Jesus People at My Door

(I didn’t answer btw)

Today and the past few weeks have shown some normalization of life and how different a year later can move you through different stages.

I still struggle with the anxiety thanks to the ex-husband, depression has held on through some trying changes.  There is still work to undo the tangled up mess he left when he decided that being the person and living a life worthy of being forgiven wasn’t his cup  of crack…err..tea.

Another week, another Sunday.  A little less than a year ago I was manhandled by the therapist who was bringing me to join a softball team.  Fuck him.  I so wanted to play, I never thought I would and I was so angry in some misconstrued way that he facilitated it.  The whole concept of meeting new people and building a life separate and apart from the horrendous marriage I still had so wanted desperately to salvage at that time… I was chasing the image of the ghost of a man that probably never even existed.

In retrospect, I wasn’t accustomed to follow through and was still working on building relationships with healthy levels of trust.  It would have been easier if I was angry at him, vs. him letting me down and being left with those shitty feelings.

Fucking asshole.

As the therapist said shortly thereafter – you know, cause you’ve got to talk that shit out and ‘process..’ fuck off…  “Everyone that was supposed to protect me, didn’t, they hurt me”.

There is a deep level of truth there and that level of truth was being accepted as seeing the failing of my than husband, he failed at the most important adult relationship ones supposed to have.  He didn’t protect, he hurt.

Monday used to be my favorite day of the week, it was one of 3 days we’d have family based and Monday was always my most therapeutic.  I miss those Mondays… it was the day I’d throw the softball around with the therapist, or we’d go and have batting and fielding practice.  I lucked out because he was a good at the sport and had played as a pitcher.  He and I would talk and those Mondays were sacred to me.

I’m sure the therapist knew that, he knew I was an “asshole”, being a therapist and all…there is that.  It took me back to one of my most favorite things and one of the few happy childhood memories I had.  Playing ball.  We played ball but make no mistake, there was intense therapy going on.

Those mother fuckers pushed me well past my limits, my comfort zones and because, by sheer luck, we got them and not another team – Is why I believe to my core, that they we key factors that changed our family dynamic at the highest stress points we’d faced.

We’d have gotten here regardless, but the road would have been far bloodier on the way.

Today was not some big monumental thing, not a big hurdle to get over.  It was Sunday batting practice.  That I went to, with people I don’t really know.

Today, I got to know those people better.  I got to *feel* like a normal person doing something they enjoy.  No manhandling to force me to the other side of hard shit.

I went to batting practice bright and early at 8 AM. It wasn’t therapy, it wasn’t uncomfortable or forced.

It just was.



The Week Closes Out… On a Good Note Even

Yup, I said it, the week went well, the week ended well and I’m actually really starting to feel semi human again – without it being a feat of epic proportions.

I survived surgery on Monday and while that’s still an ‘in limbo’ status, the actual surgery aspect of it was a giant check in the list of shit to concur.

I fostered new connections that I made and I was also able to be a support person for someone, for once in too long that I can remember, I was able to give something back.

I mustered up any lingering doubt that the soon to be ex has any redeeming value and handed off a stack of papers supporting criminal acts to the same judge that married us.  Unlike other big steps I’ve taken away from the shit storm, I was absolutely content with this.

I honestly don’t know if the DA will do anything, I’ve little faith is the judicial system that’s bought and sold in Lancaster County.  The whole victim rights and victim advocacy seems more an empty title bestowed than an actual reality.

This is why I have a lawyer, they seem to respond better when the letters ESQ follow something.  As I said, bought and sold.

I had something else go in my favor today and that was also good news.

Is the closure of this I’ve chased through depression, anxiety, fear… is it becoming something that could happen?

It’s been so long since I’ve known what being ok, let alone happy could feel like.  Everything has been a bloody fucking forced act of just getting to tomorrow…

It’s early, but I haven’t had more than a handful of days at any given time that didn’t feel like it was work, or me putting on a face that I’m supposed to have because society may not get that timelines don’t apply to abuse the same way they may to a more traditional aka acceptable loss.

Maybe I needed him to show his true colors while I was facing illness and surgery to accept he’s a shitbag… as though anything else was not valid enough because it was held to my own subjective interpretations.  Who knows.


