All Came Back Negative From UofU – I Figured

This Was The Best Part Of My Night last Night
(Pix Below): — at Salt Lake Coffee Break.

@CoffeeBreak
RE: CLC + TJY

Now when confronted with this, the man-child arrives on the scene and pitches a fit stating “I’m not giving mixed messages. I want a divorce.” He doesn’t see how his actions and words are conflicting. Here are some examples from this week. Please remember while you read this list, all Adam wants is a divorce and to be left alone.

• Tuesday – Adam is invited for dinner to spend time with the kids. He proceeds to follow me around the house. At the end of the evening, he gives me a tender hug good night. It is followed by a lovely text thanking me for the evening.
• Wednesday – Adam wants to continue with our book club. He wants me to pick the book. He also suggests that we have lunch together over the weekend because he misses that time. It could be the four of us or just the two of us. During that time, we could also go shopping and buys our books.
• Thursday – Adam is attending Lucy’s volleyball game. Since it is 30 minutes away, he suggests that we could go together followed by a family dinner. Also, he wants to start going to the gym together and staying for coffee afterwards.

This means in a seven day week Adam will spend 3-4 days with us and the kids are optional. But remember, he just “wants to be alone and wants a divorce.” No mixed messages to be found here (arrgh).

I’m sure everyone is groaning right now. Many of you are poised at your keyboard to give me an earful. The general message will be for me to tell him to pound sand. And you are right. I should tell him to pound sand. In all fairness, I do enjoy spending time with him. There is one thing stopping me from breaking this cycle – distance.

In a mere 52+ days, I will be gone. I will be 16,000 miles away. I will be with my family and friends.

There will be no international texting. There will be emails, but those can be controlled. I won’t feel guilty for not having him to dinner. I won’t feel the need to carpool to the kids games. I won’t be exposed to his daily activities. I can just walk away.

So in reality, I’m lucky. Many of you have to live near your Ex. I have an entire ocean and the equator between us. He’s going to have to work really hard to affect me after I leave. Since he didn’t work hard to keep me here, my guess is he will get tired of the effort.

So “Should I Stay or Should I Go”? The answer is go…Go…GO!

Rant of the Day: When you are given the opportunity to spend time with your children, don’t complain because you have to drive them somewhere.

Guiding Card of the Day: Knight of Cups – express my feelings

Goal of the Day: Run errands that I want to avoid.

Luckily, Lucy normally fills in the blanks. She needs time with Dad. She tells funny stories and they talk. As long as she keeps him occupied, I’m not irritated.  Well, not normally.

Last night, Lucy was telling a story about how she was mediating between teen drama girls. She attempted to quote Buddha, but couldn’t remember the exact phrasing. Adam picked up on this (remember Buddhism is his new favorite subject). He said “no one can make you angry, you choose your emotion.” He continued to spout about how this idea was Buddhist and how great it was.

Well, I almost threw a dish at his head. You see I don’t disagree with his statement. However, 10 years ago I had this same conversation with him. The topic had been covered on Oprah.  His response was utter distain. He proceeded to argue me down about how ridiculous it was. Other people made him mad. He didn’t choose it. His anger was someone else’s fault.

Now I know Oprah did not come up with this concept. It’s been covered by most faiths, beliefs, self-help and psychiatrist in the world.  However, Adam thinks he’s the first one to get it. (insert laughter here)

Other concepts Adam has missed:

1. Looking at the problem from the other’s viewpoint
2. If you want sex on Friday, start romancing on Tuesday.
3. Family first…work second
4. People make mistakes and can learn from them

Adam, if you had spent time watching Oprah, you would have caught on these new concepts back in the 90′s thus saving me years of frustration.

By the way, I chose the emotion frustration. I own it. I’m responsible for it. I will not pass the blame on to someone else.

Rant of the Day: This posting was my rant of the day.

Guiding Card of the Day: Ace of Cups – Emotional awareness; open my heart to others

Goal of the Day:  Run errands with Lucy; focus on her

“I know what kind of woman she is; the ‘you just can’t trust her around your man’ type.” I set my coffee cup down, eyes fixed on the interviewer.

