A piece of me feels like I found out about “myself” and decided what behaviors I would and wouldn’t tolerate TOO LATE. A big piece of me wonders “What if I had realized my marriage was abusive three years ago? 10 years? 17 years ago?…How would my life be different now?”

The question fuels my guilt. I feel guilty for not doing something sooner.

On the other hand, when I look over the past years, I know I was doing the best I knew to do at the time. Whether I was compromising, negotiating, caving, pretending, yelling, fighting or crying, I was doing the best thing I knew to do.

I’ve been in communication with an angel (an ANGEL!) for about 15 of these years…I’ve had the best guidance possible. If an angel wouldn’t tell me what to do, then I can surmise that no one could have told me what to do. I wasn’t ready to hear it, wasn’t ready to do THIS that I’ve been doing for the past year and a half.

But now that I am ready, now that I know, to do differently could only result in feelings of failure and anxiety. When I’m 60, I don’t want to look back over this period wishing I had pretended I didn’t know about boundaries, co dependence, abuse, manipulation and control.

I don’t want to pretend I am wrong for doing what is right for me, or wrong for doing what I believe is right for my children.

Every action has a consequence. Positive action, such as standing up to my teen, can have hurtful consequences in the short-term. But what about next year? Where will Marc and I be next year?

Well, it won’t be a world in which my words and beliefs don’t matter. It won’t be a world in which I allow my boys to run all over me and I anguish about “giving in” to teenage hormones and emotional manipulation.

Better? Worse? Only time will tell. But right now, I’m doing the best I can with the knowledge I have. That will have to be enough.

Related posts:

1. Distraction
2. The Outcome
3. This Might Do the Trick

She’s a thinker and a feeler and an excellent communicator and writer. Enjoy!

Related posts:

1. What’s Next?
2. Thank You
3. Army of Snot

Texted me that he had a change of clothes and a place to stay and that he would be okay.

I called his father who lamented the “drama queen bullshit” that prohibited him from … from what?

So Marc is gone (again), Will is referring to his limited legal position as my fault, and there is really nothing new with either of them.

I’m not worried about Marc. He has no money, no job, and soon he’ll have no phone. His friends will eventually tire of housing and feeding him, and he’ll come home (eventually) to find school uniforms and two changes of clothes in his closet. He’ll always have a home here.

But I’m tired of providing luxuries for a child who doesn’t appreciate them and compassion for a man who forgets who he’s talking to when he’s pissed or worried.

Related posts:

1. Abusive Nonsense
2. Transition Title
3. Do It Now!

Overwhelmed with true grief because he feels unable to live without leeching from her, he turns the weapon upon himself.

He truly loved her life force. His mistake was thinking he could ever take it from her and use it as fuel for himself.

Scary.

Related posts:

1. Give ‘em to ME
2. Fragments
3. Tornapart

I’ve run, but I haven’t left.

There must be a reason for it. There must be a reason greater than my experience to explain why I haven’t run from here.

Why must there be a reason? Why must I seek a reason why I’ve stayed?

I want to say I’ve stayed for love; but by my own admission, I don’t know what love means. So if I haven’t stayed for love, then why?

Maybe I’m tired of running. Or maybe when I ran into the arms of my husband, I did it for a reason other than escape. Is it possible that he offers something that I need to be me? Does and has he challenged me to finally find the All within myself? Is that why I’m with Will?

I know that being with him, in part, has caused me to find “Big Me”. Being with Will has forced me to look and listen inside myself, peeling back layer after layer. Most of the peeling hurt badly. Most of what I peeled back tore me apart, exposed old wounds. It fucking hurt.

I turned inward, away from him, away from what he said and how he treated me, seeking refuge in scarred and burned scabs that didn’t want to be ripped off, but in my frenzy to run, I ripped them away despite my fears.

Now that I’m getting a glimpse of the All, I want to pluck it out of me like an unskinned grape and present it to him. I want to show him what I’ve found so he may believe that the All is within him, too. My old habits tell me that I am supposed to use the All in me to save him. But that isn’t what All is telling me to do.

All tells me to stay quiet about what I’ve found. I’m not supposed to define it for Will because he, out of habit, will try to shame me into putting All away again.

You see, Will has bad habits, too. He cannot bear to think that All is in me because he thinks he should have All only to himself. If my sin is pride, then Will’s is probably selfishness. I don’t think “selfishness” is on the 7 Deadly list, but it’s enough of a sin to cause problems. I digress, “selfishness” is on the 7 Deadly Sins list; it is called “greed”.

I could be wrong about Will’s sin. I have no business in his mess right now anyway. This is about my mess. My pride.

In today’s psychology, there is a less deadly word for pride. It is codependence. Ask a hundred people what codependence means, and you’ll get 100 answers. Codependence is practically indefinable because it is a catch-all phrase for people who do things they shouldn’t at the expense of themselves and those they love but just happen to have an alcoholic or other dysfunctional person in their periphery. Codependence is acknowledged as a problem in itself; the codependent has her own set of problems, presumably exaggerated because of the “other” person involved.

My definition of codependence is the belief that I can fix everyone around me and that they, by doing certain things I decide, can fix me. Sounds like pride to me.

Pauline clued me in to two little demons running amuck within me, waiting for their day in the sun. I haven’t asked her why she did it, yet, and I will. But first, I want to take a stab at guessing.

As science is now showing, we find what we’re looking for. We thought an atom was as small as it got; then we discovered protons, neutrons and electrons living inside the atom, then smaller bits making up those bits. Light measures in waves and in particles, depending on what we are looking for it to be. No matter what we look for, we’re going to find something; the act of expecting to find something else always results in finding something else.

So, if I keep on looking for the bad shit floating around in myself, I am going to find it. Imagine for a second that I found every little demon wandering the halls of my mind. I named it and exorcised it. When I exorcised the last demon, when there was nothing bad to be found in me, what would I feel? Probably, you guessed it, Pride.

Pauline may be trying to tell me that it sometimes doesn’t matter what demons are running around in my head. Punishing myself by trying to exorcise tiny laughable demons is a waste of time. It’s not that I’m bad and there’s nothing that can be done about it, the key is that I’m bad and I’m good and there’s nothing to be done about it. I’m going to see-saw back and forth at times, and that is okay. The challenge is to keep looking for the good until I find pride, then back off and fix the bad until I find pride again.

