I watched the DVD Premium Rush and fell in adoration of Joseph Gordon-Levitt. When I mentioned it to someone, she recommended that I watch 50/50. It is about a man who is diagnosed with cancer, which is just one more issue in his life that no one else truly understands and is just one more issue to be dealt with alone. It is not part of the film, but it is a continuation of the whole we are born alone, we die alone and manage the best we can in between. Something like that.
He has lost one of his cancer friends and is facing his own mortality. I mean, we all have to do that eventually, and, really, dealing with the icky stuff of life is pretty much the same process. I have been facing all manner of deaths the past few years, none of which was an actual person leaving this mortal coil. My selfhood died a long time ago, my marriage last year, Lilith's passing, homelessness and all that goes along with being without a home, an anchor or security, the death of all of the secrets, well, that is one passing that I do not mourn. The rest I grieve as best I can.
I had to face my actual death likelihood a bit more than a year ago and that is what the character in this film is doing.
He says that he can see his death on his face when he looks into a mirror, that by his appearance it is obvious. And, when I heard that I am thinking that chemotherapy is rarely anyone's best friend. Even if you survive your cancer and the treatments, no one would choose that experience.
His therapist tells him that what he is feeling is a result of the treatments. He agrees and goes on to say that he is fine with it, with dying. Everyone dies, even the therapist will die. More than fine with it, I think that he is sharing, maybe finally realizing that he has reconciled with what is happening to him. I know that feeling.
Shen then tells him that his feelings are normal and that the period/phase he is going through is a kind of alienation. It is normal. And, he calls bullshit on that.
So do I. Everyone always telling you that it will be better, you will feel better. That you should not worry so much because everything will be fine, it will get better. I get that people do that. I mean, what the hell else are they supposed to say?
"Yeah, you feel like crap because you have a crappy life. God, I am so glad that I am not you."
"If you think finally leaving means that the end of your screwed-up life is at hand, then you are just as fucked up as your fucked up life."
"Fine? You think that things will eventually be fine? Man, I would like to have some of what you are smoking."
He wonders why everyone is afraid to just man up and be honest and that it makes it worse for him when people avoid being honest and he is kind of left on his own to suffer in the knowledge of what is true and that he has to do it alone.
O.K., it is only a movie. Even if it is based on what happened to someone, and, you know, it really is based on the experiences of every single person who has had a life-threatening or terminal illness or accident, then watching the movie means that eventually you get to stop watching the movie. You could move on.
But, in the meantime, everyone who lives with extraordinary circumstances struggles with the same issues. We are born alone and we die alone and in between stuff happens. Everyone experiences pain and loss, grief, terror and you cannot quantify it with a list because the list of possibilities has no end.
The character goes home and moves as best he can. He does not give up. Even when faced with options that are not the teeniest bit hopeful. There is a scene when he and his dopey best friend are talking about his girlfriends and that his best friend never liked any of the because they were icky (I cannot remember the exact rude name(s) he called them) and I thought, well, that may be true, but you should be glad because you can be kind of icky yourself, and if you cancerous friend were any different, then you probably would not have a frakking friend in the world. So, shut the frak up and be supportive for a change, you stupid frakhead.
We can all be icky. We all have the opportunity to not be our best self, to be selfish, to be icky to the nth power. We can choose to be icky to the extreme. More importantly, we can make that choice even whilst doing our best to be our best self. Frakking humans. And, even your messed up friends can be exactly what you need.
Maybe even your messed up life can be exactly what you need. And, maybe there is, not exactly a happy ending, but maybe something that can pass for one. Maybe I can go back to the accountant and admit that he was right. Maybe I can forgive everyone who has told me from the beginning, and cannot stop themselves from repeating, what they want to happen. You just have to admire their faithfulness to an absurd notion.
It was a good movie to watch this afternoon. Better than a nap.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
what?
Alrighty, I am still trying to process this. I just heard that I need to move forward with this new thing my attorney is doing because of another client she has.
This woman was in a long-term marriage, just like me, but did not have the component of abuse. The details were not shared, only that she was not in danger like that.
So, anyway, the final court hearing for this couple, the decree dissolving their marriage was two weeks ago.
All of the financial resources, the house, the investments, everything, has been resolved.
I do not know how I am supposed to feel about this. She shared this information as though it was supposed to give me hope or something. Maybe she shared it for her own self-comfort reasons. I really do not know what I am supposed to take away from knowing this.
I share her frustration. I share her embarrassment (only guessing that this at least slightly embarrasses her, although that aspect creeps into our conversations occasionally) and certainly her frustration that we are still dealing with all of this months after she believed that she would be rid of me and my mess.
