Sometimes I Just Need To Fall Apart

Hopefully there is someone there to catch me, or at least be able to vent then pick myself up and put me back together.

Last night, it was daughter who helped put me back together...all beautiful, comforting, understanding, so-much-like-me, 12 year old loveliness. 

I have so much guilt about having she and Son see me fall apart. I know I have to sometimes, and it's normal, and I (you) just have to sometimes, but jeebus...

I ran out of words. I'm spent and tired today.

The point is, I got tired, fed up, and just plain overwhelmed with how much work Son is and fell apart. Today my eyes are swollen, I'm dehydrated, and my psyche is tired. I was curled up in a blithering ball of sob with Daughter wrapped around my back, soothing me.

I didn't know that much fluid could come out of my head at once.

That's a lot of work for a girl who's just trying to navigate her preteen years...but I do appreciate her so very much. I'd have to say she's my best girlfriend.

This morning I apologized and thanked her, telling her that I feel like I should keep up a strong face for her, but that I just can't all the time.

Crud. Now I know my eyes are showing my night last night because the second coworker came in and asked me if I was alright. (Yes, I often post at work. I'm taking a break. :)

Anyway, teenagers are a lot of work even when they don't have special needs. I know I have to let him fall so he'll learn to take care of himself. I need to step back and let him.

Love and light.

THE CHAT

 

 (except I'll be with the dogs)

I am formulating my thoughts about how I finally sat down and talked (listened to) Partner's Ex.

She needed for me to hear her and I did, with empathy and minimal suppressed sighs. She said a lot of negative things about Partner, which I expected, and told me she didn't mean to talk about him. She said she needed to tell me about the negativity in order to help me understand where she was coming from.

The thing is, I have experienced all the things she told me with my Ex. Every one.

It didn't sway my opinion of Partner in any way. I adore him and love him and have never experienced negativity with him. In three years. Pretty good, I think. I've been frustrated with him, sure. Normal stuff.

She was sad and kind, and told me it all had nothing to do with me; that she just needed space for a while. That I was always welcome in her home. She loved the way I am with her kids and that they love me. She was happy for us, but sometimes it's hard to watch.

I have empathy for her position, and she brought me to tears at one point when she alluded to the negative things some of her friends said about me. One of my triggers. I pulled myself together and tried to really focus on what she was saying.

The thing is, I love her children. I hope to be in their lives for the rest of mine. I have learned through experience that you don't poke the monster with a stick, even if the monster is making you feel defensive and scared. You listen and get the hell out of dodge.

Mission accomplished until the next time something comes up.

A very good friend mentioned that it sounds like I've been *she brushed her hands together as she told me* tying up a lot of loose ends and she made me realize that yes, I have. It feels nice, even though I now owe the IRS $2,500 because Ex fucked up his W-2. But that's the next post...

Pity Party FFS

(PS: Burning Man was enlightening, as usual, and great! I wanted to put that first so I didn't interfere with the pity party below.)

I’ve been depressed about some issues with Son. He’s having a tough time in school which is pretty typical for this time of year, but he’s also got some issues going on, including intimidating me and Daughter when he doesn’t get what he wants, that makes his therapist think he may be developmentally delayed. He’s due for his psych test through the school district, and he’s scheduled. So, as a result I’ve been depressed and have gained weight from emotional eating again, and am considering going back on the anti-depressants my doc put me on after the divorce. I don’t know. Maybe I should try to start exercising again first to see if that helps, or should I do both? There is a really mean voice in my head that tells me taking antidepressants is giving in. How fucked up is that?? I’m also premenstrual, but I was feeling depressed before that. It’s my voice again coming up with reasons why I shouldn’t take them and take care of myself. I’m having trouble at work too, I’m bored and annoyed, and I know that much of it is that there is so much crap in my head I don’t want anyone else’s. It’s too hard to deal with my own lately. The other thing is that antidepressants aren’t in my budget. More stupid voice.

Thanks for listening.

