Damn You, Facebook!

I hope everyone reading my blog by now knows that I am completely over Jerry Lee. That shipped sailed the moment The Saint told me he had been spending his weekends with Harley while he lied to me and made up story after story. And I am probably somewhere in the 95-99% range of being over all the shit he put me through and the havoc he created. With that said Facebook can be a real meddlin’ bitch who stirs shit up!

If I let triggers rule my life I would have to be put into a coma somewhere around the beginning of May and be kept unconscious until the end of August. That’s pretty much when Jerry Lee pulled all his shit- both times! Much like my children have June and July birthdays which means I can pretty much always say, “They’re two years apart,” Jerry Lee was “kind enough” to make sure that both of my D-Days were in August. Four days apart! Except for the original D-Day which was not much of a D-Day because I was so stupid. That one happened in May- hence the medically induced coma beginning in May.

I looked on my Facebook memories and was treated to pictures of my kids and I on a “family” vacation in Destin with my mom, brother, sister-in-law, 2 nieces, and a nephew. I’m not triggered by the pictures of us on vacation so much as I am by what was going on behind the scenes.

See, poor Jerry Lee couldn’t come with us because he had to go on a “business trip” to Tennessee. That was the trip where his counselor and I both coached him on the arduous drive that he was unsure he was going to be able to make. We cheered him on and gave him all the atta-boys his little heart could handle. And then while the kids and I were in Destin Jerry Lee drove to Tennessee and met up with Harley. We’d been in Virginia one year exactly.

I look at those pictures and I see me and my kids enjoying our vacation, having a great time, with absolutely no idea what was ahead of us. We were carefree and happy. Approximately two weeks later I would find out my husband was a lying, cheating shit eating chimp, and about two weeks after that his kids would find out that the family they grew up with was no longer. In a 10 minute come-to-Jesus confessional they both found out not only had their father been spending his weekends hanging out with his new girlfriend in Kentucky but also his entire family knew about it and condoned it. His mother organized it and went on a date with them. It was to a funeral but still…

While the kids and I were on vacation, thinking that life was going on as normal, my husband was busy stabbing me in the back. I look at those pictures now and I think, “Oh my God! You were completely clueless.” And it makes me kind of sad.

Of course, this was also the trip where I spotted the Walmart purchase in Whoreville, otherwise known as Winchester, Kentucky. Looking back on it it’s quite insulting how stupid he thought I was. “D’oh, I gave my debit card to my mom so she could get a new tire for her minivan. That’s why that’s on there. I don’t know why it says Whoreville. She bought it in Lexington.”

Actually looking back it’s kind of insulting how stupid I allowed myself to be. In my defense I thought he was a whole lot smarter than that. Who in their right mind moves their family across the country, buys a brand new house, fills it with brand new furniture, buys their wife a brand new car, and agrees to install a brand new in-ground pool in the backyard which takes almost all of your stock options and requires a loan, and then turns around and cheats with the same damn whore you cheated with 2 years prior? Even more stupid than that, who in the hell buys the whore something from Walmart and uses their damn debit card when they know damn well that the other spouse can see the bank transactions and is checking on a regular basis because they’re on vacation with your kids? I do remember saying to myself, “He can’t be that stupid. He’s a smart man.” Not smart enough apparently.

God, he was such a shit. I remember being in Florida and him telling me the trip lasted longer than he expected. Then he told me that since he was already in Tennessee he was going to “try” to drive and see his mom. Would I be okay with that?

Would I be okay with him seeing his mom? Absolutely. I said as much. Something along the lines of, “She’s your mom. Of course I don’t have a problem with it. How could I say no to that?” Would I be okay with him fucking his cousin? No. I had no idea that to him they were one and the same. Okay with him continuing to slough off on our family vacation? Well then I must be okay with him fucking his cousin. And going to a goddamn family reunion that was set up knowing his wife and kids weren’t going to be there. It was probably their fucking engagement party knowing those inbred motherfuckers.

I don’t remember what set me off. All I remember is thinking that if he could spend money freely on his “mother” then I was no longer going to be keeping the purse strings closed for my kids. I took Rock Star on a very nice shopping spree. All the clothes she wanted. A Coach purse. Another Coach purse for me… after I had already bought a Kate Spade purse and wallet because the Coach purse I liked was a little too expensive. Oh you better believe I went back there a day or two later and bought the one I wanted. It was an outlet mall; it wasn’t that expensive. I bought for Picasso as well, but he had no interest in coming along.

I guess that seeing these memories pop up so close to my return trip to Utah has hit me in some way. I don’t want him back and while I freely admit I miss the lifestyle I used to have I can’t envision still being with him. The thought of being married to him and living life with him makes my skin crawl. I am 100% happier in this new life. Yet I look at those pictures and I can’t help but know that I thought I was happy and I was definitely a lot more innocent. I had no idea the hell that was about to be unleashed. I had no idea the changes and the hardships that were about to befall me. I was a sheltered, pampered stay at home mom with no financial worries and plenty of (maybe too much) time on my hands. Those pictures represent me before life kicked me in the throat. They’re a reminder of my old life, a life where I didn’t struggle and where I thought things were okay, maybe even mostly good. Those pictures are me and my kids before our lives were imploded and we were forced to change everything.

It’s not a bad life anymore. I’m not even sure I’m sad about it. It’s more like seeing a picture of a loved one shortly before they die. You look at that picture and you think to yourself, “I had no idea at the time that this would be the last time I saw them.” That’s what those pictures do to me. I look at the happy faces, the smiles, and I think, “That’s the last time my life was normal.” Approximately two weeks later I would join the ranks of women whose husbands had cheated on them and were planning on leaving for the other woman. I went from being a stay at home mom to being a working mom. I went from being a great mom to just being a mom. I went from living in my own home to living in my mom’s house. I went from no financial worries to worrying about money constantly. I went from being married for 20 years to being single. I went from living in Virginia to moving back to Indiana. I went from having furniture and dishes and towels to getting rid of probably 95% of everything I’d ever owned. Absolutely everything changed. Those pictures are the last pictures taken of me before I died, along with my old life.

Oh, don’t worry. Like the Phoenix I rose from the ashes. Maybe I’m even better than I was before. All that forged in fire shit. Not waiting for the storm to pass but learning to dance in the rain. I did that. I’m still standing. But that woman in those pictures? She’s gone forever.