Adversarial Relationship With The Therapist – How That Equates Post Discharge

I’ve said it before that our family spent 8 months in family based therapist.  I agreed to it without the faintest of clues to what it would entail.

We are 6 months out from discharge and it doesn’t seem as though it’s been that long.  It was my first healthy good-bye – ever.

wasn’t the ‘patient’, but the family based model is just that, family.  The dynamic of the team we got matched our family – it was just luck we got them. 

Having therapists in your ass, 3 days a week and almost daily contact.  It sets the foundation for a depth of a therapeutic relationship that is truly unique.

They got ‘us’ as a family and ‘we’ got them, they were the kind of people who I would be friends with had they not been our family based team.  They didn’t feel like therapist, which is what made them a powerful influence in our family opening up, developing trust and a solid base to heal and grow.

They aren’t gone even though they are no longer part of our day to day.  I don’t miss them, but I think that because I didn’t avoid the hard part of saying good-byes, which was emotional and lots of tears – it was hard.  We touch base every now and again, usually a smart ass remark or sharing something good.

It brings me to this week and one choice I made on Sunday that I never would have even had the chance to make a choice if not for our time in family based.

I remember vividly how pissed off I thought I was when S found me a team to play on.  My anxiety over it was shown as anger and he had a way of pissing me off and he’s called me an ass a few times- probably because I was 😉.

I lashed out, got over myself and he brought me to my first game where I wanted to throw up at meeting new people, let alone going out and playing ball with people I never met.  Add that I hadn’t played for oh, 20 fucking years.  I was actually pretty damn good as a kid but to join a team as an adult….fuck me.

I wanted that so badly almost as badly as I wanted to punch the therapist in the face for making it happen. Did I say adversarial? Ya, little bit.

As discharge was nearing, we were out for our last session that was just us.  Sitting eating really bad Mexican food.  The session was different, after 8 months and lots of work and growth, you’ve said it all, seen it all and you end up just being there counting down the billable hours that are left.  He took my phone, added me to the local co-ed facebook site, told me to change my profile pic or I’d scare people away. – Who was the asshole with boundary issues…hmm.. Who even does that??

Fast forward 6 months and on Sunday, I saw in myself just how far I’ve come.  There was an open practice, I knew I wanted to go but it was out of my comfort zone of isolation. I don’t like people.

I walked in, saw a shit ton of people and no one I knew.  I full on fucking meant to walk right on by, go to the bathroom like that was my life mission and walk right the fuck back out the door.

No one would be the wiser.

I didn’t.  I went in and I play, with people I don’t know and it felt normal.  It felt like it was mine.

My team of last year was not playing this spring, but because I took in so much and grew so much from that 8 months, I was able to trust myself and fuck, wouldn’t ya know it.  I got on a new team and that makes me just plain normal and run of the mill happy.


So, as the therapist says, I may be an asshole.  But now I’m an asshole who can’t wait for spring to play ball.




5:30 Monday Morning  –  To The Hospital for Surgery I Shall Go


Then it will be the wait to rule out cancer, fingers crossed.  It’s scary to let my brain go to the wait-if’s.  I wanted to wait until after all the tough days that would be the holiday, birthdays and anniversary had passed. It was a hard enough year and it really was deeply profound to know I thought I had loved a man that vowed to be there for better or worse.  I was always for him, even when he deserved nothing.

It was a lot to process.  

I wanted to make sure all my legal cover my ass shit was in place, just in case the news isn’t good.  Make sure Special K has zero say over any medial issues, the house, the stuff…

I wanted to make sure that everything was in place and in motion, because no matter how angry or indifferent I feel about him now.  I told him, he knows what’s going on and he simply doesn’t give a fuck.  Waiting in this, when it amounts to choices he makes to stay who he’s become.  Had me questioning my own self-worth at times.

December was brutal.  He was the idiot still wearing his ring.  You can pawn that fucker ya know, help offset his Asian ok cupid account.  I would have been so ashamed of myself to be wearing my wedding ring as my spouse got handed another potential game changer.  I would be too embarrassed of my shitty life choices in that set up.

