I Now Owe The IRS $2,500 Because Ex Fucked Up His W-2

(What I say to myself when I start to worry about other people's stuff too much -
Alternative title to this pic is 'Snowy Jones' Exorcism Wasn't Going Smoothly')

 
The title says it all.

Outside the nut shell:

Ex and I have written in the divorce settlement that we would file joint taxes last year. We verbally agreed that I would take care of the taxes and when I needed his W-2 and other papers, he ignored me, and ignored me, and ignored me, so I went ahead and filed as head of household because I was pissed (and more than a little stressed, anxiety ridden, and confused about what the hell was actually in our divorce settlement...sue me) and received about $300 back. I claimed the entirety of the house credit because I was living there and paying the mortgage.

Well, he wasn't too pleased about that. Especially when he discovered that he owed $3,000. He spend the next year, off and on, trying to talk me into amending my taxes to jointly file the tax return and I ignored him until he threatened me Monday night.

This pissed me off for a number of reasons:

1 - I wanted to get it done and to the IRS before the deadline and he ignored me.

2- He sent me multiple emails in a 48 hour period about it with emotional threats and claiming he's been DOING THE RIGHT THING for the last 15 months, including moving out of the house so I could live in HIS HOUSE with cheaper rent (mortgage) than he is now paying.

3 - The night he sent the email that broke the camel's back, I was three drinks into a comfy little evening I had planned for myself to make some soup and watch Netflix alone. Precious alone time to recharge my batteries.

I lost my shit.

Whilst three sheets to the wind (don't judge - I am an adult and was alone that evening - and not depressed - Woo!) I prepared a fiery, cuss word filled email on my phone that I was busily editing (even whilst loopy I am a stickler to say precisely what I want to say in exactly the correct way to express myself accurately) when it disappeared.

...

CRAP!!!

Did I send it unfinished? No. Did it disappear off the face of the CLOUD? Yes.

FUCKERY!!

I sighed heavily, very frustrated, and started to write another response, this time wisely choosing my less tipsy response in a kinder way, realizing that sending those kinds of emails to Ex has never, ever benefited me or anyone else. I edited carefully and sent it calmly.

Never heard back.

Holy crap. Did he hear me and I stopped him in his tracks? Did he not see it yet? Either way, I went to bed anxiety ridden awaiting the fateful *scary breath sounds* that would alert me that he had responded.

Nothing at all.

The next day at work, clearheaded, I contacted my accountant and set into motion the process of amending my taxes. She did it, BAM, in less than 24 hours. Done, and awaiting his signature. This was big considering I've spent the last 20 years waiting for him to do our taxes and him filing extensions. (Which he also did again last year.)

You may know about how willing he is to sign things by some of my past posts, so I am trying to breathe deeply and be patient. Remember, his signing these papers makes him liable for only half of what he owes filing by himself so it's in his best interest. I am hoping to pick up the paperwork when I go by today to pick up Son for some mother-son bonding time tonight.

Below I have copied and pasted the emails. Guess what? The email didn't disappear. It went into the DRAFT folder I can't access through my phone.

Thank the tiny baby jesus that I didn't send it.

Just goes to show you what a bad combination booze, anger, and nasty emails from Ex are for me. And probably everyone.

Incidentally, he apologized for the nasty emails. I think it was a combination of my reminding him about what THE RIGHT THING actually is, and the fact that he thought I received $3,000 FROM the IRS last year that he OWED because I didn't file jointly with him. Welp. That's what you get when you don't ask.

ASS.

Anyhoo, the emails:

The One I Sent:

"Brace yourself. I'm about to say some things that will make you upset.

Do not threaten me with court. Never threaten me again. Never, ever again talk to me about your version of the right thing. I know things about you that would horrify everyone who thinks you're an upstanding man and citizen. The right thing my ass. I know a lot of things about you that other people don't. So think back to all those things I know about you and reconsider the way you speak to me from now on. No one ever made me feel as small and ashamed of myself and belittled as I did in what you talked me into doing for you in the twenty years you should have been treating me like a precious, loved woman deserving of respect.