This playground game can be played in seconds, in days, weeks, months and years. It is a constant, and it is to be an experience. Period. Not a good one, not a bad one, but always a grand one. It is the mystery, the life, the quest of a human. I will push the limits and get pushed back, continuously. This is what we’re here to do. Stretch and contract, stretch and contract, but above all, remain flexible.

I had become inflexible. The years I felt I wasted are simply years that I refused to stretch or contract. It took me longer than some and not as long as others to realize that I’ve got to keep moving. Standing still denies the All the opportunity to live through me. Being stubborn in my belief that I am any one thing (codependent, abusive, victimized) causes All to stop experiencing life through me. Life ends.

All is inside of me. All is constantly moving, growing and being new things.

Consider God, Christian format, for a moment. Old Testament God was full of fury and vengeance. He turned women to salt and burned cities, flooded the earth and murdered men who spoke contrary to Him. New Testament God was full of love and gentle guidance. He sent and sacrificed His son so the rest of us could take a lesson on what it meant to love outside of possession and desire. You could say the Christian Bible is a snapshot of God, or perhaps a three minute youtube video of God expanding and contracting. He definitely isn’t staying still.

God also fractured himself in the Bible. He created angels to worship Him, and humans to look like Him. And then He allowed a piece of his creation to go rogue. Lucifer (turned Satan) is the best of God who found Pride in Himself and exorcised that piece of Himself to the Earth. Why didn’t He send Lucifer and his buddies straight to the promised Hell? Because God knew that killing Lucifer wouldn’t solve the problem.

You see, God is ALL. He is darkness and light. He lives. He experiences. And He put Himself in each one of us so he can experience what we create as well as what He has created. God knows that to stand still means that He will die. Yet He gives an entire portion of Himself to each of us, as a loan, so when we return to Him, our bodies decaying in the earth, we can watch our selves reunite with All, and we will know, beyond the shadow of an earthly doubt, that what we experienced was worthwhile.

Related posts:

1. Pride and Greed
2. Smart Piggy
3. Self-Running System #1

I visited my attorney for the first time on January 26th – two days before our first court date. On that day, she asked if there was any chance of reconciliation. I told her that he would have to do a lot of things he swore he would NEVER do if we were going to reconcile. I told her that reconciliation was out of the question so far as I could see.

On February 13, I wrote Too Soon. At the end of the post, I said:

“Instead of blogging, I am going to write out what I want. I’m going to give that to my attorney (for record-keeping) and have her send it to Will. Then maybe he’ll tell me what HE WANTS and I can either be pleased, hurt, or angry, but I would be able to move ahead without feeling unheard and rushed.”

I wrote it out, everything I wanted. What it would take to maybe repair our relationship and maybe save our marriage. I never sent it to my attorney, but last weekend, I gave a copy to Will.

I told him that I was holding onto it because I didn’t think he’d agree to it. I didn’t tell him that if he didn’t agree to it that I would be hurt, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that he didn’t think “I” was worth the effort. If he doesn’t agree to the terms, then it means we’re finished. Completely.

But I want to know. I want to move forward in this life knowing I did absolutely everything I could to prevent our divorce. To prevent my children’s hearts from ripping in two. To prevent my heart from ripping the rest of the way. To prevent destruction. To give him a chance to face his demons as I face mine, individually, but together.

In the document I gave him, I tell him the what I want. I tell him he can add to it, but not take away from it; if I cannot agree to his additions, then we divorce.

I wanted to lie to you for awhile longer, waiting to see if he would agree or not. If he did agree, then I would tell you all about it.

But if he never agreed, then I would keep the shameful secret to myself.

I do feel ashamed. Once I left, I knew I’d done something that my family and some of you had been praying I would do. I feel ashamed because by giving him this chance, by giving us this chance, you may see me as a loser. You may see me as someone who retreats instead of someone who fights. You may see me as a true abuse victim, willing to subjugate my wishes to his. You may lose confidence in me, you may think I am a fraud.

I feel ashamed because I thought once I left, I would be gone for good, and here I am giving him another chance to break my heart. Even if he agrees to the terms, there is no guarantee he will honor them later. He has a tendency to forget things that are important to me.

But, on the other hand, I do not promise that if he agrees to the terms that all will be immediately well. I want this year apart. At the end of this year, even if we’ve both done everything I’ve asked, I may not want to stay married. He may not want to stay married. Maybe we’ll go ahead with the divorce. Maybe I’ll think we’re reconciling but he hits me with divorce papers.

I know I’m leaving myself wide open. That’s what I do – expose my soul.

Maybe it is better if you read the agreement. The only difference between what I gave to him and what I’m providing to you is his name. I changed his real name to “Will” as I do on this blog.

What I Want

Related posts:

1. Too Soon
2. In the Way
3. Slippery

A slight portion of what I wrote records conversations between “Big Me” (my true voice, the one connected directly to God), and “Little Me” (my everyday self). Without boring you with the internal workings of my mind, I’d like to share what Big Me said about my marriage.

—————

Little Me wrote: I wonder how long I’ll be able to go on with abuse at the forefront of my mind. At some point it will truly exhaust me. How will I know if it’s time to cut out of my marriage? How will I know if I need to continue healing on my own, when me trying to force Will to stop his part in this if fruitless? How will I know if it’s time to leave?

Hey, Big Me, I’m talking to You. Signs that it’s time to leave the marriage? Hello? Maybe a David Letterman’s Top 10 List?

Big Me said: You don’t really want me to answer that question.

Little Me wrote: No, I suppose I don’t want it, but I think I need you to answer me. Don’t make me dance around like Squirrel Nutkin here. Please, tell me: When is it time to let go of this marriage?

Big Me said:

1. When you cannot hear Pauline [my guardian angel] or me.
2. When you do not write or draw or express your truth in any new way.
3. When you are seeing darkness in the middle of the day.
4. When no one wants to listen to you anymore because you encourage them to do things you cannot do. Or will not do.
5. When you cannot bear the sound of his footsteps, it is time to not hear those footsteps anymore.
6. When you feel as if everyone would be better off without your crazy ass self.
7. When you feel dead, your eyes are puffy and you have headaches from all the cry-snot you generate.
8. When you feel all hope is lost.

Those are signs that it is time to leave your marriage.

—————

The only sign I’ve lived through since his return in December is #5. I dreaded the sound of his footsteps. I still don’t want to hear them in my house, but it’s all right when I hear them as we meet to talk about the boys. He’s not HERE, and I’m satisfied with that for now.

