2015 Wrap Up

December 2015

Apparently my dumbass didn’t go to work yesterday either.  Now I’m beginning to wonder if he brought the whore up to our current state with him for these four days and he’s leaving the car with her.  I don’t know why he would since she doesn’t know her way around.  Kind of bizarre to think she’d drive him to work and then take the car on home.  It’s tempting to have someone go ring the doorbell and see if he answers the door or if she does.  Anyway….

I’ve decided to do my 2015 wrap up today instead of waiting until tomorrow.

As you might imagine 2015 has SUCKED!  I am seriously wracking my brain to think of a year that has sucked more than this one.  I think my senior year of high school might be a close second but that actually occurred over two years.  And I was a hell of a lot younger and able to absorb the blows.

So let’s start at the beginning.  2015 began with my loving husband starting his downward spiral.  Lots of drinking.  Lots of crying.  Lots of “PTSD” symptoms.  Thank you, American Sniper.  You gave him a narrative.  He ended up hospitalized towards the end of the month due to some sort of a bug.  That was the infamous, “She was making fun of me when I was DYING!” episode, despite the fact that I had never done any such thing and had instead sat by his side and kissed his ass as usual.  Apparently I didn’t grovel well enough.

The following month he ramped up the crazy, with lots of texts to his manipulative sister and probably his jackass “best friend”, frequent visits from the pastor of a church we had attended ONE time, still much drinking and crying, and then SURPRISE!!!! let’s add in a visit to the psych ward after suicidal ideations.  I got to spend HOURS in an empty ER room with him (because they remove EVERYTHING from the room when a person is suicidal) while trying to coordinate care of my two kids who were at school at this time.  Then I would drive to the hospital every day for the two hours of visitation that were allowed each day.  I brought him magazines and books and gum; I advocated for him.  I called him each day.  MY family all came to visit while his family (with the exception of one sister) all called him from the comfort of their own homes.  Incidentally, his family all live a minimum of 4 hours closer to us than my family does.  My mother drove 13 hours to come see him- at his request!  Why?  Because my family was more of a family to him than his own.  Of course it was, asshole; that’s why when Harley reappeared you turned to your own morally bankrupt family.

He came home and there weren’t many changes made.  He continued to hang out upstairs in the bedroom.  Refused to hang out with us in any of the main areas of the house.  Hell, I can recall asking him if he wanted to sit out on the enclosed porch with me and he shook his head, telling me he felt more comfortable upstairs in the bedroom.

March and April there was more of the same.  The migraines started back up again in late March/early April.  That’s a fun 2 week period where he’s basically bed ridden with a succession of migraines.  I’m taking him to the doctor’s for medication, trying to keep everything quiet and calm for him so he can sleep.  Once those are finally done he continues to have breakdowns.  Like, need to leave the restaurant, crying in public, breakdowns.  All of which his kids think he faked for sympathy and to justify why he did what he ended up doing.

His best friend showed up in April.  I think this is probably the time my dear, traitorous MIL encouraged Harley to call and offer him a blow job.  Oh, I’m sorry- encouraged her to call him to “cheer him up” since he was “so sad”.

My own state of mind at this time was not good.  I was still trying to adjust to this move.  I cried a lot.  Hell, I even taped messages for my friends and family to be played for them after my body was found.  THAT’S how desperate I was at that point.  I even said I thought he was messing around with her again.  Of course, the money didn’t start disappearing until June but that doesn’t mean that it didn’t begin up again sooner.  It may have taken him a few weeks before he decided to support his whore.  I was beginning to give up on just about everything.  I had written I was done with decorating and I was going to cancel the pool.

But I persevered, something Cousinfucker couldn’t do.  I signed the contract; I kept decorating.  I continued to deal with all the shit he shoveled my way, putting up with his moods, his anxiety, his breakdowns.  I made his damn appointments for him and went along with him.  I STILL found instances of him throwing me under the bus and it would infuriate me.  Accusing me of only staying for the money.  Of never checking on him.  Of hating him.  Of me leaving him alone to cry in the bedroom.  Poor, poor sad sausage.  Get your story out there, baby.  Let everyone know how mistreated and abused you are.

May passed with construction on the pool finally beginning.  Probably one of the few bright spots in the year.  That’s also the month he brought up purchasing phones for his “mom and stepdad”.  So generous of him.

Most of June the kids and I were gone visiting family and friends.  He was definitely fucking around with Harley then.  And lying to my face about what he was doing. He opted out of celebrating Rock Star’s birthday with her because “he didn’t want to ruin it for her”.  Yeah, right.  June was a fairly decent month for me, though.  I was happy to see family and watch as Queen B graduated and be able to celebrate that with her.  I was happy to get back to my former state and see all of our friends, go to some of our favorite places like the reservoir and the varied restaurants we no longer got to frequent.  I stayed in pretty constant contact with my philandering asshole.  I sent text messages.  I occasionally called.  I would send pictures if I went shopping and was going to buy something.  Oh, he was so complimentary.  Telling me I looked so good, so sexy.  He’s such a liar.

We got back home right before July.  Again, he opted out of the birthday dinner for Picasso.  Nice.  I seem to recall a lot of sex, or at least messing around, before he decided he just didn’t think he could ever get it up again and he didn’t want me to try because he didn’t want confirmation of it.  Nicely done, Asshole!  I’m still not sure Harley was on board with you messing around with me twice a day, though.

Of course, he declined to go on our family vacation with us.  Too stressful.  And then he drove to his “business meeting” after being coached by me and his therapist (fucking asshole- him, not the therapist) and onward to his home state where he definitely hooked up with Harley and fucked the whore.  When we got back from Florida and he got back from Kentucky he had plainly changed.  I didn’t know what the hell was going on.  Then there was the added bonus that he suddenly began making trips, spreading his wings.  There was the funeral he refused to take his daughter to.  His trip to visit “Blockhead”.  All lies.  All continued while he spent the summer funneling thousands of dollars to that whore.

Finally, August arrives.  The pool is completed.  Six days later I’m told my husband is fucking Harley.  My world imploded.

I’ve spent the rest of the year taking care of my two kids, putting together evidence for my lawyer, being the responsible one while he acts like he’s single and child free.  I get the fun part of worrying about what the hell I’m going to do for money, what I’m going to do for insurance and how I’m going to afford it.  I get to worry about selling the house and fixing it up.  I get to worry about what I’m going to do with our 3 dogs and 3 cats.  I’m the one that gets to worry about trying to relocate and keep Rock Star where she is and then move once she graduates.  Basically, I get all the responsibilities and he gets to walk away and pretend like we never existed.  He gets a fresh start with no obligations, only a shiny little whore spreading her legs wide with four whining kids, blandly worshiping him so that he’ll buy them things.

I’m eager to put 2015 behind me but I fear 2016 won’t be much better.  My lawyer tells me he doesn’t think we’ll be done with the divorce until September or October, so most of the year will be spent trying to untangle our lives while not getting fucked up the ass by him.  He pulled the wool over my lawyer’s eyes this go round.  While he will be charged rent if he continues to live at the house it’s nothing compared to what he would have to pay once he’s out on his own.  $750 flat.  It’s doubtful he would be able to find that on his own.  My family is taking bets on whether or not he will move out.  My mom thinks he’s going to amp up his efforts to try to find a job closer to Harley.  My lawyer had damn well better be accurate when he says he will have already established a level of income once this order goes into action.  I would hate to see him quit his job before he gets this year’s bonus and then he gets out of paying me.  Wouldn’t put it past him though.

You know, it gets tricky, though, because Harley is expecting a certain standard of living.  If he quits his job and takes something that pays less that won’t bode well for his relationship with her.  Same thing with going to jail.  That will put a damper on the relationship.

Present Day Sam Says: Yeah, 2016 was no picnic either. I started off okay. Then I found out in February that CF quit his job and moved in with the whore. I still find it amazing that he drove 2 hours each way to work. I rebounded. And then got knocked down yet again when he texted me to let me know he had lost his job and wouldn’t be sending me anymore money. We were faced with the choice of trying to stay put and probably being evicted midway through Rock Star’s junior year, or biting the bullet and moving right then. I sold off whatever I could and left behind most of my possessions and moved 600 miles away, in with my mom.  I ran out of money.  I began working at Target, going in at 4 in the morning. A month later I got a second job at Kohl’s because my first job didn’t pay enough. I cried pretty much every day. My life was nothing more than working, sleeping and trying to get my kids where they needed to be. No joy. No hope.

