If Your Estranged Wife is a Cunt. Just Get A Fish.

fishApparently things do resurface around an anniversary of a traumatic event.

Fuck…it is a real thing.  No, I’m not depressed but I’ve had struggles the past few weeks where I have been just off.  Angry at things that I normally wouldn’t be, weepy for no tangible reasons.  Some of it is my own doing, things I could guilt myself to thinking it’s all my own fault.

I know it isn’t, I also know my goal in life is to be solid enough that I don’t have to even have that inner battle.

A good nights sleep isn’t something I’ve seen in a while.  What is sleep again?  Waking up with obscure memories and the feelings that accompany them and unable to shake them…unable to put a finger on exactly what that ‘feeling’ might be.

Always fun.  Ok, I’m lying.  It’s not fun.

It’s been a year.  I am patting myself on the back if I sleep until 330.

A whole fucking year has passed since my whatever the fuck substance induced state my ‘husband’ was in that day.  A whole fucking year and he is as much lost in it still and I am not.

I slept in Sunday morning, which was of course  was the morning I really shouldn’t have slept in. “Wake up mama, it’s 10 in the afternoon” – if anyone wakes anyone up, it’s the reverse.  I have two teens and a pre-teen that is in a class all her own.  If you know her, you know how acutely accurate that statement is 😉

Sunday.  I let my eyes close for a second before pretending to be awake.  One little tear rolled out as a memory of a time that seems a lifetime ago snuck right the hell back in.  My husband before he was either a nasty emotional abuser, spice smoking addict or both defined him.   The split second where reality and emotions are so not congruent with one another.  He would rub my head, before we would fall asleep and kiss the top before telling me he loved me.

Why does this happen?

That shit doesn’t happen all too often, I can’t remember the last time I had a wave where a positive past memory collided with a very different current day reality.

Will it ever stop?

They are haunting, heavy.  They used to come all day, every day a year ago.  They tapered off as I worked through some tough shit – to be fair, I also was a very lucky person with very strong supports for me, and for my kids.

Regardless…even though it’s been a few months.  Still haunting and still heavy, those memories still find a way to get back in.

My reprieve is knowing that distance and healing provide the space to be filled with actual decent human interactions.  The ‘good’ memories aren’t real, they are where his manipulation shine through, where he ‘cared’ just enough before he would berate and belittle me for being a shitty human that he made sure I *knew* I was deep inside.

The kind of person to call right at that anniversary point, accuse you of something…scream at you with the same self-hate turned outward that you are a “fucking cunt”.

The same tone of hate in his voice that came a year ago.

I’ve learned the knack for finding any chance to get an emotional hit in will not be passed up by a human that takes zero responsibility for shitty life choices, let alone shit he does to others.

Like leave his kid to go to his car to get high.  I was that kid, I remember seeing my mother taken off by ambulance.

I’ll set the record straight on this one.  While I was not there, while I did not support his drug use, let him in my house knowingly if he was using.  While I did get the phone call from the police and his child to pick her up where he left her when getting high was more important.

Yes, that’s all my fault.  Ask him, I’m sure his story will be creative enough to justify he choices that day too…

Go easy on myself, this is a guy who could have killed me.  This is the human who picked that life over one of healing.  We all make our choices, and mine was to extract myself from the emotional mind fuckery and bruises don’t compliment my skin tone anyway.

I’m still an adult child of an alcoholic, I still carry guilt over the implosion of my marriage even though logically I get ‘it’.

Getting the emotions to line up with the logic.  I’m as human as anyone else and I don’t need to carry the stoic I’m ok – I’m not weak enough to fall to some arbitrary date of a calendar that says it’s been a mother fucking year.  Weak people do that…

Or do they?  Or is it really such a bad thing to say ‘hey, I’m not a 100% right now… I am feeling sad, I’m missing the person he could have been and the process of not only accepting what isn’t because he is on the path he chose, but learning to live with my own life and not surviving the just being in the motions of it.


A year now.  He got a fish that lives in one of those skull bottles you can buy vodka out of.

I got life lessons and three amazing kids, it is because of those kids I took the supports offered.  At first I did it for them.

I don’t do it for them anymore… I do it for me.  I’m living for me.

That is the most profound gift I can give them, I’m worth that.

They can grow to know they have worth that isn’t defined worth only given by others.  They can grow to know they have worth because they are as worthy of value, like every other human.

Tomorrow they will be greedy little entitled demon spawn and I will steal all the good Halloween candy😉.

Boo mother fucker.  Boo.