However, I have lived through most all of the other signs in the past. Except for #4. But I have been considering being untruthful with you, the readers of my blog. I’ve considered encouraging you to do something that I am not certain I can do.

If you’re interested, you’ll have to read the next post. I think it may be a long one.

Related posts:

1. Potty Talk
2. Why Don’t You Just LEAVE?
3. Cryptogram

My latest memoir reads “I love who I am becoming.”

My other one reads “Thought love meant pain. Was wrong.”

When Marc returns to a normal school day schedule, my memoir may be “Got Kids on Bus Now Write!”

But I think my only “true” memoir is the one I came up with today. I have always loved “becoming.” When I was a little girl, I loved becoming a tree climber. When I was a teenager I loved becoming an artist. When I was in my twenties, I loved becoming a mother. Around 30, I loved becoming a woman.

Now, at 38, I don’t know for sure what I am becoming, but I know I am enjoying the process. I am enjoying becoming with all its hazards, failures, unexpected joys and successes. I love that I may not see what I’ve become for another 5 years when I’m already working on becoming something else.

All in all, I love my life with all of the successes and failures, blind spots and divine interventions. I really love the successes and divine interventions, but the failures and blind spots are learning experiences and without them, I wouldn’t have become who I am right now, at this moment.

“I am right now this moment.” There’s another six-worder.

What is your six word memoir?

Related posts:

1. Fragments
2. Honey Do
3. Thor’s Hammer

However, Marc says, his generation is not very individualistic. They don’t see the value of self because self is lost in the whole. They’ve been taught (correctly) to disregard outward signs of difference and look to the individual’s character, but, Marc says, the teaching of equality also tends to sweep away the unique talents of an individual. Teens are not taught to be proud of their differences, the bits of talent and personality that makes them who they are. Instead, they’re expected to blend in with the rest, not toot their own horn, and not be “more” than the guy sitting next to them.

It doesn’t matter that the guy sitting next to them may be “more” when it comes to singing and my son may be “more” when it comes to numbers. Nope. Neither teen’s talent is honored, validated, or approved.

Part of me thinks that Marc’s view is a side-effect of adolescence when we all want to be part of a group. We want to identify ourselves to something with a definition. Even if you were a “loner” in high school, there were other “loners” around you. You were part of a group.

But I’m concerned because if we take away all trace of positive differences, if we refuse to honor uniqueness, then what do teens have to strive for? It’s not okay to be “more” than anyone. So where do teens find their identities? By being less than someone else. If you take away the positive, all you’re left with is the negative.

If a kid can’t get honor and approval by being better at something, then isn’t he more likely to seek that attention by being badder than the guy next to him?

It is okay to be “more” than your neighbor in some ways. It is okay to toot your own horn when the situation calls for it. It is okay to say, “I am a great ___________!” and perfectly wonderful to be proud of it. Now that we, as a society, are truly getting the -isms out of our system, now that we’ve pretty much knocked the bullies down to size, it is time to stand up and be counted for our unique talents.

Let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water…be proud of who you are and all the differences between yourself and your neighbor. I would like to see all of us honor our god given talents, put them to use for the betterment of ourselves and everyone else, and never ever think we’re “more” than someone else because our talent is merely different from theirs.

Is that so hard?

Related posts:

1. The Outcome
2. painful diagnosis no matter what you name it
3. Running Away

Writing every chance I get is proving to be an easy new habit. The other night, Marc’s school put on a presentation and I wrote down observations and snippets of prose (not good prose, but prose!) while listening to the lectures of area business people. I carry (have always carried) a notebook in my purse, and now I use it to jot down words other than reminders and family business. Easy.

This morning, with 20 minutes before I must leave the house to attend a “Career Make Over” class, I could have done any number of things which need doing. Fold the basket of laundry. Wipe the kitten footprints from the floor. Clear off the end tables. All things I would have done in the past to avoid problems later in the day. But I chose to write. And I feel good about it.

No, I don’t know who is going to do the household stuff or when it will be done, but it will get done. There’s no one here to tell me I’m not a good person because it isn’t done. No one to tell me what my “job” entails or complain if I let them down because there are crumbs on the table.

I’m free to write.

Much like Will has been free to soldier. He is required to go to work every day, and look how far it’s taken him! He’s one rank from the top, and he got there because he “soldiered” day in and day out, religiously. He didn’t have anyone telling him to stop soldiering and clean the car. He didn’t have anyone breathing down his neck to fix the leaky faucets or clean up the dirt he tracked into the house.

I left him to mind his own time and be a soldier. Any other demands of his time he chose to attend to when there was an opening in his schedule – not before and not after. He decided when to do something other than soldier.

I’m going to learn from him when it comes to writing. I am going to write even when I don’t want to write. I’m going to “go to work” even if I’m sitting here at home and not worry about other menial chores that will be there later. When I can, I’ll tend to the laundry, the car, the faucets, the dishes… Until there’s an opening in my schedule, I’m not going to worry about the things that can wait.

I’m excited!

Related posts:

1. Half Life
2. Too Soon
3. Crisis Writing

This morning, I waited. I didn’t do any writing or anything that I would consider “productive” because I was waiting for his interruption. Anticipating it. Instead of going on about my routine, I put it all aside so I would be emotionally “ready” for his arrival.

What did I do? I played a video game on the computer. Bored out of my skull, and waiting.

By noon, the deadline I’d given for him to come out here, I was angry at myself for wasting the morning.

I got to thinking about how I’d spent this morning, anxiously anticipating his arrival. I was nervous, borderline panicky; the match-three game numbed my mind and made it tolerable. Then I considered how many other times I’d played that stupid game and under what circumstances.

I played that game in the hour before I expected him home from work. I played it while he was working outside expecting me to be at his beck and call for food that he could prepare himself. I played it when he stalked around the house, pulling up couch cushions and bitching about the dirty socks and candy wrappers he found there (but didn’t throw away). I played that game a LOT, not because it is fun or engaging, but because it allowed me to jump up from it at a moment’s notice and TEND TO HIM.

And that’s what I was doing this morning. Sublimating what I consider important in anticipation of his arrival and whatever unknown emotions would accompany him.

You know, I think I did a video about this. Yep. It’s called Interruptions Caused by Verbal Abuse. In that video, I said, “I’ve been trained to receive permission to be myself, and then to have it taken away from me in an instant.”

I would now add that I’ve been trained to ANTICIPATE having that permission taken away. That’s what I did not only today, but last night, too.