The holidays sucked. Worst holiday season ever. I had to go in at midnight on Friday after Thanksgiving. I went in at 3 or 4 (probably 3) on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day was my first day off in 21 days.

My kids were forced to start all over. My son took to life in Indiana right away- had a great group of friends, liked his school (at least at first), liked living with his Nana. My daughter hated it here; I’m pretty sure she still does. The one bright spot in her life for months was her job. Gradually she spread her wings- first by getting on the winter cheer team, and then going out for track and loving it.

The one bright spot for me that year was getting hired on full time at the bank. It wasn’t going to pay me much but it was a full time job finally. I wouldn’t start until 2017 but I still counted it as one good thing that happened to me in 2016.

Now it’s almost 2 years later and things are a lot different. You’ll have to wait until later in the month before I finish my wrap up for 2017.


He Makes Me Sick

I was all set to write about interrogatories and taxes on Monday. That day has come and gone. Interrogatories suck! It has been a test of patience to not just let loose with every nasty thought that plagues my mind.

Fast forward to today. I’m sending some more documentation to my lawyer’s assistant. I had found the message from The Saint where he stated that Cousinfucker was paying for their divorce. I decide I may as well send along the lovely pictures they’ve been plastering on Facebook. You know, pictures of the two of them posing together happily, despite his grueling battle with PTSD which rendered him unable to work. Pictures of him and her youngest child posing for Show and Tell, an activity in which he never indulged his actual children. What do I come across?

Oh yes! It’s the profile picture of the two of them which I had seen before. This time though I read the comments. Harley tells people to keep in mind that they had just been at her daughter’s cheer competition. People make comments about the t-shirt he’s wearing because it appears he is wearing a t-shirt in support of his favorite team’s arch rival. No, no, no! It’s her daughter’s school mascot. It was sooooo painful to put that shirt on but he wanted to support his “step-daughter”. The whore chimes in, “You know he must really love her to put that shirt on!”

You two are so adorable! Do I even need to point out that that cousin fucking piece of shit never once attended a single cheer competition for his own daughter?

Hey! Maybe that’s the reason his kids have nothing to do with him. He was a piss poor excuse of a father and now he’s strutting around like Daddy of the Year for four kids that have a father. An involved father at that. Nah, I’m sure it’s because I have poisoned their minds. As he’s whining to Rock Star that he hopes she will talk to him once again he forgets that actions speak louder than words. His words say his children are very important to him. His actions say, “You kids don’t mean shit to me. I couldn’t be bothered to go to your competitions or participate in your lives. Now excuse me while I show up at my ‘step-daughter’s’ competitions and take my fake son to show and tell. I love them and need to support them.”  Wouldn’t surprise me to find out he’s coaching one of their teams as well.

Even better are all the comments about how happy they look! Oh, and Jezebel loves them both! Someone told her she deserved to finally be happy.

Really? She’s just entitled to take whatever the hell she wants? Because it makes her happy? Fuck the two families they destroyed! Fuck the betrayed husband who has to watch as his whore of an ex and her mentally unstable lover/cousin play house with his kids! Fuck the betrayed wife who has lost her home, who moved her kids once again, who has lost everything, who works two jobs just trying to feed her kids. They are happy and that trumps everything! You don’t even want to know what would make me happy and I’m 100% sure none of her friends and relatives would tell me I was entitled to make myself happy at her expense.

Then again that seems to be the common refrain. As long as the two cheating lovebirds are happy then all is well. No one wants to look around and see the damage caused by the cheating and the lies. Being unhappy is a perfect justification for being a cheating asshole. Who can say it’s wrong when they’re so happy? Life is short! Too short to do the right thing apparently. I hope they all burn in hell.

Chump Lady is so correct when she says no contact is the only way to go. Having to dredge all this crap up in order to prove what an absolute asshole he is only makes my blood boil. I already know he’s an asshole! Why do I have to prove it to everybody else?

Trying to Put a Positive Spin On This, Take Two

Last time I tried this it didn’t work so well. I ended up just feeling sorry for myself. What I was trying to say the last time is: Being in limbo sucks, there’s no point in worrying about the future, drop the rope, and stop whining about life being unfair. It sucks but there’s nothing you can do about it.

Being in limbo does suck! I don’t know anything. Right now my head is full of worst case scenarios. I do not allow myself to think that things will go my way in court because I don’t want to be devastated when and if Cousinfucker gets away with everything. As I’ve said many times I envision my daughter’s senior year as the Year From Hell, as I have to either explain to her why she can’t participate, basically, i.e. no senior pictures, no graduation announcements, no graduation party, no dinner afterwards, no graduation gift, no nothing; or I work 80 hours a week to keep my head above water and then end up working the day of her graduation so she gets the party but I miss it.

That’s what I’m envisioning. Honestly, I think that’s a pretty damn good representation of what’s actually going to happen (hey, I’m trying to be positive, not delusional!) but I don’t know that for a fact. Hell could freeze over and Cousinfucker could start paying me what he owes me. Pigs could fly and I actually find a job that pays me a decent amount. So, there’s no use in worrying about any of that.

I need to learn to truly drop the rope and not try to pick it up again. My life as I knew it is over. There’s no point in comparing my life a little over a year ago to my life today. For most of 2015 I was a fairly comfortable housewife and stay at home mom. Now I’ve been discarded. I’m scrambling to find a job. My lifestyle has dramatically changed. I can keep whining about it but it won’t change it. I need to do as Picasso does and tell myself there’s no point in crying about it because I can’t change it. Just keep on keeping on. If I finally get hired working for shit money then I’m hired working for shit money. If I need to get a second job, I need to get a second job. If I work three jobs, I work three jobs. I can complain all day long. I can cry into my pillow for months and months. It does. not. change. a. thing. I may as well wrap my mind around the fact that my life is going to be very unpleasant from here on out and embrace the suck. You know, we often say we would rush into a burning building if our kids needed us. I would fight off a bear for my kids (not a snake- they’re on their own for that one). They don’t need me to run into a burning building or to fight off a bear. They need me to provide for them. And if that means I work 2 or 3 jobs, 60-80 hours a week, 6 and 7 days a week, then that’s what I’ll do. Who said life was supposed to be pleasant? I will endure for my kids.

Rock Star does have a few friends at her new school, including a cheerleader. Her cheerleader friend asked her if she was going to join their team this winter. Rock Star is telling me she’s not going to because she doesn’t want to have to change her availability at work. A week ago I would have been fine with this and pouted along with her.

“See, Cousinfucker? See what you’ve done to her? She has NOTHING because of you. All she does is go to school and work.”

Instead I am going to encourage her to try out. I’m going to be the grownup instead of the pouting brat and tell her she may as well try to make the best of her last two years. She didn’t want to move before either but she made the best of it and she ended up having a remarkable time.

It really IS another chapter in my life. It’s very strange to not be driving Rock Star all around to activities. It’s strange to have gymnastics completely over and done. It’s weird not having any kids over at the house. I’m sure I’ll adjust.

There is no master bathroom here. There are two bathrooms, one upstairs and one downstairs. I can’t speak for everyone else in the house but I use the one that’s closest to me. I’m frequently in the upstairs bathroom that my kids share. It’s much smaller than the bathrooms they used to have, and of course, they didn’t have to share. I no longer have a kitchen with granite countertops. There’s no pool or hot tub or trampoline in the backyard. The furniture is not mine. All of my holiday decor is gone. Again, it is what it is. At least I have a place to call home. I have a mom who welcomed me and my kids with open arms. Some women aren’t that lucky. I try to tell myself that everything I had before was just stuff. One part of me cries out, “But it was my stuff!” The new, more positive me tells the crying part to shut it and reminds me once again that it was just stuff. I’m sure I had too much stuff and didn’t use half of it.

