Therapy Homework

Take 2, this was tasked to me last week and I successfully shifted it to the back burner of avoiding.  Therapy is a weekly occurrence, homework undone gets reassigned.sleeping woof

I’m supposed to write, hash out the possible reasons.  It isn’t right or wrong, black or white.  I don’t know the answer, but I’ll attempt my homework and perhaps it will be yet another stepping stone to peel back layers of who exists underneath the chaos my life has been.

I haven’t had time to write anything in a while, our annual camping trip and my sister’s wedding took a huge chunk of July.  The story of my sisters is worthy of its own blog post, as is my sister’s wedding…

For now, I’ll do my ‘homework’, it consists of why I feel the safest in the arms the very last person I should.  A gluten for punishment, a perpetual victim, lack of substantial boundaries, stupidity, reality or disillusion?  Yes and no to all in some degree… probably.

The short of it, my marriage mirrors my childhood.  Because nothing with me is ever simple, my marriage is someone from my childhood, a piece of my childhood that was always good.

I married a man I love to this day.  A man I don’t think I will ever not love and getting to the point where I am ok to verbalize I do still love him to the world took work, a lot of work.  I carried shame that I loved someone like that, when the world can judge him on a newspaper article- it’s easy to see the bad part that way.  Everyone can so quickly and so easily pat me on the back and give me a treat for my noble deed of pressing charges when he was strung out and tried to shove me out a closed second story window.

I’m strong.  If I have to hear that one more time…

Is that the answer I’m supposed to be mulling around?  Is that why?

If given a chance to fall asleep in his arms, if I could catch a pocket of time when he isn’t drinking or on something that I would take it in a heartbeat…

Am I still profoundly connected even though I’m profoundly not?

Is there an answer to why I feel safest with the person who has hurt me the most, hurt me more than my family of origin?

This is the man who could have done more damage to me than I think I’ve reconciled on an emotional level.  No need to delve into feelings when I can skim on the surface, falsely maintaining a sense of control by staying analytical.

I, too, see what everyone else does.  I’ve read the same newspaper article over and over, I’ve filled in what the reporter missed in my head countless times.  I get it.

Why would I still happily curl up beside him, fall asleep on him given a chance if he were clean…?  Why would I be stupid enough to love him, or want that when he ripped my life apart?  When all of this destroyed a marriage and we have both moved on?

Am I clear cut case of a domestic abuse victim?  Possibly, it checks more boxes than it doesn’t.

Or does it run deeper on a subconscious level?  He was a treasured piece of my childhood, my childhood memories of him run deep and good.

I didn’t just marry who he was on 10/19, although 10/19 took so much and 10/19 was the defining moment I wish I could erase from existence.  I can’t.

That day started a cascade of change, a hell that took more than I ever thought I had to climb out of.

A violent thrust back to the chaos eerily close to my childhood.  Just like my childhood riddled with alcoholics, I had no choice but to survive it.

Rivaling the pieces of me that love all of who he was before Oct is anger at him for not having the fight one would need to not let it destroy him and his marriage.  Both feelings I’m at peace with, for the most part.

That day took away the one person who didn’t see me for having come out of my childhood well enough to blend into the appearance of socially acceptable normalcy.

He was a kid, just like me.  We played, went to the movies, had ice cream at Dairy Queen and saw the Red Sox play at Fenway.

I didn’t have to be strong with him.  I could be me.

Maybe that is why I say the safest place I’ve felt was in the very moments where one is lulled between awake and asleep, those are the moments where I didn’t have to keep up what everyone else sees, where I wasn’t a mother, an employee, a friend… I was weak, vulnerable and able to non-verbally say I need to be held because he was the only one who knew the child in me, because he was a good piece of a childhood.

Those were the moments it was ok to be weak.

I’m 10 months in, those nights are not my everyday life anymore.  I fall asleep with my dog, I don’t know where he falls asleep each night.

This is my life now, can you love and hate, live in a dichotomy at its purest?  Does living in a contradiction negate the one for the other?  I don’t know.

My homework is done.  I miss what was lost and I should have people in my life that can stand beside me at a window and not throw me out it.

Substance abuse sucks.  That’s the moral of my story, that is not a dichotomy – it’s reality.




Your Stupid Is Showing Little One

stupidMy world has been forever and ever altered, my sense of reality shattered and I now can take my place in this world after judge, jury and executioner has spoken.

Entertainment comes in all forms, this little gem made me all giddy with boundless opportunities to mock stupid and feeling bad for the human race that people like this exist and procreate.

