Great Stuff 🙂


Without self-love, we accept whatever others have to give and fail to see the masks of love.  Too many offer the idea of love without actually loving.  When we don’t care enough for ourselves, we fall prey to those parasites who live in chaos and conflict all the while confessing to love.  Without personal peace and acceptance, we are unable to love others truly.


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All Kinds of Blog Happy Today – New Year is New Directions…gag me, how cliche

I’m not really all that in on the New Year crap, quite frankly it’s fucking pain.  It takes like a month before you remember to put the right year down when writing it.

That said, the old blog has had it’s time and the new one starts the New Year.  Maybe I should jump on the obligatory New Year resolution gig.  At least that can be my excuse.

The reality is that I had a shitty December.   My shitty December really does pale in comparison to my shitty last year.  I can say that for a few more hours before 2016 becomes 2 years ago and not one. truth be told

My life revolved around the trauma of one day, the day my altered husband with his unconventional means to help me vacate my house via the second story bathroom window changed everything and challenged me well past my own comfort level of dysfunction.  The ensuing roller coaster of emotions that don’t go away like bruises do.

I wish they did. Honestly, I wish it were just bruises and life could have taken a different path from those few minutes that changed everything.

There is something very pressing about turning from 2017 to 2018, almost some self-imposed timeline of this all becomes more of a choice when the days stopped being weeks…months and now we are approaching multiple years (even if multiple years is a few months away).

I went to a holiday party last night, it really was a where he would have fell right in and it could have been one of those great ‘family’ nights.  There were nerds and geeks, he would have been right at home.

It was my people in a life that I realized is definitely something I want back more than I want the crawling out of shit I’ve had.  It’s a reminder that there was a life before, a life that I *loved* and life that *loved* my kids.  With people who were day to day influences to my children. I had two competitive gymnasts, you live at the gym…at least 20 hours a week.  A life I had a place in and wasn’t told what shitty parent I was, or how broken I am, or that I sucked as a wife and a human.

My kids coaches, turned fellow coaches, turned lifelong friends.  I guess you bond when you put your childs life in someone’s hands and they hand a kid back to you with a broken bone, lol.

cbarsThese are my people, I keep seeing I have more and more people that seemed to be on the periphery of life the past few years.  They are also not my only people, I have people who cared for me when I was in the hospital, who made Christmas dinner and love my children.

A conversation last night around the newspaper article when he tried to push out the second story window.  I know people knew, I just avoided it because I was so embarrassed and ashamed.  I loved him and anyone who knows me, knew how deep that was.

My friend told me he was sorry for not being a better friend when it happened, he didn’t know what to do.

Good. You shouldn’t know what to do.  You’re in the wrong crowd of people if you know what to do when someone hurts another human that way!  I need to remember that little tid bit of reality check.  I got what he was trying to convey.  I couldn’t hide what happened when it hit the media even though I wanted to crawl under a rock and die.  I wouldn’t have known what to do either if I had learned that about someone I care about in the news.

All in all, we had a good night with good people and I was reminded that even the people who are not there day to day, are still just as much there.  I only need to show up and be present.  That hasn’t been easy the past year, but it is getting easier.

I have a new blog/site, because I was a person before this past year and I’ve been and will continue to be a person in the future.  I have stories that came well before, some run of the mill boring ass stories and my goal this New Year and in my own future are to create as many boring ass stories as I possibly can.  Gouge your eyes out with a spork kinda boring.

Happy New Year to each and every person in my life, I love you all and you all know who you are.


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438 Days – Good Hell It’s 2018

That’s the count, it is odd that tomorrow it will be two years ago that he lived here. It’s obviously not two years in the actual counting of months but fuck, It’s oddly surreal to think it was 2016 and now it will be 2018.

I survived the holiday and the month of no contact, my personal goal was the removal of connection until after the holiday and now on to the next goal.  Zero connection for the New Year.  Can I do it?  Our anniversary is coming up, will I need a padded cell and an I love you jumper suit to get over that suck ass date?

My son missed him over Christmas, he wanted him here.  Of my three kids, I would have jxmas17expected that from the youngest.  I was honest with my son, I said I wanted him here too.  I’ve learned that I don’t have to always be cold and stoic with my emotions near my children, I was doing them a disservice by not being more transparent in my own processing.