Dropping the rope is hard. So very hard. It reminds of this time my brother pushed me off a bridge. I knew I was falling. I remember screaming, but then I also remember reconciling what was happening. I was falling and there was nothing I could about it except prepare for the landing. Note: This happened when I was much younger. I’m sure I wasn’t more than 12 and probably even younger. He would have been no more than 9 at that point. It was also a low bridge over the creek that ran through my grandparent’s property. I don’t want anyone thinking I had a brother that tried to murder me.

That’s what this whole experience has been like since August 10, 2015. Hearing that my husband was cheating on me once again with the exact same person. Falling. This isn’t happening! What the hell am I going to do? Oh no, it’s happening. How are you going to prepare for impact? Finding out he quit his job and moved out of state. Falling. I can’t control it. Brace yourself. Receiving the text message from him four months later informing me he lost his job and wouldn’t be sending anymore money. Falling. How do I keep everything the same? How can I stay here so that my daughter finishes out high school? What am I going to do about a job? What in the hell am I going to do? There won’t be a save like the last time. I was in a free fall and the only thing I could do was land. I couldn’t stop it.

Here I am today. Nothing is like I had hoped. Everything I had wanted for my kids is gone. They’ve gone from being privileged and pampered to paupers. The rage I feel most days is frightening. I can’t let it out; if I did it would overtake everything. It is that powerful. But here’s the truth. It’s all gone. I can’t make it come back. I will never earn anywhere close to what CF did. I have to accept the fact that we are poor.

I fought against applying for Medicaid. I fought against applying for free textbooks and free lunches. I fought against applying for food stamps (and still haven’t as of yet). All of that is so terribly embarrassing and yet, if your kids needed you to run into a burning building… so I debase myself and hold my hand out for free stuff. I’ve dropped the rope. This is reality. I can hope it isn’t so. I can scream and cry and yell, “It’s not fair!” at the top of my lungs. It doesn’t do any good. Just let yourself fall and prepare for the impact that’s coming. It is what it is.

My car is the last thing I have left over from my old life. For years I had been wanting either a convertible or a sunroof. For years CF had fought me on it, saying that sunroofs leak. I would tell him the new sunroofs are much more durable. Of course, he knew more than I did. Finally he caved. I got my new car (an actual car and not a minivan) with GPS, an aux cord so I could listen to my iPod, Bluetooth for my phone, push button start and a sunroof. I think I might even say I love that car. I have fought against getting rid of it. My argument has been that it’s a new car. I don’t have to worry about repairs. It’s a hybrid so it gets fantastic gas mileage. Plus, because of the miles I’ve put on it for Rock Star’s gymnastics I doubt I would get enough to cover the loan. I also am not sure how I would even get a loan for another car since I’m sure my credit is in the crapper thanks to CF and his nonpayment of bills. Nonetheless, it costs me over $350/month. I don’t have a job currently and it’s not looking like I’m going to get a decent paying one anytime soon. Because it’s a new car insurance is higher for me and I’m sure that’s part of why it’s so high for Rock Star. As much as I hate to get rid of it it’s looking more and more like that’s what I’m going to have to do. I’ll probably get a 10 year old Honda or Toyota and pray that it doesn’t break down and need expensive repairs. I guess I’m back to listening to the radio. I have come to accept that CF is going to end up taking every last thing I ever had over the last twenty years. What’s a car anyway? You only need it to get you from point A to point B. I’ve already lost my home, my furniture, my holiday decorations, my pool, my hot tub, my children’s stability. What the fuck does a car matter?  Rope. Dropped.

My kids will never have awesome Christmases again. I know they’re too old for Elf on the Shelf but our elf won’t ever come visit again because I can’t afford it.  I’m falling and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve dropped the rope. Christmas is going to suck from here on out because I can’t afford much anymore. I can fight it all I want but this is their new reality. Sorry, kids.

My daughter is working a part-time job so that she can afford to buy clothes and make-up she wants and be able to go out and do things. I can’t give her an allowance anymore. At some point she will probably have to contribute to not only paying for her car, but also her insurance and her phone. She will work and work and work to pay bills and she will have nothing left over to pay for movies or dinners or clothes. That’s a little harder to drop the rope on. I never wanted to be that parent. I never wanted that for my child. I followed the rules. I graduated high school, I went to college and graduated, I got married, and THEN I had a baby. Only it didn’t matter. Because my kids are going to end up with nothing anyway. It’s at times like these that I think I shouldn’t have even bothered with college because it’s never paid off for me. I wasted my mother’s money and I’m making less money than the majority of people WITHOUT a college degree.

I look at all those smiling faces on Facebook. They’re sharing pictures of their vacations, their romantic dates, their weddings or upcoming weddings, their kids at Homecoming, their kids participating in sports. I used to have a life like that. I don’t anymore. Drop the rope. I could cry, but what would that gain me? Nothing. Brace for impact. Pick yourself up. Get on with this new life. Stop wishing for the old one because it’s never coming back. It’s like wishing someone who died would come back. It’s not ever going to happen.

I hope this one wasn’t too depressing. I really have found some relief with this whole, “Let It Go” philosophy. Seriously, I find it much easier to just accept the fact that my life is going to suck and deal with it from that point, than it is to flail against the injustice of it all. Yeah, it sucks. I can’t change it. You put your head down and plow on through it. In the words of Larry the Cable Guy, “Get ‘er done!” Do I want to work an $11/hour job? Nope! But if that’s all that’s out there willing to hire me then that’s what I’ll do. And if working for $11/hour means I need a second job then as much as I may hate it that’s what I’ll do as well. I guess the good thing about being poor is that if I don’t get very much vacation time it won’t matter. I can’t afford to go anywhere anyway so who cares if I only get a week after a year of full-time employment? No vacations in Sam’s future. Hey, I’ve had 18 years of vacation time. It’s not like raising kids is any kind of work.

You know, sometimes I wonder if this hasn’t been his end game this whole entire time. I wonder if he hated me so much that he plotted this all out years ago. Step one: Take Sam away from the state she loves. Take away all of her volunteering activities. Take away all of her friends and all of her social activities. Take away any connections and support she has. Step two: Move her 2000 miles across the country and then abandon her after buying a new house, furniture, and car. Start acting like a jackass now that you’re all she has. Make her completely dependent on you and then bail. Don’t support her. Don’t hang out with her. Strip her bare. Step three: Look up your whore of a cousin again. Fuck her. Lie to Sam all summer about everything. Step four: Cash in the remaining stocks, open up a bank account with the whore, interview for jobs out of state, cut Sam and the kids off financially except for what “your lawyer told you you would have to pay in support”. Step five: Quit your job of 15 years, move out of state, don’t tell Sam or the kids. Make Sam wonder if you’re ever going to pay support again; make her wonder if she’ll have to pull the kids out of school mid-school year and devastate them. Step six: After pulling the rug out from under Sam with that whole “quit your job” thing, quit your job again! This time claim to be having a nervous breakdown to try to get out of paying spousal and child support. Leave Sam and the kids destitute, make them move once again, take EVERYTHING away from them once again, and force Sam onto welfare and back into the job force after 18 years of following your pathetic ass across the country.

I wouldn’t put it past him but you know what? There’s nothing I can about it. I will drop the rope. So many people say the best revenge is a life well lived. I don’t know how well I’m going to be living this life; however, I get the sentiment behind it. Sometimes we can’t make them pay; we don’t get justice. We have to pick up the pieces left behind anyway and do our best.

That’s a hard reality to accept- this idea that he and Harley could get away with everything. Yet if that does indeed happen, what can I do? Nothing. Drop the rope. Move forward.

I have no idea how any of this is going to turn out. For now I think I need to listen to the radio or my iPod on my drive back home so I don’t frustrate myself. I need to get a job- any job- even if it doesn’t pay what I need it to so that I can at least stop draining what’s left in my checking account. It’s far better to have my paycheck cover my limited bills, or almost cover my limited bills and then use savings until I can find a second job, as opposed to completely paying for everything out of savings. Look at me being all adult!