Another Year Gone By

June 10th came and went yet again. It happens like clockwork, once a year.

It’s a funny day for me, June 10th. It used to be nothing special. Just an ordinary day. And then the year 2016 hit. June 10th became probably the worst day of my life. Even worse than DDay #1 and DDay #2. I can still picture myself in my car; I can still picture the road I was on. I received a text that would change the course of my life and the lives of my children.

I lost my job today. I won’t be sending you anymore money.

That was it. That was all the explanation needed in his opinion. He had upended our lives as we knew them but those two sentences had it covered.

With that he checked himself into an alcohol treatment program at the VA for three days, a fact I wouldn’t discover for another 6 months. I was only the discarded wife. I didn’t need to know what was going on. Harley, the fiancee, had it all covered. She was the important one. She was entitled to all the facts. I got conjecture. And stomach ulcers!

To this day I remember the awful feeling, knowing I needed to keep it together because Rock Star’s friend who had flown in from Utah for her birthday was still here and I didn’t want to ruin her visit. Rock Star was going away to camp for a week as well only a day or two after I got the news and I didn’t want to mar her experience. I remember her friends coming over and talking about how they had heard she was amazing at gymnastics and they really wanted to go to a few meets next year to watch her, and me knowing that she probably wouldn’t be here much longer. I remember emailing my lawyer, and her first emailing me back immediately, and then calling me. I remember getting the email from his attorney telling my attorney that he didn’t know how long he would be out of work and that he was attempting to qualify for disability. I knew then he wasn’t planning on going back to work any time soon.

After that, I remember breaking the news to Picasso, who took it pretty well. And I remember Rock Star coming home from camp, happy and excited to tell me all about her experiences, and me changing her life in an instant. I remember her crying and telling me, “I don’t want new friends! I want to stay here!”

I remember going through my house and deciding what I would take with me and what all I was going to try to sell. I remember days spent out in the sweltering heat having a garage sale to pad my bank account because I was living on savings at that point. And I remember packing up my few belongings and loading them up in a UHaul and driving 600 miles away from my home, leaving most of what I had ever owned behind.

It was tough for a very long time after that. The world was dark and gray. I felt no joy. I was resigned to my fate and waiting for death.

Finally, about 10 months later I began to feel better. The world began to look a little brighter. I had a tiny bit of hope. I could imagine a future. And then a mobster fell out of a tree onto my head and I’ve done my best not to look back.

June 10, 2017 was a Saturday and it was part of that first weekend I met the mobster in person. I wrote a post about it. We went up to Lake Michigan; I spent a lot of time sharing pictures of my family and friends with him. We had a delightful time; it was a much better day last year than in 2016.

This year June 10th was our one year anniversary of meeting and it was spent in Utah together with my kids. We flew in for a wedding and I happily showed my mobster off to my closest friends.

It is my hope that we will spend every June 10th together, although that may be a little more difficult next year when it falls on a Monday. Come hell or high water I will take that damn day back. I will never forget what happened that day in 2016 but I’m going to make sure that every June 10th from here on out is a marvelous day for me. Suck it, cheater!

College Visits

I mentioned previously that Rock Star and I are going on some college visits this week. I’m excited about them. I hope she enjoys herself.

I was feeling a lot of pressure to get them scheduled and done and I was kicking myself for waiting so long. Some people start as early as their junior year. I was thinking to myself, “Why in the hell didn’t I start this last year?” when the mobster so kindly reminded me that I was in no position to take her on any college visits her junior year.

Oh yeah! A lightbulb went off. Apparently, that year was so horrible I’ve erased it from my mind. Seriously though, at the beginning of her junior year I had no job and CF was paying no support. We had just been forced out of our house and moved 600 miles away. Both of my kids were transitioning into new schools. I was living off of savings. I was in no position to book plane tickets so that we could visit a college over 1000 miles away!

By December I was working two different part-time jobs, working up to 16 hours a day, and going in at obscenely early hours. I had no official time off and both of my jobs were retail jobs with weekend hours. Plus, I already needed to ask for several weekends off for court cases.

In January I began my full-time job. I had 8 days of vacation and had to hoard them for court days. I was still working 2 jobs. I was still getting up at 3:20 in the morning. I was still not receiving any support from CF. My two jobs made it possible for me to pay all of my bills and for us to eat.

In April I finally received back support and at that point college visits were the last thing on my mind. Seriously- I didn’t even think about it. Plus, I was still working two jobs and I still had to save up my days for upcoming court.

I got one full support check in May and from that point on, until December, CF paid small amounts whenever he wanted. A huge chunk of my back support went to pay my mother back. I paid off credit cards. And, of course, I did not receive steady support from him. I was in no financial position to take my daughter on college visits. Until January of this year.

So I’m trying hard not to beat myself up for not being on top of this. I’m not sure if she would have liked to have visited a couple more colleges. I know her first choice is the one we’re visiting this weekend. She’s trying to determine if she can tolerate the distance. I know a college visit won’t help with that, but maybe visiting the campus will help with her decision. If she falls in love with it she may decide she can tolerate the distance.

Why am I even writing about this? Because it’s yet another example of how cheating goes beyond husband and wife. It affects every member of the family. It has affected my daughter greatly.

It’s not just the college visits that didn’t take place until second semester of her senior year. It’s also the whole high school thing.

I know that high school, when put up against the rest of your life, is but a blip. Rock Star, however, had one hell of a blip back at her former school. It truly was a high school experience like the ones you see in the movies.

I also know that when you get right down to it she spent equal amounts of time at both schools. If she made fantastic friends at one school then she can make fantastic friends at another school, one would think. It hasn’t really panned out that way, though. I don’t know if she simply closed herself off because she was tired of losing people, or if things really were that different here. I do know, though, that she doesn’t have the same kind of friends she had back there. I don’t have girls spending the night and coming over all the time. She doesn’t meet up with friends before or after games. She doesn’t seem to spend much time with friends at all.

Her father took all of that away from her. For his own happiness.