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.

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 Fell Off My Horse, And It Hurt

I am much stronger than I was before I started divorce proceedings. I was also very strong to stay as long as I did, but had my head in the sand about being able to fix it and make it work,. I tried to leave Ex 6 years ago when his emotional abuse of our son was the straw that broke the camel's back. He made promises and short term changes in order to get me to stay. When I discovered that there were people out in the world who would be happy to treat me and my children with respect and kindness, wouldn't try to control my every move by gaslighting me, wouldn't emotionally and physically abuse me and our kids (mainly our son), and wouldn't treat our two kids so differently that I was terrified he was making Son's mental health issues worse, I had to get the fuck out.

It was no longer just about me and my head in the sand. It was the fact that our son threatened to kill himself when Ex was home alone with the kids, about a year ago. It was that Ex would become so furious with our son that he would shove him to the ground or into a wall, and verbally browbeat him until his self esteem was nonexistent, and I had to get them and myself away form him, as least part of the time if that was all I could manage. Abuse is really, really hard to prove, particularly if it's not physical.

And I am afraid of Ex. I am afraid of the mask of the healthy, caring, considerate husband and father that he puts on when he wants something. Which is everything.

I am afraid that some day he will snap and come for me.

Ex harassed me so much about two months ago via text that I was still shaken weeks later. I should not have engaged him but I'm tired of him, and I made the mistake of trying to reason with a controlling, abusive, unsympathetic philistine. He always starts out by putting on his mask of THE PERFECT FATHER & EX HUSBAND when he wants something and, particularly after a long period of time since we've disagreed, he  slowly slips into his current list of demands, then slips further into why I'm wrong, he's right, and why.

That last time was that he wanted me to pay him back the money he gave me and the kids in good faith, that I took in good faith, to help out before the child support kicked in. Alternately, he tells me to let him know if I ever need money. And he's pissed that I filed my taxes 'married filing separately'. and that he owes the IRS. And he says my lawyer has committed fraud and he's not signing the papers she recently mailed him until she signs something agreeing that he was right all along. (Incidentally, this is the third time we have altered papers to correct what he thinks was wrong with them.)

I don't know why I expected that my doing what he asked would be good enough for him. That my making the changes he asked me to make would satisfy him. That he would stick to his word and sign the papers like he promised if I would just resubmit them with a small change. Why would he change? He's done this to me for 21 years.

When will I learn?

For People Who Don't Understand Why I Had To Get Out

I couldn't explain it well before, I thought. This could have come straight out of my psyche. Emotional manipulation is one of the biggest reasons I ended up getting divorced.

The thing was, there was so MUCH behavior I felt the need to call him on...so, so much. It made me emotionally mute. He had me thinking I was irrational and as a result, my self esteem plummeted and I was silenced. I let people all through my life walk all over me, including Son. It sent me/us to the therapist time and time again.

Ex still does it nearly every single time we talk about anything and I used to fall into his fucking trap every time, but not so much now. Probably because I don't engage him anymore. I deal with the business of Kids and move along, see you later, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.

It's a trap I've never even been sure he knows he's setting. Is control so deep in his psyche that he thinks he's being completely fair and honest in it's execution?

Eventually I started getting out and meeting people that didn't do this to me, and the result is my happy life now.

Someday, in the future, I'd like my children to understand why, really, I upended their lives and mine. But only if they ask. For them and anyone else who asks, I leave this link to the article that states, clearly, what I could not.

Father's Chance to Abuse on Mother's Day

He got me again.

Bastard. Through the kids again. Now I'm getting angry.

My kids gave me wonderful, thoughtful Mother's Day presents that they created with their own hands, with direction, ideas, and help directly from my abuser.