Growing up in a dysfunctional home with a raging alcoholic, everything is black and white.  Don’t talk.  Don’t feel.  Except you do feel, you just don’t know how to feel it in a healthy sense if it isn’t modeled to you.  I was at the extreme, I tried to be ‘ok’ and deal with what happened in a very logical and pragmatic manner.

We talked about it, I took responsibility for my struggles and poor actions or choices during hard times.  But I didn’t let them see me *feeling* it, of course I was *feeling* it and you guessed it, it did have a negative trickle down that served as on edge undercurrent in the family unit.  They didn’t see me cry, that’s what long showers were for 😉

I’ve gotten better at that, I take care of my emotions in a more transparent way and of course, makes for a family that functions better. Everything in life is more real.  Why that’s better is past my comprehension because sometimes actually facing feelings sucks worse than face herpes on a good day.

lalalajsThe holiday was brutal, I was shredded on the inside and I have to admit that I lost my shit the day after Christmas.  I’d like to think that being sick contributed to my meltdown, I’m sure I’d have melted down anyway but I had a little less of a reserve to pull from.  Everyone was sick, everyone was on each other’s last nerve.  I cried, I let them know I miss him too and I can’t fix it, it sucks but it’s what we have and we will be ok.  He is not the person who could come back, he doesn’t want to be that person.

The tree came down, the house is back to the lull that winter brings.  The germs have been evicted compliments of every family member visiting the doctor over winter break.

He lawyered up and that makes me sad, sadder for him than for me.  I’m in a feel bad mood for him.  I’m in that place where I’m vacillating (aren’t I always) between pity and disdain.  Disdain dehumanizes someone, it makes their acts an object to place injustices done.

I suppose that’s where anything that becomes broken ends up anyway, its inequality has to fall someplace.

Emotional disconnection is what makes us able to not care as a partnership or for the person on any kind of intimate level.  That’s what breaks up marriages and relationships.

Its complexity is what makes it disgustingly simplistic and the most fucking frustrating of all things.

He and I had a disconnect somewhere in the mix of life, I can say it was his addiction.  Maybe that’s it, maybe that’s true…it’s probable that was only one facet of the breakdown though.  He connected with his drug of choice, to avoid, to numb to feel or not feel whatever was needed at that crossroad for him.  He chose that over anything else.

I, in turn, lost my connection to person I thought I knew, the person I grew up with.  I spent most of my marriage trying to find that lost piece. hallway

Addiction being something that weaves it’s way insidiously throughout a family, I know I had plenty of my own fuck ups that fed the nasty cycle.  I’d give the world over for it to be Oct 18th and know what I know now.  Not gonna happen, tomorrow is still going to be 2018.

At last he and I have ended up hating the acts of each other, we’ve dehumanized the very last pieces of who we could have been.

See how disgustedly simple it is… it takes only one turn away to change everything.  I can’t fathom why anyone would pick a substance over a human they claim to love.  I am not an addict though…I know there are people who look at me with that same lens.  Why did I love him, why did I put up with it, why did I take him back… ?  Perhaps they are not co-dependent.

Disgustedly simple.

When you break the connection to the person causing harm, the enabling and co-dependent tendencies become diluted.  You begin to question in yourself more and more…why did *I* put up with that?  What the fuck was wrong with *me* for wanting him back??  lieyearoneanniver

Someone who loves you, someone who has caused hurts doesn’t continue to do the same things and continue to shift the reasons elsewhere.  I do have guilt – I do struggle with shifting my own perspective to see him less as a person I loved and more as an accumulation of his negative choices.  To not just say the words that he really fucked me up that day and the days that followed, but to believe what he did was really that wrong and to not feel more badly for him than I do myself.  I am after all a child of an alcoholic, if I had been a better child…a better wife…a better person…  

I want to see the person and not the consequences of it all.  I don’t have to face my own feelings and my own insecurities if I hold on to distorted hope.

It has me feeling a deep empathy for his losses as the dates on the calendar make it look further and further away.   Not the ‘I feel bad you can’t see your kid because you left her to get high kinda feel bad’ (I don’t think he should be seeing his child unsupervised…not because I think he would ever intentionally hurt her – I know he loves her, he really is an amazing father when he’s on his game but because he hasn’t had that shift of recovery that it so very clear in an addicted person who is in recovery for *themselves* and not for any other reason – not because they have a free place to stay or a court order keeps them clean).