It’s not all awful. We have a lot of good times, too. That doesn’t negate the fact that he stole a hell of a lot from her. He stole some of the best years of her life from her. He gave her everything a kid could want and then he snatched it away with only a few more years of her being supported by us remaining. He forced her to start a brand new life, leaving behind gymnastics and lifelong friends, only to turn around and force her to leave the new life behind. She no longer goes out with friends. She no longer has friends spending the night. I no longer hear her tell her teammates, “I love you! Miss you!” Her last senior night she spent crying because she had only me there, and didn’t have much to list on her senior bio because she didn’t start school here until the 11th grade. He left her in a life of poverty for a very long time. He walked away from her without a word, and all of his texts, to this day, are designed to try to make her feel guilty and to paint himself as a victim.

When people talk about affairs being a symptom of a bad marriage and not the actual problem, tell them about my daughter. When people say that kids are resilient and they’ll adjust, tell them about my daughter. When people say that no one should be forced to remain in an unhappy relationship and it’s no big deal to leave your spouse and kids, tell them about my daughter. When people tell you that they didn’t mean for their affair to happen, or that they just fell in love, or they can’t help who you fall in love with, or that they’re entitled to happiness, tell them about my daughter.

#RiseUp

An Open Letter to Cousinfucker, Part 2

Welcome to Part 2 of the never-ending letter to CF in response to his vomit worthy text.

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.

You want to talk about my Facebook page?  Let’s talk about it!  I used that page as my own personal blog.  There were no friends on it and I used a fake name.  You didn’t want to talk about what you had done.  It “stressed” you.  You couldn’t handle it.  So I went off and I dealt with it on my own.

You say you read everything but you obviously didn’t or you simply ignored anything positive.  Maybe 10% of what was on there was about us and not even all of that was negative. You ignored the bone analogy where I talked about how a broken bone is actually stronger once it has healed and how I could get behind that.  You missed the long post where I talked about how your affair would be nothing more than a bump in the road on our 50th wedding anniversary.

There were casual updates.  Many times I said we were doing great and things were fantastic. There was the song that I said reminded me of us now.  There was the picture of the hearts you drew on my van. All good things. Hell, I even read one where I said:  This is where I go to vent so I feel bad only talking about the negative.  Things are actually great.

The vast majority of it was keeping an eye on your paramour, which it turns out I was right for doing because first chance you got you started up with her again!

The other large part of it was processing the feelings of betrayal I felt when no one in your family would cut ties with her despite her being the other woman since she was family and all.

You think that entitles you to have another affair with the same woman?  Unbelievable!

Hey, here’s an idea.  Instead of turning to people who you were always whining to me about maybe you should have talked to me!  Maybe you could have read that and thought to yourself, “Hey, maybe I should step it up and let my wife know how sorry I am, how much I love her, and then give her all the time she needs to completely heal from the betrayal I threw at her.”  Or even taken some of the things I said and actually done them, like defending me, or not throwing me under the bus!

But no!  Your solution was to go crying to anyone who would listen, “Oh, Sam is soooooo mean!  I had an affair with my cousin and she hasn’t forgotten about it!”  And everyone around you said, “Oh, poor Cousinfucker!  She’s horrible!  You should leave her!  Your happiness is the only thing that’s important.  Don’t worry about her, the woman who has stood by your side for the last 20 years.  Don’t worry about your kids.  As long as you’re happy they’ll be ok.  Just focus on your own happiness because you are the only person who matters!” Then again you’re so busy playing the victim that the idea you may have contributed to this is completely foreign.

I was asked to forgive your affair, uproot my life and my kids’ lives, move 2000 miles across the country, move closer to your mistress, and start all over in a town I knew we were only going to because of your affair with her all in the span of a year. Instead of telling you something you didn’t want to hear because it caused so much “anxiety” for you I handled it on my own.  And for that I’m vilified and you use it to justify having yet another affair with her.  You demanded that I forgive and forget because you didn’t want to face what you had done; you didn’t want to be reminded of it.  You didn’t want to have to do anything that was difficult. It’s unfortunate that you couldn’t handle the fact that I would *occasionally* be triggered by something.  It’s too bad you couldn’t accept the fact that having everyone in your family fawning over your mistress was distressful for me.  Turns out I was right for being distressed seeing as how it was your mother who encouraged her to call you again.

And you know what the funniest part of all this is?  I was completely over it finally!  Probably around April or May.  I didn’t want to be reminded of it or her.  Isn’t that funny?  Just as I feel completely healed from your first betrayal you start messing around with her again.  Although, according to her, I was never your first choice and you only stayed because you “couldn’t liquidate your assets quickly enough.”

I’m curious.  Was that a lie you told her or is that the lie she tells everyone to justify hopping into bed with you after you dumped her?  We both know it only takes about 24 hours to “liquidate” any assets you might have had.  And you might want to let the little whore know it doesn’t matter how “quickly you liquidate your assets” you still have to hand over 50%.  But I get it; the other story sounds better.

Stay tuned! There’s more to come!

 

That Time Sam Was Ready To Throw In the Towel

April 2015

My darling daughter crashed my car into the garage door on Friday.  Fortunately Zack was able to fix it.  He spent the weekend mostly in bed. And then today the dog knocked the trashcan over in the bedroom and I found 2 vodka bottles in there.  One probably didn’t have much in it to begin with but I’m pretty sure the Moscato flavored vodka was almost completely full.  So I’m getting pissed.

Honestly?  I don’t know how much more of this I can take.  I’ve dealt with his damn anxiety and depression for over 20 years.  I’ve dealt with his drama of thinking everything is a disaster, and his reluctance to help with the kids and be a partner to me.  For quite a few years now.  I’ve dealt with having to go to family events and family holidays without him; I’ve dealt with going on vacation without him because he wanted no part of it.  I’ve dealt with having no couples friends pretty much since OB.  I’ve dealt with low key holidays and him napping and everything else.  I’ve taken him to the ER every time he gets sick and I’ve dealt with and survived his affair with Harley, all the while he’s lying to me and humiliating me.  I’ve moved my ass from my home state to State #2 down to State #3 and back to State #2 before moving across the country to State #4 and then back across to State #5, all in the name of his career.  I’ve dealt with him being locked up in a psych ward.  I’m dealing with all the PTSD shit now.  But I’m not sure I can add on him becoming an alcoholic to my list.

