An Open Letter to Cousinfucker, Part 1

January 2016

I wrote this shortly after I received the famous text from CF.  I never sent it.  It got to be way too long; I essentially vomited up twenty plus years of rage and frustration and I figure if I was lucky he might read two or three sentences.  Nonetheless, I’m quite proud of it and I thought I would share.  Most of this is undoubtedly a repeat of things I’ve already shared.  There’s only so much that happened in the beginning and since I don’t speak to him if I can help it I don’t get a lot of new material.  Anyway, here it is.  Enjoy!

Sam, let’s try to figure out a way to make this less stressful for all involved. I am saddened that you felt compelled to toss out all of my memories and my clothing.  There are so few of them in this house.  In spite of all that has happened we have a history and that cannot be erased no matter how badly you want it to go away.  So you have a choice.  You can be bitter and hateful toward me, or respect the fact that I am setting you free of the burden of being my wife.  I know you will take a hit financially but you will be well provided for, we both know that.  My attorney has you covered for the rest of your life.

So stop all of this foolishness.  Let our children know I love them and let’s act like adults and come to a healthy relationship apart from all of this.  I respect you as a mother and you have followed me around the country and I am grateful to you for that.  Let’s build a future relationship that we can both be happy for each other and our children and show them that happiness and being whole are vital to a person’s future.  I read everything you wrote on your fake Facebook page.  I know you have been very unhappy.  It’s evident in what you wrote and your depression has heightened in the past two years.  I know you will be whole without me, we aren’t good together.  So all that said I want you and I to work on this.  To be grown up about it for the sake of our children.

I am not even sure where to begin with your long rambling text so I suppose I’ll begin with the obvious.  I’m not sure who you wrote that for but it wasn’t for my benefit.  Quite frankly, I’m not even sure you wrote it yourself. Secondly, you are not a victim so it would be refreshing if you could stop acting like one.  You are also not a hero so please stop acting like you’ve somehow done me a favor by cheating on me.  Again.

Do not patronize me with your “Let’s stop this foolishness and figure out a way to make this less stressful.”  Do you know how you could have made this less stressful?  You could have refrained from having sex with your cousin while you were married to me.  You could have refrained from having sex with your cousin while your children and I were on what was supposed to be a family vacation, a vacation (and family) you blew off so you could have sex with your cousin.  You could have refrained from moving me and your children 2000 miles across the country, uprooting our lives for *your* happiness, only to turn around and start up yet another affair with your cousin.  You could have been an adult and talked to me instead of turning to people who have never been there for you during your many crises.  You could have refrained from siphoning off thousands of dollars to your mistress while you lied about it and fed me a line of bullshit about it being for your mom.  You could have stood up and tried to act like a man instead of trying to convince yourself and everyone around you that you’re some hapless victim.  And as far as making this less stressful for everyone… what on earth about this is stressing you out?  You do whatever you want!  You live here during the week not caring whether there is enough in the bank account to pay bills or not, and then you take off every weekend to be with your mistress and her kids, spending money like it’s growing on trees and having yourself a fine time.

I have spent the last 2 years walking a tightrope for you, protecting you and being respectful of all your “issues”. I hid your affair from everyone in my family.  I let you get away with directing how I was allowed to heal.  I was even at the point where I was accepting the fact that your mom was going to continue to have a relationship with your mistress.  And what have you done?  You’ve thrown me under the bus time after time.  Not only that but you’ve actually had the audacity to act like you were somehow protecting me while throwing me under the bus! Half the time (if not more than half) you’ve told outright lies about me. Let’s not forget the biggie- you started screwing your cousin!  I don’t know why I continue to be amazed at how you can cheat on me, not once but twice (and with the same “woman” no less!) and yet still manage to act like you are the injured party.

To be continued…

 

Throwing Me Under the Bus

February 2015

This entry marks the beginning of the entries that CF never saw.  This is what I wrote after discovering he knew about the other FB page; I switched everything over to private so that posts could be seen only by me and later I switched over completely to my computer.  So, everything before this entry Zack could see.  Everything from here on out he has no idea I’ve written.

He threw me under the bus again. This is what he texted his sister: I almost ended it today. I was very close sis. But I emailed my fellow Ranger (he was not your fellow Ranger because you.are.not.a.Ranger!) and he responded immediately. I am not doing well at all. My wife hates me. I hate myself. And I have killed so many people that I know I am going to hell. You don’t know how many, but I do. And I can never forget that number. Hey, since I’m already going to Hell for killing people in war I may as well seal the deal, take the express train right on down to the Lake of Fire and cheat on my wife and fuck my cousin while I’m at it!

