I'm Not Poly

 One more post today:

Partner and I had a wonderful weekend, and had some quiet time to talk. I think I brought the subject up because I wanted to talk to him about how I felt.

I told Partner that I don't think I was ever, truly, poly. (I wrote about it here and here.) I shared with him that I thought I agreed with Ex to open our marriage and try Polyamory because I was searching for something I wasn't receiving in my marriage.

I was trying to fill the holes in my heart.

It's funny; often when I bring up things to share with Partner, he ends up telling me something that means the world to me. It's like a reward for sharing my thoughts with him.

He told me that he felt exactly the same way. That he doesn't think there would ever be that much room in his heart for someone else, because he loves me so much.

He said exactly what I felt. Then I melted.


I am over the moon in love with this man, and he reminds me why every day with his words and his actions.


To top it off, last night Partner came over after dinner and Kids and I were decompressing after eating together. He and I started playing a game together, sitting on the couch...then Daughter drifted into the room when her homework was finished, and snuggled next to me, then Son came out of his cave to hang out with us too, and ended up snuggling with us on the couch as well. Dogs were up in there too, with Bunny hopping around our feet happily. I looked over at Partner and he was sleepy and happy as I rubbed his feet in between turns in the game, Daughter kissing my cheek, Son showing us the game he was playing on his phone, and Bunny teasing and playing with ADHD Dog when he ventured down off the couch.

I have never been happier, and am succeeding in being present in the moment whenever I can.

What a blessing.

Thank you.

"Unmarried to each other"

I am reading a wonderful book called, "Unmarried to Each Other: The Essential Guide to Living Together as an Unmarried Couple", by Dorian Solot and Marshall Miller.

According to the cohabitation types in the book, Partner and I are a mix of the "Weekend Cohabitation" type (we spend weekends together, when it works out with our kid schedules, then go home to work), "Across Town Cohabitation" (we don't live together, but our relationship has the kind of personal meaning and commitment most people expect from partners who share a living space), and with "Mergers and Acquisitions Cohabitation" thrown in, in that between us we have four children, three dogs, two houses, three cars, one rabbit, one guinea pig, one rat, and two Exes. 

We hope to be able to figure out how to live together sometime in the future in a way that works for everyone...meaning how the hell am I going to sell my half of my house to Ex and move an hour away when my job is already 30 minutes the other direction, and Kids go to school 45 minutes in yet another direction? With 6 years of school left until they are both 18?

Poor Partner drives us everywhere when we're together because I spend the rest of my life driving for hours.

How can we possibly make this happen? Patience, love, hard work, and faith. And fantasies of spending every night cuddled up next to Partner, and every day spent continually in route somewhere or at work.

Sigh.

The report? OH! That.

Well, I was overdrawn on my account because the child support check came a week late due to, apparently, the “system being down”. (Ex's HR dept takes it from his paycheck, sends it to the child support people, who then send a check to me, that I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to get to auto deposit in my new account at for a month.) So, lesson learned: Do not budget depending on that check. CHECK. (fuckers)

I have a GIANT credit card debt that I have transferred all of the money to, with the lowest interest rate. Let’s just say I’m at the limit. I haven’t had credit card debt in 20 years. I attribute it to one income, panicky charges early in my separation process thinking I would pay them off as I go, and charges where I HAD to use it because I was learning to budget again and needed gas or food, along with impulse buys. Aside from the fuckery with my child support check this last week, I’ve been doing pretty well. I don’t get my nails done anymore, don’t get my hair colored anymore, I don’t fill my pantry and fridge with food, I just buy as I need it. I don’t shop at malls or department stores anymore, or expensive grocery stores. I don’t use the organic veggie delivery anymore. Basically, I use my money for Netflix, pets, gas, food, and an occasional kid need or treat. Or an occasional treat for myself and Partner when I can, much cheaper than the treats I used to buy myself. And the tail end of my lawyer bill. Oh, and yesterday I lowered my family plan phone payment, and I'm cutting the cable (I don't watch it) in November when the contract is up.

It was hard to get to the point where I know I don’t need very much to be happy. Money ain’t making me happy. I’m looking to my family and Partner and our kids for happy, as well as burning man, and starting to crochet and sew again. Reading novels again. Watching the movies I want to see when I’m alone. Stopping everything I’m doing and looking at and sitting next to Kids, Partner and his Kids, and my friends, giving them my full attention when they’re with me. Spending time with the dogs cuddling (except this week because I’m hormonal and that’s the only time they irritate me. This may be why I engaged Ex in a discussion when I know better. I’ve put a note on my calendar for next month about my period, with the note: DO NOT ENGAGE EX.)

