compliance

I do that well.  Always have.  Being too compliant, too agreeable, not doing anything in support or protection for myself is how I have messed up the past several decades.  It is how I came to be here now.

I met with the accountant that was chosen by my ex's attorney to finally do our taxes.  My ex refused to provide any receipts for all of the stuff for which he claimed I owed him money before the final decree.  Both my attorney and I knew full well that most of it was bogus, some things we could not even figure out what they heck they were, the rest was inflated, but all I wanted was to get through the process and I immediately agreed to whatever he wanted.

Of course, that meant that he took all the good stuff and I was left with only a few things, personal items (although, I would love to know where my wedding rings went), and the expense and work of clearing his hoarding crap from the house and garage, not to mention the stuff behind the garage. 

When I submitted that bill, for the men to haul the heavy stuff and for the dumpster in which to haul it, it was the only receipt anyone provided.  I learned later, from the guy I hired to do the work with his crew, that my ex's sister called him, pretended to be someone who wanted to use his services and then demanded to know exactly how the two of us inflated the amount in order to rip off my ex.  When she did that he told her that the conversation was over and that if she needed any information, that she knew how to contact my attorney.  I love that guy.  Just love him. 

So, anyway, there I am today, sitting across the desk from the accountant, chosen by my ex because he knows that if I had any short hairs, he would have me by them.  This is costing a lot of money because he stalled until it was too late to do this any other way.  The deadline for filing is next Monday. 

I have no receipts or any proof for the several thousands of dollars that I paid him for all those bogus bills.  My actual income is so low, even with the maintenance the court ordered him to pay me, and my own bills are so low that I cannot itemize my returns. 

The best part is that because...

• we have to use each other's income as part of our own returns for the eight months of last year that we were married
• and even though I never had any access or benefit from his income, having always paid my own way
• and even though he still refuses to divide out joint investment resources (again in non-compliance with court orders)

...I am privileged to be able/required to pay half of the taxes liability for the investment income that he has stolen from me.

Yeah.  That is the best part.

When the accountant told me that I asked him if that was true.  I explained that I never benefited from any of that money and he explained that the tax laws required that I assume half of that debt.  The fact that he refuses to do the right, not to mention legal thing, is irrelevant.  It is a legal matter.

O.K., cool.  So, I can take him back to court, something I have known for months now by the way, to try to get new court orders to encourage him to comply, which he can continue to completely ignore, without any consequences.  That will cost me money that I do not have because he stole my share from me. 

If I had any of that, well, I probably could afford to take him back to court, but if I had any of that I would not need to take him back to court. 

Now that this day is over I am feeling better.  I know more now than I did before.  It is a little worse than I though it would be, but at least now I know.  Knowing is better, so much better than the fear of the potential unknown stuff. 

Before the meeting I was worried that my ex would hang around until my appointment.  So, hyper-vigilant-overreacting-fear-based-idiotic life form that I am, I arrived early to scope out the general area.

Yeah, I am embarrassed now, but it seemed like such a great and proactive idea.  I have no idea what kind of vehicle brought him there.  So, I drove around the parking lot, looking carefully into each of the cars and trucks there.  I even checked out the two adjoining bank parking lots, one of which is across the street. 

'Cuz, you know, he/they might be hanging out, watching for me, binoculars glued to their faces, buzzed on caffeine and junk food, waiting for me to show up and perform some dastardly act upon my pathetic life form. 

I am better now, but I am still afraid in a way and depth that worries me.  I have not spoken to him or any of his family since I left that day.  I have seen him twice, at each of the court hearings.  He and his sister threatened me at the final hearing.  However, it is now eight months since that final hearing and I am still living in the dark, startling at every car door slamming, paying attention to people walking on the porch, and earlier today I was trembling. 

I could not stop my hands from shaking or my pulse from racing.  I did lots of meditation and writing and breathing deeply and well and I filled the day with activity so that I would not have any time to dwell and make myself crazier than I was already feeling.  Sitting in the accountants waiting room, I finally clenched my hands to keep them from shaking and the energy just went elsewhere and I nearly laughed out loud when my teeth started chattering.  I do not ever remember, at any time in my entire life experiencing the whole teeth clacking together thing.  It was funny then and it still is.

I kind of know that I was a wreck today and when my therapist suggested that I might benefit from another session tomorrow, I did not demure.  I know that I need it. 

In support of mood altering, I stopped at the grocery store.  True, there is not much to eat here, but when I walked in, gosh, I was just overwhelmed with everything.  Markets are meant to be dazzling, so no surprise there, but all of a sudden I wanted comfort food. 

I wanted carbs.  And, sugar.  And, dairy.  Lots of dairy.  I wanted ice cream, the good stuff, gelatto, fudgesicles and key lime juice frozen on a stick.  I wanted chocolate sauce and caramel sauce to pour on top.  I wanted potato chips and creamy dip.  I wanted those fruit roll-up things the boys love and I love buying for them, but this time I would eat them and I would eat all of them. 

I wanted double chocolate muffins and I wanted whipped cream on them.  I wanted macadamia and chocolate chunk cookies.  The big ones.  I walked around a corner and there was a two-gallon, clear plastic tub of fried corn balls covered in orange and dusty almost-cheese goodness.  I picked it up.  I put it back, but reluctantly.  Very reluctantly.

Then, again reluctantly, I came to my senses. 

I bought:
a small rib steak (for dinner tonight, but I am still to wobbly to eat anything)
huge Brussels sprouts
bacon, romaine and Roma tomatoes for BLTs
two Cornish hens, one of which is defrosting 
jalapeno sausages
hummus
blackberries
asparagus
grapes
macadamia nuts, lots of them
vegetable chips, the healthy kind
a bottle of naturally flavoured vodka, pineapple and coconut

I am looking at that list right now and I do not regret one single item.  Had I succumbed to feeding my pain I would have all of that stuff, and all of it would have come with shame and regret.  Mostly shame and just another opportunity for failure.  Sure, I blew the budget.  Cool.  I can afford it this time. 

It is helping me to feel less assaulted, less vulnerable.  I know that it is not a substitute for developing and keeping a healthy perspective on all of this mess, but my teeth have stopped chattering and I am pretty sure that I will be able to sleep well tonight.  Anticipating that extra therapy session tomorrow is helping.  Having chosen and purchased those foods feel like abundance to me.  It is.  Those items are of a higher quality than I usually buy.  They are luxurious food.  Healthy. 

Yeah, rationalizing again, but so be it.  I am so glad this week is over.  Like crazy glad.