I’ve got my kids. I’ve got my dogs. I left my house with the most important “things”. I will never be the person who says: Golly gee! This divorce is just going to be the best thing ever! I KNOW I’m going to find the love of my life now that I’ve cast the shit eating chimp aside. I’ll be so glad I got that divorce once I meet Mr. Right. And I KNOW I’m going to get a great job- one that pays well and stimulates my mind. I’ll meet all these new friends and have a fantastic social network. I’ll start going to church and that’ll just be wonderful, too. Maybe I’ll take a Bible study and become best friends with someone from there. I’m going to volunteer once again and network my ass off! I’m going to feel so much better because I’m out there on my own, not relying on my husband. And I’m sure God will come through and court will go my way and Cousinfucker will end up having to pay me thousands in back support and for arrears and misappropriation of funds; he’ll end up being ordered to pay me substantial spousal and child support as well. Why, I bet he’ll even get up off his ass and get a job so he can actually pay what the judge orders!

I know that’s sarcasm but even taking the sarcasm out of it I’ll never trust that good things are going to happen. He’s shattered those dreams once too often. Every time I had a plan he came along and smashed it. I cannot do that to myself anymore. It’s easier to believe that nothing is ever going to go my way. The best I can do is agree to drop the rope. I can let it go when the judge rules in his favor and I get fucked up the ass. I can refuse to dwell on it when he rides off into the sunset with Harley and then begins his new six figure salary job- not paying a dime in child or spousal support. I could be frustrated or angry but what does that really do? He doesn’t care. Hell, he would probably love it if he knew how much it bugged me that he got away with everything. You learn to swallow that shit sandwich that is your ex-husband leaving you destitute while he goes on to enjoy life with someone else.

Some days I vow to not let him defeat me. I tell myself I’m going to do whatever needs to be done to stand on my own two feet without him. I’m going to raise my kids without his help. I’m going to carve out a great life for myself. I’ll get a job. Make friends. Volunteer. Go to church. I will thrive! And other days I want to curl up in a ball and admit defeat. “Okay, you win, Cousinfucker. You’ve destroyed my life. You’ve taken everything away from me. I’m living on welfare. I live with my mom at age 47. I will never have anything again. I’ll never go on vacation again. I’ll never have a home of my own. I’m never going to be able to provide for our kids the way you did. I’ll just lay here in the fetal position and wait for death to come.” You may be glad to  know that lately I’m telling myself the former more often than the latter.

I’ve heard a lot of sad stories over on Chump Lady. I’m always amazed at the women (yes, it’s always the women) who talk about having to work until the day they die, or living in a tiny home after living in a huge house, or barely scraping by, and yet they feel so much better.

“I left behind a 6000 square foot home. I work three jobs just to make ends meet and I’m still in danger of having my electricity shut off. My car is barely hanging on; I defeat death each time I drive it. I have no money, no savings, my life is a giant struggle but I’M SO MUCH BETTER OFF now that I’ve left my cheater.”

Really? I guess I must be a shallow person because I don’t feel that I’m better off. When he was paying me spousal and child support I felt I was better off, but now that he’s claiming PTSD and spending his days drinking and fucking I don’t feel better off at all. One of my friends told me way back in the beginning that she was so happy I was finally out of my marriage because she was so worried about me and what I would do as his social anxiety got worse and worse and I did everything on my own. She has one of those marriages where they do a lot of things together, both as a family and as a couple. I’ve never had that. It’s not my normal. I can’t miss what I never had. Fifteen months ago I was all alone. My husband was shutting himself off in the bedroom and crying all the time. We didn’t do things together as a family; we didn’t do things as a couple. I was still a pampered housewife living on six figures; my kids had everything they needed and most of what they wanted. Now? I’m still alone; I don’t have a new Prince Charming in my life. I doubt I ever will. I’m on welfare. I got to break the bad news to the kids that we were moving once again. I got to enroll the kids in new schools and ride that tidal wave of emotion as we waited to see if Rock Star would go to her preferred school, all along believing she wouldn’t get in. I got to break the bad news to her that she didn’t get to get her license; I held her as she cried. I get to go through all the headaches and heartaches and he’s living with the slut without a care in the world. Which is better? The world where I’m alone but I’m living on six figures and my kids are happy? Or the one where I’m alone, my husband is off fucking his cousin, and I’m on welfare? Gosh, that’s a really tough choice. Let me think about that a minute and I’ll get back to you.

Turns out, it didn’t take me a full minute to make my decision. I prefer the money. I wish I were more like those women who are so grateful to be away from the cheater.  But I’m not. I like having money. I like being able to take care of my kids. I like being able to give them the things I never had as a kid. The only thing I can do at this point is drop the rope. It’s not what I wanted but it’s what I’ve got. I’ve got to figure out other ways to make things happen for me and my kids.

My sister-in-law was telling me that if I got a job at her company once I had been there a year I would get a 3% raise! Wow- I would go from making $11/hour to $11.33/hour! Can someone who is really good at math let me know how many years I would need to work before I finally reached $30k/year? I’m thinking probably 10. Many people have told me I have to start at the bottom and work my way up. I don’t have that kind of time! My daughter graduates next year. My son is an 8th grader. I don’t have 10-15 years to work my way up the ladder. By the time I’m making any kind of decent money my kids will be self-supporting. I’ve pretty much decided that the only way I’m going to make any kind of decent money is if I go back to school. I’m leaning heavily towards nursing. I don’t necessarily want to be a nurse but I figure if I’m going to hate what I do I may as well make good money while I’m doing it.

It’s not that I think I will hate it. I have just never had any desire to be a nurse. I’ve known a lot of people, though, that are going back to school and they are all choose nursing. It pays well and it seems like they’re always hiring. I figure I can work in the OR and then I only have to deal with unconscious people.

Or, I could become a teacher. That one is a little trickier though because you never know what school system is hiring. I wouldn’t be assured of getting a job around here and I can’t afford to move. I won’t do that to my kids again either. Unlike their father, I mean it when I say I don’t want to move them around constantly. I would probably prefer to be a teacher as opposed to a nurse but it doesn’t pay as well. On the bright side, I would have summers off.

I’m rambling now. I am doing better. I am at the acceptance stage. I think that’s the last one but I haven’t reviewed the stages of grief lately. I’m grinning and bearing it. My mantra is: I can’t change it; I just have to accept it and do what needs to be done. Embrace the suck. Drop the rope. Let it go. Or as a fellow blogger put it: Sometimes evil wins. What are you going to do?

Trying To Put a Positive Spin On This (But Not Succeeding)

Note: I’m currently hard at work on another version of this because I know it’s depressing. So, even though this doesn’t read like it I am feeling a little bit better. Not because anything amazing has happened recently. No, in fact the job that I really would have been interested in rejected me but I’m telling myself, “That’s only one job. There will be others.”

I’ve been commenting on another person’s blog and some of the advice I’ve given is: Take it day by day or even hour by hour. And: Being in limbo is the worst; it’s all that unknowing. I’ve even written here that there is relief to be found when I finally drop the rope and let it go. I think I need to take my own advice.

I can’t be alone to think because every time I think my mind is flooded with bad thoughts. Not bad as in, “Uh-oh! She’s going to do something illegal!” More like, bad as in overwhelming and doubting myself and believing my life is basically over and I will never have anything again ever. So I can’t be alone to think. I’m going to try playing the radio or my iPod instead and singing loudly.

Speaking of music and positive thinking, I finally took my cheater songs off as my alarm. Back when Cousinfucker was still living in the house I decided to set all my alarms to songs that were in my Freedom songlist. There was “Before He Cheats”, “Cheater Cheater”, “Look It Up”, “Your Lips Are Movin’”, and “Since U Been Gone”. I knew he could hear them every morning so I delighted in playing them. But, he hasn’t lived with me in over six months. I got tired of listening to them. Honestly, I don’t like having the same song played over and over for too long. I need to mix it up. So, I downloaded some new songs and I’m using them instead. No love songs, but nothing about cheating either.
Other things I can’t allow myself to do: I can’t think ahead; I can’t visualize the future. I never allow myself to picture good things. I can’t allow myself to do so because I don’t want to deal with the disappointment if things don’t turn out well. Remember, in my version of being a pessimist it’s not that I’m wanting bad things to happen or even expecting them to happen. I just don’t expect good things to happen and I’m fully prepared for the worst case situation. If something great happens, well, that’s wonderful; however, I never anticipate that.