I didn’t even spend that much time with him this weekend.  He slept most of the weekend.  Every time I went upstairs to check on him he was asleep.  I went out to grab some lunch from McCallister’s around 2 and he was up but when I came home he grabbed his food and went back upstairs.  I’m exhausted and I’m not even dealing with him. He has an appointment on June 2nd with a psychiatrist and I’ve got an appointment with my doctor tomorrow morning to be put on anti-depressants.  I hope to God it helps. I’m also trying to get him in to see a new therapist that does EMDR therapy.  At least that’s what Google is telling me.  I can end up calling and finding out she doesn’t do that after all. But I can at least try.  Like I said, I’m exhausted.  I don’t know what else to do.  I keep thinking I should call our pool contractor and cancel the pool because I don’t know what’s going on in our lives.  I try to be happy.  I try to look for the positives.  But then I’ve got all of this going on.  And I hate to shake up my kids’ lives yet again. So I guess I’m dedicated to making this work and doing everything I can to help him get better.

I’ll tell you, though, some days I wish that little bitch had gotten her way and he had left me for her.  I’d love to watch her deal with him, especially with the added guilt of what he had done to me and to his kids.  I don’t know why all this has bubbled to the surface lately.  I have my suspicions.  I am willing to believe it could possibly be because he finally got what he wanted in regards to work, and now if he’s not happy, well… where does he go from there?  It’s one of those what do you do when you’ve achieved the dream you’ve set for yourself situations?  Or, there is a slight chance I suppose that he’s leading a double life and the stress is killing him, but I give that about a 1-2% chance.  See?  I’m evolving!  More than likely the guilt and stress of him cheating on me and then moving us across the country (the man does not deal well with change) was already doing a number on him and then when Blockhead told him about my other FB page he completely lost it.  He was an anxiety ridden mess for a while but it’s gotten really bad over the last few months.

In other words, I have managed to send my husband to the psych ward.  I have damaged him perhaps beyond repair.  Is that fair?  I mean, I’m already dealing with this shit and trying to repair a a marriage and focus on the fucking future all the while I still have questions and my in-laws are fawning all over her, and now I’m supposed to stuff all of that deep down inside because it bothers my husband to know that I’m not totally, 100% over everything that went down.

I was thinking about this the other day.  As I’ve said before I have tons of time to think since I have no life here.  Here’s what I want to know (or at least some of what I want to know):  I want to know who made the first overtly sexual move.  I know he told her she looked fantastic.  I know she whined about her marriage.  I want to know who started the fucking affair.  Who made the first move?  Who took it from friendly conversation to soul mates destined to be together forever?  Was it her with her, “I can envision a future with you” remark?  Did he say something before that?  I don’t know, because he won’t answer my questions.  Or he conveniently forgets.  I want to know how he was planning on having a future with her but wasn’t going to leave me.  How was that possible?  What was he telling her?  What were they planning?  How much thought did they put into their little plan?  Did he tell R he wanted the Whoreville plant before he got involved with Harley, or did he tell him that once they decided he would move closer to her?  I want to know what the hell happened the day I confronted him.  I want to know why she sent that text message that made it sound like she was the one calling it off.  I want to know why on earth he was more concerned with her feelings than with mine, if indeed the truth was she sent it to save face or to prove to her husband that she ended things. What I want is to be able to go back in time and have him text her that it’s over, that his wife knows and she’s told him she’s done playing these games and that he needs to pick because she deserves to be happy too.  And then I want him to dig the knife in deeper and tell her that he’s chosen me, that he loves me and he’s always loved me and when he realized that he could lose me he also realized how much he loved me and wanted to make our marriage work. Finally, he would follow it up with:  It’s over.  I won’t be contacting you anymore and I want you to leave me alone as well.  My wife is my only focus now.  You were a terrible mistake and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to my wife.  Ok, ok, ok.  I know that’s pouring it on a little thick but that’s what I’d like.  I’m being honest.  No matter what he may have said to her in their conversation, when she texted him with all of her drivel he still chose to let her have that instead of slapping her down hard and thinking about me.  I want to know why in the hell she and her husband seemed to be divorcing right when we were buying a house in Whoreville, their target city.  I want to know why she was liking Tammy Faye’s post that talked about having a handsome son.  I want to know why in the hell that bitch was liking Tammy Faye’s post where she asked for prayers for Zack.  Those are some pretty damn big coincidences and I no longer believe in those.  I thought it was a quirky coincidence when she blocked me right after I had her picture up in our house.  Turned out it wasn’t a coincidence at all.  They were still having an affair and my husband told her about the pictures. And speaking of those pictures… I want to know exactly what was said about the pictures.  Did she ask if I was suspicious?  Did you tell her you thought maybe I suspected something?  How did that conversation go down because it’s pretty damn apparent to me now that she blocked me on purpose to let me know she was still messing around with you.  So what was said?  I’d love to know.

I could play this game all night and well, all year, really.  Hell, maybe the cunt is even more devious than I ever imagined and she knew full well that I had that other page and could use it to watch her.  Maybe she deliberately staged it so that when we bought our house she closed everything down so I would be suspicious.  Maybe she did the same for the other posts where the bitch shouldn’t have been liking anything having to do with them.  I think it’s rather elaborate but I wouldn’t completely put it past her either.

Oh well, I need to go.  I’ve got a lunch date with my husband tomorrow and I think I might eat a burrito before picking up Rock Star.  Tons of excitement here!

Present Day Sam Says: He probably was fooling around with the whore at this point. Little did I know when I said, “I sometimes wish that little bitch had gotten her way and he had left me for her,” that she was getting her way and he was planning his exit into her loving whore-y arms right then and there!

I find it interesting, too, that I decided drinking was the final nail in the coffin. I had already put up with so much but I wasn’t going to deal with an alcoholic as well. Would I have left if there was no infidelity but he continued with his drinking? I’d like to think I would have but I don’t know. This was April and I continued to spin straw into gold in my quest to keep this marriage alive. I think I might have stayed until the very end, although I was finally getting fed up with everything.

In the end it was good that he left. I don’t think I ever would have and he was killing all of us slowly. He’s still killing all of us; he’s just doing it a lot more quickly now!