I had asked him to come home a while back.  Not directly right back to the house, but to come home.  To want to come home more than anything in the world. To not let what addiction led to that day be what defined us.

For that day to have been a pivotal point and for every ounce of pain that came after to be the driving force to be healthy – to be bigger than addiction.  Not for me and what I wanted, but for each one of use in the train wreck that was left.

It’s clear what choice he made, if he ever was the person I believed him to be, if he really was the man I thought from the child that I grew up with.  That’s where my empathy lies in him.kidsriverxmas17

It did end up being pivotal.  I did become bigger than that addiction and it was definitive.  I did and I am getting what I ultimately wanted – for *me* and my kids, to be the best people we can be and always striving to learn and grow.  To be good.  To be healthy.

Now he’s chasing a life of being disabled, because if he’s that he doesn’t have to really be an addict who threw his career away, his family, his life.. he can get a monthly check and live in a transitional housing unit.  Never have to feel remorse for the people he hurt, he can buy all the tech stuff he wants!  He doesn’t have to be anyones husband or have a life with normal ups and downs.  It makes me so sad (why yes, there is that co-dependent trait showing yet again)

I was sorting papers getting ready for my appointment with my attorney next week.  I’ve landed on filing civil actions and looking at the possibility of pursing criminal charges for loss of consciousness when he was choking me. I didn’t tell the arresting officer that day I lost consciousness, I knew if I told that truth, his charges would be so much more.  I was afraid of his anger at me if I did, and I was afraid he would never forgive me… even saying that is shows how emotionally devastating that was (such a common thread in domestic abuse scenarios).  I had bruises on my neck, broken blood vessels in my eyes.  He still seems to hold the notion that I did something to him because he was in jail for that…  He spent months mindfucking me with it, anything to not face the charges.  If I would just “do the right thing”….

There were points during this that I would have done any “right thing”, and I’m sure I did at times do the “right thing” – anything to not have it be what it was.  I’m coming to terms that I have to accept emotionally what I knew on an intellectual level.  The right thing for someone struggling with addiction is the “right thing” for them – aka, the stupid wife is enabling her husband…again.

I am going for a biopsy to rule out what could be cancer… he knows this.  Hell, I even told him if there was any part of him that wanted all this shit to stop, now would be the time to get his head out of his ass. 

Wife could have cancer…do I get my life together and be the man I vowed to be when I married her….or…he got a lawyer instead.  There is nothing surprising about that, this is the same man who picked up a 22yo girl who was a fellow psych patient and took her Disney because she “needed” him…. Why would he give a shit that the wife he says he loves might die lol.

singeI came across the card he made me for our first anniversary, I had started to burn it when I was ridding myself of personal connections a few months ago.  Something in me wasn’t ready to have it gone I guess. It was a life time ago, when I thought that vows meant something and I stupidly thought I was more than his drive to use drugs.

“I’ll love you always and forever”, singe marks creeping into those words, burning them away to unrecognizable ashes of nothing, it is, what it became after all.

It’s a new year, this will go back in the stack of papers that mark my pivotal point in life.  I’m not ready to get rid of the sentimental stuff yet.

There is still a wee little part of me that sees him as the man I saw that day.  I lost my sense of trust, of feeling safe, marriage and my future 438 days ago, for now, I can be ok with this sitting in a folder in the filing cabinet.




Cup of Coffee (empty) Thrown at Me Car…That’s Funny Shit Right There.

All this blah, my life spun around the axis of consequences.  I find myself mumbling under my breathe ‘fucking dick’.

He is a fucking dick.  Sometimes I can feel *so* bad for the dick he ended up being.

All of this shit blew up, unraveled and changed *everything*.  Nothing of *my* life has been in any real control since then.

Nothing is ever simple for me, I must attract the bad kind of crazy.

I have therapy every Tuesday morning, some Tuesdays it is an absolute life line to make it through the week, other weeks it’s a comforting reminder of damn girl, you’ve made it pretty fucking far, have a cookie.

It was another Tuesday session, this time we delved in the timeline that was my ‘childhood’. It will take a great many sessions to unravel what has been so deeply woven that its grip on my adult relationships has at time, taken me to my knees.

raccoon-1612593_1280What did you feel?  What did you think?  What crossed your mind?  Not much, it’s all numb.  I’ve done a bang up job of placing unresolved childhood traumas on the shit show that was my joke of a marriage.

