It's Hard to Dance With a Devil On Your Back.

I am not a static character.

Sometimes I'm so completely at peace with who I am, where I'm at in life and the choices I've made. Sometimes I can look back at the things that happened during my marriage and focus on the lessons I learned and the strength I gained from it all.

On really good days, I can focus simply on the good times so I can be grateful that they happened at all.

Other days, I'm just so sad. Overwhelmingly sad.

Have you ever seen someone survive something and be in complete awe that they made it through?

Because that's what I feel when I look back.

A little more than two years ago my grandmother passed away.

Two days later The Husband asked for a divorce. I cried.

And then The Husband left bruises all over D again and I was finally forced to make a final choice between being with him and possibly never seeing D again and putting myself at risk for losing A and H, or having the police remove him, putting an order of protection in place and starting our lives over.

The day I called the police and fled to my mom's until the order was finalized, D's mom took Destiny and filed for mine and The Husband's removal of guardianship. It took much pleading to have D returned to me until our court hearing.

Soon after we were able to move home, The Husband began a series of such escalating intimidation behaviors that his best friend came to stay with us for a couple of weeks to keep us safe. I got to know many members of the police force quite well. CPS case workers, Guardian ad Litems and child abuse investigators were a constant presence in my home. During that short time, The Husband had my car repossessed and I received notice that I would be losing my home in as soon as sixty days. (Luckily it ended up being ten months instead of two, but I didn't know it at the time.)

When The Husband's friend left, I kept our beloved dog by my side as my constant companion and protector. A few weeks later, she had a sudden and massive seizure. Since I had walked out of the marriage with forty dollars in my pocket, I had no way of saving Duchess. By the next morning she was brain dead, and my neighbors and friends chipped in so I could have her put to sleep. She died in my arms.

The first month alone was eventful to say the least.

Two months after I left The Husband, my dad passed away after a nine year long battle with cancer. I had court the day he died, the day of his funeral and the day after his funeral. At court I learned that I would keep guardianship of D and The Husband would lose his rights and his ability to have contact with her until her 18th birthday. I also learned that she would no longer be living with me once the school year was over. The beautiful little girl who I had raised from seventeen months until she was nine years, three months and twenty four days old would be gone.

In two months, I had lost nearly everything that my adult life had revolved around.

I don't remember much of how I felt then. I remember a few nights where I would wait for the girls to finally fall asleep so I could sit out on the back porch swing and sob until I couldn't breathe.

But mostly I remember numbness.

I walked out of my father's funeral after I was publicly reminded what a small part I had played in my father's life.

Instead of going to his wake, I dropped my girls off and went to court instead so I could plead for temporary orders for child support. We had been left with nothing but past due water and electricity bills that a friend stepped in and paid.

Friends from all over flooded my mailbox with cards and small tokens of love. Many days, those cards were the only reason I could get myself dressed and out of the house. They are all displayed proudly no matter where I live.

People that I'd never met contacted me wanting to know how they could help. Many were friends of The Husband and wanted to secretly do whatever they could for me. They were a wealth of resources. It was because of them that domestic violence shelters helped me complete my legal papers and gave me coaching lessons on how to represent myself in court. They helped me pay for my heart medications. They helped me find a pro bono lawyer for the final trial. They bought me cleaning supplies, toiletries and anything else I was struggling to provide.

I had so many unexpected people cheering me on that quitting or being weak wasn't an option.

I walked through every bit of hell that came my way that year.

I survived.



A little more than two years after it all began/ended and I am ticking off my "Moving Forward" checklist one at a time. The next step is to purchase my own home for the girls and I. Once investors stop poaching the houses I bid on, we'll be moving the moment the title company can close. A new chapter will begin.

But I am not a static character.

I still get angry, I still get sad, I still get gleefully happy whenever I look around and take notice of my freedom. All of that's okay. I'm allowed to feel a range of emotions when I look back at the last ten years.

For the first time in my life, I realize that it's okay to be human. That no one can tell me how I ought to feel about anything. I'm allowed to have differing opinions. I'm allowed to stand up for myself. I'm allowed to express hurt, anger and betrayal. I'm allowed to ask tough questions. I'm allowed to choose who I bring closer and who I keep at a distance. I'm allowed to protect my daughters when I feel they're in danger, regardless of where that danger may be coming from. I no longer have to feel numb in order to survive.

No one has control and no one ever will again.

I need to remember that I've achieved the most important goal of all.

I'm free.

Down the Rabbit Hole

I will not get sucked back into this vortex.

It has been two years since we spoke by phone. It has been two years since we have been near each other without an officer or judge present.

I don't want to know you. I don't want to hear about you. I certainly don't want you to share intimate details about your life with me.