As much as it feels counterproductive I need to take it day by day and not think about anything long term. No use in worrying about not getting a job. Worrying won’t help me get one, and if I do get hired someplace then I worried for nothing.

The idea that there is a higher power that wants me to go through all of this bullshit for some purpose makes me want to vomit; nonetheless, I’m going to go with it for now. It’s that or go crazy. So hey, if anyone out there can shed some light on why God has decided to kick my ass feel free to let me know. The idea that the one set of footprints I see in the sand is Him carrying me is a BULLSHIT right about now. But hey, maybe He decided I was too materialistic, or too snobbish. Maybe He figured I needed to be humbled and completely broken. I don’t know. Maybe losing everything will somehow free me and that’s the lesson. Yes, because now I no longer wish to live in a spacious beautiful 4000 square foot home with modern amenities. I don’t want granite countertops or a jacuzzi tub or a big huge walk-in shower. Those poor, poor people who have all those luxuries will never know the pleasure of gardening and picking fruit from their own fruit trees, shopping for off brand food at the grocery stores, wiping their asses with cheap scratchy toilet paper or making clothes out of dryer lint.

I’m not doing a very good job at this one, am I? Perhaps I should skip over all the “It’s happening for a reason” crap. It really pisses me off. Because here’s the thing. I was a nice person. I was generous. I was kind. I volunteered. I gave and gave and gave. I didn’t act like I was better than others. I didn’t make fun of people. I was empathetic. I was a good person so I don’t know why I’ve lost everything. I don’t know what else God wants me to do or learn. Hell, I went to church until I moved. Now I have no desire to go. Picasso is an atheist and Rock Star really doesn’t care to go again and start all over. Why bother? I know some people say the church can be a great resource and a way to network. I have found that the church is a great resource for some people, usually those in the spotlight. The rest of us are left to flounder.

I was very involved in my church years ago before we moved out west. I led a small group, worked in the children’s church every week, helped with the meal team, helped out with Vacation Bible School, created and led the MOPS group. When I was getting ready to move and CF was already out there working, leaving me with two small kids all on my own, one of the pastors asked for help on my behalf. Two people volunteered to send us a meal. Two.
I never felt like I fit in at the church I attended out west. I met a few people but only in the sense that I knew their names and would say hello. I didn’t make any friendships outside of church. Eventually I quit going and cut off all contact.

Most recently we attended for almost 7 months before moving. I never really met a single person in that entire time. They were plenty friendly. The pastor said hello. But I didn’t make any new friends and there was certainly no networking. There was no one offering up a low rent house that would accept pets. No one who was offering a job. Which is what everyone assumes seems to happen when you join a church.

I could start attending on Sunday but the chances that I would eventually befriend someone who could help me job wise are extremely slim. And call me quaint or old-fashioned but I believe the purpose of going to church should be strengthening your faith and your relationship with God.

I’m going to do my best to drop the rope and let it go. I can’t control it. It sucks to the extreme. But I have to learn to say, “I have lost everything and I’m okay with that.” I have to learn to separate my life into chapters. My life the past two years is one chapter. This is another chapter. It is the same for my kids. I have to learn to be okay with this new chapter in Rock Star’s life.

At one time she was a gymnast. Our life was scheduled around gymnastics. That was a chapter. Then we moved. It was really difficult for her to leave it behind, but it was also very difficult for me. I had lived almost all of her life as a gymnast’s mom. That was who I was and now it was gone.

Instead she became popular and had the world by its tail. She was a star on the high school gymnastics team but gymnastics wasn’t her whole life like before. She had a great group of friends. She went to football games. She dated boys. She began cheering. She went to youth group. She knew her principal and her teachers. She was voted hottest girl in her grade. The boys wanted to date her, the girls wanted to be her friend, and everybody watched her. That was another chapter. Then we moved again. She’s not popular. No one knows who she is. Gymnastics is completely gone. There will be no cheerleading. Her only outside activity is working a job. There will be no more sports banquets. There will be no Hall of Fame. There will be no pictures of her gracing the cover of the Booster Club program her senior year. There are no more competitions or meets. She had to give up her team captain spot. This is her new chapter. There is no point in dwelling on everything she’s lost because she can’t get it back. She had a really good life and now she doesn’t. At one point she had everything. Now she has nothing. Those things happen. Honestly, if anyone would take her back there I would let her go live with them so she could finish out her last two years at the school she loves. If she told me she wanted to be homeschooled, or to do online school I would let her. There’s absolutely no point in her attending this school because she’s not getting a damn thing out of it. I had a kid who was having a dream high school experience; now I don’t. It sucks. The rest of high school for her is going to be nothing more than 2 years to get through so she can go to college, assuming we can get enough aid for her to go because I sure as hell can’t afford to pay for her to go. Two more years in this chapter for her. Two years of putting her head down, gritting her teeth and working part-time.

This is supposed to be positive though, correct? So let’s spin that into this new chapter will include her focusing completely on her education, downsizing her social group to an extremely small group, freeing herself from the illusion of those high school glory days. You don’t want to peak in high school, right? And this way she won’t be sad about graduating and leaving behind friend because she really doesn’t have any. Plus she is developing a wonderful work ethic. I mean sure, she had a fantastic work ethic before and had to learn to prioritize when she was training 20+ hours for gymnastics and when she was busy with after school activities. But this is different and so much more valuable. She’s going to get so much out of providing for herself and no longer relying on her mother to provide her anything other than food and shelter. She won’t be one of those spoiled, pampered kids who’s had everything handed to her.

I think the biggest thing is being in limbo. Those months between D-Day and the temporary support orders were rough because I didn’t know what was going to happen. I ended up getting screwed but at least once the screwing was complete I knew what I had to work with. I’m back in that situation. I have no idea how court is going to go. My guess is I’m once again going to get screwed. Hell, even if he’s ordered to pay a decent amount of support it’s not like I’m going to see it, and I’ve been told that if the judge believes his sob story about PTSD then I can’t even throw his sorry ass into jail for nonpayment. BUT once we have a settlement I know what I have to work with. There won’t be anymore guessing. If I had to guess though I would say I’m going to end up with half of his 401k, which I can’t touch unless I want to pay huge taxes that would result in me netting maybe half of the amount and would leave me with no retirement funds. I also figure I’ll be awarded half of his pension, which again, won’t do me any good until he retires. I’m guessing I’ll receive no spousal support, arrears, or reimbursement of money spent on Harley. In a similar vein I don’t think I’ll ever see half of the stock he cashed in and spent on her, or any of the stock he walked away from, or my half of the damn tax return. Whatever child support he’s ordered to pay, which I believe will be minimal anyway, I will never see. I would also guess that the marital debt will end up being evenly split since Cousinfucker isn’t working, although to be honest I wouldn’t be surprised if I got saddled with more than 50% if I get a job before we go to court and he’s still sitting around moping.

So what do I with my guesses? Do I tell myself not to worry because that’s in the future and I have no way of knowing? Or do I just say, “What the hell? I’m on my own. It sucks. It’s unfair. But this is what I have to work with so let’s do it.”

I know I’m still clinging to that rope of my old life. I also know it’s gone. It will never be recovered. It’s hard to figure out whether or not I should just accept that and the fact that I will never have anything worth having again, or if I should think positive thoughts and believe with all my heart that I’ll get a great job and I’ll be able to provide for my kids without government assistance and can tell that shit eating chimp to fuck off.

Get In My Car and Drive

Do you remember when you finally got your license? I do. I was 16 and 2 months. In Indiana if you had taken Driver’s Ed you could get your license at 16 and 1 months. If you hadn’t, you needed to be 16 and 6 months. Oh, it was glorious! Freedom! Granted, I didn’t have my own car so I had to borrow my mom’s but nonetheless, I could go places without her! We didn’t need to have her drop us off someplace and then come and pick us back up.

My daughter is eagerly anticipating getting her license. She has really kinda been screwed over with both of these moves. To begin with, in Utah you could get your permit at 15. In Virginia you had to be 15 and 6 months. It was killing her to watch as all her friends were getting their permits and she didn’t have hers. Finally she gets it and I never drive again. OK, slight exaggeration, but not by much.