My daughter woke me up with milk and toast and kisses, as well as a handmade card from school that I will treasure forever. She is a sweet and thoughtful girl, and I am lucky to have her. Then she handed me a gold wrapped present. I opened it to discover 9 sand dollars mounted in a shadowbox. 9 sand dollars that we found on the beach as a family on a vacation before the divorce. 9 sand dollars that were supposed to be a present for my mother on her birthday years ago. A project ex came up with, never finished, raged about with failed attempts to craft, then put it in the garage for years until he moved out and took it with him.

My sensitive and funny son gave me a gift of 8 painted fish tiles in a frame. 8 fish tiles that were supposed to be in a bathroom ex was going to let me decorate. 8 fish tiles he gave me because he knows I love the ocean, though I didn't pick them out myself. 8 fish tiles that sat in a bag in our garage that had become a hidy-hole for spiders while he ignored 'our' plan for a bathroom upgrade, until the city sewer backed up into our bathroom forcing a remodel. 8 fish tiles that sat in that spidery bag in the garage as he 'let me choose' paint he picked and different tiles, making the bathroom that was supposed to be for me into something he wanted. Again.

The fish tile picture is sitting on the dresser in my bedroom affecting me, the same way the sand dollar shadow box is hanging on the wall. I smiled and told my kids the presents were beautiful and thoughtful and spent some time cuddling and talking with them.

I fell apart later with my partner.

It's hard to explain why the gifts trigger me and I can understand why it wouldn't make sense. One reason (I was trying to explain this to my partner who often understands me before I say anything, being intuitive to my feelings.) is that they represent two of eleventy-billion projects that he raged against himself for not finishing, then took out on us. Being a perfectionist often paralyzes him, as he's not able to live up to his own standards. Reason two, that just looking at them sitting in my bedroom reminds me about his two decades of abuse and my life as a doormat. Three, it infuriates me beyond belief that he can still trigger me. There is more, but later maybe.

I know that he's given them to me through our kids to say, "Look! I finished it! You can have it now!", and that deep down in his psyche, though he would never, ever admit it, "You were wrong about me. I'm different without you. Better. Happier. I showed you, didn't I?"

Some might say I should put them somewhere where they don't trigger me so much, but my children being proud of giving me those gifts is more important to me than how the gifts make me feel. Whether or not he did it deliberately to abuse me, whether he considers it 'redemption' for what he sometimes admitted to doing to me, on rare occasions when I could get through to him, or all of the above, I'll probably never know. I don't care. I never want to talk to him again, and I sure as hell am not going to ask him.

So I'm going to use those gifts they're so proud of to remind me to be strong.

I am very conscious that I ignored ex's birthday the next day, and I'm going to try to ignore the fact that he will probably use it as an example for his new girlfriend and his family further to prove that I am heartless and cruel because he's the BEST EX HUSBAND EVER. This is his new goal in the public eye.  I am no longer in the business of rewarding him for breaking me. Lord knows what he's told his family. It must be pretty good because not one of them has made any attempt to contact me. He was always great in public, singing the praises of my mothering, housekeeping, and being a wife.

Unless he was drunk. Or angry. Or I didn't go along with his plan. Then he would lose control of the carefully planned message he sent out to the world.

My daughter heard me crying later and came into my room to see me in my partner's arms, wiping my eyes. I told her I'd had a rough week, and that I was just processing it. That I was ok. She acted silly to make me smile, made sure I was ok, then wandered off.

Am I doing my children a disservice? Maybe. They're smart, they trust me, and they're comfortable knowing that if they ask my anything I'll give them an honest, if not edited for child content, answer. Someday I'll talk to them about it. Particularly if I find that ex is emotionally abusing them. He's a controlling and domineering father, but I don't think he's being abusive. I prod them gently for information every once in a while and listen carefully when they talk about him. If they ask me directly, I will not lie. I've told them a little bit, which I'll talk about in later posts.

It's just one more thing he's done to continue his abuse from afar.

White vs. Black

I saw a movie once (or was it a book I read?) where two women were talking about the main two fantasies that woman have: The White Fantasy (getting married) and The Black Fantasy (becoming a widow).