“The moment she brushed past me in her pin-up couture and platinum blonde extensions, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I smelled her cheap perfume in my bedroom and on my pillows.”

“Was it women’s intuition?”

I shrugged, “The same way I got him, was the same way he left.”

2. Grow a set and cancel on the exchange student. He’s a whack-job and doesn’t like to bathe.

3. Go to Europe, early and often. Your parents are paranoid xenophobes and you’ll regret missing the experience. Also, don’t expect your friends to go, most of them are all talk. You’ll surely meet people there- I promise that you’re exceptionally good at meeting new people in bizarre places.

4. Burn your first credit card. You’re not responsible enough to handle it. Trust me.

5. Do not go out with the new guy in school that you and your friends made the bet on. You might technically “win” but it’ll end badly: with a marble lamp meeting the back of your head followed by your unconscious rape and an abortion. Oh, and your parents will find out and blame it all on you.

6. You will get out of [hometown] and the farther away you are in the world, the happier you are. Don’t let anyone hold you back. You’ll also travel the world and speak quite a few languages, just remember that it’s never too early to start.

7. DO NOT be so excited to pick up a picture frame for FirstBoyfriend! Wait until he gets to your place and have him pick it out. If you leave in a hurry, you’re going to end up in a terrible car accident with an uninsured motorist that leaves you with a hefty medical bill and spinal problems for the rest of your life.

8. Don’t feel so bad about hating your maternal grandparents, they’ll actually get worse. But on the plus side, after you turn 18, you’ll only see them once and then you manage to avoid them for the rest of your life. (Aside from 2 minutes on the phone with your grandfather shortly before he passes away.)

9. Hang out with Aunt Suzie and Uncle Gary more, they’re actually pretty cool. Aunt Suzie will practically become your surrogate mom later on in life.

10. Don’t listen to your parents, you do not need a “fast degree”! Go to school for as long as you want, neither of them have an education past high school and they don’t know what they’re talking about.

11. If you get that depo shot, you’ll never be able to use HBC again, however if you invest in an IUD now, it’ll be totally worth the piece of mind.

12. [Very good friend you have a crush on] is gay, he’ll tell you when he gets out of the Marine Corps. That’s why he won’t go out with you, but you’ll be great friends for years to come.

13. In your mid-20′s, you’re going to get invited to the housewarming party of a co-worker you barely know and you’ll force yourself to go even though you don’t want to- BAD IDEA. Listen to your instincts and stay home. And if you ever end up meeting her friends, avoid ever hanging out with any of them on your own, definitely don’t date any of them (especially an older single dad who seems a little “off”). This knowledge could save your life.

14. Your brother is Schizophrenic and not only suffers from delusions, but he gets violent. He doesn’t have terminal cancer. Honestly, you’re better off writing him off, anything you try to do for him ends badly for you.

15. Don’t marry anyone who lies to you, don’t excuse his behavior, just walk away. If he lies once, he’ll lie again. If you catch him sending dirty emails, IMs or texts, drop him like he’s on fire. And DO NOT marry anyone before you live with them, no matter what anyone says. You’re better off single forever than divorced after 9 months of marriage.

16. Get a dog. You will finally feel whole and loved and accepted when you get your first dog and it is the absolute best feeling in the world.

17. I saved the most important thing for last: You’re not crazy, your parents are treating you horribly and it is abusive. When you get to be my age, you’ll live on the other side of the country and won’t even speak to them anymore. In fact, you have no biological family left in your life, you’re on your own and it’s the happiest you’ve ever been. I won’t tell you how old you were in my timeline when you walked away from them, but I’ll tell you that you tried unsuccessfully a few times before the final one and the trick is to get rid of everyone at once, then there are no guilt trips about how bad you are for doing it. Save yourself. Do it when you feel that you’re ready and never look back. Here’s the hard part, as much as I don’t want to hurt you any more than I know they’ve already hurt you, this needs to be said: Everything you fear about them not loving you and the way they seem to enjoy hurting you, it’s true, you’re not imagining it. They are treating your brother better, people are going to approach you years later and confirm all of this. You are not crazy. You are not being dramatic. You are not being an angsty teenager. You might have to suck up this last year before you’re legal, but after that you’re on your own. Go out there and make me proud!