Now. I'll discuss taxes with you when I'm good and fucking ready to do it and not because you want to fill your wallet with money I don't have and could spend on your children.

You have no hold over me anymore, so if you want something from me you will ask nicely without trying to manipulate my emotions and praising your Perfect Ex Husband act.

If you truly want to get along with me and show the kids how you should treat their mother, treat me the same way when they're not listening. You can't be my friend if you smile in my face when we see each other when other people are looking then make threats and try to manipulate my emotions when they're not.

Don't talk to me about what's right."

The Email I Didn't Send:

"I'm tired of your Perfect Ex Husband bullying and posturing. I'm tired of you pretending to want to be friends and that everything is ok then sending me passive aggressive bullying emails so that you can continue to have some semblance of control over me and to squeeze every last drop of blood out of every penny you can get your hands on. You make more than me. You claim to be doing the right thing and that you're doing it for the kids, but really you're trying to scare me into giving you money I don't have, money that I could use to spend on your children, trying to get me to comply by threatening me with taking me to court. I've offered to compensate you for the money that we verbally agreed on. I'm no longer interested in your self aggrandizing claims to be doing the right thing. Who is this right thing for? Who does it benefit? You. Just like it always has. Well I hope that you and your money will be very happy together. You're forgetting that I also own the house. The paltry money you pay me is barely grocery money for your children's food when they're here. I work for a non profit with no hope of a raise or moving up. Never again mention to me that you're doing the right thing. Because the right thing would have been to refrain from coercing your wife into sex acts she didn't want to do with drunk men. That is sexual abuse. The right thing would have been to let your wife show you love and sexual attention without requiring she act and talk like a whore. The right thing would have been going to bed with her at night instead of staying up all night looking at porn on the computer, making me feel unwanted and unloved. The right thing would have been showing your children how a woman should be treated instead of treating her like a second class citizen who didn't have a mind of her own or any personal freedom. The right thing would have been to refrain from spitting food onto your plate with disgust in front of your children after your wife worked eight hours then came home and cooked for you. That is emotional abuse. The right thing would have been to not criticize your wife for her weight, taste in clothes, her friends, how she folded laundry, how she loaded the dishwasher, the jokes she thought were funny, and what she wanted to eat just to list a few of the things that made me feel so very small and insignificant that I now have anxiety attacks when you send me a text or an email. The right thing would have been to ask me if I was ok instead of accusing me of acting when I was doubled over on the bed with excruciating pain from a gallbladder attack. The right thing would not have been so fucking drunk that you knocked your goddamned front tooth out falling on a chair, then when I needed to have a tooth I had to get a fucking bridge because it was too expensive for my mouth. I hope you're enjoying your expensive implant. The right thing would have been to treat me with tenderness and kindness instead of constantly trying to control and manipulate every micromanaged aspect of our life into what you thought it should be. The right way. The only way. The right thing would have been to show your son how to be a man without verbally abusing me for twenty years. So don't you dare, ever fucking talk to me about what the right thing is. Ever. Again. You'll get your godforsaken fucking money, and you'll also get what you deserve for every little thing you put out into the universe. And I'll get out from under this fucking albatross of a house you claim to have so generously allowed me to stay in when it's a fucking ball and chain prison you stick me with that connects me to you. Don't you ever threaten me again. Think about what your family would say if they knew all the things about you that I do. I only hope that you treat our daughter better than you treated me so she has the self respect to find someone who treats her better than you did me. Leave me the fuck alone to live my life in peace with people that know something about respect, kindness and love."

(remember I was tiddly)

As I said before, thank the tiny baby jesus vishnu and everyone else who might be listening to my karma that

I didn't send this email. And I never will. I would never say horrible things to his family. What an awful person I would be. (Just anonymously via the internet - hope it doesn't count against my karma.)

Note to self: Along with my monthly alert sent to myself via my iPeriod app that reminds me about when my period is coming that says, "Do not engage ex or listen to anxiety ridden thoughts.", I will add, "Do not drink and respond to any email or text or person until sober again."

Incidentally, as I mentioned in the title, Ex screwed up his W-2 and will owe again this year. But this year it's Not Mine.

Thanks for listening.