Go me.  Self-deprecation at its finest.  I could write a book on my childhood, to me, when I get fragments of stories, they all seem not my own.  Who could have a child and let, or do what my childhood was like?  I couldn’t, I can’t even fathom it for my own little demon spawn.

It wasn’t that bad of day overall.  The weather was nice, even though I couldn’t convince anyone to go for a walk on the trail.  Little bastards.  I bet if I said there would be ice cream at the end, they’d have lined up like the well trained humans they are not.  😉

Sometimes things that are almost semi-normal weave their way into your day, like pulling out of a parking lot and seeing the family based therapists drive by.  I waved, they beeped, we all texted.

I kinda miss those days, I wouldn’t want that intensity back.  I put my soul into that and I reaped what I could and I get that every day I interact with my kids on a level I thought was only what other people had.

I miss the humor.  I miss the push to be vulnerable,  There is a big difference from needing that controlled push to knowing you need be pushed but it will now come in the subtly of daily human interactions.  The work didn’t stop, it just looks different.

I know this is their job, to invest in human relationships and families on a very deep and personal level.  It takes a lot to let that in during a very hard time in life, roughly 10 hours a week being double teamed by therapists. Run forest run.  Just saying.

There is no reprieve.  Like ever.

I guess that’s what makes it semi normal, I live in a city with many other cars, they saw me and I saw them.

That’s passing on the street when it could have been anyone else but we each recognized the others car.  when I realized the power they said would be in “goodbye”, for me to not run and hide from it but to work through the tears, the laughter the goofy sentimental stories.

Our therapy time went full force until the very end, it could have tapered off but I said no.  I had intended to decide when that last session would be and that would be it.  Draw the line, don’t say goodbye and just go.  – Never see them again.  Black and while.

They were good, I’m pretty sure they saw right through that.  I think they knew I had that on the table – I don’t know if they knew how strongly that was on the table. But maybe they banked enough on their mad skillz to know I took enough in over those 8 months that I also knew it would have a trickledown effect to the kids and not in a good way.  It would be a closed up, don’t talk, don’t feel. It was a lot of focus on me, because I was my children’s solid, the stronger I am, the better adjusted kids I will raise to face adverse challenges in like and walk out of those still whole human beings.

It wasn’t about me avoiding the really shitty, sad, lots of tears, snotty nose saying goodbye to people who moved in and camped out in your asshole for 8 months. I must show zero emotion in front of my children….

I get why it was so important, even if it was *so* hard, I got that more today than a couple weeks ago.  Last week they planned to stop by and say hi.  It was delightful and everyone in the house got a kick out of it.  It was appreciated by all of us.

I let my kids see healthy goodbye, a healthy next step.  If I had done what I would have done, the goodbye would have been on my selfish terms and mine only.  Hopeful that I would never cross paths with these people I cared about and who I was confident to say cared about me too.

That is what made it click today, more so than when they stopped by the other week (which was really fucking cool in and of itself- just in case I haven’t pointed that out 9million time already).

Yes, it was a therapeutic relationship and we are not ‘friends’, but we are also not nothing.  The ending wasn’t black or white.  It was its own colorful mix of crazy.  It was just different.  Not bad, not good.  Just different.  Fuck me, I don’t do different, that’s uncontrolled!

Four months post discharge dynamic of what it was lives on, and with that dynamic means I get to laugh – like really laugh and really enjoy the spontaneity of it.

Had I avoided the big scary goodbye discharge session…. I’d have got to avoid the teary eye saying goodbye.

A good therapists needs to be able meet their clients on their level, built trust in those who don’t intrinsically get that concept.  Push through progress and deal in their own realm the pitfalls of who they are treating.  I respect these two people so much, it’s a level of devotion to their life path that isn’t one I’ve achieved yet and not one just anyone could.

So what prompted this mushy blog post on therapists that have been gone for 4 months?  What significance is there that we past each other on a public street?


That is why the stupid goodbye was so important.  There is no avoiding or embarrassed if you’d happen to see them in public because you bailed on the last few sessions.  I carry no guilt or shame and therefore can’t be passed to my children and infused in their relationships.