The pastor came by tonight. He stayed about an hour. He forgave me and he said God forgave me. But I can’t forgive myself. I killed a lot of men. More than you will ever know. And I wronged my wife. And she hates me. She has a separate Facebook page where she talks about me. I almost died two weeks ago. I mean actually died. I was minutes from death. O.M.G.  This is such bullshit!  You’re acting like you coded on the operating table and saw Jesus Himself before being shocked back to life; reality is they gave you an IV and pushed some fluids.  You are such a drama queen, you big fat fucking baby!  Don’t tell Mom I was that close to dying. But as I was dying, she was posting on her fake page that I was wasting her time. That never happened, you liar.

Jezebel: What fake page??? Who does she talk to?

I have a friend from college that reads it. He tells me what I can handle. Blockhead is a dumbass. I hope you realize he did you no favors. And you obviously couldn’t handle any of it.  And as I was actually DYING in the hospital last week, she was posting that I was annoying her. I almost died sis. No, you didn’t; you were dehydrated.  That’s all. My potassium was less than half of what it should be. Don’t tell mom. She will freak. I was in the hospital 2.5 days.  You were in for about 36 hours.

Jezebel: Sam is crazy and wrong. You deserve better. I’m sorry you are so miserable. I am not crazy.  I am not wrong.  You, however, are an insufferable bitch.

I can tell you what her fake page is called. But you have to promise to never make a comment on there. Just read it and save it for me. Blockhead, my roommate.

Jezebel: I promise. What is it?

The roommate from college saves it for me.

Jezebel: She’s crazy. You’re a lying whore.

She has a fake page under Harley X. Please don’t comment. Just read and save for me sis. He always calls her sis when he wants to ramp up the drama.

Jezebel: Oh my goodness. Let me look.

Jezebel: I can’t find it. Does it have a picture?

You will freak out with what she says about your little brother. What are you, 5? You’re a grown ass man. And why the hell are you speaking in the third person. I didn’t say anything horrible about her “little brother” either.  I gave facts and talked about my own feelings, which I realize you don’t think I’m entitled to have. Don’t comment. Please just read it and tell me what I need to know

Jezebel: I don’t see it when I do a search

I know she was posting on it when I was in the ER. No, I wasn’t, you liar. Because I was a pain in her ass because I was dying. They put 15 liters of fluid in me. A man can only hold 15 liters of fluid total. Ask Husband #3. I was dead. And she didn’t care. Drama much? You WERE NOT DYING! You were dehydrated. They offered to let you go home and recover in your own bed, you whining little pussy.

Search Harley X

Jezebel: That’s awful. I can’t find it.

I am close to just ending the pain sis. I can’t take any more.

Jezebel: Yes you can. You fight. Don’t you dare give up.

Jezebel: Leave her. You are a fucking bitch, Jezebel!

Call me sis. Just talk to me. Have me on speaker and have Husband #3 help me. I am at my end. Oh, the drama.  Gather everyone around, but don’t tell mom.  Talk me through this because I’m tethered to that evil bitch, Sam.  Help me, sis!  Help your little brother.  Let’s get your husband in on this charade, too.

He tells lies and completely throws me under the bus. And there’s Jezebel telling him I’m crazy, I’m wrong, he deserves better and she’s sorry he’s so miserable with me, and of course, leave her. Oh bitch, you’re going down.

Then I come home and it’s all: You’re my savior. You’re my rock. I can’t live without you. You do so much for me and never complain.

I’m so tired and drained and shocked, honestly, that I can’t even cry. He threw me under the motherfucking bus AGAIN.

Added a few days later: You know, I could almost forgive her since he was telling her such lies. But he’s out of his mind and instead of trying to talk him down she walks him right off the damn cliff. She couldn’t wait to jump in and trash me. Leave her! You deserve better! She’s crazy! She’s wrong.

Present Day Sam Says:  Now you have the actual “I was dying” story that I wrote about in Whores & Hurricanes.  Total fabrication of what actually happened.  And his “fellow Ranger”?  Yeah, he’s not a Ranger.  The story I heard years ago was that it was one of his biggest disappointments that he didn’t get to go to Ranger school; instead he shipped out to Iraq.  When I questioned him about this after he told this man he was a Ranger, too, he said, “Well, I took all the classes.  I just didn’t do the field work.”  When I told my cousin who lost her son in Afghanistan that story her jaw dropped. Her son really was a Ranger. She said that was total bullshit, which is exactly as I figured. Needless to say, she was absolutely appalled.