Last night, I cleaned up the house some while telling myself “If he notices, I don’t care” (and not really believing it). Holy cow, the house wasn’t even a MESS!

This morning, I agonized for long seconds over whether I should make the bed or not. He’s been telling people I cheated on him; part of me wanted the bed to look like two people had slept in it and part of me wanted to make the bed but didn’t because then he’d suspect someone else slept in it because I NEVER make the bed…?! I decided to leave the bed looking as it did when I rolled out of it.

I brushed my teeth and put on some make-up because I didn’t want to look like I was a mess. I’m not a mess, not as much of a mess as I sometimes think I “should” be, and I worried about finding the right balance between OKAY and OVERWHELMED. What do you think of this: Mascara so he’d know I hadn’t been crying but no blush because I didn’t want to look too healthy. That’s what I went with. (UGH! craziness.)

Then I sat down at the computer, opened yWriter to work on my book, and then shut it down because he would be here right as I got going with it and I didn’t want him to interrupt the process.

So I let my anxiety over his upcoming arrival preempt the process entirely.

And then he didn’t even show.

Despite the past 24 hours of self-induced craziness, I’m ready to do something else I said in that video:

“…[when] I hit that invisible wall where everything falls to pieces, I feel like I can’t handle anything, that I can’t do anything, then I’m just gonna tell myself, ‘We’re changing the training. My ideas are important. What’s going on in my head is important.’ And even if what I’m doing has gotten a little harder or hasn’t turned out exactly as I’d planned, that doesn’t mean that it’s never gonna be [the way I planned]! It just means that it’s time to learn something new. It’s time to figure out another way to get around an obstacle, and from this point forward, I am NOT going to NOT recognize when I am falling into the pattern of denying who I am.”

So here’s the good news. I did recognize the pattern this time. Next time I see it, I’m going to press on and do what I want to do, accomplish something instead of anticipate disaster.

Right now, I’m resisting the urge to calculate how much time I’ve spent in the past 18 years NOT doing something I wanted to do because I was anxious about something that he might do.

Related posts:

1. Mess
2. Yesterday
3. Homecoming

This separation is overwhelming. There are so many things that must be done NOW, and that leaves little time to do what is also important and must be in place before the end of this year. Namely, I’ve got to financially support myself and my boys DESPITE the demands on my time requiring otherwise.

So, anyway, I was sitting there with my sweet coffee and daily planner, and decided to write in my journal pretty much what I just wrote. You know, “get it out” so I could move on to what I must do today. Taking one day at a time and all that happy horse shit.

But when I start to write, all that comes out is:

LIAR!
You damn liar. You promised that you would love me, take care of me, for the rest of my life. You said that if I agreed to stay at home and raise our children so you could go out into the world and provide for us, then you would provide for me always. You told me that if I waited to make a career for myself that you would support my dreams as soon as you retired – we were down to 5 short years! You said to wait, to trust you, to be a good wife and my turn was coming. Liar.

You said that you knew we had problems and you were willing to work on them. You said that when you got home things would be different. You said that it would be hard, but you were willing to put in the work. You said you loved me and keeping our family together was what you wanted too. When I told you back in July of ‘09 that I had decided to stay, to trust that what you said was true, you had relief in your voice. You said you were so glad to hear those words, that you were happy for the first time in months. Liar.

You said that you wouldn’t be where you are in the military today without me, and now you’re doing your best to get rid of me, one rank from the top. You fucking suck, you abusive, sneaky, foul-mouthed, manipulative, lousy husband. You fucking lied to me about all of it. Liar.

And then you have the nerve to call me a traitor. Liar.

I am angry from my bowels up. I don’t know how long this will last. I don’t know how long until I am a “good enough” person to let it go. I don’t know when I will be free of you, of thoughts of you, of love for you. Back in July I decided to keep loving you. You had given me every reason not to love you, some reasons you gave more than once. I was willing to look past it, to look deeper into you for the guy I married.

I was willing to live with rough around the edges – you’re a self-proclaimed asshole and chauvinist, you stereotype people, you drink, you party, you work before you love me, … all of it. I was willing to look beyond who you are, who you are proud to be, in hope that ONE DAY you would treat me well, love me like you promised. Liar.

I only wanted you to be nice to me. Treat me and our children with respect and civility. You can be who you are and still learn to be nice. You could have even looked at it as if you were playing a game with me, fooling me, manipulating me to believe good things about you – that may have been fun for you. But you wouldn’t try. You wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t tell the truth.
LIAR!

Related posts:

1. Even If
2. Red Flags
3. The Army and Abuse

I also posted 10 Rules to Live By awhile back.

What rules are you expected to follow?

Related posts:

1. Randomly K’s Story
2. Husband Abuse
3. Rocky Road

A day or two ago, I wrote a post called In the Way. It described how I hoped that by talking to Will and setting up a midweek visitation, our son’s would be able to visit their friends (during dad’s time) on the weekends and feel less guilt about doing so. Honestly, looking back, I think I hoped to smooth some of Will’s ruffled feathers by showing my willingness to work toward equitable visitations.

So, what was I trying to do? I was trying to make my sons and Will feel better. It didn’t matter that I don’t WANT to have midweek visitation because my weeknight schedule is already jacked up (until the end of this semester). It was more important to me to make two people (Marc and Will specifically) feel better after the actions I took a month ago. (And why, I ask you, am I feeling guilty for leaving the man who did not keep his hands off of me because he was pissed?! – That sounds like a separate post.)

In effect, when I spoke to Will about Marc’s wishes, I opened myself up to Will’s habitual attacks. I truly thought that Will would say, “That sounds good – how about Wednesdays?” or something similar. I didn’t expect a 20 minute argument against an extra hour or two with the boys.

And why didn’t I expect an argument? Because I was doing a good thing, a self-sacrificing thing that may (or may not!) benefit our boys and I expected Will to see that and maybe not be so mad at me.

And then, I wrapped myself up in knots wondering why Will behaved as HE did, assigning motives I cannot know to Will, and berating him for his decision.

In short, I created a situation in which I had no business and then amplified the negative result it in my own mind to punish myself.

My therapist presented an alternative solution, one that actually makes sense and would have cut out all the drama. She said that Marc’s feelings of guilt were HIS to deal with. It sounded harsh to me at first…didn’t I CAUSE Marc’s bad feelings? Wasn’t I responsible for this whole mess anyway? Shouldn’t I do everything I could to FIX IT for Marc?

