a thousand little cuts

this part of the break up is called: if you didn’t want me to talk shit, maybe you should have treated me better.

oldest lesson on earth: be kind to the poets, musicians, and writers.

i am a LONGTIME fan of the canterbury tales and deeply admire how savagely chaucer roasted people. 

we have indeed reached the anger portion.

most commonly uttered phrase: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

him, clueless: if we break up, take your shit, and you’re gone. no back and forth. once you’re gone, you’re gone.

me, a virgo: bet.

nine months. NINE MONTHS. and you don’t know me at all. you think i respond to threats like that? you think when i finally speak up, when i finally started this discussion i was just *saying* things? you think whatever i brought up hasn’t already been through hours and hours of internal review and consideration and judgement and an entire committee of therapy tools, spirit guides, and journal entries? that i’m not fully aware of and prepared for all the possible outcomes of this scenario? like i haven’t already planned out, sat with, and come to terms with what rocking the boat could mean? 

nine months and you have no clue what a sentence like that *actually* says? you want to play tough? you don’t care? you can just be over it? you can just be done super tough guy?

BET.

here’s the reason my partnership ended after nine months: i asked him, point blank: “do you even like me?”

he couldn’t answer.

which is answer enough.

that seems pretty cut and dried on the surface, but what, after nine months, made me realize he doesn’t, in fact, even like me?

the death of a partnership came from a thousand cuts.

the first one, a literal thousand financial cuts. i’m a bookkeeper. keeping track of numbers is what i do. i budget to the penny every month. i work six days a week and closely, CLOSELY watch my dollars to make sure it stretches. and so, i ran the numbers: over a thousand dollars a month. A THOUSAND DOLLARS A MONTH. groceries. gas. weed. bar tabs. weekend trips. 22-27% of my monthly income. YES. I COUNTED. i did the literal math. one and a half days of my six day work week.

it started out simple: i would give him money for groceries, he would cook meals. nice. mutually beneficial. he had just graduated college, wasn’t working, and loved to cook. PERFECT. but somehow we always needed to stop by the store for just a few things. somehow cooking became a thing he hated to do. somehow hundreds of dollars a month for groceries morphed into maybe 3 dinners a week. somehow i was seeing him buy racks of ribs, pork loins, big expensive foods that i never saw prepared, for me at least. food he was cooking, selling to people, and pocketing the money for.

it started as picking up one or two bar tabs when i knew he was tight on money. that just became the standard. and he was killing a lot of time at the bar, almost every day, waiting to pick me up after work. that’s a lot of bar tabs.

because, oh yeah, he was also using my car. his car stopped working before winter and mine just sits in a parking lot all day, why not let him use it? help him get to appointments at the VA. help be able to drive out the base and get cheaper groceries. make it to his meetings at worksource. let him have time to drive out to the college campus and connect with his former professors about possible jobs. help run errands. help him find work, connect to people, get out of his house during the day. but, of course, i was still paying for the gas. and the oil changes. and the tires. and the repairs (how the fuck do you break a sunroof screen?).

weed purchases doubled. dinners out doubled. heating bills doubled (i helped pay for his, since i was there so much). inflation crept in and money drained away quicker than the paychecks hit every two weeks.

a thousand financial cuts every month.

a partner who is more than happy to receive yet is both unwilling and unable to contribute is fucking brutal.

but, you know, i care. i know what it’s like to be poor. i know how bad it sucks to always be broke. how NICE it would be to have someone come in help cover some expenses. i know what it feels like to work 6 days a week and still be stretched thin. i *thought* it was mutually beneficial. i *thought* he cared about contributing as much as i did, this was just a rough stretch for him. all the sciences cut during this administration made it hard for him to find work. it would level out eventually.

or not. turns out a shitty attitude, a god complex, and doing interviews with the bong on the coffee table may not have helped with the job search. but, i digress.

speaking of caring, how do you date someone who literally, repeatedly says “...I DON’T CARE,” when you try to talk? when you try to talk about a phone call you just had with your brother: “I DON’T CARE.” when you try to share a story about something that happened to you : “I DON’T CARE.” when you try to discuss a news headline that caught your interest: “I DON’T CARE.”

but gods help you if you don’t remember every cousin, aunt, uncle, distant family member, random childhood friend, military co-worker, college professor, random bar person ever mentioned. if you don’t recall every god damned confusing, facts inflated, half true story you’ve ever been told, and there’s a LOT of stories being told.

when the caring only goes one direction, intentionally, repeatedly, brutally, it sucks.

not caring hurts, sure, but also: caring too much about dumb shit hurts too.