But it isn’t December anymore and I’m set for Monday.  Everything is organized, planned and going forward. rubber-duck-1401225__480

Perhaps I will get a great present next week and they will arrest his remorseless self.  It’s out of my hands now, it’s up the court and whatever possible pressure may be directed to shitty ADA and victim advocate.  Will the timing of the legal maneuvers cross over and see they let a guy they gave $250k straight cash bail walk without a slap on the wrist… but hey, here are charges that most definitely could be pursued because they were not brought that day.

There is no amount of money or jail time that could undo all of this.  I have a trial happy lawyer and it isn’t about ‘winning’, it’s about being strong enough to show my daughters how to not be treated like absolutely nothing but shit.  And for my son to see in himself that no one should treat another human this way.

It some convoluted way, I have the utmost of faith in myself that I will grow from this is ways I can’t yet see.

I wasn’t worth a Disney trip though ☹

A house full of teens and all is quiet, they do their own things.  As for me, I’ve got the dog, sleepy time tea and an episode of How To Get Away With Murder to watch.  It took a long long time to be ok with time that could have been spent with him that felt like it was time that would be regreted someday that was lost over all of this.  When the anxiety and depression felt like they would never end.  I would dread it, because it was enough of a day to day battle and to keep my head above water was, at times, the best of the bad.  I’d have stopped my world back then, just to have had the chance to find the person I thought was still inside him.


Now I see that the chances are that person never existed, I now see the subtle and every growing psychological abuse that I couldn’t see when I was in it.  It doesn’t really leave much of a reason to give a shit about it anymore.  Which is good, because I just don’t.

It’s been a month since we’ve had contact and I haven’t the faintest of desire to have contact again.  It was as though the entire time I was waiting for to not want to be the person he was so clearly carving out to be a permanent place holder in life.

Staying loyal to a fault…  However, I got a lawyer out of it and there will be attorneys fee’s to offset the money I’m coming out of pocket to close out this nightmare.

It wasn’t until I was fully able to see him for the abusive acts done and know that anything before or after – doesn’t change what it is.

It will wrap up nicely with a good old fashioned civil suit, where the threshold of the burden of proof of the pain, suffering and all around hell I’ve lived in, is a preponderance of evidence.

That, I’ve got.  Paper trail and all.  It will cost him a hell of a lot more than it would have if ever could he have seen that his drinking and drug use hurt everyone and if any of the lies dished out had truth in them.

FB_IMG_1496357673876I’m pretty confident now, it was all bullshit lies – looking back on it now, the emotional abuse was always there.  Perhaps enough marriage therapy could have circumvented the implosion, it’s moot now

I never should have agreed to the bail modification.  Too bad it took so long to really get how he never had the remorse of an addict in recovery.  All he was, was dangerously angry at me that I put him in jail and his Mother’s manipulation of anything to save him from that…

I should have left him on the streets of Baltimore, I wish I had turned from him years ago.

Such is life…VPN & IP tracker . org –  lol.


A Fucking Joke |  Judicial System In Lancaster, PA & The So Called ‘Rights Of The Victim’

I was in Lancaster Court of Common Pleas today, not on a matter related to myself.  If I could have thrown up while manically screaming vile obscenities at this joke of a notion of procedural fairness.  I would have.

I’m not passing judgment on the Judge…or Judges…yet.  However the irony of touting in a court room how the victims have rights, and their desire for case outcome is a strong factor.

That it matters.

Such a line of bullshit.  I’ve had my own shitty dealing with the “victim advocate”, I’ve got a hell of a paper trail where my supposed “rights” as a victim where not upheld.  My advocate did *nothing* and the whole time I wondered what exactly it is she would do for someone not as vocal as I was.  That is a very scary thought.

It’s happening – Every. Single.Day.

In some ways, I did my ex a ‘solid’.  Not by my own choice and not because it didn’t happen, but from fear.

He had me by the neck with enough force to result in petechiae—tiny red spots due to ruptured capillaries—a signature injury of strangulation.  I lost consciousness but had I said that when I was at the police station, I knew his anger would be off the charts.  I was scared to say it, scared of his reaction if I did.  Scared.