Those of you who have been following along for all 104+ of these be honest.  Are these horrible things I’ve written?  I’ve always found them to be honest and sad.  I bottled up my feelings so he wouldn’t have to deal with them since he couldn’t deal with anything, and in return I’m accused of writing horrible things about him and hating him.  I own the fact that I didn’t speak up.  I acknowledge that I always put him and his feelings ahead of me and my sanity.  And what I’ve posted has been some of the juicer stuff. Most of what I wrote about was her or his family. Not him and how much he sucked.  There were many pictures of her, many memes- some  insipid drivel that she would post on her FB and some that I found and liked, various pictures comparing hairstyles and showing off shopping sprees and cards I purchased.  Basically, what you are getting is probably the worst of it, and I personally don’t think the worst of it is all that bad when you get down to it.

Cry Me A River

I swear he is the saddest of the sad sausages.  I’m dealing with a child who will soon have her actual driver’s license, one that will entitle her to get in a car and drive with no adult present.  She has been told for years that when she’s ready to drive she will get her dad’s car and he would buy a beater truck, which for some reason, was his dream.  Then reality punched us in the face.  Her dad fucked his cousin, we’re living on 66% of what we used to have while I pay 100% of the bills, and he refuses to contribute a single penny above what he is court ordered to pay.  He’s a real Prince Charming and an excellent father according to the whore.  As I’ve said before I believe the person to bestow “excellent father” credentials on him should be his actual children, but I digress.

She tried to call him the other day but coward that he is he wouldn’t pick up the phone.  She was left texting him instead.  She merely asked him if he could get a loan and she would make the payments.  He once again begins giving her his sob story:  I just sent your mother $$$$$! (Well, yes, you did but you also sent me my share of the bonus check which means you, too, have that much money!  You keep leaving that part out!)  Your mom takes 75% of my paycheck.  Everything I make I send to you guys.  I don’t even know if I would qualify for a loan because I have no money.

She looks at me while she’s texting him and asks, “Does he honestly expect me to feel sorry for him?  He put himself in this situation!”  I know, Rock Star; I know.  It is sad when your teenage daughter has more common sense than the man you called a husband for twenty plus years.

I wish I could say that was the best part of the conversation but it got so much better.  He sarcastically thanks her for remembering him on Memorial Day.  “Memorial Day is for remembering the dead, not thanking the living,” she retorts.  She should know that Memorial Day is the worst for him, he tells her.  Boo fucking hoo!  I’ve got an idea.  Why don’t you turn to your conniving, gold digging whore for comfort on that day?  Rock Star did say she was tempted to tell him she figured he was busy with Harley and didn’t want to disturb him.  Instead she told him the worst day of her life was finding out that her dad was cheating on her mom.  Put down any drinks you may be consuming.  Make sure there is no food in your mouth; I wouldn’t want you to choke.  His reply to this?  I’m sorry about that but your mother never loved me.

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.  Rock Star was astounded.  How can he say that?  “You did so much for him!  You wouldn’t have done all of that if you didn’t love him, would you?” she asks me.

I shake my head thinking about his distorted thinking.  Your mother never loved me therefore I was entitled to cheat on her.  Well, sure!  Go fuck your cousin then!  Who wants to do something so practical as file for divorce or attempt actual marital counseling where you don’t sit there like a bump on a log and let your wife do all the talking and then complain because you don’t like the truth?  This divorce shit is hard and it’s no fun doing it alone!  No, instead let’s find someone to hold your hand, wipe your brow and suck your dick while you fuck me over.  That’s the only sensible thing to do.  Line up your next sucker before you get rid of the previous sucker.

I wish I could say that was the end of the conversation but alas, it was not.  He informs her that he was in a car accident that day and he almost died!  Does anyone else notice the death motif that seems to permeate his life?  Every crisis brings him thisclose to death!  He is always almost dying.  I can’t decide if he’s extremely unfortunate or extremely lucky.  Hmmm…. so close to the jaws of death and yet he always manages to save himself at the last minute.  Tough call.  You would think that with all these close brushes with death he might decide to be a better person…

He ended the conversation by telling her he sometimes wanted to just run his car off the road and die.  She told me it was really hard for her not to tell him to go ahead.  Instead she said nothing and I’m sure he’s crying about that now.  No one cares if I die!!!