among the thousand cuts: you talk too loud, you mumble when talking, you talk too much, you talk to yourself, you laugh too loud, you’re always wrong. always. about everything. you’re embarrassing, you sit down too hard, you walk too loud, you sleep too loud, you sleep too restless, you sleep too warm, you close car doors/trunk too loud, you drive too fast, you drive too slow, you hit too many potholes, you swerve too much, you do everything too slow, you take too long in the shower, you don’t rinse off dishes, you take too long rinsing off/doing dishes, you’re not pretty, you’re too big, your hair looks bad like that, you wear your clothes wrong, your house smells bad, your furniture is bad, your whole house is bad, your cooking is bad, you can’t make coffee or toast correctly, you can’t open/close curtains correctly, you can’t clean off the coffee table quickly enough, you can’t sit in a chair correctly. every single one of those things snapped at me. chiding. insulting. cutting.

that’s a lot of fucking things to hate about one person. to be annoyed by. to care, the wrong way, about.

and so i asked: do you even like me?

and here we are.

why would i stay somewhere i’m not liked? why would i stay somewhere i’m too much? why would i stay?

why was i driving across town to sleep alone in someone else’s bed? why was i interrupting my sleep patterns, living out of a go bag, adjusting my routines and schedules when _I_ was the one working 6 days a week? why was _I_ paying for someone to be self admitted “very expensive” with no contribution?

are you fucking kidding me? you sit next to me, after the break up, and openly admit: “i know i am, i was very expensive.”

YOU KNEW THAT? and i, stupidly, didn’t until i ran the numbers. he just KNEW that and went ahead being “very expensive” and expecting me to cover it.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

i was working 6 days a week for you to knowingly be too expensive? you kept telling me you wanted me to cut back hours so we could have full weekends together WHILE BEING TOO EXPENSIVE? you kept talking about how you knew i was exhausted working all the time AND KEPT BEING TOO EXPENSIVE? you sat in a bar, with _MY_ car outside, drinking on _MY_ tab, waiting to pick me up from work? like it was some kindness or achievement? valiantly picking me up from work. IN MY CAR. so we could go back to the bar and i could pay your tab?

*sigh*

and, since i’m airing all the dirty laundry, let’s talk about laundry: how does a feminine, too small for me, not a brand i’ve ever seen, cropped hoodie sweatshirt suddenly show up in the laundry?

and why is there a ring, that also doesn’t belong to me, in my livingroom? a too small (doesn’t even fit my pinky) moldavite (a stone i avoid at all costs) ring. ironically: the stone of transformation and change.

whelp.

transition and change did come from it, but that was about 6 straws after the final straw. i was already out the door when the universe added that little nugget of information.

confirmation. salt in the wound. an extra kick in the teeth on the way out the door. same thing.

AND ALSO,

the rage, she keeps coming,

AND ALSO: get the fuck out of here with the passive aggressive horse shit.

remember his whole line about once you’re gone, you’re gone?

tell me then, why is he the one reaching out?

a few sappy songs in a spotify message. he misses me, he loves me. REALLY? FUCKING REALLY? songs on spotify? REALLY?

a tiktok video about how you can tell how unhappy people are by the chaos they create with a message “so, thanks for that.” are you trying to blame my leaving for creating chaos? what chaos? the chaos of having to explain how you fumbled SO BADLY? that’s your chaos. not mine. 

a text message about the moon voyage, a shared interest. cool. i like the moon. are we trying to be friends now? what was the point of that? i’m already reading and watching every article and story. 

a text catty message: thanks for commercials on spotify again. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING. ME. yeah i quit paying for spotify. yup. it wasn’t an easy decision either. i know how annoying the commercials are, especially when they interrupt a meditation, or a healing frequency playlist, or ALL THE TIME. commercials are annoying. i know how nice it is to be able to unlimited skip. i know the benefits of paying for spotify BECAUSE I PAY FOR IT. pay for your own fucking spotify and miss me with the shitty messages.

a late night phone call asking for a ride because he missed the last bus. if you can’t leave the bar in time to catch the bus, why am i leaving my warm home and rocking chair to drive your ass across town back home. and why are you trying to give me all your life updates while i do so? and why in the holy fuck are you even pretending like you want to hug me? you’ve steadfastly avoided all physical contact with me for months. no hugs, no kissing, sleeping on the couch, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. and NOW you pretend you want to hug me? fuck all the way off. i fucking specifically asked for touch as something i really needed coming out of covid and living alone. i’m severely touch starved, specifically asked for touch several times, and NOW?? OVER A WEEK AFTER EVERYTHING IS OVER, now you suddenly pretend to want to hug me? fuck. all. the. way. off.