Driving a few blocks up, I’m pulling closer to them.  I delight in yelling obscenities to this dick driver with his unstylish wind-blown hair, nailing that horn. standcoff

What the fuck happened?  What did the therapist with a fucking Masters do?? (this isn’t some kid right out of cracker jack therapy school – he’s got some time banked in here)

He threw his empty Starbucks cup out his window at my car.  Who does that??

A therapy team that invested in the family at hand and worked with them to be empowered, not change them.  That’s the person who knew his client base well enough to connect on (however some would deem distasteful)

A story I came home and told my 3 kids, none of them shocked at the level of that brazen move.

They are knew it was Steve and the cup, not Sarah.

I, in some very untraditional way, got to reap the humor found in having a cup thrown at your car and share that dumb ass stunt with me kids…. Reminding them it wasn’t a safe choice.

Their eyes glazed over and gave me the obligatory ‘yes, we understand mom’ “We Love Steve and Sarah” say.


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Happy Birthday K – I Was Gonna Take You to Disney… Fuck, I Forgot You Already Went This Year!

Today is a mixed feeling kind of day, it’s Kleo birthday.  I’m not sure what the mixed feelings mean.  There is a festive concoction of sadness, anger, loathing, hate & love. fuckfacebday

This is all a process – I know. I’ve worked through enough to know sometimes there will be days like this, days that feel fractured and not part of the life I had thought it would look like.  One doesn’t marry the man she loved foreseeing that he would find more comfort in drugs than the wife that only got in his way of using.  I didn’t see it coming that he would turn out to be cruel, cold and void of what seems to be any range of human empathy and emotions.

Sociopath?  Pathological Narcissist?

October.  November. December & first week of February.  One constant streak of bracing for the next shitty ‘holiday’ or ‘anniversary of something’ that should be spent anyway other than this dull numbing of crawling out of what was supposed to be my marriage.

It’s his birthday and it’s just another day now.

We no longer talk, I’ve blocked email and phone, I’m well past thinking today will be the day! Poof, it’s all better and he’s reached the infamous bottom and all the good I thought he was, all his loving gestures, fuck, all his “I love you” – oh ya and those pesky vows and obligation to be the best person you can be in a marriage, obligation to your spouse.  That any of those, which I know after the fact were bullshit manipulation and lies of an addict/emotional abuser.

That shit isn’t going to click and there is never going to be a positive domino reaction of good.

There will be days that should matter and they won’t again, hence it’s all a process.  Honor feelings, you have to feel them with an unrelenting vulnerability and honesty to oneself.  You absolutely have to, and if I have to write for whom evers eyes may fall on this writing so I don’t battle them alone on the inside.


Before he was this, I loved him like nothing I’d experienced before.  Maybe that’s a perk of marrying someone you grew up with.   For the most part, there isn’t anyone left alive in my little corner of life that has known me – or who gets me like he does.  Maybe part of why it’s so hard to have let it all go was in part that.  Who knows.

Reality is, these are remnants of what was nothing to him.  Addicts don’t love anyone about their addiction, though I do think there are an awful lots of red flag narcissistic traits that befall him.

Feel it, move past it and go on with my day and my life.  I’m not suffocating with anxiety, that has dissipated *so* much.  That feeling of anxiety is no lubrication kind of tough.

When I get all forlorn… I will also honor the other feelings, the ones I have a majority of my days.  kleos true loveI can remind myself this is a “man” who knew his ‘wife’ was laid off, money stalled coming in and was white trash style living it up, heating my house with a stove and space heaters because I literally didn’t have the money to fix the furnace.  Food or heat? He didn’t give a shit, when it was my birthday he was planning a princess chasing 6k vacation with a fellow psych ward ‘friend’.  She “needed” him – his words.  Oh ya, he lives in VA housing and getting HUD housing vouchers for being ‘poor’.  Poor in his world is a paid off car, lots of tech stuff and buying whatever – whenever he wants because he forgot he had a wife.

Shit happens.  Like smoking spice.

This is the same “man” who is exerting power and control by fucking me and ultimately my children over by his bullshit tax return game.  Please, do that at Christmas time when I was laid off, that’s super awesome.  Kids think it’s the best ever to come down Xmas morning to nothing!  Just ask them!

Shits temporary.  We do what we gotta do to have stuff under the tree…I have some extra time on my hands now 😉 and pretty good kids – I figured something out and yes, they will wake up to presents.