In Virginia kids take Driver’s Ed through the school. It’s an actual class period during P.E. After they’ve taken Driver’s Ed and logged their 45 hours of driving they then take Behind the Wheel for a week. Once they pass their Behind the Wheel test they are given a provisional license and their paperwork is sent off to the state capital to be processed. At 16 and 3 months they can then drive with their provisional license and learner’s permit even without the hard copy of their permanent license; in other words, they are officially licensed drivers. Ultimately, they get a court date and go before a judge who ends up giving the parent the license to give to the child. If we were still living in Virginia Rock Star would be able to drive on her own next month, and believe me, she has been counting down the days until she can drive off on her own!

That brings me to our current state. Depending upon which website you read Rock Star is either screwed or really screwed. She’s supposed to get her new license within 60 days of moving here. That would be the end of next month. If you are under the age of 18 you need to have a license from your former state for 180 days. Otherwise, you need to get a learner’s permit from this state and hold it for, wait for it, 180 days! Six months. The other website said you only needed to have it for 3 months; Rock Star also reports that they will consider her provisional license as a real license. She still doesn’t meet the requirements. Her 90 days will be up towards the end of October. And if you don’t meet that requirement, yep, 6 more months with a learner’s permit. She’s going to be almost 17 before she gets her license more than likely.

At this point I’m not even sure if they will forward her hard copy of her license to her here in Indiana. They might very well say, “Hey, she no longer lives here. She’s not a licensed driver in our state since she’s not a resident.”

Her only hope may be if Indiana does indeed recognize her provisional license and I can simply wait until October to take her to get it. How will they know when she moved here? I could always lie and say we moved in August. Technically, I am still a homeowner in Virginia. My name’s on the deed; it hasn’t been sold.

If I’m honest I will say I have been looking forward to the day that she could drive herself to school and to work. It would be wonderful to send her off on small errands. On the other hand, I do enjoy our conversations in the car. I fear not knowing anything about her if I’m not the one driving her around. How will I know which songs she listens to if she’s not around to take charge of my radio? How will I know how her day went and if she made any new friends or what’s going on with which set of friends? When she’s home, she’s usually holed up in her room; I get all my information when we’re in the car together. I’m going to miss that.

I realize waiting won’t kill her but she has been counting down the months, then the weeks and now the days. She fully expects to be able to get into my car and drive off on her own on L-Day (License Day). She’s already lost out on so much and had to watch as all her friends back in Utah got their permits before her and then their licenses, not to mention watching her friends in Virginia get their licenses. It must be incredibly difficult to be one of the last people in your social circle to get your license, especially when it’s not due to your age or anything you did or didn’t do. No, instead it’s because your dad decides to go off and fuck a whore and then fakes a breakdown so he doesn’t have to pay any support, forcing you to move and start all over with a learner’s permit for 6 months. Thanks, Dad! Gosh, I wonder where Harley is to gush to anyone who will listen about what a fantastic father he is? Yep, I’m blaming him for all this crap!

Anger Vs. Bitterness

You hear a lot about not letting divorce and/or infidelity make you bitter. I just saw a comment recently on a fellow blogger’s page where the person said that the blogger seemed “really bitter”.  I’m looking at that comment, thinking, “That’s not bitterness; that’s anger! This person’s marriage is crumbling and they are sad and angry about these events!”

To me bitterness is not letting go. Bitterness is remaining hateful and angry long after a new life has been made. Bitterness is dwelling on the wrongdoing years after it has happened and not being able to move on because of it. Anger is not bitterness. Anger is recognizing the wrong. Anger is saying, “This isn’t right and I’m not going to take it lying down.” Anger is making sure you get what you deserve out of whatever bad situation you find yourself in. Anger is letting a person or entity know that what has happened is wrong and unacceptable and you won’t tolerate it. Anger is not covering for the person and his or her misdeed.

My theory is that people are uncomfortable with anger. They like happy and grateful. They like bubbly and positive. Scared is okay. Sadness is even alright. They will usually accept grief but typically there is a time limit on it. Usually about a year. But anger? Oh my! That is something they don’t want to deal with and they frame it in such a way as to make you feel bad about it so you’ll shut up.

You know what? Some of this stuff should make a person angry! When you’re going through a divorce, when someone has broken your heart, when someone has ransacked your life, when you have been deceived and manipulated repeatedly, when you have been taken advantage of, it’s okay to be angry! I have much anger towards CF. It doesn’t matter how many people tell me it’s going to be okay because right now my life is total shit, I have lost almost everything and I hate his fucking guts. I know the more adult emotion is to be indifferent because that is truly the opposite of hate but fuck that! I am not indifferent; I hate him! I have every right to hate him.

My daughter is miserable here. On a scale of 1-10 with 1 being the most miserable and 10 being pretty damn happy I’d give her a 3, maybe a 4. She doesn’t like her new school; she is having problems finding her way around, she doesn’t think people are all that friendly, she has made a total of 4 friends, and her current plan is to not get involved at all in school but rather to work after school instead. Hey, why don’t you just drop out and go to work in a factory right now, sweetie? I’m glad you thoroughly enjoyed your first two years of high school because they’re going to be the only two good years you had. No Homecoming. No Prom. No football games. No more buying t-shirts and hats to support all the other sports teams at your school because you have no friends. Well, she has 4. Instead of being one of the most popular girls at school she’s now a nameless, faceless person in the crowd. Instead of a full page spread in the yearbook because she’s a star on the gymnastics team she’ll get her class picture. Instead of cheering on Friday nights and competing gymnastics during the winter and being inducted into her high school’s Sports Hall of Fame she’s going to work. There won’t be any senior picture for the Booster Club sports program. That stupid cousinfucker did that to her! He took everything she loved away from her, not once, but twice! And I am pissed on her behalf. If someone wants to call that bitter go right ahead. I do not care. That person would be incorrect but I’m sure I have better things to do than try to correct someone’s misinterpretation of my emotions.

Divorce sucks. Starting over sucks. It’s not all that strange that someone would be angry under those circumstances. I think I would worry more about the person who isn’t angry. Plus, as Chump Lady says, you need that anger to fuel you through those beginning days. In my case, it seems like those beginning days never end because CF is always doing something new and spectacularly horrible that I now must adjust to. I don’t even bother with asking, “What else could he possibly do now?” because there is always something. There is always a way that he can sink even lower and he always manages to bring me down with him. I’m not bitter; I’m angry. I’m angry about everything that has happened to me and my kids, and rightfully so. I don’t give a damn if he parades Harley through downtown Main Street and declares her “the most special person to ever live, the love of his life, the oxygen in his air, and the only one who can complete him.” I don’t care if he marries her the very day our divorce is final. I truly do not. She can have him. But as long as he plays this bullshit game and puts me and my children in poverty I’m going to be angry. If I hit the Lotto- probably won’t be as angry. He starts paying what he should be paying me- okay, I’ll probably still be a little pissed because I had to uproot my kids again but I won’t be as pissed as I currently am. And eventually that anger would subside because as Picasso says, “It is what it is and you can’t change it.” Hey, I’m nothing if not truthful. The blogger that I’m referring to wasn’t bitter either: they were angry and hurt. It hurts when a marriage ends. It hurts when someone we love treats us like shit. When you are repeatedly hurt you can get angry. That anger is what propels us. If I’m still *angry* a year or two after the divorce is final and he’s actually paying what he should be paying, then people can start worrying about me and my anger. If at that point I’m still fuming I will gladly cop to bitterness. Until then… I’m rightfully pissed off.

That Time I Realized He Had Been Playing Me

It’s Thursday! We are going to take a day off from unpacking and head to the beach. In the meantime it is time for another TBT.

Blast From the Past 34

April 2014

I was going to post that I’ve been great this month. And I have. No triggers, even though we are entering the time they decided they were soul mates destined to be with one another. But I just realized posting about my last times that last year when I was doing Teacher Appreciation he was all, “Oh, baby, you work so hard. Great job! Oh my gosh, you mean there’s more than just one day? You’re amazing!” Son of a bitch- he was fucking around with the whore last year at the same time he was acting like he gave a shit about me and what I was doing. Now I’m pissed. I can handle someone being unloving and unaffectionate. I can’t handle someone pretending to give a damn, acting like they’re so amazed by me and my accomplishments, while they’re pledging their love to a skank ass whore, making me look like a fool. Son of a bitch!