In the Pursuit of Self-Interest

The more mental distance I achieve from this emotional entanglement of a person who was my husband, the more self-worth I seem to grasp.  It is of course, never as simple as that.  Almost never comes without a price paid.apples-634572_1280

I haven’t written much in a while, the therapist said write.  So I will…

My estranged husband spent a good hunk of time trying to convince me to stop writing my story, on the web.  That I am doing something, yet again in the long line of things I do *to* him.

He did give me permission to write if I need to, just keep that to myself for all intents and purposes.

My foul mouth, “lies” and using his name make him look bad… was the newspaper article of last year a contrived scheme to get him too?  If you ask him mom, she would say yes.

Dysfunction doesn’t exist in a vacuum now does it?  I’m not powerful enough to make someone look bad, I think if there is concern of looking bad, it might actually be because he did some pretty bad shit.

A year later he still has zero accountability, takes the notion of pathological narcissistic traits to the level of holy fuck he sure does ‘check’ a lot of those boxes. 

It does beg the question, what the fuck is wrong with me…?  I assure you there is a list.

We don’t have much interaction at all, when and if we do it is usually around something else he wants to attempt to soul suck.  Or something he wants… and yes, something I’ve done to him.  😉

If it’s something I want, like please stop using my address for your license and registration for the place you haven’t lived in over a year.  Well, fuck that because it might interfere doing so very little that his life ended up being.  I think that if mom is still tending to your mail and bills, that perhaps she could get right on changing that car stuff too.

Yes, I said some shitty things and had some hardcore rough reactions of a tough year.  I forgive myself for that.

No, I will not remove my blog because now that it bothers you I should jump right on that.  The world doesn’t revolve around you and I lived all of this, it’s not a fictional story where I paint you a monster.

I am sorry that this is a person I thought had humility, love and real compassion.  Did he?  Or was he always this and the drug use made it glow like neon lights?

Again, it’s always and only about him.  He is the only victim in all of this.

What has he done to right his wrongs, any of them?

Was it telling me it was my own fault he tried to kill me/hurt me and push me through a window?  Or if I’d just do what he said none of this would have happened?

Or that I “used” him, stole from him – I needed to be removed of my entitlement of wife?

Or was it screaming at me while foaming at the mouth that he could “kill me” and “get away with it because I’m crazy”?  He did that once to the poor guy beat the hell out of in Baltimore – strung out on spice, but hey… spice was legal when that happened!

Or was it the persons hand he ‘allegedly’ broke, again strung out of spice while mom enabled…er I mean, was saving him from the wife this past spring.

It doesn’t count if he gets away with it, which he will.  Money gets you out of things.

Or more recently, as the anniversary of his strung out attack on me was nearing…screaming at me, wishing me dead, what a piece of shit I am and just for fun, a “fucking cunt”.

That’s ok, but hot damn, he’s still defending someone that in my opinion was pretty fucking cunty and totally took advantage of someone else.

I tend to think that picking up some chick, a “friend” in a locked ward while hiding out because of a bench warrant.  And said chick put in writing that she was using a married man, stating she will “win” and “fuck” him just to hurt the wife… He really did just ask me to go easy on the poor girl, his mom liked her, she bought his mom a fruit basket, lmfao.

In that case, I am really am a piece of shit cunt!

Was that before or after my husband dumped 6k and slept in the same bed with his new friend?

That’s a hell of a friend and she did get mommy a fruit basket, so, clearly any hurt, anger, resentment I may have is totally off the mark.

I never did get his mom a fruit basket, I was in a wee bit of a bit life upheaval after her son tried to kill me and she came to my home after being told not to, rummaged through my personal things and removed things from my home.

Next time, I know it only takes a fruit basket!

I’m flattered you finally took time to read how it was living on this side of the shit storm.  I’m forever grateful you sent me a copy of a free microchip for the dog, the one you got from a homeless vet expo you were attending.

My own Mother was homeless, it was her own addiction that led her there.  If a few months ago, dumping thousands of dollars and staying at suites in the Hard Rock at Universal equates to being homeless… it looks better than working and taking my clothes to the laundromat because I can’t afford to fix my broke down washer.  I mean, I could, but school pictures/lunch money/bills…

Up all night, sleep all day and find any social service and free stuff a few months after getting $60k insurance payout.

Life is hard.

Your life and my life are not one in the same.

I have a life, you’re not in it for some damn good reasons.  If the need of unhealthy validation of perpetual victimhood arises…

Screaming at me I’m a “fucking cunt” and telling what I need to do to make your life easier, isn’t the avenue that is going to work.

Now… If I got a fruit basket, well, that is a game changer.