I got myself a few things too… the first was a copy of the police and arrest report of Oct 19th, including the pictures.  I only need to read that to get my perspective back in line with my reality.

I got that because my other gift to myself was finally making an appointment with an attorney to pursue civil actions and tort lawsuit against the person who did this, and has shown zero remorse for not only the bruises but the emotional pain of it all.

It’s a bigger step than it may look like on the surface.  Victims of emotional and domestic abuse have crippling struggles.

It wasn’t until I told him I was having some potentially life altering medical stuff going on.  When I told him I was scared of having a biopsy of my uterus.  When I made the foolish error of emailing him what was going on with me and my fears.

Maybe in some subconscious way that the word cancer and wife (yes, that’s a black & white fear based jump) would mean something, anything.  That he’d pull his head out of his ass and the gods of magical actively living in recovery would shot glitter out their asses.

Or on a practical and conscious level, he’d show his true character again and respond exactly as he did.  So that when he did as expected, I could pursue a civil lawsuit without the back ass way victims carry guilt and an incongruent mindset of not wanting to hurt the person who hurt us.

That’s what people like him want.  They don’t want us to have a voice or any control or power, if we do, they loss the strings they have to keep hurting us.

This is why I write, it is my outlet, my story – my means of processing.  I will not spend my day sad it’s his birthday.

I will continue to gather up the documentation for my Jan 2 appointment with the attorney.

Happy Birthday!






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Stay Classy – True Colors of Addiction…as always

I’ve made the decision to cut Kleo completely from my life, he’s been mostly removed anyway.  These are just some final steps that draw indisputable hard lines and put reality into a state of logic and less of emotional pulls. deadbird

You do seem to hold on to a wee teeny tiny little sliver of hope that the person you love who has ditched everyone and everything of value for addiction – to have that epiphany.  You’ve lived the roller coaster of mindfuckery for so long.

Face it, chances are you’re fucked, there is no pat on the back for being co-dependent that you held on to hope longer than anyone graced with the ability to have sanity and objectivity.  The prize you walk away with is the memories of the good and the lingering nightmares of the bad.

The extraction of him from my life has been a series of push pulls, but I’ve had my own revelation.  Not that he hasn’t done enough vile things as it is.  Someone should smack me for loving a person who clearly hasn’t given a fuck about me (anyone that isn’t self-serving).  I know it’s simple from an outsider’s perspective.  Being in an emotionally abusive relationship with an addict, unless you’ve been there done that, understanding how incredibility hard it is to severe that is something you can’t explain.  It’s a domestic abuse cycle.  It’s a mother fucker.

That and children of alcoholics tend to be loyal to a fault.  Thanks mom.

The fucking game with the taxes is still pretty fresh.  That was immediately followed with some information from my Dr that scared the shit out of me.  Still is.

Cliff not version – I’m going for a biopsy this week or next, stuffs going on, I’m scared.  I made the fools mistake of telling my ‘husband’.  That sliver of stupidly holding on to this notion that he *might* care.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think he would, I’ve come to learn he’s about as selfish, cold and heartless as they come.  And remorse, I don’t think he has the emotional intelligence to grasp that concept.  Which is painfully sad, because it is not the kid I grew up with, not the man I fell in love with and not the man I’ve ever known.

But this is a man who used synthetic marijuana, aka Spice/k12 – this is bad shit and it may have caused damage to his brain he will never recover from.  This is what he is on when he becomes violent, I’ve seen him leave his child at a movie theater to get high, I’ve seen him foam at the mouth from using this shit.

I’ve been at the hands of his violence, where he blames me for that day in Oct, only to run to his mommys house where he used it more and more.

I tell him I may be sick, I am scared and I am scared to face some of the testing I’ve got coming up and the heaviness of waiting on that.

Technically I am still his wife.  Those vows and crap that are irrelevant to him because drugs rot the brain.  Ha!

There was some relief that he didn’t give a shit, it was exactly the response I expected.  One more check in the list of what a vile human he has let himself become.  I give him this information, he isn’t capable of doing the right thing.  This is the same guy who had to be there for some skank and her Disney princess need.

That comes to my step forward to make that line hard and distinct.  As a victim of domestic violence, I have rights to hold K accountable.  I’ve had this in my head but guilt of hurting him (hello little miss co-dependent and weak boundaries gal!).  I’ve blocked all contact from him, said my final shit and have handed it to my lawyer.  I’m filing a tort case against him and closing this door.