I may outsmart myself.

Also, I scheduled a week of appointments at work this week when the PA was out of town. They told me about it in May, in an email. Seriously, please don’t depend on me to do anything when I’m having a midlife crisis. Last May…never mind. You all know.

The battery powered fan I ordered for our bm (for future reference: bm means Burning Man, not poop) tent was delivered yesterday, then promptly stolen from the front desk area at work (more fuckers - explainable since I work in the mental health industry) before it got to me.

Also, Ex is a nincompoop as I’ve been getting calls from the kids saying they don’t have lunch at school, or they’re going to be kicked out by Friday if they don’t get their shot records to the nurse. I asked Ex if the school knows Son has a learning disability and did they put him in special education for his core classes. His response? “I have no idea.” Stuff I’ve been scrambling to take care of because I left everything school related up to him to organized for the first time in the children’s lives. And this year they are both in brand new schools. It’s made me feel angry and resentful, and melancholy about not being there to help them on the big first day of school Monday. When I tried to, gently and kindly, talk to Ex about being sensitive to Son and take care of things like I would try to do with Kids (I didn’t say it that way. That would be just asking for trouble.) he got offended and told me I never had a father figure so don’t accuse him of being a bad father, and that if we wanted to be friends I needed to back off because he’s a good dad and I should know that. I reminded him that Son has a learning disability and a mental health diagnosis and that we need to take care in how we talk to him and guide him, just as the counselors have told us since Son was 6. Ex accused me of “putting labels” on Son and that he, Ex, doesn’t do that. 

Blah-de-blah-de-blah. Same 'ole shite.

Ex got a son with special needs instead of the son that he wanted, and I think he’s still in denial. The same argument we’ve been having for 15 years. I know better than to argue with him, it kills me that I can’t protect them from him and really, I may not need to. I just hope he’s a better father now than he was when we were married.

Ex has been peppering me with texts, day and night, all week, with everything from how I should run my house to the better benefit of Kids this school year to where I should drop Son off when I take him to school next week because it’s the best option. He’s driving me up the fucking wall.

But mixed in have been lovely moments like the bat walk tour I went on with Partner, his Daughter, and Son, Monday night, and heart-melting moments when they told me they see me as their second mom. Also, seeing a girlfriend briefly last night when I went over to load my bm stuff into another friend's truck, and Kids calling me randomly last night at 10:30pm to ask me what my middle name was (apparently there was some debate) and making me laugh.

So it hasn’t been a total loss, just a mix. And I handled it all well, mixed with expletives, and occasional grumpy behavior. I am still happy. (Plus the check came yesterday just in time for my needed tank of gas, and my new checking account mobile deposits it instantly, unlike the old one - that rhymes with Bells Dargo - who holds it for 2 days. Fuckers.)

Hey, guess what? I talked with my doctor, and she agreed that it’s ok for me to not refill my Prozac, and that my dose was so low I don’t need to titrate down. My last pill will be taken next Tuesday night…

I leave for bm a week from Sunday. I think vacation with friends and the love of my life is a good idea right after stopping an antidepressant, so that works out well.

Thanks for reading.

I Wrote This A Year Ago Today, Getting Ready For Burning Man 2012

"Burning Man 2012- i plan to leave my family at home and go with my boyfriend and a bunch of good, poly friends…i’m going to be the purest form of ME…which i don’t get to be in my world, except when i’m with my brother alone, and that is a rare occasion :) In my codependent mind that sounds selfish…but for those who really know me, you’ll understand that at the fabulous, coming-out age of 43, I’ve decided to step out of my comfort zone and take my life by the reins - make it more of what i need it to be. as the mom of a child with a learning disability, ADHD, depression, an inspiring dog whisperer and loving boy, the wife of a husband with ADHD and depression, who is the love of my life, and, interestingly, the mother of a brilliantly bright, goofy, beautiful little girl, from an alternative family, and working for a non-profit, very little of my world is solely about me. i take some time to take care of myself here and there, but not nearly enough. and i’ve never been on a trip like this: out into the unknown with a group of friends...just for a little while: not mother, not wife, not sister, not daughter, not alpha female (in my house, i have to be - it’s self defense… :) …just a lover who likes to laugh, who wants to explore her boundaries and her friends, and the heart and soul of her boyfriend…just for a week…i also think it would be a wonderful opportunity to work on some of my issues like: accepting gifts and shyness…my introversion…can you really be an introvert surrounded by all that wonderful self expression? i’m going to try like hell not to be :)"

That poor, sad, scared woman with her head in the sand. What a grand adventure she went on. And what an adventure she's had...