a message asking to use the car to grocery shop. hope you don’t plan on using my money. i already grocery shopped for myself, for actual meals i will eat, that i will prepare for myself. 

like, pick a lane dude. do you hate me? do you want me? or do you want access to the resources i provided for you?

we all know the answer to that last one. who needs to buy the cow when you can get the car payment, insurance coverage, oil changes, tires and gas money for free?

uniforms

this is going to be a rant.

i'll just get that out of the way now.

this is going to be a one sided, opinion heavy, curse word filled, angry, mean, probably offensive to some, rant.

now that that's out of the way...

listen up fake ass bitches:

WHEN YOU SAY YOU LOVE A MAN IN UNIFORM, DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING? 

i am SICKENED. absolutely sick. hateful, mean, angry sick when i hear about women who think it's "so hot" to date a soldier, cop, firefighter, EMT because they "love a man in uniform" only to break up because they don't like the job, it's too stressful, the hours are shitty, deployments are too hard, whatever.

LISTEN YOU FUCKWITS: "loving a uniform" is a fucking fetish. go to a god damn costume shop and cream your panties all you like.

if you date a man in uniform, KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.

do you want to know what that means?

it means the job is stressful, the hours are shitty and deployments are hard.

you want to date a cop? guess what, that means missed dinners because a shift went long when they had to scrape a human being off a highway after a drunk driving accident.

you want to date a firefighter? that means worrying each call that a backdraft doesn't happen, a structure doesn't cave in, a tree doesn't shoot off like a bottle rocket, the fucking wind doesn't shift directions.

want to date a soldier? that means months alone while they're on deployment. that means regulations, rules, codes. that means being at the fucking whim of the US government.

it ALL means dealing with some form of PTSD at some point. it means shitty, and i mean SHITTY days of coworkers dying, dealing with the worst of humanity, things that can't ever, ever be unseen.

even on the BEST POSSIBLE DAY it means going to the aid of people who are having a shitty, shitty day. the cops and firefighters don't respond when everything is going right. soldiers very, VERY rarely are deployed to places where things are peachy keen jelly bean.

i am SO SICK of hearing:
"we got divorced because she doesn't like me going on deployment."
"we split up because she didn't realize how stressful the job is."
"i can't be with him because he misses all the important events because he's on shift."

AS IF ALL THAT ISN'T ENOUGH, they get to deal with public opinion, lack of resources across the board from pay to supplies/necessary personnel, stigma, macho-ism (the thin blue line is a thing) AND, the cherry on the fucking top: increased risk of  suicide.

it's shifting, it's starting to change. there's a huge push to let soldiers know they can ask for help dealing with what happens in the field, but there's still a lot of stigma. it's still a hard thing for cops and firefighters.

i mean, for fucks sake, even fucking trump decided to open his shit hole and vomit out that "...military suicides happen to troops who 'can't handle it'."

you know what? THEY CAN'T.

THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT.

NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO. THIS IS SOME GRADE A FUCKED UP SHIT THAT NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO DEAL WITH.

ESPECIALLY not alone. we need to help them, have help available to them.

no one should have to deal with scraping another human being off a roadway. telling a child their parent overdosed. pulling a charred body out of a burned building. watching a fellow soldier be blown apart inches away. 

BUT THESE PEOPLE CHOOSE TO TAKE THAT RISK.

and the very, VERY last fucking thing they need is to be dumped on. by politicians, by partners, by ANYONE. they don't need someone with a fucking megaphone mouth calling them weak or bashing them on the 5:00 news. they don't need a dear john letter in the middle of combat. they don't need to return home from deployment to a voice mail from a divorce attorney. they don't need someone who walks away because they miss dinner or have been working long shifts.

they need support systems. stigma free help. partners that don't run away when the "hot uniform" feeling wears off.

i'm the great-granddaughter of a constable. i'm the granddaughter of a cop. i'm the daughter of a state trooper. i'm the sister of a sheriff's deputy. i was married to a volunteer firefighter. my mom ran dispatch for fire crews for several years.

i have blue blood back 4 generations.

guess what that means?

it means divorce (or several). it means being glued to the tv dreading a phone call when you hear "officer involved shooting" on your brother's shift and beat. it means getting a few precious hours with your dad during your one week a year because he's working. it means stopping and sending up a prayer during the hot beautiful summer weather because you know fire season is happening. it means knowing mom will be gone another 4 weeks because they don't have enough crews to get a line around the fire. it means waking up at 4 am when the pager goes off and making sure boots and gear and coffee are ready to go out the door. it means making 100 sandwiches when the red cross hasn't been able to respond. it means bawling your eyes out whenever and where ever your hear amazing grace on bagpipes because you've been to too many funerals where that's played.