I used to fantasize about getting married. Living in a house I owned, having children, dogs, and a husband that adored me. I was sure that this would make me happy and I'd live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, after about 10 years of marriage, my white fantasy turned into the black fantasy. I was married for 21 years.

Don't get me wrong: I never wanted ex to die. I never wanted my children to lose their father. I didn't want anyone hurt. I didn't really want to lose my husband, though I already had. (He wasn't the man I hoped he was when I chose him.) Being a widow seemed like the least frightening way to find eventual happiness.

I read The New Fantasyland and it reminded me about what I used to fantasize about. I fantasized about being able to choose for myself. Do what I wanted, when I wanted to do it. Go out with friends, choose the products at the stores that I wanted, eat what I wanted to eat, be friends with the people I chose, and talk to my family on the phone without fear of being overhead and 'punished'. I wanted someone who would thank me for cooking, instead of telling me what I should do next time to make it better, or just spitting it out on the plate in disgust and pushing the plate away. (All of this in full view of our children who were starting to follow in his footsteps in more than just at table. The horror when I realized that my son might grow up thinking this is how you treat women was another straw that broke the camel's back...another post to write.) I wanted someone who didn't storm away in anger if I said something he didn't want to hear. Someone who looked me in the eye while I was talking, instead of walking away from me because he had something more important to do. Someone who didn't spend his time in a 'discussion' explaining to me why something I wanted to do wasn't a good choice. Someone who would hold my hand when we walked down the street, and someone who I could hug who wouldn't didn't think that every touch was an invitation to grope me like a teen aged boy. Someone who would let me lay close to him while I slept. I wanted someone who never asked me to change my clothes, makeup, hair or weight. I wanted someone to protect me and love me unconditionally. Someone who would treat me like I was important to them.

I really just wanted to be free of him.

What I needed was to protect myself from resentment, criticism, and a life that I had lost control of. I didn't even know I was lost until I woke up one day and realized that I was tired. Tired of working so hard to please someone who was (is still) so full of self loathing and anger.

Ex would argue that he never MADE me do anything, but he's missing the point. This is why I don't argue with him anymore.

Like the woman who wrote the article, I fantasized about ex staying out of my life. I understand that he will always be around, however. He IS the father of my children and they love him. I am getting better at setting and keeping boundaries. I just make my own choices and work with him as best I can for the kids. I have made a pact with myself to only talk to him about the kids and the house we co-own. The kids are quickly learning why I have chosen to divorce him. He's teaching them himself through his actions.

I'm starting over, coming up with new fantasies that are healthy. The difference now is that my fantasies are coming true.

PTSD and The Stuff In My House I Hate

One thing that scares me is knowing that emotional and verbal abuse are gateways to physical abuse. He never put his hands on me...but he did put his hands on our son. And every so often, got into a fist fight with an adult.

Standing in the entryway of our house screaming at him at the top of my lungs to get out, as my son lay on the floor curled up in a ball, my daughter looking on from down the hall...you can't imagine the feeling of that anger. Seeing him violently shove my son against the wall snapped me. That astounding amount of anger aimed at him and having him look at me and say, "You're overreacting again.", and, "He shoved me first." The powerlessness of knowing that it will happen again and that I am letting it happen by staying.

Another thing that scares me is PTSD and battered women syndrome because the more I read the more I realize I have some of these symptoms. I have exaggerated jumpiness, which is another symptom of PTSD. Any loud noise or the sudden appearance of someone when I don't hear them coming makes me jump out of my skin, and it's embarrassing. I made a joke about it just last night when my partner's ex came around the corner in the dark house and scared the crap out of me, to cover up my feelings.