Your wife is going for a biopsy of her uterus.

Oh, you don’t care.  Awesome.  Stay true K, stay true.



Look Out Your Door

I happened to have a good week, even though I got some not so great news.  Reality checks are a nice treat when you walk the line of emotions and agreeing with the logic your brain is spewing at you.  I got a visit from some pretty cool people and I accepted a gift without the guilt or shame, we shall have a working furnace again.  Some people are just good. IMG_20171209_174435

I want to defend a supportive measure I had during the past year, I’m not sure why.  Insecurity, shame, fear of judgment that I somehow failed at the art of successful parenting.  Whatever it is, I’ve not yet had enough therapy to not have to explain 😉  I am working on that.  Shit takes time, it’s a work in progress. 

During my daughters discharge from her partial day, where she was at for 8wks for depression and PTSD post disclosing of sexual assault and the perfect timing of Oct, her therapist asked if we would be open to “family based therapy”.

I said yes, I was in the throes of my own PTSD issues from my husbands shit storm – the more distance I get the more of sad and broken person he seems to be.  Did we need it, no…I could have pushed through it with the tag along kids and we would have been some fucked up semblance of ok…eventually.

I was struggling, for the first time life threw shit at me that unbearably heavy and very lonely – my husband hurt me but he also broke my heart and my ability to feel safe, loved and trust myself or anyone else.

I said yes to this family based thing.  A therapy team, they come to your house, you get 40 hours a month.  What the fuck ever.  I’d play the game.

When I talk about our time with family based, I get this feeling that people will assume it was because I was a shitty parent and this was some social services mandate I had to have to keep my kids.  Some entity *made* us have this service.  Yes, I know that’s an over generalization and yes I know that is a theory created in my head.

For the record, it was a choice I made because being just ok after a ton of stuff was thrown at myself and my family, wasn’t my end game.  It was swallowing of my pride and knowing that it wasn’t about me, it was about my kids getting the chance to be more than just ‘ok’.

I’d play the game, for them.  Ha, so I thought in Jan as these two ‘therapists’ sat at my kitchen table and would become woven into every aspect of our life.  I’d play the game, yes, yes I would.

The slightly arrogant, tall, bearded man who had this bizarre need to look trendy with perfectly done hair and his partner, a meekish chick with a nose ring and her day planer.  Really.  Thank fuck I had insurance paying for this.

I’d “feel better after the 8 months”.  Fuck off. I sure as hell don’t need these people.

Before I knew it, Aug was creeping up, those 8 months had passed and with that came our discharge date and yes, I did feel better.

Family based is absolutely nothing like therapy one would think of.  It’s a world of its own where these people become facets of your everyday, they become part of a new life you’re striving for while caring and firmly holding you accountable for an end game that is real and tangible – one they believe you capable of achieving even when you don’t.

I let them push me for my children and instead, they pushed me for me.  I guess that’s the beauty of it, because it came full circle. I am a better person and a better mother for them.

It was a hard venture to dive into such an exposed and vulnerable place.  These people were real, as real as it gets.  And they are in your ass pretty much every single day, with 3 sessions weekly ripping apart your darkest of places, and almost daily texts.  There are a great many stories of those 8 months, some would horrify people with how far off the ideal of what traditional therapy should look like.  Some I hold close because they are my reminders of how and why I want to never go back to those dark places.

I look at my kids and see that who we are as a family is profoundly different than a year ago, and profoundly different than just ‘ok’.

There were tears in Aug during discharge, I can say that I grew to love these two people and I do miss seeing them but when Aug rolled around, I had grown as far as they could take me in a therapeutic relationship.  I was able to connect with my children in ways I never knew how – they kicked ass, they really did.

This past Monday I got a text to look out my door and lo and behold, there are Steve and Sarah…it’s been 3 months since I’ve seen them.  I was stupid giddy over it.

I miss them, I miss Mondays the most.

Full circle.  After 3 months it was nice to have them here and tell them, we really are ‘ok’ and not in the stoic surface ‘ok’, but an authentic, emotionally, ‘ok’.  Even the official ‘client’, Claud, who made them work and gave them a run for their money.

Good lord she is her mother’s daughter.