I was scared period.  I didn’t yet know his bail would be set at $100k. FTR, the day after I went home and I *knew* he was in jail.  Even *knowing* that, the fear that was still flowing from the night before…even to this day, I have yet to regain the feeling of being safe, that was taken that day.

Days after my bruising increased.  My voice was hoarse, my neck hurt so badly and the broken blood vessels in my eyes.

For months I watched him play the system, going to his mommys house where he continued to use drugs and hurt people.  I watched him get picked up on bench warrants, drug back to PA from MA, only to go back and use again.

I sat with his threat that he will “burn” my “house down with the kids in it”.

I told this to the victim advocate.

He BROKE a VA Hospital Police officers hand while out on bail from Lancaster County.  Anything happen.  Nope.  Just more drug use.

After today, sitting in court and listening to someone get FIVE YEARS PROBATION for $900 worth of bad checks.  Listening to the judge say that “victim” wants them in jail for that and he needs to take into account what the victim wants.

Really, novel idea.

But my favorite that just frosts my cookies… A man said something stupid.  Words -words only.  Days after the stupid comment, charges were filed.  The person who had the charges filled on them, did NOT TOUCH let alone HURT the “victim”.  In fact, the “victim” played nice for days after with the person who said stupid words.

Words.  Stupid words, said in a crass manner. Not ok but words nonetheless. 

The person being charged has zero prior anything’s.

The charges are terroristic threats.  The same charge my violent husband received. 

Follow along class.  My ‘husband’, in order:

  • Arrested for assault on a Baltimore City Police Officer
  • Multiple drug charges in PA
  • Arrested on 1st degree Felony assault, 2nd degree assault, attempted carjacking…he *literally* beat the hell out of an innocent bystander, poured gas on him and said he was going to light him on fire.
  • Arrested on fugitive charges
  • Left his kid to get high, got arrested
  • Arrested for terroristic threats and harassment – when he slammed my body many times on the window/window frame as he was telling me I’m “going out the fucking window”.  He choked me, pulled my hair, wouldn’t let me escape, slammed my body to the ground, grabbed me, pulled my hair, tried to throw me down the stairs.

Gets out on a bail mod, uses more drugs, gets arrested, has bench warrants – yes, plural.  Breaks a mans hands and starts trying to light shit on fire. 

He walks. No probation, nothing.  

Here is this person in court, with my own eyes and ears, hearing that saying something *stupid* and it’s going to trial.

That’s what the ‘victim’ wants. – The debate on what was said is not in question.  It was stupid, said in jest or not.  It was wrong.

Glad I had that ADA…oh wait, I didn’t.  Mine let a violet felon with violent priors walk.

Those words are going to have a jury trial (FTR – the person being charged had no bail- ROR, it was a citation in the mail, no glamours police serving a warrant in the wee hours)


Yet, Special K walks and the joke that is the victim advocacy did not one fucking thing for me.  My ‘husband’ tried to kill me.  Not words, real bodily harm. 

It’s good to know if I bounce a check in Lancaster County, PA I will get 5 years probation though.  Keeps me honest.  If I actually hurt someone- it’s all good.  Get the right ADA and you get to walk.

In PA you can file private criminal complaints.  For me, I’m fortunate enough to have an attorney that heard everything I said.  And an attorney that has a multi-faceted plan.  Not only for Special K, but to get answers as to why the ADA and victim advocate dropped the ball on a clear cut act of violence.

My complaint is all typed up, scrutinized by my attorney – it’s for 2 charges not brought that day.  I have little faith the judicial system in Lancaster will do much.  But I have to file them and after today, I know that to be true.

How can a violent felon – on paper, with a record of these acts.  Walk?  But a first time offender with words, get a jury trial for the same charge??  Baffles my fucking mind.  It really does.

This is Lancaster County folks.  Money will buy you out of anything.

My attorney reviewed the charges I am attempting to bring.  Nothing may come of it, but if it does.  I will be the victim pushing for jail.

My violent husband is free and walking the streets.  He is one drug use away, one too many drinks away to killing someone.  Literally.  All his acts of violence are public record, not just my experience.

This is why victims stay victims.  The people put in place to advocate and protect, fail.  Time and time again.

Or money.  Those who do have it, get away with things they shouldn’t. Those of us at the other end depend on systems put in place, that fucking fail us.