Well, no, no, and no.

1. Marc’s bad feelings are a result of a conflict between spending time with his dad and spending time with his friends. Do you see my name in that statement? No. I’m not involved in Marc’s bad feelings. When he told me he felt like he had to choose, I could have said, “Well, maybe a weeknight visitation with your dad would help. Talk to him and let me know what you decide and I’ll work with you.”
2. I am not responsible for “this whole mess”. Will and I are separated because of his act of violence.
3. I cannot fix anything for Marc. When I decided to insert myself into the conflict, I took away Marc’s power to solve his problem on his own. I so wanted to eliminate Marc’s bad feelings! I don’t want my child to feel bad, ever. But if Marc is to grow into a fine man, he’s going to have to learn to deal with his unpleasant feelings on his own. I mean, will I be there when he has a conflict with his co-worker? His boss? His girlfriend? Nope. He’s gotta learn to deal.

So, my assignment for this week is detachment. Specifically when it comes to allowing the ones I love to own their own problems. I’m here for them if they need suggestions or if I can do something that will help them sleep easier at night so long as I am a component of their own solution and not attempting to fix it for them.

Related posts:

1. What would you do with omnipotence?
2. In the Way
3. No Surprise

I didn’t start to feel anxious until about two hours before picking up our boys. I guess that I successfully preoccupied my brain for the rest of the time. I don’t feel void or “nothing” and I don’t feel overly paranoid or extremely sad. I don’t feel happy or entirely empowered, either. I feel…strange.

Marc got mad at me on the phone about an hour before it was time to pick him up. He yelled and used a word I don’t like, told me my reasons for telling him he couldn’t go to his friend’s house were “bullshit.” He said it was unfair that he had to choose between seeing friends on the weekend and seeing his father, and I agreed with that. I told him I would talk to Will about weekday visitations.

When I spoke to Will about it, I didn’t get a definite answer. Will implied that by visiting the boys in the middle of the week that I was not keeping their best interests at heart, choosing to disrupt their routine over keeping it stable. I said that these were extraordinary circumstances and that if Marc or Eddie wanted to see him during the week, then we would make the concessions to see that it happened. He also said that the magistrate gave me everything I asked for (I didn’t correct him by saying I didn’t ask for all of what she “gave”) and now I’d have to deal with it.

I don’t know what he was arguing about exactly. He and I are in charge of visitations and we can communicate about the boys (no-contact order amended on February 28). I think that since the boys want to see their father during the week in addition to weekends so that they have less “guilt” over also visiting friends on weekends, then we as parents should try to make it happen. I’m not going to stand in the way.

I left the ball in his court. I asked him to think about it, and if he decided it was something he could do then he could email my attorney and we would start figuring out how to go about it. (Due to the no contact order, he cannot contact me directly although we are allowed to discuss the children and see one another at a public place for visitations.)

There’s much that I cannot comprehend. I do understand that no matter what my opinion of Will or his behavior is, our boys see him as Dad and love him unconditionally. Marc and Eddie both would like to see him during the week if it is possible. Will said that he would like to see the boys, but feels I’m not using good judgment in requesting a midweek visit.

I wonder if, because I asked for a midweek visitation, Will would rather not “give me my way” than agree to see his boys. My other suspicion is that Will is drinking during the week and doesn’t want to interrupt his own routine. I don’t think his reluctance to visit midweek has anything to do with him not loving our children, but I don’t see how his explanation for not agreeing to see them midweek makes sense.

[Sigh.]

Maybe he’s trying to build a case against me and it has nothing to do with my other suspicions at all.

I don’t know what he’s thinking under those arguments that I don’t understand. I feel like there has to be something more to it, but after I publish this post, I’m going to let go of it entirely. I left him in charge of deciding, and now all I can do is wait without trying to figure him out. I have to let him go.

…..

Okay. It’s 15 minutes later. I’m letting it go.

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1. Fixing It
2. Running Away
3. Laughing

If it doesn’t work (but it will) then I will choose another possibility.

So after I thought about what I wanted to do, what my next move would be, I thought to myself…”What is the one thing I don’t know that it would help me to know right now?” I sat there for awhile, not knowing, and thinking that God wasn’t going to answer this question. I mean, I didn’t know what I didn’t know, so how was I going to get an answer?

I got quiet, waiting for the voices. But the swamp was silent. Smooth. Still. It was a still-life painting, un-romanticized and brown. There were no voices. I thought about how different this swamp looked the first time I ran to it.

On that day, the water was almost overflowing the banks. There were swirls and eddies, fish jumping and forest noises. The swamp flowed that day, life exploded. But today, there was nothing but quiet. I thought about how much the swamp had changed and how it may be different the next time I visited. Mossy green and stagnant?

But then I realized that it didn’t matter how the swamp would be different next time – it would be what I needed it to be. It would change. It would change into what I needed it to be.

And so will I.

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1. Drive
2. The Voices
3. Hope is Worry Backwards

I’m not taking away from the fear and pain physical abuse has caused in me – those feelings are real and valid. But I’ve never looked like Rhiana in her post-abuse photos, I’ve never been hospitalized due to physical abuse.

I’m looking for a word that describes what I’ve experienced. A short, small, easily understood label.

I also have to be careful of what I say to myself about my experience with abuse. I don’t want to blame or label HIM in order to describe myself. My and Will’s understanding and take on our experience is different, and that’s really all there is to it. I cannot force him to admit to nor accept responsibility for any of it; I cannot somehow force him to stop blaming me for it. I can’t even convince him that his behaviors are abusive, let alone that his behaviors have impacted me in a negative way.

So how do I describe me (within the confines of abuse)?

• Sufferer (no, I definitely don’t want to live my life as a “sufferer of” anything; I prefer to recognize and correct instead of suffer)
• Contributor (I did contribute to the abusive cycle, but in a domestic violence realm, if I contributed to the abuse, doesn’t that mean that I approved of it?)
• Participant (somewhat close, but implies the word “willing” to go along with it and doesn’t quite describe the confusion mental and emotional abuse inflicts)
• Victim (yes, I am a victim of abusive behavior, but like “sufferer” I prefer to not live my life under the victim umbrella)
• Survivor (have I survived it? are there degrees of  victim-hood that hold greater claim to this word?)
• Wife of an Abuser (labels HIM)
• Casualty (closer…implies that I am still living although I’ve previously been in the thick of it)
• Recovering Victim (yuck. plain yuck.)
• Misused (as in “not cared for in the way I would have liked”; still not right because it implies that I can be somehow “used” or did agree to someone “using” me)
• Living with Abuse (begs the question “WHY?” and that requires an answer that the asker wouldn’t understand anyway)

I cannot think of a word or phrase that succinctly labels my experience. Yet. Maybe the lack of vocabulary for “the abusive situation” speaks more than one word could. Abuse itself is insidious, tricky, sneaky and quiet. It makes sense that Abuse wouldn’t “want” a label pinned to it.