Amazed and Betrayed

October 2014

I was driving back after dropping my daughter off at gymnastics practice, listening to my iPod. Lone Star’s “Amazed” was playing and it made me think back to my sister-in-law’s second wedding. Zack and I danced to that song, the last one of the night, with our daughter held between us. Of course I thought about us and how I’m glad he still feels that way about me. But it also made me sad thinking about how I was there; I was present for this moment in her life. Harley was nowhere around. I was there just like I was always there. I have pictures of us smiling together. Family pictures. Pictures of me and her. Pictures of me and my husband. Pictures of me, my daughter and her. Hell, there’s even video of us wishing them the best and dancing and laughing and having fun. And yet, my husband cheats on me and I’m nothing. The person they decide they can’t live without? It’s not me. I’m disposable. It was her. They just couldn’t imagine their lives without Harley in it. Doesn’t matter she was never around these last, oh, let’s say 18 years. Nope. When the choice is me, who’s been around for everything, loved them like my own family, or Harley, whom they haven’t seen in 18+ years but is actually family, they all chose Harley. So, I spent a moment thinking about how sad that was, and then I got on with my life. It is what it is and nothing will change that. The joke’s on them; they made a really bad trade.

Present Day Sam Says: Nothing new really. I’ve been completely replaced. Nothing I ever did matters. Only Cousinfucker and the whore matter now. I don’t think it really phases me anymore but it’s kind of sad to think that for 20 years I was supposedly “family” and the minute he tosses me aside for someone else I’m nothing.

What If There Is No Life To Gain?

I wrote this post a few days ago. I actually rewrote it because the first edition was enough to make me want to slit my wrists. It was really pitiful. Believe it or not this is the sunnier version and it’s still not all that sunny. I wanted to post it anyway because despite having a fairly decent weekend, and despite having a more hopeful disposition in the past 24 hours, I spend most of my life feeling the way the post describes. Who knows? Maybe a change is a comin’. That would be delightful. For today, however, you’re left with this.

The motto over on Chump Lady is, “Leave a cheater, gain a life.” I’ve read many inspirational stories about people who have done just that. They’ve received promotions, went back to school, finished Masters or PhD programs, traveled, done fun things with their kids, remodeled or bought houses, got a new family pet, took back their lives, stopped walking on eggshells, found out that life without the cheater was fantastic, etc.  Good for them. Sincerely. These are the questions I’m always left wondering:  Did you have a job when you got divorced? How old were you when this happened? How long had you been married? Did you lose everything when you got divorced? Did you have to sell off all your furniture and belongings and leave whatever you couldn’t sell behind? Were you moved across the country and then forced out of your house, forced to move hundreds of miles once again, or do you still live in the same city? Did you have to yank your kids out of their schools once again and make them start all over? Did you move in with your mother or father or some other relative that took pity on you because without them you’d be homeless? Were you left with nothing but debt? Did your shithead ex quit his or her job after 15 years of making 6 figures and leave you destitute? Did a judge take pity on them and slash their support obligation by almost half? Were you old, fat and pretty much used up when they left for the shiny new whore?

I try very hard to hold on to that inspiration. To this belief that there is a new life out there to gain. A better life. One that will be so good that I won’t miss anything about my old life. But honestly? There is absolutely nothing that I find appealing about this new life I’m living. Believe me- I would love to say those words I just wrote: I have created a new life for myself and it is so much better than anything I lived with Cousinfucker. But the fact of the matter is, despite that 14 part bitch list I shared, I wasn’t unhappy.

I had things I enjoyed doing- Bunko, PTA, Teacher Appreciation, hockey and gymnastics for my kids. I got to travel for gymnastics meets, go shopping and buy whatever I wanted within reason, get my hair colored and cut at an actual salon instead of out of a crappy box and Great Clips. I knew lots of people. I had fantastic neighbors. I carpooled. I had lunch with friends. Hell, I had friends. I kept busy. I was able to go to all of my kids’ events. I drove them around everywhere. They were my life.

My husband wasn’t much of a partner or a father, but the kids and I got along without him. And he did join us occasionally, especially right after he was caught in his first affair. I figured out a way to be happy and fulfilled even if I didn’t have a husband who wanted to do everything with me and be by my side every minute of every day. I liked my old life, especially the one I had before we moved to Whoreville.

Now my life consists of drudgery. I work and I sleep and if I’m very very lucky I run my kids around. That’s it. I work approximately 55 hours a week. I work 6 days out of seven on a regular basis. I begin my day at 3:20 am, leave the house at 3:45 and get home sometime between 5:30 and 6:00 4 days out of 5. I dread pretty much every single day because it’s just more of the same- get up at an ungodly hour, go to work, come home, take Rock Star to school, head back home to get ready for the second job, go to work, come home, repeat. Also, make sure you’re in bed before 9 unless you’ve got to pick up a kid from a game or work. In between getting home from work and going to bed I enjoy the following fun activities: emailing teachers and/or counselors, making sure we still qualify for Medicaid, filing taxes, doing laundry, cleaning the bedroom, shampooing carpets, washing dishes, making dinner, feeding and watering the dogs, picking up Rock Star from practice, taking her and picking her up from work, and taking out the trash.

I know I should feel inspired by the stories on Chump Lady but I don’t. Every time I read them it’s like a kick in the gut once again. Promotion? Career thriving?  Making more money than I ever did when with the cheater? I didn’t even have a fucking job! I hadn’t worked outside of the home since early 1998! My big accomplishment was getting a seasonal part-time job that paid me $10.50-$11 an hour. I followed that up with getting a full-time job that also paid an amazing $11/hour. The kids and I live on approximately 15% of what we used to live on. It sucks. I hate being poor. The reality is he waited until I was middle aged and out of the workforce for far too long before he left. I don’t think I will ever get even close to living the same kind of life. I’m not sure I’ll ever even get to the point where I only have to work ONE job as opposed to two. There are not a lot of job opportunities for middle aged women who are starting over at the very bottom. Plus, we’ve already established that I suck at my new job so it’s not like this is going to lead anyplace.

Traveling? Having fun with my kids? I don’t have any money! Where the fuck am I going to travel? Hop in the car, kids! We’ll take a drive down the road, cross the state line and call it a vacation! Or maybe I’ll take them to Steak-n-Shake and we can get one of their $5 meal deals. No milkshakes, kids; Mommy is poor and Daddy is busy faking PTSD so that when he finally gets a job all of his money can go to his whore and her kids.