Mistakes Made On D-Day #1 (or #2)

Blast From the Past 24

March 2014

It’s very difficult to find blogs that deal with emotional affairs. Most of them focus on physical affairs. I have found one though, written by a couple, and it’s amazing how many times I’ll read something and think, “That’s exactly the way I feel!” So anyway I came across a few entries talking about mistakes made upon discovering an affair and tough love. It makes me think about what happened when I found out the first and second time, and what happened in between.

When he “confessed” the first time I was simply stunned. It came out of nowhere. I was so stupid and naive. He cried and promised he wouldn’t have anymore contact with any of them anymore. I had no idea that he was pretty much lying when he said he had been texting multiple women but I was smart enough to realize Harley was a problem because he actually knew her. He wasn’t texting multiple women; the others he was referring to were people he corresponded with on a public message board. Editor’s Note:  I now know that’s not true.  There was at least one other person he sexted with and he probably was sexting with two other women like he originally said. Maybe more. He was texting Harley. It was extremely serious. They were declaring their love for one another and talking about marriage. He tried making it sound like she was one of many and that it was no big deal. I never had the guts to ask what they were texting about. I stupidly believed it was over because he said it was. And I figured I would never get answers to my questions. Even when I felt like something was off, like when she was liking his picture on Jezebel’s page, or when she was liking the sentiment of “don’t worry about doing the right thing; do what makes you happy,” or when she was posting all of her inspirational crap on her own page that just screamed, “I’m waiting patiently to steal your husband!”, I still didn’t put the pieces together. He came back and her picture was all over the house and everything was picked up and the very next day she blocked me. I must have suspected something but I kept hiding my head in the sand. But I never had to be told to back off and let the affair play out because I honestly didn’t realize he was still involved with her, and I sure as Hell didn’t know how serious it was.

After I confronted him in June and he told me he didn’t know if he still loved me and threatened me with divorce if things didn’t go back to the way they had been (and I guess part of that would have been continuing his affair) and I kept pushing for changes I figured that maybe he had been in contact with her up until he came home to her picture up all over the house. I honestly could believe she blocked me because he had finally called it off and she was mad. How stupid of me! But I never questioned him. I never pressed for answers. I never brought her up. But again, it wasn’t difficult because I had no idea in my oblivion that they were still carrying on their affair. I was focused on not pressuring him, yet showing him I loved him, and trying hard to reconnect and strengthen our marriage.

My second D-Day changed all that. I was confronted by her husband who was telling me it was still going on. At that point I didn’t even know if it had ever ended. And I had a birthday party to throw. That was the day I put tough love into play. I was FURIOUS! I learned from my past mistakes and this time I demanded answers. I wasn’t going to pussyfoot around this time. You tell me everything and you tell me NOW! I don’t care how badly it hurts; I want answers. I faced everything head on and I told him to end it NOW! I asked him how long he thought I was going to put up with this and told him I deserved to be happy, too; I deserved to be with someone who loved me and wasn’t stringing me along. I told him to get his head out of his ass and to make a choice because I was done.

That was the day he finally ended it. And I sincerely believe it was because I truly was done and he knew it. I wasn’t putting up with anymore of it for one more second. You want to keep fucking around with Harley? You think she’s the love of your life, your soul mate? That’s fine. Then you get out of my house and leave me alone and you go to her. There will be no more of me taking care of you and doing my damnedest to meet your needs while you get your ego stroked by her. Pick one. And if you pick her you better remember neither I nor your children will be here. She’s going to have to meet ALL of your needs now. I was dying inside. I kept thinking, “I can’t believe this is happening. I’m going to get a divorce. He’s going to leave me for her.” I had no idea how it was all going to play out; I just knew I couldn’t deal with the status quo any longer. I couldn’t walk around on eggshells. I couldn’t continue to live in a marriage where I wasn’t loved and didn’t know if he was going to leave me once our youngest graduated high school or college, or once we moved closer to her. I think maybe the biggest difference was that this time I knew he was involved with someone else. I don’t know if I would have tried so hard if I knew he was still texting Harley, and certainly not if I knew they were saying I love you and talking about marriage. Before I thought we had simply lost our way and needed to find each other, rediscover being a couple. I didn’t know there was someone else. Maybe I didn’t want to know. But once I was confronted with hard evidence that there was someone else I said oh Hell no! I’m not sitting on the sidelines while you fuck around with your whore. You can have her or you can have me, but you can’t have both!

I think that was the shock he needed. He saw me pissed. He saw me fighting for us but also not willing to be a doormat. Suddenly life with Harley was no longer a secret fantasy; it could become a reality and then she would be in the position of no longer being fantasy woman but a real life wife. All that talk and all those dreams would be put to the test. Now they both would have to live up to all those promises they’d been making to one another. Their relationship would no longer be a secret; it would be out in the open and put up to scrutiny from family, friends, co-workers, and their children. If they were unhappy it would no longer be because of their horrible spouses; it would be because of themselves. During their affair I’m sure they only showed their good side to one another. Once I was out of the picture Harley would now have to deal with all his quirks. And he would have to deal with all of hers.

I suppose the fact I was leaving for a week also helped because he experienced what it would be like without me and the kids. He says he feared I wouldn’t come back. In several texts I told him to go be with her. When he confessed to telling her he loved her I told him I didn’t know if I could do this. When I found his old message to his nephew I told him to book a flight and go find her and be with her. I think (hope) he realizes there will be no more second chances. Tough love, baby; tough love!


Suck It, Cheater Boy!

I.Am.Done!  I have cried every day for the last two weeks.  Neither Cousinfucker nor anybody in his dysfunctional, fucked up family have given me the courtesy of letting me in on what the hell was going on with him.  I finally got a message from his lawyer to mine letting her know that “someone on his behalf” let her know that he was going to be occupied three days a week for four hours at a time and no one knew how many weeks or months that may be.  OK, that news for some reason sent me into a fresh round of tears.  Why?  I do not know.  I pretty much figured this was going to be the game he played so I have no idea why it hit me so hard.  But it did.  Once again I was hit with the realization that he doesn’t ever plan to step up to the plate.

So today I woke up feisty.  I decided I am just not taking it anymore.  I’m going to insist that my lawyer fight til the death for every.damn.cent that sonofabitch should be paying me.  I don’t give a shit if I’m confiscating tax returns for the next 20 years.  If he’s going to play this “woe is me; I can’t hold a steady job after 20 years of doing so and 15 years of earning 6 figures” well, then, I’m going to make sure he doesn’t make a single red cent and he go back to being the poor white trash he started out as.  If I have nothing else I have the ability to financially ruin him.  If he’s not going to pay me anyway that’s exactly what I will do.  I want my arrears.  I want my half of the money he spent on the whore.  I want my share of the stock he walked away from. I want him to have to pay the difference between what I should have had to pay for medical bills and what I did have to pay because of him switching jobs.  I want him to have to pay for the prescriptions, too.  I want to be reimbursed for the damn car insurance I’ve paid on his behalf these last 6 months.  I’m not going to give him any breaks.  He doesn’t deserve them.

That brings me to my next point and the second reason I am beyond done with this asswipe.  Seems that my poor traumatized hubby is not so traumatized that he can’t inform our insurance company that we are divorcing and he is taking me off of the policy when it expires later this summer.  He was also up for letting them know that he was no longer in the house and that I would be remaining here; therefore, I needed to get the home owner’s insurance policy put into my name.

Joke’s on him!  I’m NOT staying here and they aren’t putting the policy in my name.  I even contacted my lawyer and she told me to let him know that he needed to insure the house because it was his debt, and his alone.  Ha!  Suck it, Cousinfucker!

He also told the agent that I was responsible for paying the insurance bill for both of our cars.  I had closed our joint checking account and I wanted to see if that had been paid.  Of course it hadn’t!  I paid my share and I was even generous enough to pay the fee because the payment had been declined by our bank.  But I told her they could send him a bill for his insurance.  You know why?  Because I don’t owe it to him to pay that.  It wasn’t one of the specific bills that I was ordered to pay and even if it had been that is all contingent on HIM paying ME.  He’s not; therefore, I’m not. He’s so fucking arrogant that he honestly believes I should be draining my account in order to pay all of the household bills.  His money is for him and for the whore and her kids.  Again, I say, “Suck it, Cousinfucker!”