My Pandora's Box

I went in to see my doctor last month, and every time I go into her office there is a form there they ask me to fill out. The form wants to know if you feel you're being abused and whether you think you're in danger. I looked at that form and thought, and thought, and I decided what the hell.

It was my Pandora's Box of emotions.

I didn't realize until I started typing this post that this event was the catalyst that sent me into a tailspin that is the worst bout of depression I've ever had. 

It scared me.

A few years ago when I tried to divorce Ex the first time I was diagnosed with situational depression, which essentially means that if the situation changes, your depression goes away. 

Sometimes.

So while I sat in the doctor's office waiting for her to come in, I filled out the form. Had I suffered abuse? I marked yes. Did I have any physical injuries? No, I put that it was psychological abuse. Was I afraid of my abuser or did I feel I was in danger...no. Not really. Deep down I don't really think he'd put his hands on me. That would completely shatter the illusion of THE PERFECT EX HUSBAND AND FATHER show, and I might just need to be bailed out of jail. 

The doctor came in and asked me how I've been since my last appointment and I updated her on what she and I talked about last time. My eyes were bright and shiny with the tears I was trying like hell not to spill. She took one look at that and picked up the paper I'd filled out, read it, and started asking me questions...the same ones I'd answered on the forms. She was verbally verifying my answers. The minute she said the word ABUSE out loud, I lost it. I started crying and as she kindly offered me tissues she listened a little bit about what had been going on in my life. I told her Ex had moved out last October so I wasn't in the living situation anymore, but did tell her that his tentacles still reached me via the Kids and my damaged psyche. She told me I had adjustment disorder, and suggested (for the third time) that I take something to help me get through this tough time. She prescribed me fluoxetine (Prozac) and I finally accepted that I needed help.

The reality that I was an abuse survivor hit me smack between the eyes and I just fell apart. I made it to work, made it through my day, and made it home. I grabbed the dogs and swung by the pharmacy on the way to Partner's house for the weekend, where I promptly started to drink. Not to excess, mind you...just enough to numb myself. And just enough to cry. 

I cried at work and I cried in my favorite swinging chair outside and I cried while falling asleep. The floodgates were open.

I've never been a big drinker. My family loves to drink, particularly good wine, and one time my mother was pouring me a glass when my brother shouted from across the room, "Don't fill up her glass, you know she won't drink it! Give her the rotgut!", where I promptly turned to him and shot back, "I have tried and tried to be an alcoholic and I just can't do it!", muttering about lushes under my breath in a stage whisper, which was well received and we all laughed. 

This is what we do. I love my family. 

That I started drinking one or two glasses every day was near alcoholic proportions for me.

Anyway, that I was having a drink on a Friday night was not unusual. That I then drank every single day for about a month after that, was. As I said, I did not get falling down drunk, I was numbing myself...telling myself I just wanted to try this wine or have a little taste of that Irish cream I love, or share a drink with friends.

Either way, when I drank alone I ended up sobbing into my glass, curled up on my couch, sending one dog running for the room that didn't have a hysterical female in it, and my familiar dog to come cuddle against me as he has always done when I fall apart. I lamented hard and long, screaming to the universe about hating Ex (a serious step for me as I really try to stay away from hate), and my mistreatment at his hands combined with guilt for letting my children live so long in a situation that had most likely warped them, and me, for life. 

I cried and cried and cried. As I said, I scared the shit out of myself. So I took the Prozac and it helped me get ahold of my emotions. It's helped me even out my serotonin so I can look at my life more objectively and start to let things go. 

It also helped me sleep. Sleep! Gloriously deep, REM stage, dreaming sleep. 

I didn't know I wasn't sleeping well until I did. It's been years since I slept like that, and as I pondered it I realized that it was because I was always listening for small voices to call me from their rooms at night, whether they didn't feel well or were scared, which is a lovely reason to sleep lightly and I don't mind.