Little Jackie is butt hurt ☹

“So it’s funny you call yourself an adult and you talk about understanding legality. Honey there was no contract. He is not getting any of my money.  And when I sue you for slander and win, it seems I’ll be getting yours. Better take your blog down babe! Haha alright then. And do you think you hurt my feelings? He showed me your nude pics. You’re nothing. You are an insecure old woman who can’t keep a man. I have a boyfriend. I’m engaged. Take your little bullshit website down. Let’s be real…

You belong in a nut house. You have an ugly body. You are a cunt talking to me this way. Wanna play? I’ll beat you in a second. I already did. I got 6 grand out of your husband. No contract sweet pea. Nice play right? Oh wait I’ll be getting more in court from this slander you write. Karma is a bitch Moura.”  #JackieMStaffier

Someone might wanna give little one a lesson in Karma… seems she’s doesn’t have a grasp one that either.

Let us differentiate between grown-up reality and petty childhood games, while I enjoy passive aggressively commenting on stupid.  I’m camping, it’s raining and foggy, so why the fuck not:

I call myself an adult.  Even if I can’t keep a man and I have an ugly body ☹ It is a hard concept to grasp, but at 41 I, in all actuality *am* an adult.

The fact my husband has some private pictures of me, really shouldn’t be all that shocking… He’s many things, but showing my nude pics is a fallacy, comparable to make believe and claiming maturity of an adult while chasing actors down in princess costumes, moral superiority while actively fucking someone over.  Classic.

Body shaming by princess chaser is cute though.  It’s also hysterical because I’ve seen the manipulative messages where princess chaser fears no one will ever want her, she says she is fat, she is ridden with an STD… No one, ever will want the poor thing.

Manipulation and insecurity at its finest…the subtle drop of her desperation for a Disney vacation in black and white.  Body shamming is tacky and dangerous, I have 2 daughters and a son – I birthed good human beings, created life in my body, I nursed children for years.  I am a woman, this is my body and I don’t need any approval good or bad.

I don’t know if I should ponder the notion I belong *in* a nut house by someone who has struggled with mental stability, thoughts of self harm and who actually *has* spent time in locked wards for those things.  I should probably feel bad and be empathetic to the struggles of mental illness.

Or I could point out that mental stability and being a good person don’t go hand and hand and are not excuses for being a piece of shit human to other humans.  There are nasty people in this world, one would think that if a parent also struggled with mental illness and ended their own life that a level of decorum might be in order.  Of course, there are just nasty people in this world after all..

This is my favorite though:

Wanna play? I’ll beat you in a second. I already did. I got 6 grand out of your husband. No contract sweet pea. Nice play right? Oh wait I’ll be getting more in court from this slander you write. Karma is a bitch Moura.” Jackie M. Staffier

Clue – The hardest choice I’ve ever had to make in my life was pressing charges on my husband.  I loved him fiercely, I still do and always will.  The last almost 10 months I have crawled out of dark places, I’ve been angry, I’ve been hurt, I’ve been weak, I’ve been strong.  I had to choose to walk away – that was my choice and mine alone.

As a child of an alcoholic I know all too well the pain an addict struggles with day in and day out, their losses so heavy that they permeate everything and everyone.

I pressed charges on my husband, that isn’t not being able to keep a man.  That’s loving a person enough to not let them use addiction as an excuse to be a piece of shit.

It’s respecting myself to not settle for being his victim.  I’m human, I do have insecurities, they are just not surface and inconsequential to the big picture.

Doing what is right can be the hardest damn thing imaginable.   Apparently being a nasty human comes easy to some.  Like taking someone’s chemo meds and selling them for Disney vacations.  There are not good people in this world.

While I’m not a contractual law expert, admitting intent an email probably wasn’t’ the wisest of choices.

Like I said, stupid is showing.

There goes my Disney vacation!  She done gonna take me for all my money!  Her nasty using of people at low points in life speaks volumes of character and reputation.

Go right ahead little one, you have right at it suing me for “slander”!

Defamation is an area of law that provides a civil remedy when someone’s words end up causing harm to your reputation or your livelihood.

Libel is a written or published defamatory statement, while slander is defamation that is spoken by the defendant.

I’m not too sure I caused harm to littles rep, seems her self-imposed standards are pretty low on the morality scale.

I think she meant libel… like I said, stupid is showing 😉






The Husband Is Butt Hurt I Blog & Mommy Will Wipe His Tears

I'm Here
Annual 4th family beach camping trip.