Now I’m not complaining about my lawyer. In fact, I think he is generally a really nice guy looking out for my best interest. This is nice since I’m too trusting. Adam’s lawyer seems to want to take every short cut there is.  He’s told Adam that we can be divorced in 6 months. Hmm, guess he missed the part that I need to be a Virginia resident and our children are minors.

Here are some of the issues that we will be faced with:

1. Where to file? Our house is in Washington State, but I’m moving to Virginia. If we file in Washington State, the divorce will be faster. However, we will need to hire lawyers in Virginia to handle the custody issues. That’s paying for 4 lawyers.
2. Our house in Washington State has renters. We can’t really sell it until they leave.
3. I was planning on leaving the kids here for an extra week. But the lawyer said without a directive that the kids will return to the US that I should not leave them on foreign soil.  Adam is going to FREAK on this.
4. Financial support – in the end it always comes down to money.

Bottom line, Adam is going to freak. The last time we talked about this he ended up screaming at me and I locked him out of the house. I told him our discussions should be via email or in front of a third party.

Rant of the Day – I want to trust him, but his lies and deceit tell me otherwise. I know he is a good father. I know he doesn’t want to be a full time father anymore. But I just can’t trust he won’t keep the kids. I’m tearing myself up.

Guiding Card – 7 of Cups: 7- wishful thinking, options, dissipation

Goal of the Day – Thomas is home sick.  The goal is to take care of him.

Other things are changing, too, like my feelings for almost everyone in my life. I think that my best friend and I are growing apart, I have a hard time talking to her lately. She has a 12 year old BA in Psychology and thinks that this means I either want her to analyze everything I say, or that she’s required to do it and it’s damned annoying. I tell her all the time that I don’t need/want her to do it, but she’s compelled to anyway because it’s part of who she is to tell someone all the reasons everything is okay. But let’s recap, shall we? Her “expert” opinion was that I should stay with TheEx and later that I should stay with ExHusband. Oddly enough, though my 2 best relationships still weren’t perfect and were honestly less than healthy, those were still the people she’s chosen to not like, so excuse me if I choose not to take her advise ever again. I also have a hard time with her continuous complaining about the same exact problems for years on end without ever even trying to do anything about them. I am a lot of things, most of them probably aren’t great, but at least I have always been willing to take action, even if it’s a little later than I should have. I sometimes feel like she gave up on life, like shes just accepted that this is as good as it gets and has settled for it and that bothers me. Also, I’m really hurt and bothered that I’ve lived in this city for 4 years now- 3 years before moving back to New Orleans for a year and now I’ve been back here for a year -and she’s only visited once. For 2 days. Meanwhile I’ve gone out to see her an average of twice a year in that time. Now she did come to New Orleans twice, but once ExHusband bought her ticket and the other time she brought a friend of hers (who I do like, but is a rather bourgie middle-America type of vacationer and wanted to spend all of her time on Bourbon Street getting wasted and screaming “Wooo!”) She makes far more money than I do, plus it’s cheaper to go out where I live. It really bothers me that I don’t warrant a visit.

I’m irritated easier with everyone lately, though. My friend who is like an adopted brother sometimes rubs me wrong with his jokes and the way he picks on me. I feel like so many people expect more from me than I should have to give- maybe because I’ve always done it in the past? I have no idea.

And then there’s this. I’m starting to have dreams in which I have a lover, some man or woman who I know I’m with, who cares about me, some kind of dating situation. I’m not ready to contemplate any of that in real life, I’m just not! I don’t want to be! But I feel like my subconscious is back there saying, “Don’t you think it’s time?” And even worse than the dreams is the fact that I can’t shake that want when they’re gone, I’ll think about whoever it was for days or maybe even a week. When I ended up making out with the front man from my favorite band a few weeks ago, after the initial 2 days of anxiety, I ended up having these silly schoolgirl fantasies about him for 2 weeks! I’ve never done that kind of shit, I’m not that naive, I’m not that ridiculous. Last night I dreamed about a guy who I met at a wedding this past fall. The friends who got married had hinted a little before the wedding that they could set us up, but with the ink barely dry on my divorce papers, I declined. I met him at the wedding, of course, anyway, and I there was some kind of buzz between us, but I ran from it like I was on fire. Probably still would. But now, some guy who I haven’t thought of in probably 6 months is in my brain where he doesn’t belong and I’ll probably crush on him for the rest of the week, or until someone else comes along I guess.