I remember one woman saying she created a scrapbook of things she and her kids had done since the divorce. I seldom do fun things with my kids anymore; again, I don’t have the money. Or the time. I also rarely see them anymore. Picasso is usually holed up in his room playing video games with his friends but even if he wasn’t I wouldn’t be around. Between my schedule and Rock Star’s schedule driving her to school and to work are about the only times I get to see her. Thank you, Cousinfucker, for ensuring that the last 2 years that my daughter lives at home I never get to see her. You chose to abandon her. I didn’t. And yet I’m the one that gets to continually pay for your choices.

Remodeling a house? Buying one on my own? Don’t. Make. Me. Laugh. I live with my mother, for crying out loud. If I didn’t we would be homeless. I’m not joking. I don’t make anywhere close to enough to pay rent somewhere, much less rent and utilities.

Finishing a Masters or PhD program? Snort. When exactly would I have time to go back to school between the two jobs and raising my kids? Something would have to give. It couldn’t be the jobs because I need those to pay my bills, take care of my kids, and pay for this magical schooling. Plus, I’m almost 48. I need to carefully consider whether or not someone would be willing to hire someone at my age fresh out of school. Getting discarded in your late 40s holds a few more challenges than being discarded in your 20s and 30s. Not as bad as being discarded in your 50s and 60s, I suppose, but still not a great position.

No longer walking on eggshells? Life being so much easier and stress free now that the cheater is gone? Pshaw! I have an uncanny ability to put up with tons of bullshit. It’s not like we ever walked on eggshells around Cousinfucker. If he was in a mood I just ignored him and left him to his own devices. He was probably sexting whores but I didn’t know that at the time. I just went along my merry way, doing my own thing while he pouted and sexted. I would say that this new life is the more difficult and stressful one.

Someone else said she took spin classes and met up with friends when her child was gone. After already putting in a 14 hour day I’m in no mood to do any exercise of any kind. Not spin class. Not yoga. Not aerobics. Nothing. Maybe, possibly, I might enjoy a good ol’ boxing or kickboxing class IF I can pin a picture of Cousinfucker and Harley on the bag and proceed to kick the shit out of it. Honestly, though? I’m probably too fucking tired to even do that. It all sounds great. Oh yeah, after work I’m going to lace up my running shoes and run 3 miles. Or, I’ll hit the yoga studio. Or, I’ll pretend I’m beating Cousinfucker and Harley to a fucking pulp at kickboxing class. The reality is that time kicks your ass. When you’re getting up at 3:20 in the morning 6 pm rolls around and you suddenly find yourself tired. You’ve been up for almost 15 hours by this time when most people have been up for maybe 12. Hell, I didn’t used to get up until after 7. You’ve put in a thirteen hour workday and you know you get to turn around and do it all over again the next day! It’s not like this is an aberration. No, this is your life.

Plus, Cousinfucker moved me away from all of my friends so it’s not like I have this huge support system and we get together and drink wine or do fun things together. The friends I have from my hometown have lived a life without me in it for 20 years now. Their lives are full and I make up only a tiny part of it. That would be fine if I actually had something to fill my life with outside of them; unfortunately, I don’t. So there isn’t much of a social support network.

They always counsel us to find something we are passionate about, something that we enjoy doing. I had those things. They were all taken away. I have roughly 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours each night to devote to “my passion”- if I never want to see my kids again. And if I can afford it. And if I’m not too tired. Or I can take my one day off each week and use that to devote to my unknown passion. Fuck the dishes. Fuck the laundry. Fuck the kids. It’s all about me. Only I’m not like that. I’m not going to desert my kids, especially not after their father has done so. I have so little time and I’m always tired so whatever I end up doing I would like it to be something that I really do love and care about. I don’t want to fill in space just to fill it in. That’s what all these Meetup groups feel like. I’m afraid that’s what church is going to feel like. That’s what I think a divorce support group will end up being.

I don’t know what I’m passionate about. Everything I knew and loved was taken away from me, even before Cousinfucker started fucking his cousin. My life as I knew it has been obliterated. It has been filled with work and poverty and trying to raise two kids while poor yet working nonstop. I hate it. I absolutely fucking hate what my life has become.

There is a part of me that says, “Try to get involved with a theater group. You loved that once.” But then there’s another part that says I’m too old to get any decent parts and yet another practical part that says, “Hey! Plays take an enormous amount of time and commitment. You don’t really have any time to spare. And if you do what’s going to happen to your kids? Are you going to abandon them, too? You’re already down to 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours a night with them. If you do this then you’ll really never see them. And who will get your daughter where she needs to be?” So I’m afraid that will be put on the back burner at least until I no longer have kids in the house, and probably indefinitely. Yet another thing I waited too long to reclaim.

I have no joy in my life. I have brief moments where I laugh at something funny one of my kids says. I occasionally will have a day where things are going right for me so I get a 24 hour period of relief. There was the moment my daughter finally was happy. I’m glad for her but I’m not happy. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again.

For the most part I just exist. I’m numb. Life is neither good nor bad. It just is. I’m just here killing time, counting down the days, the weeks, the months, the years. My life consists of working all day long and then running to and fro for my daughter who doesn’t have her license yet. I don’t really look forward to anything. I don’t even look forward to or find joy in attending my kids’ events because it just means a longer day for me. It’s one more thing on my list of things to do and I’m already exhausted most days. The last thing I want to do is go for another 2 or 3 hours when I’ve already been going for a good 14 hours or more. I dread most days, actually. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve stumbled out of bed at 3:20 in the morning, got ready and headed off to Target and thought, “This is my life now.” There is a certain feeling of defeat when you realize that this is your life and it’s never going to get any better. You realize you are never going to live a good life again. You will never take another vacation. You will never get to travel to places you’d love to visit. You won’t be able to ever take your kids to DisneyWorld. You will never be able to go shopping or buy your kids things just because. You’ll never be able to give them grand gifts or surprise them with something they’ve wanted for a while. You will never own your own home; hell, you may not even be able to afford to rent your own apartment. You realize that you will struggle in poverty for the rest of your life. That you will always be pinching pennies and remembering the life you used to live- the one where you didn’t have to worry constantly, the one where you had a home of your own, the one where you had furniture and household belongings and friends and joy. It was a life I didn’t dread and wish away.