you want to love a fucking uniform? good. great. go to fucking spirit halloween store and love them all you want until store employees ask you to leave.

you want to love the person IN the uniform? that's a whole different story.

purging even more posion

i had a huge realization last night after spending HOURS writing a letter to my mother purging all my hatred and hurt and everything that i've been holding onto when it comes to her.

as angry as i am at her, and as much as i've battled to let that go over the years, i finally realized that maybe the reason i've never been able to is because i've never addressed the REAL source of all the hatred and anger. as angry as i am at my mother, she isn't the cause of all the hurt. her choices that i react the most strongly against are the result of someone else's actions, actions that i've never been willing to address head on.

until now.

my mothers husband, my step father, is a horrible person. he is a pedophile, an abuser, a terrible, destructive person. he hides behind religion and fear. he has done damage to my family for over 25 years. my reasons for cutting my mother out of my life are due to her support and allegiance to him.

i have never spoken directly to him about my anger and hurt and damage.

i've been afraid. i've been ashamed. i have been worried sick that if i wrote or talked about growing up then friends, boyfriends, people wouldn't want to associate with me. they would look at me with pity or disgust. i didn't want people to know how fucked up my head is. i didn't want guys to know what i battle inside my head every time one is interested in me.

i'm tired of being ashamed. i'm tired of hiding. i'm tired of letting him win by keeping quiet. i'm tired of holding onto anger at other people because i've been to scared to say what my real anger is.

i know this will be considered airing dirty laundry to some. but i don't fucking care any more. i don't care if it's dirty laundry. i don't care if people find it gross or sick. this has shaped who i am and is one of my biggest battles. people that are worth having in my life will understand that. everyone else can fuck off.

airing dirty laundry, letting skeletons out of the closet, i don't care.

i'm taking my voice back and letting people know what an abuser is and how many different ways it can hurt.

michael gates:

i fucking loathe you. i have wished a thousand times for your painful, torturous, death. i used to watch news reports of car accidents in my home town and wish it were you. i have wished you weren't such a coward and that you would leave my mother and go off and rot in an unknown corner like you said you thought about doing so many times.

you are a demon on earth. you cause pain and destruction while hiding behind intimidation and religion. you are only "sorry" when you get caught, not because you're actually sorry or wish to change. you think that if you cry a little and lead a few songs at sunday service all will be forgiven. 

i. fucking. hate. you.

i hate you for all the things that you taught me. for teaching me what it feels like to be backhanded by someone twice my size. for teaching me to be afraid to speak my mind. i hate you for all the times you backhanded my brother. for all the times you made me scared of you because he was scared of you. i hate you for lying to and hiding things from my mother your whole marriage. i hate you for teaching me a warped twisted version of marriage. i hate you for hiding thousands of dollars in debit from my mother and taking advantage of how hard she worked for things. i hate you for your fucking locked briefcase and all the secrets that you kept. i hate that i'm so scared of ending up with someone like you that i would rather be alone.

i hate you for teaching me at 11 years old that i needed to learn how to give blow jobs for boys to like me- a voice i still hear every. single. time. i'm with a guy. i hate you for teaching me that i needed to learn how to shave "down there" or everyone would think i was disgusting. i hate you for telling me about all your sexual experiences in the military. i hate you for telling me about your mother daughter threesomes. i hate you for telling me how terrible my own mother is at sex and how she never put out enough for you. i hate you for teaching me to lie to my mother and hide things from her- "there's some things mom doesn't need to know about."

i hate that my few friends were uncomfortable at our house. i hate that the few times i tried to talk to anyone about what was going on, i ended up being in trouble and socially ostracized.  

i hate you for hiding your porn collection in my first apartment. i hate you for ordering videos and having them delivered to my house. i hate you for masturbating in front of me to those videos, in my own home. you took away the safety of my very first home.

i hate you for making me ashamed and making me hide everything. i hate how you were only momentarily sorry after i was forced to talk about what happened. i hate that you never owned up to being a fucking creep, only reacted to a few specific things.

i hate that you introduced me to my husband/abuser. i hate that when i finally left you maintained a friendship with him. i hate that to you it was more important to look good at work than worry about the protection of your family. i should have known that abusers would bond over a shared target.
 
i hate that you started playing the same games, teaching the same lies to my son- "there's some things you don't talk about. only kids will get in trouble, not grown ups." i hate that my own mother called me a liar and believed you over me. i hate that she told me i was just projecting what happened to me onto my son. i hate that you let her think that. i hate that you lie and hide and manipulate causing a second layer of abuse because the first just wasn't enough.

