I ‘graduate’ from trauma therapy on Thursday, my last day. She told me I won’t get a cap and gown – I’m ok with that.
I feel like I haven’t been able to grasp the momentum I had pre TBI. Having your face broken and truly unable to function without help really highlights how alone you are and how many people are there for you.
It highlights how far I’ve come that I let people help me. I’m loved by a solid group of folks. The kind who take you to have reconstructive facial surgery at 6AM, even after you were unfairly mean to them because deep inside they are safe & you know they got your back. Payback is a bitch… who does that, take a post op pic of me, covered in iodine. Apparently I was sleeping on the table and professing my love of donuts…. in my defense, I was high as kite on the ‘good’ drugs.
Apparently I like extremes and dichotomies. Lots of support, terribly alone. No wonder I need therapy.
I think there is something deeper going on right now, I don’t know what it is but something big was poked when I found out my husband is shacking up with an unstable trollop.
She isn’t the problem, badass as she may think she is because mommy got her a cell phone and she can call me to tell me I’m a cunt, she’s going to fuck my husband and she will win.
I laughed at her, so she was going to ‘tell’ on me – “ hello, 911, um… my boyfriends wife needs a timeout, it’s snack time for me and…um… I have no self-worth and..um… I said a bad word to someone I should be afraid of”.
Have we talked about prison orange..? Oh to be 22 and stupid, of course I wasn’t stupid at 22. I was pregnant, owned a home, owned a car and didn’t need to take someone’s discarded husband who couldn’t pull his head out of his ass and made it his life ambition to hurt everyone he ever claimed to love.
Yes, yes, Jackie, you won! Sigh… children.
Either she is dumb as a box of rocks – probable or my felon husband did a great disservice to her by manipulating her to such a degree she doesn’t know how unwise it is play with the big kids.
I guess that circles right back to why Mr. Karahalis is what he is, why he’s an addict and I’m in bed with my demons, watching Greys on Netflix and eating ice cream.
By all accounts, my life should have looked more like his. I know his childhood because I’m part of it. Middle class, two parents, just south of Boston yuppie town. He had every good opportunity handed to him. I had none of that.
He drinks and drugs, numbs what he can’t handle, which seems to be about every facet of being a good human these days. Of course it’s my fault… he uses drugs because I am his trigger.
It’s all rather comical, he’s too cocky banking on the credentials of the pre drug life he systematically blew up only to land himself with a rather extensive criminal record, labels of felon – he will never be able to make those work for him.
He is *still* butt hurt I gave his drugs to the police after he left his 12yo daughter in a movie theater to use them. That drug charge is my fault, he gave them to me “in confidence”…
Someone should really get him a big book. He believes this…
Do you know what helps avoid taking responsibility for consequences of addiction? Wait for it….
Having your ego stroked by tagging a 22 yo, and more ego stroking by thinking he’s positioned himself, worth so much that the annoying 22yo will put me in my place with a phone call that shows trashy unstable psychiatric patients are the new gold standard in getting a piece of ass.
What part of not fighting for my husband is being missed?
No pumpkin, it isn’t the threatening phone call. You can’t win here, it’s isn’t mathematically possible. Clearly you’ve been misinformed.
*If* dear Jackie you were anything, at all to who Kleo was before he became this. If he really cared about you and you weren’t being used as bait to rile me up to hurt me in the only way left that he can. To deflect.
He wouldn’t be using you to throw in my face, because he knows if anyone should be afraid, it would you in this scenario. He knows my demons, he knows what I am capable of and the fact you don’t know that…
Is exactly why this isn’t a fight, or something to be won.
It’s poorly played manipulation. Do we need another blog post on kindergarten drug addicts and the unstable?
It isn’t a fight, it sure as fuck isn’t something to be ‘won’. And no, you’re not going to “win this, hun”.
I already won. The toddler replacement lost well before she became something he would use to hurt me and avoid the work of recovery. I don’t think he’s that stupid, I know he is anything but stupid actually.
If the toddler replacement wasn’t a disposable tactic of an addict these 3 things would be true.
- She wouldn’t be in my line of fire, trust me, if this was the Kleo of before…
- Dumb & dumber wouldn’t be planning a Disney princess vacation ONE week after being discharged from treatment, violating the $250k bail conditions while being MARRIED.
- He wouldn’t be with someone this stupid and morally void who would ever be ok with *any* of this, lmfao.
I can be ok with the title bestowed on me by the replacement. Being a “cunt” can snuggle up with my demons even.
This isn’t a loss, or something won. It’s profound sadness because I don’t need to numb out my demons with drugs, and find someone so broken and low to use as I avoid the real work.
It’s pity for them both.
It’s knowing all these things can be true, and they are but they are not strong enough to dismantle the basic, raw and evolutionary emotions.
It still hurts and I can’t undo knowing he will share a bed and hold someone else. She can’t hold a candle to me. Not in his eyes, or anyone elses – I have no doubt of that (him before we got a hard-on for spice).
I’m ok knowing there is jealousy there, even if it’s more inconsequential than not.
The hurt is watching what is systemically & consistently failing in who he ever was. It’s having come far enough out of this… that I’m *not* having to keep the demons at bay as I’m being baited to react.
I’m not having to have a come to jesus meeting with my dark side… The reason I haven’t put the unstable toddler in her place or played the calling in of people more than willing to do my dirty work in ways that people from the street would deal with this kind of stuff. One phone call could put her back in her paygrade.
I’m not fighting for my husband. Who he is, what he has turned into.
This is a man who tried to kill his wife. I’m not losing what I don’t want to win.
Addicts are predictable. Painfully predictable.