I keep hearing about this new and improved life. I really wish I could create it. Unfortunately, with the choices Cousinfucker has made I now must spend the bulk of my life working for very little money, which leaves very little left over to create any kind of new and wonderful life. I would love to report soon that I love my life, that I’m happy and content. First I heard give it six months. Then I heard give it a year. Now I’m hearing give it two years. Well, I’m a year and a half out from D-Day and I’m no closer to Meh or to a new and improved life than I was 2 weeks after that day. Perhaps I shall begin the countdown anew once we are officially divorced.

And the Adjustment Continues

September 2014

Aaaaaand the other shoe has dropped. Took my daughter to a new gym yesterday to work out and see how she liked it. It seemed like everything was going fine but once in the car she said she wasn’t having any fun. So, she’s decided to quit. We aren’t even checking out the other gym. So, Whoreville has taken yet another thing. I have officially crushed my child’s dreams. Six months ago she wanted to compete in college. Yesterday she quit. I’m trying very hard to keep this about her and what she wants. I knew her teammates were very important and played a huge part in her life. I knew the teams out here were small and might not provide the social aspect. I thought she might quit after this season but I didn’t expect this.

I just bought a new car that gets great gas mileage based on taking her an hour away 4-5 times a week. If she was going to quit I could have bought an older car. I didn’t need the more expensive hybrid. I could have bought what I wanted instead of focusing on gas mileage.

On the bright side I’m saving $315 a month in gym fees, $500 in coaching fees, and probably another $800 for entry fees. Plus, a new leo, new warm ups, new bag. Yippee! I’m rolling in the dough. And I don’t have to drive to the whore’s city, even if it’s not really her city, just a city with the same name. I don’t have to drive an hour and 15 minutes to either city.

On the negative side, and yes, I know this is all about me, I’ll never post another video of her doing gymnastics. I’ll never again be able to brag about how strong she is or what incredible athletes gymnasts are. I’ll never again get to say, “Look what my kid can do!” I’ll never see another Yurchanko and she’ll never perfect hers. I’ll never see new tricks and quite honestly, it won’t be long before she can’t do her old tricks. I’m no longer a gym mom or a hockey mom. I get to do whatever I want and not be constrained by my kids’ schedules in a town where I know no one and have nothing to do. The schedule is already wide open and now is even wider.

Gosh, Harley, aren’t you sad you didn’t get to make this move? Aren’t you sad you didn’t get to uproot your kids’ lives and crush their dreams? Cos God knows I live for this shit.

September 2014

Thank you, Whore! Last week my daughter quit gymnastics. Today my son was crying and didn’t want to go to school because he says he has no friends at school. Thank you! If you and my husband hadn’t decided to toss aside your wedding vows and started fucking around this wouldn’t have happened. If you two didn’t stupidly convince yourselves you were soul mates and start plotting to be together he never would have pushed to get the Whoreville plant. We’d still be living where we were. I’d still be happy. My kids would still be happy. My daughter would still be a gymnast; my son would still be a hockey player. So thanks, Whore. Thank you so very much for helping to put things into motion. Too bad you couldn’t have convinced him to leave me for you. Then you could be stuck in this hell hole while my kids and I stayed in our former state, taking a huge chunk of his check for alimony and child support, plus extracurriculars. And he would have given me anything I asked for because he would have felt guilty for abandoning his kids in favor of you and your kids, if you managed to keep them. Again, thank you, you fucking whore.

Present Day Sam Says: I find it amazing how naive I was. The hits in 2014 seemed horrible but they were nothing compared to what my life would be like less than a year from this point. Two years later I would be even lower. There I was all stressed out over gymnastics and hockey dreams ending and I had no idea that two years later everything would end. I would be homeless if not for my mom. I would lose everything. My kids would lose all their new friends. My daughter would lose all the sports at her new school. The hopes and dreams Harley and Cousinfucker took away from them in 2014 were nothing compared to everything they stole from them later on. I hope they both rot in hell. Unfortunately, I think people like that rarely get what’s coming to them.

I also like to look back and see how much I underestimated I him. Guilt? Oh good God, what was I thinking? He has no guilt! Only an endless need for pity. If I had divorced him back in 2013 he probably would have decided he had PTSD back then and quit. Then again, I hadn’t yet made that leap for him yet so unless Harley was on the ball… I can’t even begin to find the adjectives that will be strong enough to convey the disgust I have with him.

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?

Eh

I asked Rock Star yesterday morning if she hated it here. Her answer was, “Eh.” I asked her what that meant. She looked at me and replied, “Well, I went from being everything to being nothing.” So for all of you who were so confident that she was going to do amazing things here at her new school? You were all wrong. Again, I point to the blog entry, “Why I’m a Pessimist”. My kid, a former superstar, is a nameless, faceless nobody with no driver’s license. Homecoming is this weekend. I don’t think she’s going to the game and I know she’s not going to the dance. While I get to watch friend after friend post pictures of their handsome sons in tuxes or lovely daughters in beautiful dresses I get to post a picture of my kid wearing jeans and sitting alone in her room. I won’t, more than likely, but if I did, that’s what her Homecoming picture would look like.

Eh is also how I’m feeling, folks. I haven’t been around as much because I’ve been trying to write a resume and cover letters, apply for jobs online, go to job fairs, and other unpleasant, confidence shattering experiences. I spent over an hour today trying to apply at temp agencies only to not be able to find a damn parking space at the first agency and then to find out the second agency is no longer at the address that was listed.

I know that the whole “no parking” probably sounds like a weak excuse. Bear with me. Our downtown is a mess. They are doing construction on multiple streets at once as they put roundabouts in and create two way traffic after twenty or thirty years of one way streets. So, first I had to find the place and needed to make several loops around all this construction in the first place. Then once I’ve found it I have to try to figure out where to turn in for parking because there is nothing in front. The agency is right up on the road with no parking lot. I go around the block once again only to find out that the parking spots in back of the agency are all labeled “Bank Parking Only”. Awesome! I finally said, “Fuck it!” and moved on to the second agency.

Naturally, I go the wrong way the first time and then I pass it by the second time. Well, pass it by is kind of a misnomer because it ended up that the agency is no longer there!

To top off this wonderful day I filled out an online application for a job that I’m actually really interested in. I submit the application and attach my resume and cover letter. Then I go to apply for another similar position (doesn’t pay as well though). It was at that moment that I realized when I filled out my employment dates I only used the month and year so they didn’t get recorded on the application. So much for my cover letter where I state all my volunteer experience has led me to pay attention to detail. Guess I won’t be getting an interview for that job.