Along with being the saddest of sausages he’s also one of the most stupid sausages.  I found out this week that he’s using Harley’s address as his home address for taxes.  Blech!  So either he’s lying and he’s going to potentially have to pay state income tax in two different states (dumbass!) or he’s commuting some 90 minutes each way at the very least every day.  I also discovered that his new job came with a promotion.  Yet his net income is actually less than what he was making.  What kind of an idiot moves out of state, away from his kids, and takes a promotion that doesn’t even pay him 5% more than his current salary?  Idiot!

I have heard it said that it is almost impossible to get to Meh when you’re still going through the divorce.  I might have to disagree with that.  I no longer have any fucks to give.  At this point he is more comedy fodder than anything.  I’m not sure how that will ever stop being the case when you’re dealing with someone who is so completely dealing outside of the realm of reality.  Nonetheless, it sure feels like Tuesday most days.

Another Day At the Races

Rock Star told me the other day that her dad texted her.  Apparently he’s in the hospital.  I don’t wish to mock the ill but it’s amazing the lengths to which he’ll go in order to get his ego stroked.  He told her he is suffering from the same illness that killed his dad.  I think that’s the first time in years he’s referred to him as his dad.  Usually he refers to him by name.  I think that’s part of his angst shtick.  “Oh, this man I called Dad all my life isn’t really my father based upon my mom’s say so; so now I shall call him by his name instead of referring to him as Dad.  Feel sorry for me.  I am a man without a father.”

He ups the ante by telling her how scared he is, especially since this killed his dad.  Yeah, you keep forgetting, CF, that your dad was in his 80s; you are not even 50 yet!  Then he delivers the knockout blow:  I want to see you before I die.  Oh. My. God!

It gets better!  At the same time he’s voicing his dying wish my child is sick herself.  Not dying sick, of course, but then again, she’s not the whiny ass little bitch he is.  She had been up all night, shaking, her head throbbing, throwing up.  She was burning up and her skin was clammy.  I didn’t ask if she ever told him she wasn’t feeling well herself but I doubt it.  He was far too invested in telling her his own sad story to inquire about his daughter and what she might be going through.

I would stop with that amazing meme and the incredible selfishness that is CF but the truth is I’m slightly curious as to who is fawning over the poor invalid.  Blockhead?  He’s got a job and a family.  He can’t be at the hospital 24/7.  His mom?  I suppose that could be a possibility if he’s being hospitalized close to her.  Otherwise, I’m going to have to go with a big fat NO.  She doesn’t travel unless it involves a plate of BBQ.  His sister?  Excuse me while I pick myself up off the floor from laughing.  No, no; she’s far too self-involved to spend much time at the hospital for her “little brother”.  Especially if it involves traveling a few hours.  Harley?  Again, if he’s hospitalized close to her I imagine she can probably tear herself away from having sex with other men and sending “inappropriate” pictures out to her male neighbors.  Otherwise, she’s got a job, four kids, and lives several hours away.  Such a pity, isn’t it?  I would say this may be his first taste of life without me as his doting wife but I know he’ll simply rewrite history to fit his current story.  Instead of recognizing that I would be visiting him every day and telling him everything was going to be ok, probably wiping away his tears, while I was holding down the fort and taking care of kids, pets, and house, he is undoubtedly telling himself that I would be out doing a joyful dance that he was on death’s door and would never have popped my head in for even a second.  I hope he’s enjoying the solace.

Whores and Hurricanes

You get a bonus entry today because that first one was so short.

Let me tell you a little story.  Some of you may find it very funny.  Some of you may find it very sad.  Some of you may find it very infuriating on my behalf, and for that, I thank you!

