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.

Changing My Thoughts

I have been busting my behind to change my negative thoughts, and I think I'm doing a great job. I've been practising yoga again and trying to meditate, though the meditation bit has been really difficult. It's hard enough to quiet my mind, but do you know how hard it is to meditate when you've got one dog trying to lick your face, another putting his paw on you so you'll pet him, and a rabbit sitting on your belly? Ayup. Not easy. I'll keep at it. I'm experimenting with ways to sit or lay so I don't get too cold or my leg falls asleep.

It's very sweet that my mother and Partner know that when I spend long periods of time alone, that my thoughts have turned ugly and mean, and I can be extremely unkind to myself. Partner has been away with his kids for over a week, and it's making me a little nutty. I miss him being around and realize that I have become so comfortable with him (which is so great!) that I've started to take him for granted. Not in negative ways, but in my head. 

Tell the people you care about that you love them. Hug them. Love up on them. Make sure they know. Everything can change in a heartbeat.

Anyhoo, mom and Partner have asked me here and there how I'm doing when they know I'm alone. It is so thoughtful and caring it makes me tear up. 

I am blessed.

I am being 99% kind to myself...nobody is perfect. 

On This Day, The Day I Celebrate My Mother...

(I am the queen today.)

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.

My Son's First Word Was Cock

(or manners)

I swear it wasn't my fault. He was trying to say truck.

I never said that word in front of him, and back then I hardly ever swore out loud at all. I was teaching school and I found that if I didn't curb the sailor mouth I'd grown up with I did it inadvertently at work, or in front of my wonderful church lady grandmother, or some other place that wasn't appropriate.

I was reading this (it cracked me up) and it got me to thinking about my own potty mouth. Son is about to turn 15. He swears. And as a result, so does Daughter. I gave up trying to stop them and am trying to teach them when NOT to swear.

I also gave up not swearing in front of them.

This brings me back to my mother who told me way back when that when she couldn't stop my brother and I from doing things like burping astoundingly at the dinner table, that she gave up and learned how to burp loudly too, still attempting to instill manners in us nonetheless.

It worked. My brother and I can both pass for civilized beings when we want to and we know which fork to use with what course at the table. A lost art.

Interestingly (but not surprisingly) my children's manners and behavior are two of the many things that I worried about more before I got divorced because Ex didn't want bad manners in his house...the misbehavior at the dinner table, in particular. Oh, he would spit the food out I cooked for him in front of the children, pass gas as loudly as he could at the table, then get up and leave before everyone was finished eating (one thing I find extremely rude, not to mention a bad example), but lord help us if one of us did the same thing. I lost count of how many times dinner devolved into a shouting match between he and wonderful and challenging ADHD Son, Daughter watching with big eyes from her seat at the table, and me trying to make peace, my anxiety levels going through the roof as I was terrified that screaming or shoving would start...watching helplessly as Ex slowly but surely rubbed what little self esteem Son had away with his emotional abuse.

Oddly enough (sarcasm, in case you didn't catch it) I have an aversion to making them sit at the dinner table now, though we always sit down to eat together unless other activities prevent it.

I am happy to say that I hear from other adults that my children are kind, polite, and well mannered at other people's houses.

I'll take it.

This makes me very happy because despite what Ex imposed on them (still does at his house, I'm sure) and that I imposed on them in his name, they have the kindness and manners my southern grandmother would have been proud of.

When they're not at home with me. *grin*

Is Your Identity Based On Your Last Name?

I was reading this article about identity being tied up with your last name and I think the answer is, sometimes. It really depends on the circumstances and the person. 

I'm taking back my maiden name. Actually, I never got rid of it...just tacked my married name on the end. It made my name ludicrously long, and amused me to no end when I couldn't fit it onto forms. 

When I was getting married my first inclination was to keep my family name. I don't know why, except that I had girlfriends who didn't plan to change their names as they felt it unnecessary and old fashioned. I thought it sounded like a pain in the behind, and it is, particularly when you come to a point in your life where your name is out there in the world on more than just your social security card, the bank, and the DMV. Ex told me it was important to him and would mean a lot if I took his name so, just like with everything else, I caved and did what he wanted me to do.