I hope like hell they arrest him for the new charges.  If they do, my voice will be heard this time.  I want him in jail. – a site I’ve turned to many times.


The Empty Room That Isn’t

Months ago I stopped sleeping in my own room, it was “our” room.  Yes, I am in dire need of a new mattress – with that and the mix of being in my 40’s, I often woke up sore.  I also stopped sleeping in there because it had an emptiness to it.  All his things were packed up and dropped off to him last year, his presence was gone. Every once in a while I’d run across a rouge sock or t-shirt.  I couldn’t fill the subtle yet constant void.  No matter what nifty grounding technique I’d try or how I’d wrack my brain to re-frame it in my mind, it was still the bed that I fell asleep on his chest, in his arms on October 18th.

beach-203377__480The person he is to me today, what he did to me that day, whatever label bestowed onto him has not one iota of relevance to change the fact I not only lost my husband that day, I lost him in a traumatic way.

That bed.  That room.  Was the very last space we shared, when I loved him forever and believed he loved me.  I shared that last night, blissfully unaware that my world would change.

It’s been a very long time since I slept in that room.  Sleep is now down stairs on the pull out, the lingering emptiness began to fade.  I stopped waking up to that split second feeling of believing him there.  The scent of him dissipated to nothing while the void filled with healing in its place.

Oh the good old days.  Those were feelings of months ago, long before I accepted that the things he’s done to me, the emotional abuse was real.  Well before I saw the manipulation – before I truly accepted that I was a victim to his fucked up shit.  It was when I still loved him.

For months that room was empty and used for storage. Today, it’s just another room in my house.  We did a room swap and now my 12yo has my old bed filled with fluffy blankets, funky pillows and too many stuffed ‘things’ to count.  There is nothing of me in there.  Nothing of him but another rouge sock that went right in the trash.  No emotion or sadness.  No battling feelings.bed-2453298__480

Healing is slow but it happens.  I had to hold that nebulous idea during some very dark and hard days.  Reclaiming my own life little by little. I can see how far I’ve come – standing there in a space that haunted me for so long.  It was just a room now.  No longer our room.

It took a long and hellish battle to get to the place where I see my life free of the horrible things he’s done.  Every.single.time that a good memory or a fleeting flash of my life with him in the future sneaks in, I replace it with a hard and true fact of something cruel he has done.

Finding my free airfare tickets, I still defaulted to a flash of him and me going someplace. Then I remember that I was a level 2 trauma patient, in the hospital.  While I was there, he didn’t give a shit because he was going on vacation with some chick he picked up in a locked ward.  At the time, my “husband” – committing adultery, sharing a hotel room and bed with her was what mattered most.   While his “wife” was in the hospital.

A good man, a good husband would have moved the world to be there for his wife.  Not planning a Disney trip.  I still wanted my marriage back at that point.  It hurt me but the further out I go the more I see how fucked up that was.  Who does that?  Not a normal person, not a good person.  Not a person I want to be married to.

That’s how he roles.

My surgery day in nearing, the pre-admit stuff is in order.  They went through their questions… “are you married”.  Fuck no – thank god, was my first thought.

I said separated.  We updated my emergency contact and I won’t walk in for surgery on Monday feeling that shame of the unwanted and thrown away wife who is married with a husband who cares less his wife is having surgery to rule out cancer.

He’s busy anyway picking up 19yo on his mail order bride dating site. A profile filled with lies.  I’m not the least bit surprised, seems the only consistent thing about him is you know something is going to be a lie.

It’s so nice not dealing with him anymore.  No contact is the way to go.  I am so ready to be the “ex-wife”.  I’m so ready for our move and to know that he will not know where I live.   One good thing that will come out of all the legal stuff is he will finally have a reason to hate me.  I don’t think justice is a valid reason to get your hate on, but he can have that.  With that comes no reason to ever talk or see each other.  That is what I want to stay true.

I don’t want to have “no contact”.  I want him not to exist in any realm of my life.

I will have surgery on Monday and my adult daughter will be there when I wake up loopy asking for donuts in the recovery room.  This time instead of being crushed he isn’t there, I will be happy he is not.  backgammon-3084639__480

Life goes on and this is good thing.  The snow day off of school has turned to a lazy night, no more packing for our move.  The house is still and quiet, house is clean, coffee set for tomorrow morning – the only waiting is for the pizza guy.