Alternately I was sleeping lightly because inevitably Ex would come storming into the bedroom and flip the light on in a rage because he couldn't find something, or something didn't work, demanding that I help him, or was just being an asshole because he felt turning on the light to empty his pockets at 11:30pm after I'd been in bed for at least an hour was a reasonable excuse to disturb my sleep patterns.

Sigh.

The point is, I've been taking this depression medication and it has helped me a lot. I know and love a lot of people who take meds for depression, including my son, and I've decided that when my scrip runs out I'm not going to renew it. I feel that by that time I will have a good handle on why and how I fall apart and will have gotten back into the habit of taking better care of myself via cognitive behavioral therapy and stop the voices (not literal voices - that's an altogether different diagnosis - but that bitch in my head that talks to me when I'm not being kind to myself) that put me down.

She tells me I'm fat, I'm guilty of ruining my marriage and children, I'm ugly and lazy, I'm a terrible housekeeper, that I'm going to die alone and that my children will resent me.

I hate that bitch, and when she sneaks up behind me and starts whispering all of these negative thoughts into my head I get out my hammer and blast her into oblivion.

It's a work in progress.

I'm headed to visit my mom, my brother and his partner for the weekend. We need to sit right up next to each other and commune. It's been too long. We have some talking, crying and laughing to do together. Also, it's going to be hotter than blazes where I live and the dogs and I are getting the hell out of dodge. Enjoy your weekend and I'm going to try not to worry. How about you?

Comingling Families

Partner (who lives a little under an hour away) and I took Kids (mine and his) overnight with some very good friends of ours near his house Friday night, Kids and I stayed home Saturday to they could hang around with their local friends, then Partner and I took all the kids to the river near Partner's house all afternoon Sunday with more good friends and dogs. It's a lot of driving, but it's worth it. It's sometimes difficult to get mine out of the house because we're all screen/movie/book geeks (computer, gaming, phone, laptop, etc.) but once I did, they had a great time. I try to get them out of the house somewhere or another away from screens every weekend they're with me.

We had one of the best weekends, ever, on record. Son keeps asking me when we can go back again and I am absolutely thrilled because he's an introvert like me, and has a hard time in groups of people he doesn't know. Partner calls it co-mingling our families. We love to co-mingle. I am so happy! Happier than I've ever been.

This may not seem like an odd weekend to you.

When I was with Ex, he would never have agreed to have a weekend like this unless it was a huge gathering of his own family, or a group of his friends that we were joining up with. First of all, we didn't have many friends, and mine had all but disappeared, as his control and mental health issues stopped me from seeing them. 

If you stop accepting invitations, people eventually stop inviting you. 

There was always a giant list of TO DOs in his head, that inevitably didn't get done because there were so many THINGS THAT HAD TO GET DONE he would become overwhelmed and not do any. Either that or he would start several projects and leave them unfinished all over the inside and outside of the house, because it was just too much, leaving detritus reminders that would depress him and make him angry. 

This caused me a lot of angst and anxiety because I hate having a cluttered house (one of my issues - clutter all over my own house makes me feel scattered and uncomfortable) and he would become cranky when he was doing all the THINGS. In addition to that, everyone in the house had to be working hard and beware his anger if they weren't - including our children no matter what they had going on or how old they were. My anxiety came because I knew that he would blow up at any moment at any of us for any reason, and I ran around like a neurotic chicken with my head cut off trying to make sure everyone was doing what he wanted them to be doing, assuming, of course, that I was correct in my assumption of what he wanted everyone to be doing, (can you say codependent?) so there would be no blowup. Which was fruitless, of course, because I had no control over what he did.

How the hell did I ever manage to live that way? What the hell? I'm feeling anxious just thinking about managing all that. 

It's funny because now when I ask Kids to do something for me they are pretty willing to do it. There is no anger or verbal battling when I ask and there is no crazy hidden agenda about keeping score with what I'm doing around the house. I ask them to help me out, and for the most part they happily do it. Whether it be mowing the lawn, caring for the animals, or cleaning up after themselves, they seem happy to contribute. 

It's a happier and relaxed way to live. Whoda thunk??

Cats Are Controlled By The Government

I read the top part and realize I do stuff like this all the time, and I feel that way too. Pets are for entertainment purposes, such as this. 

I like to throw sheets on one of my dogs when I'm changing the beds, and watch him try to get out from under them. The other dog I torment with a plastic, green frog that blows air when you squeeze it. He thinks it's the anti-christ.

 Every time I read the response to the tinfoil cat lady, I die laughing.