I’ve also done as so many people suggested and went down to the local unemployment office. Oh, they’ll help you with your resume! They’ll help you find a job! Guess what? They don’t. I talked to a “jobs specialist” for 30-45 minutes and he basically asked me some questions and showed me some websites where I could look for jobs. Wow! You know, I’m fairly certain I could do that from the comfort of my home while wearing my jammies and eating donuts. As for the resume writing? Oh, don’t make me laugh! I was told to come back later that day and when I did I was given his card and told to call him and make an appointment. So, I did. And he didn’t have appointments available until the 22nd (and this was on Friday). I was encouraged to come to a “networking group” and to bring up the topic of resume help.

Yesterday I went to a job fair. I talked to a few people. I feel like, again, it was a waste of time. It’s not like anyone was hiring on the spot. It was pretty much a chance to give companies your resume, which again, I could have done without going to a damn job fair. I had already put in applications or looked at their online job search for three of the companies that I talked to. The only company that seemed really interested in getting people signed up was a casino. Unfortunately, all three locations are at least 30-45 minutes away, I would have to work evenings, and when I went to look on the website it looked like the position I had talked to the representative about was only part time. AND they didn’t bother with listing the pay. I’m not driving 45 minutes for a part-time $9/hour job.

Finally, I answered my mom’s phone for her. Her friend told me it was good to hear laughter in my voice again. This was actually really funny because I’ve spent the day crying off and on.  She was encouraging me, telling me how wonderful I am and how I can do this and she just knows I’ll get a good job and do great things. Then she goes on to say something along the lines of, “And maybe you’ll get a job at one of the hospitals making $14 or $15 an hour but you can still apply for food stamps and get government aid. You’ve never taken it before but if you need it you should apply for it and take it.” Lucky me I’m still eligible for food stamps! That’s the sad part. I can work 40 hours a week, even get a second job, but I’m getting paid so little I still can’t support myself and my kids and I still qualify for and will probably need food stamps. Life is grand!

Seriously, if there are any women out there reading this that are contemplating quitting your jobs to be a stay at home mom DON’T DO IT! Even if you hate your job, even if all your money is going to daycare, keep working! If your husband tells you he makes enough money and he wants you to concentrate on the kids and the house tell him to fuck off. If he wants to relocate and you need to give up your job tell him you’ll miss him. For the love of God, ladies, don’t EVER rely on a man. Sorry, my male readers; it’s not an indictment of you. It’s more that as women we are extremely vulnerable when we rely on our husbands for our livelihood and our future retirement.

Can I just tell you how completely humiliating this all is? I’ve gone from living on six figures a year to applying for Medicaid and food stamps, and being approved for free textbooks and lunches for my kids.

I hate that motherfucker. I KNOW he’s going to get away with everything. A judge is going to buy his bullshit and rule that he doesn’t have to pay me any spousal support. Hell, if I have a job by the time we go to court I wouldn’t be surprised to find out I’m ordered to pay HIM. And child support? Everyone says there’s no way he’ll get out of paying child support at the very least but I have my doubts. Regardless, even if he is ordered to pay it I doubt it will be much. People have said that if he does get disability I will be able to take part of that. My reply is, “Big fucking deal.” It’s not like he’s getting company disability where he would receive 75% of his pay. No, he’ll end up getting something like $2000/month. If I’m really really lucky he’ll be ordered to pay around $500/month. What a joke. I won’t take it. I’ll burn it every damn month before I let him puff his chest out and declare he’s supporting his kids. I have no doubt he’s decided that if he’s going to have to pay out most of his paycheck to me then he may as well not bother with working. Disability will pay him almost as much as he has had left over after paying me spousal and child support so why not sit around drinking, watching TV and fucking a whore?

Everybody keeps telling me that I can advance and that just because I’m not making much now doesn’t mean that I won’t make more later. Unfortunately, I’m not starting out with a blank slate. I’m starting out with almost $1000 in bills/month and two teenage kids. I’m probably looking at paying another retainer to my lawyer which means maxing out two credit cards and paying an additional $100/month. Once Rock Star finally gets her license I’ll have another $115 to add to my monthly obligations. I have a daughter who will begin her senior year in less than a year. My prediction is that I won’t have money to pay for senior pictures. I won’t have money to pay for graduation announcements. It’s not like she has a lot of friends or like I know a lot of people around here, but I’m not going to have money to throw a graduation party. Hell, at this point I don’t have enough money to take her out to dinner afterwards. Maybe if she’s really really lucky I can go through the McDonald’s drive-thru and get her an extra value meal instead of having to buy something off the Value Menu. Maybe let her have two sweet teas instead of only one. Meanwhile, in Whore Town I’m sure Harley’s daughter will have one hell of a graduation celebration and Cousinfucker will be there with bells on, cheering her on and playing the proud dad.

Her kids haven’t missed out on anything; they haven’t had to give a damn thing up. My kids have lost their home, their friends; they’ve been moved yet again. My son is doing well but my daughter has nothing to look forward to and is resigned to two more years of hell in this high school, just getting through the day and getting a diploma. No cheerleading. No gymnastics. No more being a superstar. No more being the talk of the school. Just plow through and get the diploma and don’t ever look back. Her kids got a new puppy, DirectTV, car repairs, and thousands of dollars in gifts. Her daughter continues on with cheerleading. She didn’t have to quit. My daughter works a part-time job because her dad is a fucking deadbeat and I won’t be making enough money to pay for her clothes, make-up, and dinners out.

I know my posts haven’t been cheerful lately. I’ve been downright morose. What can I say? I’m feeling the pressure. I do not believe for one minute that I’m going to get any help from him so all of this falls on my shoulders. I need a job. I’m freaking out over my resume and cover letters; I think they look like shit. Everything I’ve been trying to do seems to take five times as long as it should. I’m overwhelmed. My heart breaks daily for my daughter who is struggling. I wonder if I’m going to end up leaving my kids to raise themselves these last few years of their childhood because I’ll be off working all the time in order to be able to put food on the table and have some leftover money to buy them clothes, or take them to the movies (when???) or out to dinner (again, when???). I’m probably mildly depressed, too.

I am going to do my best to turn this around and stop moping so much. I can’t promise miracles but I will try.