I didn't discuss it with anyone really, except Partner, my mom and brother. I told them I was taking my name back (really I should say, ditching my married name - but taking my name back sounds much more powerful, and I need to feel powerful right now) because my married family has shunned me, as of my filing divorce papers. I talked about that here. I was proud and happy, mostly, to be a part of the huge clan I married into. They were tight knit and though gossipy, nosy and controlling, they were loving and fun, and had money for big trips and lavish presents. I'd always dreamed of having a big family, as mine was filled with depressive lunatics as well as good, gold-hearted people I adore, that are just too damned far away.

Turns out, you only get to be a part of Ex's extended family if you follow their rules. Duh. I didn't follow the rules, therefore SHUNNED. I'm not the only one who bailed out over the years. There are several of us now, walking wounded who ran for the hills, and I remember the shock, dismay, then utter mean spirited gossip, speculation, and rumors that started immediately on discovering they willingly left the clan.

Yeah, that's me now too. Being shunned by people who professed to love and care about me triggered my abandonment issues and my insecurity. Things I'm working hard on right now.

My family has never left my side, even when I 'abandoned' (my word, not theirs) them as I decided to start pretending everything was ok. They never wavered in their love and support no matter what was happening, and I want to symbolically fold myself back into their bosom.

It means a lot to me.

I worried that my children would be unhappy about me having a different last name, and very briefly I worried about the possible confusion of having a different last name in society. "Society" can kiss my ass too. I need to talk with Kids about it. I will report back with the results of that conversation after I have it. I don't imagine they'd have a problem with it, but with my sweet knuckleheads, you never know. Also, they deserve to know because it will most likely come up sometime.

I briefly considered asking their opinion before I did it, and then I decided that it was my name and I was no longer going to ask anyone for their permission about anything. 

Fuck that. Those days are over. I will consider opinions and suggestions, then decide and do whatever the hell I want.

I'm getting better at it.

Now I'm happier.

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?

This Is Why I Keep My Mouth Shut

I do not badmouth Ex to my children. They have enough stress to deal with without my adding to it. Other adults, depends on my mood and who I'm talking to.

My mom sent me this. Thanks mom, I love you.

Coming Out

I came out to my mother a few months ago when I was visiting her. The first visit to my family since I started divorce proceedings as well. She knew something was up because my boyfriend's, now partner's, name has been popping up on Facebook for the last two years, albeit innocently, because I had in laws and my ex-husband to think about at the time, as well as my son.

My ex-husband asked me not to tell anyone anything about my being poly because essentially he was ashamed of me, and himself. He was trying valiantly (he said) to 'understand' me and how I view and feel about love. In fact, he was the one who gave me my copy of The Ethical Slut before I even knew what poly was.

It was painful for me to spend time with my mom, my brother, and his partner, as well as my children, friends, and a few coworkers, and not tell them about the person who had come to hold such a dear and important place in my heart. It was exhausting to hide texts, behaviors, emails, and to edit my thoughts and speech. I was experiencing anxiety attacks for the first time in my life. I told myself I was doing the best thing for my family, when as it turns out, I was doing the best thing for my ex-husband. I was silent, because my ex was my primary and I tried to respect his wishes.

I slipped last summer on family vacation, not able to keep it from my brother any longer. His response? "Me too!". He floored me.

My ex was furious. His reaction to my honesty, among other behaviors when I pulled my head out of the sand, started a chain reaction of clarity and introspection in me that made me want to make some major changes in my life. Why was I living this way? Why am I sharing my life with someone who is ashamed of me and who cannot or will not support and accept me? Who asks me to hide myself from everyone so he won't be embarrassed? Who told me that it was best for everyone, including my children, and convinced me to be ashamed of myself?

My mother surprised me when I told her. Her reaction? Anger. She wasn't surprised that I had found someone so wonderful to love or that I was poly. In fact, she was excited about meeting him. She was pissed. Is pissed. She's furious that my ex kept me from telling her. Kept me from talking to her, from sharing myself with her as I always had.

I try not to mourn the 21 years I spent being emotionally abused (There is much, much more than I have said here, but that's for another post.) by someone I chose because regardless of how hard I am trying to forgive myself now, I have two beautiful children who are the most important people in my life, a partner who reminds me every day how important I am to him, a comfortable home, wonderful friends, coworkers I love, and the self confidence to share my life with supportive, loving, healthy minded people who respect me, and themselves.

For this, I am grateful.