Abuse is what it is. Abuse creates victims for awhile, then either disposes of that victim (killing body or spirit) or the victim becomes something other than Victim. Abuse uses someone else to inflict it’s pain; the longer the “abuser” stays in the dark about Abuse, the longer the abuse lives. Likewise, the longer the “victim” doesn’t recognize Abuse, the easier it is for Abuse to infiltrate the victim’s behaviors as well.

Abuse seeks to win and live and thrive in two people, not one. When Abuse is able to accomplish that feat, it is more likely that Abuse’s two victims will stay silent about the torment they inflict upon one another.

There is probably no one word to describe “this” and that is probably why I’ve been writing about Abuse for over a year.

Related posts:

1. What is verbal abuse?
2. Fragments
3. Red Light Behavior

The thrust of Nolo’s book on divorce is on deciding what kind of divorce I want, then considering how I want to get there. Do attorney’s hash it out? Do we have to go to court and air our dirty laundry? Or would mediation work for us?

But then there’s the big question: Am I on the path to divorce? Is there NO alternative? Am I going to get divorced in the same hasty manner I married? Did I throw out the brakes on this vehicle without realizing the road was headed down hill?

If we lived in Texas, we could get a quickie divorce (so long as we were happy with the separation agreement). In North Carolina, we have to be living separately for one year. I am beginning to see the wisdom in the forced wait.

I find myself wishing Will and I could talk. We both want to be away from each other. We both want the other to change. We both want to renegotiate a LOT of crap. And there I go speaking for him again when there is no way to know what he is thinking. I cannot, by choice and by law, talk to him right now.

I need time.

But my attorney wants my financial documentation yesterday. She wants to know exactly where I’m headed when all I know for sure is that I don’t want him around me right now. Isn’t there some way to slow down?

Will wants me to not show up in court for his next appearance. If I don’t show up, then chances are the charges will be dropped. Good for him, makes me look like a liar. I’m no liar; I’ll be in court. What he says doesn’t align with what my attorney says. He says I can’t trust a civilian attorney; I think I can trust a civilian attorney because I have NO ACCESS to a military one.

I trust that everyone knows military courts are completely different from civilian ones. Even Will, an active duty soldier, cannot hire a military attorney to represent him in civil court. JAG is not a free attorney service for the military. JAG only governs what happens to a soldier under military law (discharge from the military, dock pay, reduce rank…that kind of thing).

Because the military now pays attention to domestic violence and abuse, what happens to Will IF he’s convicted of domestic abuse is set in stone: he would be dishonorably discharged if found guilty of domestic abuse charges. That’s what Will says JAG says. I haven’t been able to get to JAG yet – they have a class two times a week and my other appointments have taken priority.

So here I am, being pressured to “not show up” in court and to get financial documents so “we can proceed,” and all I’m really wanting to do is to SIT WITH THIS for a bit.

There may be a really smart way to handle this separation and divorce that doesn’t involve ridiculous amounts of pressure OR money. I’m no attorney, but I think, given a little time, I can get a handle on WHAT I WANT and then find out WHAT HE WANTS and then see how close to agreeing we are.

I’m thinking a mediator is necessary. Will wants the cheapest way out, but I have a lot at stake. If I don’t have someone who can protect my interests, then Will loses nothing and keeps everything WE have worked for and created in the past 18 years.

I think he doesn’t care about that. I think he wants to rush things so I don’t have a chance to think. Or maybe he wants to rush things because it hurts. But ALL of those ideas are simply me projecting my own thoughts onto Will, and that isn’t going to help me one bit.

Instead of blogging, I am going to write out what I want. I’m going to give that to my attorney (for record-keeping) and have her send it to Will. Then maybe he’ll tell me what HE WANTS and I can either be pleased, hurt, or angry, but I would be able to move ahead without feeling unheard and rushed.

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1. This one, I’ll address above board
2. I Want to Lie to You
3. Liar Liar

But I am having a hard time coming up with titles this week.

I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what I’m feeling. And when I think about what I’m thinking I feel afraid. There’s no good title for that kind of confusion. There’s no good title for this time in my life.

I’m not married but I’m not single. I don’t want to be married, but I don’t want to date. (puh-leeze! will I ever be ready to date?!)

I’m not employed, but I’m not lazy. I’m not unemployed because I’m not quite “looking” either.

I don’t really have a home of my own, but I’m living in one.

I don’t really have any money of my own, and the thought of having my own cash worries me. Having my own money means that I’m alone.

I am alone, but I’m still Mama. I am alone, but I’m still sister, daughter, friend and even wife. How can I be so many people but feel like I’m lost and wandering? How can I be Mama when I don’t know what the hell I’m doing?

I’m afraid but trying to be brave. Courageous but wishing I’d been less so for a little longer. Smart and feeling like an idiot. Sad and not wanting to honor it.

Happy and fearful of letting it go, not trusting that it will return.

What the hell is THIS?

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1. Yellow Isn’t For Cowards
2. Waiting for a Hero
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These thoughts are new to me though. Always before, I had a husband who took care of me financially. I had faith that if I did my part, then we would be just fine. Now I have to do everything I used to do AND do “his part” so I can earn money for the boys and me.

I don’t know if Will thinks about it that way. Does he think that now he has to do “my part” too? But then, that’s not my business. Wondering what he thinks keeps me stagnant at a time where I want to be a rolling stone. You know, gathering no moss.

So when I start to doubt my viability as a writer, when I start to wonder if I should take the promise of big money tomorrow in exchange for a career that doesn’t involve creativity, then I have to remind myself to stop diminishing my thoughts and denying what I know I want for the sake of imagined security. My “security” up to this point has been a sham anyway. What do I know of security? I’ve deluded myself into thinking that I was safe at home when I wasn’t safe at all.

I just noticed something else…ugh. I feel secure when I am sad.

Shit. Now I’m crying…but it’s not sadness…What is this?