Mean while in my reality I’m on day two camping and so far I’ve yet to pull fully from the underlying funk that has permeated just being here & he hasn’t relapsed, killed me, chopped me into tiny pieces & thrown me into the inlet.

Last night a practically low moment where I holed out in the back seat of the jeep to just get some of this out.  Feeling alone in something set in motion 9 months ago that can’t be climbed out of, and to be honest, shouldn’t be.

As with all big changes in life, this is another small step in the process, but sometimes small steps feel really frightening when you’re right there in it and you can’t see how you’re going to get unfucked from the feelings of the moment.

Than you do, you crawl into a sleeping bag and you put on Grey’s, you realize that for a second the suck assness he made life was in the background, than the suck assness fades further and further and stays away longer and longer.

It becomes tomorrow, the chill of sleeping beside the ocean begins to burn off as the sun rises higher in the sky.  Children who ran wild with the other beach kids last night start to wake up.  Tomorrow is now today, Sunday morning.

This is my favorite spot in all of the world, tucked away on an eroding peninsula that I follow on the coattails of my chidrens dependent ID’s.

I’m home, back in MA – where every alcoholic in my life started and finished, this piece of shit ex should be no different in that regard.

The other alcoholics in my life had a much more humble knack for owning the label they became before I ever knew they were something different.

I grew up knowing they had inner battles that couldn’t find away in front of a bottle of booze, I knew it, they knew it.

My 41yo ‘husband’ – addict first or abuser first, lives with his certifiably crazy mother who keeps his life easy and without accountability.  His before was being a professional with a big pay check and his biggest challenge in life being which suit to wear.

Why want to not be that when you can live with a person who embodies the definition of codependency.

Addicts are inherent leaches and can stay in a constructed state of blissfully unaware when they attach themselves to a new stop in their downward spiral.

I get backlash because I ‘trashed’ him in a blog, not that I found a voice to tell a story.  No question of why, because why would call into question what he went from to what he is now.

The price an addict is willing to pay to maintain a state of denial and keep his closest cohorts there is without end.

The novel toddler replacement has gone from the limelight to nonexistent.  Who walked from that first is something my “I told you stupid fucks” side would *love* to know.

Did she get her free 8k Disney princess adventure, suck the jobless addict of what she could get – clearly she’s full of issues if picking up someone in a locked ward is where it’s at.

Or did he get bored because let’s face it, picking anyone up in a locked ward goes both ways. Play with kids at recess and you forget spice made you forget you had a woman in your life you loved, and who loved you.

It’s a process, and I’ve found it far better for my own sanity to honor my feelings from what I lost because someone thought being out of it was a good enough excuse to try and throw their wife out a window.

I’m on vacation, the life I have not affords me this opportunity to relive the same camping trip every year with the beings I birthed.

He’s 41 and mommy’s house is a scene from hoarders (his words, not mine), the two of them dole out psychiatric meds to each other after they find buried script bottles in the squalor.  She feeds his ego and they both allude reality of accountability and morality.

Her poor son and the wicked wife who slanders her innocent victim son – no one has ‘helped’ him in the right way yet, on an open platform.

I don’t give a flying fuck what nut job 1, 2 or 3 think about what or how I choose to tell my story, or the lack of pity I feel because the light cast on the husband is less than flattering.  Don’t like it, don’t be it.

If anyone one any of my children professed to love, honor, & protect, they cared for or cared for them – my child left a person they loved in the after of what substance abuse left, to pick up the broken pieces…

I wouldn’t be holding my adult child in my lap like some gross mother/son love fest.  I’d wanna smack my adult child in the head and ask what the hell they were doing, you don’t *hurt* the people you love, you don’t just get to walk away.

That is the line in the sand, the line where my children see the hole I, in part, let myself get shoved into.

I own my shit, because I don’t want my children to live a life owning what I didn’t want to.  I want them to own their life, their shit – we all have shit after all.

This parenting thing is a mother fucking pain in my ass at times, I will protect them, I will help them learn to help themselves.

I will not protect my children from themselves, I’m not a perfect parent.  I fuck up as often as I don’t but it comes down to raising humans to let them go, not to raise them to come back and waste a hard earned life lessons because living in denial is delightful.

What I find delightful is being around people who don’t try to push me out windows.

What is also delightful is meeting new people, learning to live a reality where you don’t get lost in someones addiction.  Slow but not from fear, because it isn’t about replacing or avoiding the shit that was left.  It’s about living.