i hate that you took my mother away from me. i hate that she believes you. i hate that she told me nothing i say will ever be true because that's easier to her than believing the real horrible person you are. i hate that you've taken away what family i have left. i hate that you spend time with my niece and nephew and everyone thinks it's ok. i hate that you encouraged my mom to have a daycare in her home. i hate that you allowed a foreign exchange student to live with for a year. i hate that you have countless high school and students as your friends on facebook. i HATE that people actually believe the bullshit that "because you had a hard time making friends as a teenager, it's okay for you now, at 50+ years old, to have teenage friends. i hate that you are allowed around innocent unknowing people.

i hate that everything is my fault. i hate that you tell people that i made it all up. i hate that you make my VERY VALID concerns that this is still happening to other kids just "misguided accusations." i find it very odd that you supposedly had some big tearful coming clean to your church but then shortly thereafter switched churches.

i HATE. more than anything. that you've tried to convince my own children that i'm a liar. i hate that you flat out plain text told my son i am a liar. i hate that you told him you never did anything to me. i hate that you lied and tried to play the pity card to get him to sneak to come visit you. i hate that you tried to use other peoples position of trust and authority as a reason my children should trust you.

i hate that you lie and twist truths and keep getting away with it. i hate how many people believe you.

i hate that i've let you stay in my head for so long.

i will never forgive you for twisting and warping my childhood. i will never forgive you for trying to do the same to my son. i will never forgive you for making my mother choose between us. i will never forgive you even long after you're dead and rotten and not able to cause any more harm to any more people.

but i choose, right now, to not let you continue to ruin my life. i will never have anything to do with you or my mother ever again. i will stop worrying about things i can't control, people i can't change. i will no longer believe all the things you taught me when i was so little. i will learn to turn off your voice in my head. i will learn to forget thing that should have never happened.

i will continue to protect my kids and anyone i can from you. i will stop waiting for an apology that will never come. you have ruined enough years. you have damaged me more than should have ever been allowed.  i will not be ashamed any more. i will not be afraid of what people will think.

i know that things will never change. i know that you will never stop lying. i know that you will never stop hurting. i know that i can't change that. but i also know that i can stop letting it affect me.

it's not my battle any more. i'm done with you.

purging the poison

they say when youre angry at someone you should write a letter and stick it in a drawer, let it sit, go back and read it, if you still feel the same, send it.

i've been writing this letter in my head over and over for years. i've stuck it in the mental file drawer a thousand times. i keep coming back to it. i keep adding to it. it the same emotions, the same feelings, the same everything- only difference is it keeps growing and getting more angry and poisonous.

it's killing me.

i keep waiting for it to go away. i keep trying to find ways to purge it or look past it or move on from it. but it seems everything, especially lately, keeps circling back to it and it's killing me. i'm depressed. i'm hiding from friends. i'm barely moving off the couch when i get home from work. i've reduced my circle of people to almost none and i keep fighting myself to not push the final few away. i'm SO ANGRY. all the time. and i actually AM angry instead of just feeling angry. it's affecting my actions, decisions, interactions, posture. i know the difference between feeling and being. and i'm being angry.

i know the hierarchy of negative: anger is a response to fear which is a response to pain which is a response to an unmet need (6 basic human needs: consistency, variety, significance, love/connection, growth, contribution). i know that the way to resolve/move past the hierarchy of negative is to find the need that's not being met, work on a solution.

i also understand that the solution i most desire is not possible and i'll have to find a way to be okay with that. THAT'S THE HARD PART. the solution i most desire are the significance and love/connection chunks. 2/6 of the whole. and the person i want those from, my mother, is the person least able to provide those pieces. and that makes me angry.

second verse, same as the first. you can see how this little circle can grow to be exhausting.

i think the hardest part for my logical brain is the denial, the lack of validation, being told that nothing i say is true or real and it will never be.

i don't just say things. my brain processes NON-STOP. it always has. i know what i'm saying is real and true. i know my experiences and my memories happened. to be ignored or told otherwise...it just does not compute. so i keep thinking. i keep trying to find another way to present the information hoping this time it will get through.

i'm sure this won't be my last attempt. but this is my biggest attempt. this is me purging all the poison. getting it all out in a logical, concise, concrete form. this is me coming to terms with those two missing pieces. this is my last shot at significance (value, importance) and love/connection. i'm laying it all down. i know i won't get the answer and the resolution i want. i know that my mother will never see it. i know that if she did it wouldn't change anything. i'll have to work on a way to be okay with that. but here's my letter. i want to be done with this anger and start moving forward again.


