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.
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, Kleo, 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!
So Kleo, 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.