Anyway, a little background.  The STBX can never just get sick.  I don’t know if it’s a male thing because I do have a brother who has been known to cry out, “Call the ambulance!  I can’t hold on any longer!” whenever he’s sick.  My niece, his daughter, is the same way though so maybe it’s not a male thing.  Nonetheless, the STBX never has a simple cold, the simple flu, a simple migraine, a simple anything.  It’s always A MAJOR DISASTER!  One of the last times I was in charge of caring he came down with the flu.  For two days he puked and shit.  Sorry if that’s TMI.  He would tell me how weak he was. He was dizzy and could hardly walk or stand. He could barely make it from the bed to the toilet and back.   So so so weak.  I was sympathetic at the time.  I played nursemaid.  I bought him popsicles and Gatorade and chicken broth and did the whole Florence Nightingale thing. I checked on him, asked him if he needed anything, brought him whatever he asked for, wiped his brow.  The whole nine yards.  On the third day it had not let up so I called his doctor and asked if I should bring him in or take him to the ER.  Did you get that?  I CALLED THE DOCTOR!  This is important information for later.  I ended up taking him in and we both hear the nurse in the hallway say, “He looks like he’s about to die!” I’m sure this sent the drama queen into overdrive. “OMG, I’m going to die!  The nurse even said so and I’m so sick I can’t tell the difference between fact and hyperbole!” FYI (if it even needs to be said):  I was very sympathetic at the time.  This is not the way I reacted when he was actually going through this.  I was, as always, the dutiful wife, offering my husband a shoulder to lean on (literally!) and soothing his frantic mind by telling him everything was going to be ok.  The doctor comes in, tells him it’s probably viral, gives him a shot to stop the nausea and a prescription to stop the diarrhea. He tells him if he wants to go ahead and go to the ER for fluids he can and if it was him he probably would but it’s up to him.  He tells him if he continues puking and shitting to definitely go to the ER for fluids.  We pick up the prescription and head home.

Fast forward a few hours. There has been no more puking or diarrhea but he has decided he is just too weak and he needs to go to the ER.  OK, fine.  I think he even made some comment about how I can just drop him off.  Yeah, right.  First, I would never do that.  I’m a nurturer.  I’ve taken care of him for 20+ years; I’m not going to drop him off in the ER parking lot and say, “So long, sucker!”  Second, even if I were to drop him off and go back home to TAKE CARE OF OUR KIDS I would never hear the end of it.  I’m not stupid.  So, I take him to the ER, leaving our two kids to fend for themselves while I take care of him.  The kids were 12 and 14 at the time so not babies, toddlers or any other type of small child; however, I had planned on taking them to dinner and CF decided he couldn’t hold on any longer moments before we were getting ready to leave.  So, when I say I left them to fend for themselves, I was not kidding.  Add in the fact that despite their ages I’m still not wild about leaving them alone in the house at night; I was at the ER with him until almost 2 in the morning.  With a dead cell phone.  Back to the story…

We wait for probably 2 hours out in the waiting room and he finally gets a room where they hook him up to an IV and pump some fluids into him.  After several more hours the doctor comes in and tells him that one of his levels is still low. This means they have cause to admit him IF HE WANTS or he can go home if he would be more comfortable in his own bed and come back if he is still feeling weak.  He is mulling this over, trying to figure out what to do when I interject and tell him that he should let them admit him because if he goes home he’s just going to worry himself to death (oops, probably wrong choice of words).  Stay here, let them continue to give you fluids, and you’ll come home tomorrow.  Did you get that?  I SUGGESTED HE STAY IN THE HOSPITAL!  Again, this is very important information for later.

Approximately two weeks later he is telling his sister that not only was he DYING during those events, but also I had written that he was annoying me and wasting my time. When I say he told her he was dying he was not intending to exaggerate; he really meant it.  He told her he was literally dying and had to be filled with liter after liter of fluid.  “And the human body can only hold xxx liters of fluid! Just ask your husband!” A low potassium level has suddenly devolved into a life or death situation.  I can hear it now:  Code Blue, Room 666, Code Blue.  We’ve got a low potassium level.  We’re losing him! I need more saline NOW, dammit!  To be very clear I NEVER SAID OR WROTE THAT- EVER!  He also managed to turn a 36 hour stay (if you include time spent in the ER) into a two and a half day stay. Not to mention that he managed to turn a bout with the flu into a near death experience.

Now what on earth does any of that have to do with whores and hurricanes, you may be asking yourself?  I will tell you.