I am feeling “familiar” thoughts. I am feeling crushed, hopeless and alone. My sinuses are friggin’ stuffed up already as if the snot was hanging out behind my eyeballs just waiting to drop.

I don’t know the words for this.

————–

In the interim, I went to get some coffee. There was almost four inches of snow on the ground! Real Snow!

I called the boys in to look at it, and they took off into it. I was watching them, then thought, “Why not?!” I ran to put on my shoes and coat, then snuck up on Marc with a snowball! We ran around the yard, Marc, Eddie and me, throwing snow balls.

I got hit in the eye and declared myself winner ’cause I got hurt. The boys said I was the loser ’cause I got hurt. Boy, the rules have sure changed since I was seven and playing with my dad in the snow.

We ran and threw and laughed. Marc took a high position and creamed me, so I took it out on Eddie hiding on the other side of the boat. Eddie was too sweet to get me back.

Now, back in the house, snowy pants exchanged for pajamas, I think that the best way to describe those “familiar” thoughts and the feelings that go along with them is to not describe them at all.

Those are old thoughts about old things. The best way to stop tormenting myself with old thoughts is to create new ones. Pretty soon, the new thoughts of laughter and my boys and snowball fights in the crisp night will replace the old ones that required an army of snot to fuel them.

Related posts:

1. Running Away
2. Laughing
3. The Voices

Under the displaced homemaker’s program, The Women’s Center will pay for me to attend some classes offered at one of the colleges here in town. I’m rather torn between wanting a job that “makes money” and one that is light on cash but heavy on connections to people I may need to know as I pursue my writing career. For example, the center would pay for me to become certified in many different types of health care jobs (aging baby boomers are making the career field lucrative). However, I don’t want to work in health care. I barely have patience when my own children are ill…why would I want to inflict myself on aging ill people?

Actually, I’m not torn. I don’t care about the money. Not right now. I’m willing to work hard and make a name for myself…but I do hope the money comes at some point! I wanna be a writer. So there. But I’m willing to forgo the “starving artist” mentality if something comes my way that fits me well. Maybe the money will come easier than I think; I won’t know until I put myself out there.

Under the business program, the center will help me write a business plan and introduce me to people in the community in the writing field, at the paper, at area magazines, etc. I look at a business plan as verification that the service I have to offer is a viable commodity. Is there a market for my writing? What topics pay? Where? How much can I earn freelance? What’s the best way to become published? Would it be better to get a day job (related to writing) right now and write my little arse off in my down time?

Will doesn’t pay attention to the labor forecasts because he knows that there will always be a market for “him” – he is very skilled at both soldiering (there’s more to it than wearing on a uniform!) and mechanics. He’s proud of his blue-collar mentality, and frankly, so am I. I’m a big fan of a good day’s work.

Will and I differ in that I see pursuits such as writing and art as valuable. Creating a work of art (whether it’s a story, a website, a painting) is challenging and rewarding. It’s not exactly blue-collar, callous-creating work, but that is okay. We each have our different skill sets, and I’m tired of putting my skills at a level lower than his. Yes, “he” places my skills at a lower level, but I have been the one who went along with it.

I don’t much feel like going along any more.

How the heck did Will get into this post?! I didn’t mean to drag him into this.

I suppose that Will and his ideas will be in my head and heart for quite some time. They’ve been here for almost half my life already.?

Some of his thoughts I will miss.

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1. 20 Minutes
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But if I weren’t on the rag, I think I’d still feel pretty low today. I’ve been going through paperwork. Dividing it up, mine, his, mine, his…

I never ever wanted to do this.

I just didn’t.

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2. Selfish
3. Angel-Speak

I know that I have tried to hurt Will before. I know he likes a clean house, so I would let it fall to hell. I know he likes me to serve him food so I stopped doing it. One time recently, I even tried to make him mad – on purpose! There have been times where I wished I were more like how I perceive Will to be. I have wished I could somehow learn what he was doing so I could do it back to him.

I always feel horrible about it.

Wait. Let me clarify that. There was a time when I didn’t know I was doing it. I didn’t feel horrible about it then because I was “acting out” in the only way that came naturally to me.

Since I’ve learned about co-dependence, I’ve been able to see how my passive-aggressiveness was a form of manipulation. It certainly didn’t work very well, but it was my attempt to gain control.

If Will came by his aggression naturally, then I certainly came by my passive-aggression naturally. It’s the only thing I knew. I grew up with it, accepted it, and never questioned it because it was what I’d been taught by the people who I loved and didn’t want to question. (Sound familiar?)

There’s a reason people like Will and I get together. We complement one another perfectly. We’re two opposite ends of the same spectrum, neither one less harmful than the other emotionally or mentally. Will’s bad luck of the draw is that aggressive people get physical.

When Will and I first got together, we both had the same traits as we do now. But our deficiencies weren’t as pronounced; they were easier to ignore and forgive. But neither one of us wanted to take responsibility for our own feelings. We wanted the other to “make us” feel better. Over time, our anger at one another for not “making us” feel better led to button-pushing. Every time I pushed his button, he inched further toward aggression. Every time he pushed my button I inched further toward passive-aggression.

Now, we’re at completely opposite ends of the spectrum and the distance between us is insurmountable. There has been so much pain, too much pain.

I am working my way toward the center of the spectrum. Sometimes it seems like a slow crawl, and other days I seem to teleport with ease. This weekend has seen my slow crawl. The exchange with Ramona brought out feelings that I thought were confined to Will’s behavior, but they aren’t. I am “healthier” when it comes to Will because he is the obvious perpetrator, but I realize that my co-dependent passive-aggressive behavior is not limited to Will.

A part of me wants to bring Ramona over to “my side” because to do so would hurt Will. Her appearance on facebook and on this blog took me by surprise, and the language she used sent me spiraling backward into my darkness.

She is right in saying the last post is how I see her family. “Growing Up Co-Dependent” is focused on mine. Neither family is healthy. One family has an outward appearance of aggression, and one has an inward expression of aggression. But the language I used in the posts is different. I am much more forgiving of my family than I am of Ramona’s and Will’s. To me, their family has been hostile. I’ve never been comfortable there.

I lashed out at you, Ramona, passive-aggressively with that post, and I am ashamed of myself. I thought about taking it down, trying to make it seem like it never happened, but I won’t. This blog is a record of my journey, and to ignore my mistakes or pretend I don’t make them at this point would be more shameful than making the mistake.