It helps only slightly that she recently admitted that I was right, that things would not work out, that my ex would continue to believe that he is the authority, the expert on all things correct and that he would continue to do whatever he could to hurt and maybe destroy me, or just wear me out so that I would curl up and disappear. My therapist told me this week that she was wrong, that she believed that given the fairly public nature of divorce, that this would have been over long before now, one way or another.
Everyone told me, reassured me, that things would work out. I knew better, mostly because I know him. And, more importantly, and shamefully, I know me. I know what I am capable of doing, what I am willing to do. I should be feeling some comfort from how I have comported myself during this thing. I never compromised my ethics or beliefs. I never made the abuse a part of the context of this. I never demanded anything, always deferred to what he wanted, in an effort to make this happen as easily and quickly as possible. I never said "no" to anything he wanted.
Well, that last one, the agreeing to whatever he wanted is nothing about which to be proud. Always being compliant is how I came to be where and how I am. I accept that.
I am also of the firm, like solid, belief that the only reason I am divorced, and that it happened so quickly, is that he never believed, during the entire process, that I would go through with it. My therapist theorizes that he was sure that it was only a matter of time before I stopped the whole thing, that even during that final negotiating session just before we went into the courtroom, that I would give up and come home.
When we arrived that day, it was supposed to be a quick hour or less and it would be over. Instead, we spent more than four hours in separate rooms whilst his attorney came and went with demands for money, more bogus bills, fussing about the cars and on and on with such stupid and insignificant issues that both attorneys were stressed. But, I agreed to everything he wanted. I never hesitated at each new demand.
We both, he and I, wanted it to be over. Just different final destinations, is all. So, I am not complaining, but I am so worn out today. I feel depleted. I am exhausted right down to my bones. I think I may sleep, or at least doze on the couch, book and diet cola and maybe chocolate and some of those lovely macadamia nuts that seduced me at the market on Thursday.
As soon as it get comfortable CoolCat will come for stroking and purring and a nap for himself. The day will pass with good food, some DVD watching and his sweet and loving and warm presence.
Maybe I will have my own two-week-resolution. That would be so nice. I believe in synchronicity, so maybe the story about the other couple will bring such a decent resolution into my own life.
This woman was in a long-term marriage, just like me, but did not have the component of abuse. The details were not shared, only that she was not in danger like that.
So, anyway, the final court hearing for this couple, the decree dissolving their marriage was two weeks ago.
All of the financial resources, the house, the investments, everything, has been resolved.
I do not know how I am supposed to feel about this. She shared this information as though it was supposed to give me hope or something. Maybe she shared it for her own self-comfort reasons. I really do not know what I am supposed to take away from knowing this.
I share her frustration. I share her embarrassment (only guessing that this at least slightly embarrasses her, although that aspect creeps into our conversations occasionally) and certainly her frustration that we are still dealing with all of this months after she believed that she would be rid of me and my mess.
It helps only slightly that she recently admitted that I was right, that things would not work out, that my ex would continue to believe that he is the authority, the expert on all things correct and that he would continue to do whatever he could to hurt and maybe destroy me, or just wear me out so that I would curl up and disappear. My therapist told me this week that she was wrong, that she believed that given the fairly public nature of divorce, that this would have been over long before now, one way or another.
Everyone told me, reassured me, that things would work out. I knew better, mostly because I know him. And, more importantly, and shamefully, I know me. I know what I am capable of doing, what I am willing to do. I should be feeling some comfort from how I have comported myself during this thing. I never compromised my ethics or beliefs. I never made the abuse a part of the context of this. I never demanded anything, always deferred to what he wanted, in an effort to make this happen as easily and quickly as possible. I never said "no" to anything he wanted.
Well, that last one, the agreeing to whatever he wanted is nothing about which to be proud. Always being compliant is how I came to be where and how I am. I accept that.
I am also of the firm, like solid, belief that the only reason I am divorced, and that it happened so quickly, is that he never believed, during the entire process, that I would go through with it. My therapist theorizes that he was sure that it was only a matter of time before I stopped the whole thing, that even during that final negotiating session just before we went into the courtroom, that I would give up and come home.
When we arrived that day, it was supposed to be a quick hour or less and it would be over. Instead, we spent more than four hours in separate rooms whilst his attorney came and went with demands for money, more bogus bills, fussing about the cars and on and on with such stupid and insignificant issues that both attorneys were stressed. But, I agreed to everything he wanted. I never hesitated at each new demand.
We both, he and I, wanted it to be over. Just different final destinations, is all. So, I am not complaining, but I am so worn out today. I feel depleted. I am exhausted right down to my bones. I think I may sleep, or at least doze on the couch, book and diet cola and maybe chocolate and some of those lovely macadamia nuts that seduced me at the market on Thursday.
As soon as it get comfortable CoolCat will come for stroking and purring and a nap for himself. The day will pass with good food, some DVD watching and his sweet and loving and warm presence.