I also space out a lot, usually when I'm at work, reliving those awful and humiliating moments of my life, like when ex compared my ass to Mount Rushmore at a crowded party for everyone to hear. Or when I had to get the kids out of bed to pick him up at a golf course bar because he'd gotten so drunk after playing golf that he knocked his front tooth out when he tripped on a chair, stopping on the way to emergency because he had to get out of the car and wander into a field to vomit, where he dropped and lost his keys in the tall grass, swearing and yelling the whole time, scaring the shit out of all of us. Meanwhile my young son is asking me questions about why daddy is acting that way. Or the time I was having a gallbladder attack, curled up in a ball of agony, an iron band of pain around my belly, and he was demanding to know if I was exaggerating. Or the time he was so drunk he humiliated me in front of his coworkers at his yearly work award ceremony and I walked out of the event. He staggered down the dark street after me and ended up ranting and raving, and shattering his cellphone on the ground so violently that a nearby cop came over to see what was going on. Or the time he spent an entire road trip out of town for our anniversary talking me into a three way with a friend of ours, when I really didn't want to do it. Or the time he got into a screaming match with his mother in front of our house, in front of the kids, at Christmas and I had to talk him into apologizing so his parents would stay. Or the time he humiliated me, and our son, in front of my family on my birthday by screaming and threatening our son while I was opening my presents. Or the time our son brushed his bicycle against the side of my car trying to get it out so he could play, and ex grabbed the bike to get it out himself, putting a scratch down the side of my car, then having a screaming hissy fit about it, blaming our son. Incidentally, my car was a Christmas present for not divorcing him the first time I tried. He talked me out of it then drained our savings account to buy me that car with cash, ignoring my pleas to know why he'd taken all that money out without talking to me about it, because it was a 'present' for me. He made me wait until Christmas morning to tell me about the money, and only after waiting to see my reaction to opening my present of a car key.

I could go on and I might in another post. The sheer number of things that are popping into my head that I had blocked is awful. 'Forgetting' things that happened is another PTSD symptom.

He asked me to explain, before he moved out, one of the reasons I told him I wanted a divorce: I told him he was controlling, and as an example said that he decorated our house without letting me choose anything. He denied it, reminding me that he always chose 2-3 things at a time that he liked and presented them to me to make a choice. He would shop for something then take me there to choose between the ones he wanted. The few things I had contributed came with me when we moved in together and I resisted him getting rid of them, sometimes flat out hiding them from him so he couldn't. 

I also told him that everything in our entire house had a negative story for me when I looked at it. The driftwood with shells on it in the shape of the number 40 he and the kids made me for my 40th birthday party was the gift I was opening when he screamed at our son in front of my family. The school pictures of the kids that we had taken every year was an anxiety laden event where our children had to look absolutely perfect and wearing everything he approved of for the picture because it was going into a big frame with each school year spot waiting to be filled over the years. I hate that picture frame. It holds the pictures of my beautiful children but each picture has a story. Me wrestling our tactile dysfunctional son into a button down Hawaiian shirt ex had chosen for the occasion. My daughter's perfectly coiffed hair that I stayed up until midnight the night before, soothing her while she cried, blowing it out straight so she'd look how ex wanted her to look. Defending each cowlick and adorable, goofy smile as being how our kids really looked, and not needing to spend the money on having it retaken.

I've said enough. I'm sick of it and am going to bed so I can stop thinking about all this. Dredging it up is cathartic and exhausting and I'm fucking tired of feeling like a victim. I'm tired of crying and I'm tired of waiting for the overburdened court system to send me my god damned divorce papers so I can finally be free of him.

My Thoughts When I'm Alone - Kids

It turns out that 21 years of emotional abuse gets me the grand prize of seeing my kids every other week. Oh! And the added bonus of never seeing my nephews again because ex's family has shunned me.

Bruised Psyche

I was sad. A very long week. My teen aged son cuddled me while I cried, and my preteen daughter danced to make me smile. It moved me deeply and I've never been prouder of them. It's not easy to see your mom cry, especially when you know she's not really telling you why. You just know you want her to feel happy and smile. They got me there. They always do. I was sad the next day too. But I was alone. It's amazing how much you can wish for a minute alone and then when you are, you're lonely. It didn't occur to me that when I filed for divorce I'd see my kids less.