I don’t have time to start looking for a therapist right now, I don’t have time for therapy either, but next month when classes are out, then it might be time.

I have started to do yoga on a regular basis and when I am actually in the act, scrambling to follow Rodney Yee I can’t think about anything else. He loves to just warrior pose 2 you and jump into a downward facing dog…up and down..up and down…again and again and again. He is seriously butt kicking yoga instructor. I didn’t make it through the whole hour today but I am  kind of blah and dehydrated (who would have thought it would be hard to remember to drink water, ever). On a funny note that I have to share though, no matter what I do, my nerd shows and yoga is no different. I have to wear yoga gloves to do downward facing dog because otherwise I slide on my mat. No- I don’t have sweaty hands, I don’t know what the problem is but I feel kind of ridiculous wearing them. So- that is my yoga nerdiness for you.

Ok- so on to my post title and what this post really is about…mother F words is how I feel about this realization. I don’t swear, so in a cute fashion I started saying F words instead of THE F word cause I find it funny and get my point across without swearing. As part of the healing after the atom bomb dropped on my heart, I have reading a book called The Breakup Bible: The Smart Woman’s Guide to Healing From A Breakup or Divorce by Rachel A. Sussman. My therapist told me that while the court judge can grant me a divorce on paper that I am the only one that can grant myself an emotional divorce. If I don’t, I may never get over him. Well, isn’t that terrifying. By happenstance I found this book at Barnes and Noble and seriously, if you know someone going through a hard breakup, buy it for them. It has helped me immensely so far. I have slowly been making progress and last night came to a section called The Attachment Spectrum. Essentially, you have a broad scale from 1 to 20 which rates what the attachment relationship was like with your parents growing up, 1 being assured, 10 being ambivalent, and 20 being avoidance. There are certain aspects of my childhood that fall in different areas but I fall somewhere in the ambivalent category and display some of the signature characteristics:

1. If your parents had a rough marriage, you may have not had any role models to emulate (detail isn’t important but I could see some connections).
2. You may be prone to abandonment issues if a parent had a life threatening illness or died (not my direct parents but two of my grandparents).
3. Ambivalents may run the gamut. Many desperately yearn for connection yet don’t fully process the skill set to navigate healthy relationships (well I can definitely see that). They may be codependent, try too hard to please, and find themselves extraordinarily disappointed and hurt when their love connections severs (ding ding!).
4. Your confidence may not be as good as you would like it to be. Due to this you may engage in “people pleasing” behaviors, and require a high level of approval or responsiveness from your partner (can I hide now?).

Oh wait…there’s more….because of these characteristics I am highly prone to, wait for it, abandonment depression (F WORDS!!!). The therapist and I had discussed weeks ago that I fall into the category of acting like the spouse that has been left, not the one leaving. I fit the description based on how I have felt except for the extreme cases where you use an addiction to deal with the depression, wish or act on hurting yourself, or have thoughts of suicide. No- I don’t want to hurt myself, so don’t worry….but it is just so frustrating because this has been incredibly painful (as one would normally expect it to be painful) but because of some of my personality characteristics and now apparent abandonment issues, I have taken this divorce to a ridiculous new level of suffering. I feel like I have gone from trudging through a manure filled field to manure quicksand with a forecast of raining manure. I’m not going to give up hope but I now know how much harder I am going to have to work to have a healthy and happy heart. Fudgecicles.

I also didn’t mention that I talked to my ex for a little while today. I have really been trying to stick to going cold turkey but it is harder than I can handle right now. All he really did was answer some questions for me to give me some closure but I may…have dragged out the conversation because I miss him. Don’t hate and don’t judge. He’s been in my life since I was 12, now I’m 27, and we have been together for 12 1/2 of those years, and married 6. This is definitely the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I know that I am going to slip. It is going to be brutal and I want to cut the cord but I am not ready yet. Oh fudgecicles more.