mom-

i hate you. i am so hurt and battle scarred from so many things from so many years. i hate that you are this overpowering negative voice in my head that i can't turn off. well, that i haven't learned to turn completely off anyway. the FUCK YOU that i yell every time i hear you is getting louder and stronger. but you're still there.

i hate that i can't wear the color red without hearing how it will make all my acne/flaws stand out. i hate that every time i look at my self in the mirror and think i look nice it's followed by "for someone your size." i hate that i feel like a bad mother when i want to buy a new shirt without buying one for my kids. i hate that every time i correct my kids or punish them i hear in my head "if anyone else saw the way you treat your kids they would turn you into the state." i hate that i feel shallow for liking curling irons and make up. i hate that i had to read the instructions on the tampon box because i couldn't ask my own mother about how to use them.

those are little things. there's so many more from the closet where those are stashed.

the real pain and anger has it's own fucking wing, not just a dark little closet.

i HATE that as far back as i can remember i was never wanted. i HATE that i know you didn't want to get pregnant and you were on birth control and my dad was having an affair with the nurse and that made it a terrible delivery and the whole thing from day one was torture for you. i hate that not only was i mistake from the beginning, but you drilled it into my head my whole life.

i HATE that when you got married the second time it was "because you needed help raising your son."
where do i even begin with that one? did i not exist? did you not care about raising me?

how about the other side of that coin? how far it has pushed me to NOT be that single mother that "needs help raising her kids." do you know that is one of the biggest reasons i'm single? because the minute any guy mentions that maybe i need help, i rebel and instantly get rid of him to not be that weak, pathetic mom that will marry any abusive pedophile to take over for her.

i hate that you didn't even notice me until my brother had graduated high school and gone off to college. i was 15 the first time you noticed i had a sense of humor and 24 the first time you told me that. i hate i was threatened and bullied from grade school through high school and all i got were lectures about how to make friends. how many hours did i spend researching bible verses about how to be a better friend because it must be my problem? i hate that when my brother told me he was ashamed of me and embarrassed by me for being into theater and books- instead of defending me or letting me be myself you encouraged me to do things he approved of. HOW FUCKED UP IS THAT? you cared more about him not being embarrassed in front of his friends than about who i was. i hate that when i had problems you shoved me in counselor after shitty ass counselor instead of just talking to me yourself.

i hate that when i got pregnant the your response was "well, we've been expecting this." did assuming the worst about me just come natural? did you even care that it was my FIRST time? did you even ask? did you really not care enough to talk to me before hand? if you expected it, why didn't you even attempt to...ANYTHING? you worked at the community health clinic for fucks sake. education. birth control. ANYTHING. instead, not only was prevention ignored, i was shoved into the fucking abstinence class when i was seven fucking months pregnant. i mean. WHAT THE FUCK?
 
i hate that when i was in an abusive marriage all you could do is point out over and over again all his affairs and how horrible and damaging it was, but when i left you couldn't help me because he worked at the same business as your husband and you didn't want to make it awkward for them at work. ME, MY TWO CHILDREN. your own child and your grandchildren. DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. and you didn't want it to be awkward for two grown men at work.

i hate that you never listened to me. i hate that you asked me to attend counseling with you only to be looked straight in the face and called a liar. i hate that you told me, without hesitation, without second thought that nothing i say will ever be true. i hate that when i talked about things that happened to me growing up you looked at the counselor and said "she's making things up in her head." i hate that when the counselor asked you if you heard what you said about your own daughter YOU REPEATED IT. you bold faced called me a liar and a crazy person in the same sentence. YOU. SAID. THAT. ABOUT. ME.

i hate how weak and ignorant you choose to be. i hate that you are not only married to but stand up and defend a pedophile even though it cost you ever having any type of a relationship with me ever again. i hate that you defend him. i hate that you still have small children in your home around him. i hate that you make excuse after excuse for his behavior. i hate that you refuse to do anything about it and are so willingly allowing him to hurt other people. i hate that you are so stupid to sign a pedophiles name to children's birthday cards. i hate that you have no clue how many teenage and high school kids your husband has on facebook. i HATE that when i told you how he had groomed me growing up you looked me straight in the eye and said "what do you want me to do? it already happened." i hate that you shamed me into keeping quiet so he thought it would be ok to start grooming my child. i hate how you tried to blame my three year old child for making things up in order to excuse your husband. i hate that you choose to be ignorant against the statement and conclusions and opinions of several professionals.