We were recently under a hurricane watch/warning.  We were on the lookout for flash floods and high winds.  We were supposed to lose electricity.  In short it was a rainy, dreary mess.  Do you want to guess who wasn’t around for any of this?  Who thought it was more pertinent to go hang with his whore than to stick around for his children whom he loves so much?  If you guessed the STBX you would be correct!  Yes, the same person who was whining about what a cold, heartless bitch I was, complaining about what a waste of time he was and how he was annoying me, when he was DYING in the hospital, is the same person who left his kids behind to go fuck his whore and play Daddy of the Year to her kids.  During a state of emergency and hurricane watch.  Folks, I think we all know when a nurse talks candidly to the doctor and says, “He looks like he’s about to die!” she doesn’t really mean he’s about to die.  It means the patient looks bad and she’s exaggerating for effect.  However, when the governor of your state stands before the media and says, “I”m declaring a state of emergency,” he’s not bullshitting!  With that in mind, let’s re-examine the facts.  I call the doctor for him with no prompting from him and take him to his appointment.  I later take him to the ER, sit with him for hours, and encourage him to stay because he’ll worry himself to death if he goes home.  I even take our kids to go visit him the next day and buy him a damn gift.  What did we get in the face of a fucking hurricane? Not a single text to either of his kids asking if they were ok over the course of the weekend. Not even a, “Bye, Felicia!”

I know that his version of his near death experience and my reaction to it never happened, but even if I had been irritated with him AT LEAST I WAS THERE!  There was the potential for very serious fall out from this hurricane and he’s off fucking his whore instead of being there for his kids!  Maybe I should go around telling everyone:  OMG!  There was a hurricane headed RIGHT FOR US and WE ALMOST DIED and he DIDN’T GIVE A FUCK!  Can you believe that?  Let me repeat:  WE ALMOST DIED!!!!  Our whole town flooded and the stores were bare and he told me it was more important that he be with the love of his life and his brand new insta-family than with his bratty kids that only thought of him as a wallet.  His life was finally looking up and he wasn’t going to stay behind and die with us!

I mean, that story has a kernel of truth to it.  The governor did declare a state of emergency and there was the *possibility* of the hurricane hitting the coast.  So, yeah totally, let’s say the damn thing was headed right towards us!  We were issued a flash flood warning and 46, almost 47 years ago, I believe it was the aftermath of Hurricane Camille that decimated a town only an hour from us so sure, let’s go with the town flooded.  That’s how he does it.  And Walmart was out of 2% milk and most of the bread so I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say the shelves were completely bare.  I mean really, why stick to the truth when lies are so much more convenient, so much more dramatic and thrilling?

I was also thinking about his near death experience and how he felt I wasn’t properly paying homage to him when I realized that someone who actually could have died was ME years ago when I had an ectopic pregnancy. I began spotting early in the pregnancy.  They took blood to check HCG levels and did ultrasound after ultrasound.  Transvaginal. They looked for over a week, I believe, and couldn’t find it.  When they did finally find it I WASN’T ALLOWED TO LEAVE THE FUCKING OFFICE UNTIL I HAD MADE A DECISION!  That’s when you know it’s some serious shit.  They don’t say:  Oh, well, it’s up to you.  You can go to the ER to have them put some fluids in you.  I probably would if I were you, but it’s up to you.  And they don’t say, once you’re at the ER, if you’re dying or in a really bad situation:  We can admit you if you’d like.  But if you’d be more comfortable at home in your own bed you can go home and come back if you relapse.  No, if you go to the doctor’s and you’re in a life or death situation, like, oh, say an ectopic pregnancy, they say:  Sure, you can call your husband and discuss it with him.  But you’re not leaving this office until you’ve either scheduled surgery to have it removed or you pull your pants down, bend over and get the methotrexate shot.

Would you like to hear what happened in this life or death situation? I bet if you think really hard you can probably guess what happened. I called my dear husband and told him what was going on, told him what my choices were, asked him to come be with me.  This was our third pregnancy loss in about 16 months. His reply was that he was at work, a major client was in and there was no way he could leave.  I believe he did tell me he was sorry.

Let me get this straight.  He apparently had reason to cheat on me because, in his own mind, he was DYING and I was not fawning over him enough, I suppose.  I was actually IN a life or death situation and he couldn’t even bother to fucking be there with me!  Say what you will about my bedside manner (and again, I NEVER wrote or said those things) AT LEAST I WAS THERE!  That’s a hell of lot more than he can say. He can continue to manufacture the truth to make it seem like I was a cold, heartless bitch that didn’t love him but he can’t ever say I wasn’t there.  I was there time after time.  He was rarely there for me.  And when it came time to choose between the whore or the hurricane… well, I guess he figured the kids and I could just ride that hurricane out if it came down to it.  He was going to be riding his whore and no hurricane was going to get in the way of that!