Father’s Day

I was planning on writing a scathing Father’s Day message to my children’s father but I don’t have the heart to do it now.  Every time I begin it comes out all wrong.  I would like to reiterate that Harley gushes that my husband is a “great dad”!  Again, I think it really needs to be your own children making that assessment and not your mistress but what do I know?  I will say I don’t think great fathers screw up their kids’ lives the way CF has screwed up Picasso’s and Rock Star’s.  I don’t think great fathers move their kids across the country, asking them to leave friends and teammates behind and giving up everything they’ve ever known for this shot at a better life only to turn around and begin an affair less than a year later.  I don’t think great fathers move seven hours away from their kids after moving them to a new state.  I don’t think great fathers ignore their kids or constantly give them their sob story in the hopes that said child will feel sorry for them.  Great dads don’t force their kids to move AGAIN two years after taking everything away from them.  I would say a great dad cares about his kids.  He makes sure they have everything they need and a lot of what they want.  A great dad talks to his kids, communicates with them, knows what’s going on in their lives.  A great dad cares if his actions are hurting his kids and ruining their lives.  I’ve said more than a few times that the biggest difference between his tears and mine is that when I’m crying I’m crying for my kids.  When he cries, he’s crying for himself.

He’s good at it, too.  I’m not sleeping well.  My mind is constantly running, thinking of everything that needs to get done and how else he can possibly fuck me over. One morning I was in bed, trying to go back to sleep because it was probably 4 or 5 in the morning, and I’m thinking, “Maybe if I had done this… Maybe if I had made the kids be nicer to him once they found out…  Maybe if I had demanded they talk to him… Maybe if I had been nicer after I discovered everything that he was doing… then all of this wouldn’t be happening.”  I think he is spiraling down again and here I am, like an idiot, trying to reexamine all of my actions and wondering if I handled it inappropriately and somehow have something to do with this.  Thankfully, I bat those thoughts away.  I am able to see that once again he does whatever he wants to do and we are all left to dance for him, trying to keep him happy.  The only person not responsible for his happiness is himself.  I keep telling myself that he brought all of this upon himself.  He CHOSE this.  Frankly, I don’t think he has anything to be unhappy about! He left me, the root of all of his unhappiness.  He is with Harley and therefore isn’t going through this divorce alone.  She’s supposedly the love of his life; she makes him happy!  What happened, Harley?  Why isn’t he happy anymore?  He gave his poor little sad sausage story about hating it out in our former state, how he felt so isolated and away from everyone.  So we moved here, to Whoreville, for his dream job.  Not more than three months into it, he decides he doesn’t like his dream job after all.  I know he told Picasso he hated his job here back in August when his affair was first discovered.  So he quit this “dream job” to go work side by side with Blockhead, which was another dream of his.  He even managed to get a promotion.  So again, what in the hell does he have to be unhappy about?  New woman that makes him happy?  Check.  New dream job working with his bestie?  Check.  New state?  Check.

The only two pieces of the puzzle that aren’t perfect are the kids and the support.  Well, as Joe Kenda would say, “My, my, my.”  I told him the kids would not be happy.  I told him that the first time around.  I told him about the conversation Rock Star and I had had when she told me some guy at the gym scared her.  It turned out the guy had done nothing except smile at her but he looked like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and that scared her.  I told her that if some guy who looked like Dwayne Johnson smiled at me I’d be saying, “Hello there!”  She was appalled.  “Mom, if you ever cheated on my dad I wouldn’t have anything to do with you!  I’d go live with him when you divorced.”  I asked what would happen if it were the other way around and she told me she wouldn’t have anything to do with him, then.

When he admitted that Harley wanted to know how our kids would get along and if they would like her I point blank told him, “Rock Star would hate her.  She wouldn’t get along with her kids.  She would want nothing to do with them.”  He then went on to say he knew that and he even told her that the kids were definitely closer to me.  So he knew.  And yet he still did it and he’s still acting like he’s shocked that they are not all over him with hugs and kisses and telling him how much they love him.

That leaves money.  Sorry, but leaving your wife of twenty plus years, who has stayed home and followed you all around the country so you could climb the corporate ladder, is not going to be cheap.  I’d also like to point out that maybe if he hadn’t been so damn dishonest with his lawyer she could have prepared him better.  Smart boy conveniently left out any mention of a bonus, stocks, or dividend checks when giving her his salary.  He went strictly by monthly when they use gross annual here.

Here’s where I really go off the deep end.  I sometimes think I shouldn’t have been so nonchalant those first four months before our court date.  I really don’t like telling anyone what’s going to happen and then have it not happen.  So I played my cards very close to my vest.  Maybe if I had laid things out for him earlier he wouldn’t have had such a shock when the temporary court orders came down.  Then I have to tell myself that it is not my problem.  I’m sure those four months where he was giving me less than half of what he made, expecting me to pay all the bills with that money, while he took the other half of his paycheck and just played with it, spending recklessly on Harley and her kids, were the happiest four months of his life.  He had no bills, no rent to pay, not a care in the world.  Not enough money to buy groceries for the kids?  That’s ok.  Get a job, Sam!  Contribute to the family.  Or just use some of that money you took out of our joint account, you know, the money that was supposed to be used to pay off the damn pool.  He had plenty of money and yet he never bought our kids anything extra.  It all went to them.  Now he’s reaping what he sowed; unfortunately, he’s taking me and my kids down with him.

I know there is no purpose behind this and obviously I will never actually ask him these things but sometimes I want to ask him:  Are Harley’s kids suffering?  Has their lifestyle gone down the drain?  Do her kids have to move?  Does her daughter have to give up everything the way your daughter has to give up everything- once again?  Will her kids be transferring schools and starting all over?  Yeah, I didn’t think so.

On that note, I told Rock Star yesterday about the situation.  She is, of course, devastated.  She just found out she got her first job.  She is crazy about a boy from her youth group.  Obviously I wouldn’t stay simply for a 16 year old’s romance, especially considering she is usually tired of them within a few months anyway.  But nonetheless she has a new boyfriend and she hates the idea of leaving him behind.  As expected she’s not all that unhappy about having to give up cheerleading, but she is very upset about no longer doing gymnastics and not getting to be team captain. She hates the fact that she doesn’t get to finish out high school here, at HER high school.  She doesn’t want to start over.  She told me that now she’s not going to have any friends again.  I told her she would make new friends and as expected she replied, “I don’t want new friends.  I want my friends here,” as she cried.

Picasso, bless his heart, is so much more laid back.  He’s disappointed that I have already paid the marching band fee and he’s disappointed that he’s already done a lot of work on a costume he wanted to take to a convention in a few months.  But aside from that he’s pretty nonchalant.  “Why bother getting mad about it?  It’s not going to change anything, Mom.  Just go with it.”  It’s funny, though, because even if he didn’t have that attitude I wouldn’t be nearly as worried about him.  He’s my child that hasn’t particularly cared for living in our current state.  Rock Star was taken under a teacher’s wing and introduced to her daughter and her daughter’s friends.  She has skyrocketed.  Popular, athletic, easily noticed.  All the boys like her.  She has tons of friends and is a star on the cheerleading and gymnastic teams.  But Picasso has had a harder time of it.  He’s not athletic.  He has a quirky sense of humor and a very matter-of-fact personality.  He has good friends in the neighborhood and he’s fitting in more and more at school but it’s never been on the same level as his sister.  Plus, he is transitioning in eighth grade, not his junior year.  He’s going to have 5 years to acclimate.  She will have two.  He can still participate in marching band if he wants to.  He won’t miss any of it because I don’t believe they can participate until freshman year.  She, on the other hand, no longer has gymnastics and I doubt she’ll do cheer.  So it’s going to be a total switch- Picasso is probably going to make a lot of new friends and fit right in, while Rock Star loses everything.  That sounds like something a great dad would want for his kids, doesn’t it?