i hate that i have tried to cut you out of my life but you're still there. i hate that i had to cut my own mother out to protect my family. i hate that when i my dad died i needed my mom and you weren't there. i hate that when teenager moved away i needed my mom and you weren't there. i hate all the bad days and holidays and occasions when i just want a mom to talk to, when i need someone to tell me everything will be ok- there's no one there. i hate that every time someone ask about my family i have to tell them i have none.

i hate that you're the voice in my head. i hate that you're the example i grew up with. i hate that i'm trying SO HARD not to be you that i have no clue what i need to be.

i hate that i have been cut out of my sons life. i hate the pain that i feel from it. i hate that i know you must feel the same pain. i hate that i feel bad for you.

i hate that i'm questioning my decisions. i hate that my choosing to protect my kids is even remotely blurred with your refusal to protect yours. i hate the irony: the thing i most need help with right now is the exact same thing that's keeping us apart. a child so angry at their parent that they can't talk to them. my choice to cut you out to prevent one kind of damage has instead been replaced by another.

i hate the thought that my son could feel the same way about me that i feel about you. i have tried so hard to protect him and stand up for him and go to battle for him. you have never once done that for me. i'm worried he doesn't see the difference and that makes me so angry. all he sees is the dysfunction. i hate that i've been forced to choose between protecting him and having my mother. i hate that this fucked up mess is the example he'll grow up with.

i hate that i'll never be of value to you. i hate that i'll never be accepted. i hate all the negatives. i hate that you're so scared of whatever you're scared of that you've chosen to stay where you are. i hate that you've chosen to stay with an abuser. i hate i'll never be good enough for you to choose.

that's a LOT of hate.

a LOT of poison.

i now from here i need to learn how to let go of all that. i need to find out who and what i want to be and quit focusing on what i don't want to be. i need to turn off her voice in my head and find my own voice. i need to stop looking for value and significance from others and find it in myself. i'm not sure what all that looks like, but i'm ready to find out. i'm tired of being angry. i'm tired of carrying all this bullshit with me. i'm tired of drinking the poison.

 i know i have a long unknown path from here to healthy. i don't know what tools i'll need. i don't know which direction to go. but i'm ready to find out.

on being excommunicated...

i don't remember becoming catholic. or joining a cult. i haven't had any koolaid of any kind recently, nor have i sacrificed any black cats at midnight.

i have however managed to be excommunicated.

so. there's that.

a little over a week ago, at the seven week mark since the teenager moved, it officially happened.

the small spawn called the big spawn to tell him about his new bike, chat in general, and he asked if the big spawn wanted to talk to me.

"NOPE."

i knew it was coming. i know there's so much anger and emotion and teenage angst and pure hate. i've been expecting it. but to actually hear it...

OUCH.

you know?

and i did something that i rarely do: I LET MYSELF FEEL IT.

i didn't stuff it down. i didn't distract myself. i just...let it hit. and i cried. holy shit did i cry. snotting all over the place, kleenex in a pile on the coffee table. i went in to make dinner and just stood over the stove crying.

it hurt. and i let it.

the worst part though, was the small spawn. apparently watching mom have feelings, a LOT of feelings, is unsettling.

i tried to reassure him through the snot and tears- it's OK. i held it in for seven weeks. it was bound to come out. i just need to purge it all out and get back to rights.

but seeing mom sad is hard for his tender little heart, so he tried to make it better.

he tried to text his big brother:

"do you hate mom?"

i know he SO DESPERATELY just wanted to see that "no" come back. he wanted to be able to show me a text that it wasn't true. the big spawn isn't so angry, he doesn't hate me.

instead he got back "what's it to you?" and "don't be such an asshole."

totally uncalled for and even more hurtful to a little brother who still doesn't really understand what all happened and was just trying to make things right.

and then i REALLY fell apart. i expected the anger towards me. i didn't expect him to take it out on anyone and everyone in the general range of fire.

i cried. i hurt. i let myself totally fall apart. i snotted and sobbed until 4 in the morning when i finally fell asleep. i called in to work the next day- something i NEVER do and took the time i needed to put myself back together. a friend came over for lunch and let me talk it out. i cleaned house and purged the rest of the emotions while i purged the piles of clutter that had built up.

maybe it's just me, but depression is half emotional and half environmental- neglecting my feelings tends to go hand in hand with neglecting my house. purging both and getting them both in order was a tremendous boost.

i had posts of encouragement from friends, even a bright delivery of flowers from across the state to show support.

and here i am a week later.

it still hurts.

i know i'm missing out on his first season of track. i'm missing out on his new school and new experiences and new friends.

