I’ll admit that today I am struggling, I would ponder that notion that because I am a human capable of a range of emotions… disgust, disdain, anger, compassion…
Hate would be a very comfortable place to cozy on up to. I’m supposed to work on sitting with a feeling and not burying under a stoic front. I guess that’s one down fall of not being a spineless sociopath.
My ‘husband’ is in the hospital from what I was told, because of a fight. Broken ribs, a punctured lung. A part of me is ok with that, he can feel what it’s like to have your own body hurt by the hands of another human being. The other side of it is just a sadness, but I know that sadness is based on my own reality and my own experiences.
When I was a trauma patient, I wasn’t alone. I had someone there holding my hand who became my voice and advocate when I needed it. Even so, I did have a moment where I just do desperately wanted the hand I was holding to be my husbands. Wanting that one person when you truly need is a fierce emotion to place when deep down inside you know they are not going to give a shit. He didn’t.
I’m not that kind of person. I did want to go see my ‘husband’, if I were to be honest, I wanted him to want me there holding his hand. That’s an emotion that had to come and go. As did the guilt of not making any effort to check on him…even in my disgust of him.
Today it was hard to engage in *anything*, I had to motivate myself to leave the house, go to Starbucks and get an overpriced coffee. I heard the song that played the very first time we danced…unless we did as kids but I don’t remember that.
I did cry. My therapist would give me a gold star for going through the emotion. Care or not, cry or not.
His version of this new round of crazy will always be just left of reality. Sending messages to my “4th kid”, an 18yo friend of my daughter and I swear to fuck the “sister” of my son (the sibling spats are mind boggling… ) Telling her he needs to have an exorcism done on his mother, sending crosses to us to fend away the evil that is me. Attempting to make plans to pick her and my daughter up in is $130,000 car (that he was going to get ‘blessed’ by the bishop) so they can hang out at his hotel… and on and on.
Because normal people do that shit. Normal people show up in a house after being void of living here after a year and half – not thinking for one moment the impact that would have on the children – or me. But I don’t count.
Normal is going to court, making a total ass of yourself and trying to have me evicted from my home and lying saying he lives here with *my* kids. The kids I had to hold my shit together enough as a single mom who had he life ripped apart, no Disney trips for me.
This is another iteration of his Lord of Baltimore stint, this time though he’s in the hospital not (I hope) someone that he hurt again.
This time, I am not the person I was.
This time his crazy shit, that it’s pretty fucking probable was brought on by some ‘drug’ or chemical influence, is cut and dry set in motion by him and him alone. This was not me with my clothes torn off hiding on a roof begging 911 to hurry up because I was fuckin petrified he would find me.
This was his crazy ass going behind my back to see my children, and he is not safe like this. One only needs to look at his violent criminal record to see that.
He decided I needed “help”, god was talking to him…and he was sad the “agency” was following him and 45 didn’t take note of his suggestions. He sent the cops to my house in a manipulative fashion to have me “302’d” aka, ‘committed’ to a locked ward. He knows all about them, I stopped counting after the 10th stay.
Cops came to my house, upset my children. Then I thought SK drove by, I called 911 and he entered my home against my will.
This is the difference, which is both sad and infuriating. These charges are not something I pushed for, unlike 10/19.
I’m sad and infuriated because none of this ever had to be like this. But it’s clear that whoever he is now is nothing more than a drug addict with a propensity to violence.
He hurt my kids before, he won’t again. This time I am emotionally prepared to follow through with a long term PFA. This time I am aware of the charges and consequences of them.
This time there is enough of the type of supports in place to keep him from ever talking to me again, which really just equates to him not being able to manipulate me so he gets away with it again.
This time I’m emotionally ok with what I know could happen, if it does, I will be sad but sad is better than living in fear and it’s better than dead.
Thanks for fucking everything up by not owning being an addicted that is abusive and violent.