I do apologize, Ramona, for adding fuel to this fire and I promise you, I will overcome this nasty habit that is mine and mine alone.

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2. Entitled
3. Stinking Thinking

I think that being an a-hole is something one might do on a bad day or once in a blue moon. And when someone is an a-hole and NOT an abuser, they usually apologize for it quickly, embarrassed by what they’ve done.

For example, the a-hole who cuts me off in traffic then flashes me the bird when I honk the horn is easy to forgive. Probably just a bad moment; no skin off my nose! Maybe, if we both ended up in the supermarket later eying the same head of cabbage, that guy would apologize. At least, that’s how these nerve-wracking scenes play out in my head. Gives me peace.

But someone who acknowledges that they’re an ass, is proud of being an ass, and seems to thrive on doing ugly things to other people in order to get his way…well, that person is abusive.

There are abusers that grew up in a home where abuse was normal. A home in which everyone felt isolated and struck out at the perceived weaker ones in order to relieve the stress on themselves. No one ever told them they were wrong; in fact, the example given by the caregivers showed them they were right. I think that these people, once out in the world, begin to pick up subtle clues that their behavior is not “normal.”

Some of them may take notice, wonder why they always feel put upon, mistreated. Why they’re distrustful and pessimistic 99% of the time. They may wonder why other people seem to look at them sadly or become upset in their presence. There is a chance that these abusers will seek to discover what may be putting people off from them. They may discover that their own attitudes and beliefs are holding them back from enjoying life, love, and happiness. These people may seek change.

But some of these unhappy people stick with what they know because it is what their grandparents did. What their parents did. It’s how they were raised and what they’ve done all their lives. Gosh darn it, they love love their family and to admit that the way they were brought up may have negatively affected them somehow takes away from their view of their forebears. Perhaps, as children, one criticism of their parent caused such an outrage that the child who made it was shamed and felt afraid. Now, as adults, the subtle memories of multiple shames and frightening moments prohibits them from even considering that something that grandparent did was, in any way, “wrong.”

“So if Grandma was right, then I’m right! If the world thinks I’m an a-hole, then I am. It works for me. It’s who I am.”

Those people will not seek change. They become abusers in part because they won’t admit there’s anything “wrong” with their behavior.

I’ve been an asshole before, but I’m not making it my life’s work.

Related posts:

1. Setting Boundaries
2. To Will’s Family
3. What is verbal abuse?

Ramona says~

“Nowhere in what I wrote assigns blame to you or him,  and I am trying extremely carefull not to do so. I remind you that I care about you both.  Your escape plan put you in a somewhat comfortable situation as far a money is concerned.  But that will change if “Will” is dishonorably dicharged.  I understand that their is no person or institution you can talk to to change the charges.  But what are you going to do when “Will” has no income. If he has no income, he can’t pay child support, which he will pay otherwise until the boys get out of collage if they choose to go. The Armed Forces will see to it that.”

“Because he is in the Armed Forces, you guys are leagally residence of Texas, there is no allimony, only community property falls into play.  If what you have already taken from the accounts is less than half you’ll be OK for now.  But how long will that last.  Texas also has one of the most conservative child custody systems in place.  Another words, unless you are a “prostitute, turning tricks for a fix”, which I know your not, Mother gets primary custody of the children.”
“The current charges don’t have to have anything to do with the divorce, unless you plan on making them.  Actually, the ball is in your court.  I’m pretty sure, weather true or not, “Will” is feeling betrayed by you taking the money.  I am not saying you were wrong to do so, I’m trying to make suggestions which will bring about the best resolution of the situation for everyone involved.”

Ramona, you are assuming a lot. Or maybe you’re repeating what Will has told you, there’s no way for me to know. However, I am tired of bantering with you. (see more here and then here and then here – read from the top of the comments section down, reference “Ramona”).

What do you know about how comfortable I am financially? I took what amounts to less than two months of his net pay. I took the money out ONLY after receiving emails from the bank, time stamped, showing that he had attempted to lock me out of all of our accounts. He changed all the personal information on the accounts, thinking I had no way to access the money. Fortunately, he forgot to change the email notification address in his haste to deny me a way to sustain myself. When I found out what he had done, I took the lump sum from the emergency account because it was obvious he wasn’t going to “share.” I had no way of knowing when I would receive any more money, only that I would, eventually, and a good portion of the money I did have has already been paid out in attorney fees.

You are also assuming that I have no means of financial support besides my husband, no way to provide for myself and children. Besides my own ability to earn an income sufficient to cover our needs, the Army gives out what is called “Transitional Compensation” to women divorcing their soldier due to domestic abuse. It isn’t much, but it is enough to fill in the gaps, and it lasts for three years. That is assuming that he would be found guilty of the charges; there is no guarantee of that, and I’ve already told you how I feel about the charges.

The military “sees to” his paying child support only so long as he is in the military. After he retires or is discharged, the Army has no further interest in what he does financially (except for Survivor Benefit Plans and IF I receive a portion of his pension benefits). If he retires, that will be in about 5 years; if he’s discharged, the Army’s disinterest begins immediately.

Currently, Will is planning to give each boy two years of his GI Bill. Because Will officially “earned” the GI Bill by the time he left the Army the FIRST time (in ‘96), the GI Bill is his to keep regardless of the outcome of this stint in the military. And, even WITH Will’s contribution of his GI Bill to the boys, there will be a need for financial aid. Depending on Will’s and my income in the coming years, the boys may or may not qualify for Federal Aid. As it stands right now, with us married and he providing the only income, we do not qualify for Pell Grant money – he makes too much. I know because I applied last year. Separated, the situation may change.

Yes, it is true that his attorney could refuse to hear this case in North Carolina. I really don’t care. There are benefits and drawbacks to either state; I’m sure Will’s attorney will fill him in on all of that. (ref TX maintenance)

I find it odd that you mention a prostitute turning tricks in your assessment.

And finally, you are wrong about the current charges having nothing to do with the divorce. They are domestic violence charges; they have everything to do with the divorce.

Will has felt betrayed by many things. I am not surprised that he discounts what he has done in his assessment of my perceived betrayal of him.

I am done explaining things to you. Besides, what I say doesn’t hold water with you. You evidently know more about my situation than I do and have spent more time considering my best options for me. If you see fit to call me or email me personally, please do so. For this weekend at least, I am done with this conversation.

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1. Too Soon
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3. Secrets