But in spite of myself, I respond to your chatty text messages and emails. I ask how you're doing. I make myself crazy and neurotic wondering what you're up to, who you're seeing and whether or not you've changed enough for me to ever fully trust you with my children.

In spite of myself, in spite of everything; I still miss you sometimes.

I haven't gone on a date in over nine months because I don't trust myself or my judgment. I've been learning the pleasures of being alone, and there are many. But today, for the first time in a very long time, I'm lonely. I miss someone knowing my intimate details. I miss being able to share my every thought. I miss someone understanding the dynamics of my family. I really miss someone knowing my body and how to make it respond. I miss everything we had together during the good times.

And I sometimes wonder if you ever miss me, too.

I know that most likely, I'll find someone when I'm ready. I certainly haven't been looking because I know I'm not there yet. And I also know that if I never find that person, then I'll be just fine on my own.

But I still wish we had made different choices, been different people and had the outcome I always wanted.

But mostly, I wish I had a clean slate where you never existed. I wish I was free.

The Six Year Anniversary 4/26/2009

I found this in my unpublished drafts. I was too scared to post this. I didn't want police or anyone else notified.
I had completely forgotten about this night. Looking back, I think it speaks volumes. 


The night before our anniversary, I went out for sushi with a couple of girlfriends. It's the first night I'd really been out in almost two years. My friend Kristina and I had been talking about it for months. She knew I desperately needed the break but I either didn't have the funds for it or couldn't get away. (My issues with getting away are another story entirely.) When my Dad received more bad news from his Oncologist, she swore she was kidnapping me if I didn't agree to go, so April 17th I went to Ra for a night out with the girls.

We laughed and joked and drank Saki Bombers and shared a bottle of Sparkling Saki while we delighted in the deliciousness that are Viva Las Vegas Rolls. At some point I remembered that our anniversary was the next day. I groaned that I'd forgotten yet again while I was sure he'd remembered, and joked that I was the man in this relationship when it came to things like anniversaries and birthdays.

It was already ten at night and I had NO IDEA what I was going to give him. We went through the list of places that would be open.

Gas Station.

Walmart.

Sex shop.
Bingo!

We decided that we would go back to Heather's house since her roommate had some friends over that Heather needed to say hi to, then we would head to Castle MegaStore for some "toys."
Perfect.

At some point, I texted the Husband to see if he had remembered the anniversary. It was apparent that he had not, but was trying to pretend that he had. For some reason, I found this to be hilarious and started to quiz him on what he had planned so I could eventually call him out on his fib and laugh together at how scatterbrained we were to both forget our anniversary.

Bad move Masochist. Bad move.

He did not appreciate the light-hearted ribbing. He finally told me that since I was "making fun" of him, there would be no anniversary celebration and I could simply sit at home by myself. This promptly brought me to tears which caused Kristina to take my phone from me while she shook her head at another night ruined by the Husband's anger. I begged her to take me home and she obliged.

We stopped for food at Filiberto's as a peace offering, but he wasn't home. I sent him a message and waited. When he finally showed up, he was holding a bottle of Tequila. So I asked, "Plan on doing any drinking?"

Bad move again, apparently.

He started slamming doors, stomping around the house and yelling at me for being gone all night. He was angry that I had been "making fun" of him. The more I tried to explain, the angrier he became. He told me I was crazy and drunk.

Drunk, yes. Crazy, not today Sir.

Then he told me to get out of the house, go for a drive.

If anyone else had tried to kick me out of the house, I would have told them to fuck off. But when a 230 lb. Bipolar who has left you bruised and bloodied before tells you to get out- you get the fuck out.

Here's where I act like an idiot:

Instead of taking my car, I took his truck. His precious truck that he loves more than he does our children.

Stupid stupid Masochist.


I grabbed my Filiberto's (which I was NOT going to share with him anymore thankyouverymuch,) some water and drove 2mph to the next street over and ate my food. Twenty minutes later he came screeching down the street and HIT his truck with my car. Not hard enough to damage it because that most certainly was not the point. Just hard enough to try to intimidate me.

Normally he would have, but being intoxicated and therefore somehow invincible, I started laughing. He leapt out of the car and walked on top of the hood of my car to get to me. I laughed even harder. He flung the door open and ordered me out. I continued to laugh and then laughed some more when I realized that I'd spilled sour cream all over his seat. His precious seat.

I got in my car, he got in his truck. He left, I sat there and debated on where I should go.

Home seemed like a very stupid option.

Driving anywhere on a main road seemed like an even stupider option seeing as how I still wasn't exactly sober.

So I slept in the parking lot of the local Mormon Church.

Happy Anniversary Masochist. Mazel Tov.