i know it will take a LONG time for him to work through all his hurt and hate and anger- and then only if he chooses to.

i knew it would be hard going in. i expected something like this- i just didn't know what.

one of the side effects of all this is that it's made me rethink a few of my relationships- mostly with my own mum.

as much as i hurt going through all this, i'm sure she's felt similar feelings.

it made me really evaluate the decisions i've made- have i been too harsh? have i been intentionally hurtful and hateful?

end of the day i still stand by my decisions, even going through something as painful myself.

a change of perspective, yes. a change in results, no. but it's good to re-evaluate. it's good to question. 

i'll deny it if you tell people, but it's good to let yourself have all the feelings. they don't just have to be stuffed away and moved past without a second thought.

things are settling down around home now with just the two of us. it's still strange, but it is what it is.

i really hope some day i'll be back on the good list. but until then, it's ok. it's part of the process. it hurts. and it's not fair. and i don't like it. and i SO wish i had a magic wand to just make it all better and get rid of all the yuk. but the yuk is part of the learning and growing process. even plants need a little shit to be healthy.

accusation

i can’t think straight this morning. i am so livid that i can’t focus on anything or even pretend to work until i get this out of my head.

this morning i was accused of using my kids (or taking them away) against a friend as punishment for an argument between us. i was accused of taking things that i know about her and using them against her to get back at her.

*deep breath*

i have NEVER. EVER. in my entire life, EVER done that to anyone. EVER. i am not a vindictive person. i do not sit around plotting ways to get back at people. i do not seek revenge. and i would NEVER, EVER use my kids as a form of punishment.

my gut wants to lash out and say “well, that makes sense. people that DO things like that would be more apt to accuse others of that.” i really feel that’s the truth. i have never, ever in my life, plotted against someone. i have never, ever thought about what would hurt someone the most based on their history or experiences and then done something to intentionally cause hurt. to even be accused of that is one of the most egregious things.

i guess it goes to show that even the people i thought knew me don’t know me at all. i honestly can’t believe someone would accuse me of that. and to say that i used my kids as a form of punishment. i am livid about that accusation. even in the WORST of my divorce, the worst of my fights with the oldest spawns father, the worst of the fights with my mum (before i had to cut all ties for safety), i never, EVER, EVER brought my kids into things. my ex-husband had a toxic, horrible relationship, but when it came to our son, i would set that aside and allow him visitations because it was best for my son. he has since chosen not to exercise that right, but to this day, i would happily put my issues aside if it meant my son had a father figure. yes, even knowing what a toxic person he is, because when push comes to shove it is still his father and half of who he is.

the oldest spawns father and i used to go rounds. there were times when we HATED each other. we were young and stupid and angry. but that NEVER came between the spawn and his father. sure there were drop off/pick up sessions where NOTHING was said between the father and i, but my spawn still had his visits. same with my mum. as mad as i would be at her, if the kids wanted to see her, they were more than allowed to because it’s good for them to have contact with family.

even with this friend now- whatever our issue is, i have never once stopped the oldest spawn from email her or calling her. so to be accused of taking them away from her as a punishment…it just makes no sense.

i just. *sigh* i can’t imagine that i’m being accused of being that person. i don’t even have the capability to be that person. there have been times where i WISHED i could be that person. i wished i knew how to take revenge or play games or use things against people, but i can’t even begin to wrap my head around the how and the why and the energy and planning that it takes. it’s always fascinated me watching reality tv because those characters are so foreign to me and i just can’t even imagine how they do it.

there has to be a point or a lesson in here somewhere. there needs to be something i take forward from this: i guess there can be a few things:

#1 you can never really know someone and what they truly think of you. guard yourselves, and always know who YOU are to be able to know when such accusations are truth or not. i will not question myself or who i am because of this because i know it is not even a fraction true. but it still hurts that someone could think this of me.

#2 i think what people portray on to you shows their own true colors. i really believe that an accusation like this must come from someone inclined to behave like this themselves. i don’t think i could ever accuse someone of behavior like this because it is the last thing i would ever think of doing and therefore wouldn’t even be an option of explanation to me. said another way: i don’t think i could ever accuse someone of acting out a behavior i couldn’t even think of doing myself. this is also the reason i would make a lousy cop. the things people do astound me every. single. day. i cant imagine the energy people put into some of the things they do. USE YOUR POWERS FOR GOOD, NOT EVIL. that’s a side track, but it still applies. mostly.

anytwaddle. vent over. i’m sure there are more lessons hidden in this one, but it will take me a while to get over the shock and be able to absorb them. so. for now. i’m purged. the anger is gone. and we’re moving forward.