I have my family, everyone loved and valued – I have a home with love given and received.  No emotional abuse, just bored games and pizza.

How fucking normal is that.


Get My Happy On | 3 Motions Granted By The Court & Free Travel -That Time I Gave Up My Seat On The Plane…Only To Think I Lost The Voucher…

Found Them.  This Makes Me Actually Happy.

Happier than the manipulation tactic Special K played this week.

Most happy that I’ve had enough therapy to see how manipulative and unhealthy this little antic really was.  I would almost have empathy for SK in this and almost hope for his sake, it was a contrived and calculated move.  It would be really sad for him if he wasn’t just being a dick – good for me that the gift he gave me in it was another clear and direct view of what he has become.  Don’t do drugs kids!

Last week my lawyer put in motion the first of multiple legal actions toward the man who was my husband but now I see as man who physically hurt my body and psychologically abused me and my children.  There is a court order and I’ve given the green light for my attorney to take the information I gave him and pursue all legal avenues until exhausted.  The criminal charges were reviewed by my attorney and corrections to the motion made.  The civil case for all the hell of it, tied up in a nice little bow, is solidifying and will be filed when the right time presents itself.

There is an art to the timing of it all andchess-433071__480 it will be slow and arduous.  It’s empowering to put myself first. 

It is a very hard step to do this because I interject my own feelings into it, in other words, I don’t want to hurt him *more* than I want to end this chapter of my life.  His perceptions of slights to him are unlike any I’ve ever encountered – but then again, I may be co-dependent but I was never abused as an adult.  It doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do.  He used me for what he needed and will do it again if I allow him any space in my life.

I have to do what I would I see so easily as right, if it were anyone else but me.  This is about me and so little to do with him.

I saw enough abuse as a child, enough unhealthy functioning and I unequivocally believed that should I ever find myself in an abusive relationship, I’d know it.

I was wrong. 

Court went well, as expected.  I know my lawyer well and I’ve seen him win cases I thought were unwinnable.  I was granted exclusive possession of my house (the house I owned before marriage) and when my attorney told me, a sense of peace and control of my own life fell a bit more into place.  Even though the outcome was exactly as predicted.  I was a bit more free and it felt good – happy.

He had Saturday, the day before our anniversary, to remove any leftover things here, from when it was his home too.


Things found stuck in the garage. He didn’t show up to get anything, court order and all.

That was his chance.  He won’t get another, he definitely won’t if my attorney says no.  I’m playing by my lawyers rules now.  My lawyer already thought I gave him too much time Saturday as it was.  space-2519836__480

It seems he was busy shopping on Amazon instead and sending everyone in my house ‘things’, including the dog.  He got the dog a leash.  I got what I always get, nothing.

Right now I’m a risk to be managed.  Any attempts to manage have to go through my lawyer before I’ll ever can’t a chance to react emotionally and get sucked back in to the manipulation.  I used to check in after I blocked his access to me, now… fuck, I can’t even remember last time I did.  I’m not caring and that – makes me happy.

made-570793_1280He has had essentially zero contact with my kids for a year and half.  Not once has he sent birthday cards, Christmas presents. Nothing since October ’16.  He could have been involved in family based therapy or show he gave a shit about how they were traumatized by the whole thing.


Until this weekend when packages started arriving and he made a point to messaging my son, on his birthday to tell him stuff was on the way.

If that’s not classic psychological abuse… it was. 

It’s also something of a habit he gets going when he starts using again, with him, it’s not if but when.

I was going to send it back but I think the ‘gifts’ will go in the trash.  I have a vacation to plan anyway.  Sorting papers and making sure anything of SK would go to the garage since he was allowed to be on my property that day to get his stuff.

I found the $600 of free airfare that expire in May.  I thought I lost those.

Am I good Mom and whisk them away someplace warm for a weekend getaway?  Or plan a weekend away with just myself?  There will not be any Disney though, my kids are a bit to grown up for princesses.



Either way, I have to figure out a place to go before May and that makes me happy.