Maybe I will have my own two-week-resolution. That would be so nice. I believe in synchronicity, so maybe the story about the other couple will bring such a decent resolution into my own life.
trust
People. Process. Personal safety. Frakkity-frak, everything. I managed to get through this week intact. In fact, so intact was I that when I had my second therapy session (and, two in two days...actually more like one and a half...does not not signify an extra layer of dysfunction, but willingness to do difficult work when that is the last thing I want to do), we spent a bit more than two hours hashing out all of the frustration about the whole non-compliance thing by someone who is not me.
My therapist is knowledgeable, worldly and her expertise, well, she is absolutely the best match I could ever have imagined having. She expresses her own frustration about how my ex continues to ignore every court order. At this point, I have a lifetime of knowing how he is and in terms of truly crappy and disgusting behavior he has never varied in how he moves through the world. Yeah, it still has the power to hurt me, but I am working so hard to release myself from engaging in that kind of energy. It is not as though I still love him, although even through the worst that was remained a condition of our relationship, one-sided as that probably was, but I cannot find a way to hate him, which I think might not be all that much in my best interest, hating and all that, but would certainly make parts of this process. So.
Anyway, we try to work through all of that. Eight months since the final decree and there is very little forward movement. My resources dwindle, mostly because I am finding it impossible to find a paying job. Oh, sure, I can do what I do for free. Volunteering feeds me in more significant ways that a paying job might. Or, maybe not, as I have always loved working. A lot. And, it is nice to have some money to show for the effort at the end of the week. I would like that. Just saying.
I can help other people find jobs, even my clients with developmental issues. My physical limitations are giving me grief beyond the usual crap, and I simply cannot find a part-time job that does not require running my frakkity-frak ass off. Is it too much for there to be a job out there where I can do something similar to what I do now for free? Last week, whilst working with a client, we came across a job that would have ideal for me. My clients come first, so I did not apply, just in case she was able to qualify for the job. I have her time to make application and when I checked yesterday morning, the listing had been modified to "...no longer available." So, someone, or a bunch of someones, have been shortlisted and the job is soon to belong to someone else.
Now, I am not saying that if I had immediately applied for it that I would have been considered or hired, but I did not even try. There is a new program beginning this year for veterans, and I only know about it because one of the people involved is the guy who administers the current menu of programs in this area and he called me a month ago and told me that he wants me to be a part of it, like a paid job and everything. Cool. However, this is government-related, so who knows what will happen with the project/program, who is going to be involved and how, and if it will even come to fruition.
So, I get through one more week and I am feeling good, like strong. Now powerful, but I am working so hard to get there. I am not much of a goal person, but I do hope to get there and be one eventually. Yeah.
Friday's session left me fully vented and feeling strong. There is even a chance that I was taller as I left. I took myself to the hardware store, where they sell reading glasses for 99cents, and whilst I was walking up to the cash wrap to pay for them, my phone rang.
It was my attorney. She told me that she is filing something, a new motion or proposal or some frakkity-frak thing that will try to end this money mess and force my ex to divide our resources.
Now. The resources are greatly depleted, and he has no intention of stopping the blood-letting with those funds, so anything that might move things along and resolve this, well, it is a good thing. However, why is there any expectation that should some miracle occur and he agrees to giving me my share that he will actually do that. Past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior. An excellent saying, one that endures because it is true. Agreement or compliance is unlikely.
My attorney has drafted a proposal that states that I will be given an equal share of what he has already withdrawn (stolen, truth be told) from the accounts and that the resulting funds will be equally divided between us.
What the frakkity-frak???? He was supposed to sign the paperwork eight months ago so that could be done. He did not. He has spent the past eight months gradually taking whatever he wants. What could possibly make anyone think that anything will change. Even if he agrees to the new proposal, he has no incentive to comply. And, I think that he is unlikely to agree to anything anyway.
I do not want to do this, although I accept that any action is better than no action. She tells me that I do not have any choice, and that he will have to comply. I ask how that can be when he has done nothing of the kind so far. She says that this new thing is enforceable. But, how? And, why would he even agree to it. She says he will, and I say that we can do this, knowing that I will likely be spending the last of my resources on trying something that will not work. Everybody gets financial benefit from this mess except for me. This sucks so much that I can hardly bear it. But, I am going to allow it because I have no other choice. She is right about that.
I then tell her that I will be selling the car, which I will need to do to supplement my social security in order to live, and she tells me to not do that because being without the car will completely isolate me. This morning I think that she may be right about the car. Not to avoid isolation, but because CoolCat and I are likely to be living in it in a few months.
Frak. At least I have great food in the house.
You know, I will survive this. I had a really nice conversation with the accountant chosen by my ex and his attorney. I did not share much about this whole frakking mess, but we ended our appointment with him telling me that good comes out of everything, which I mostly think is crap, but bless his heart for being so nice. I was being nice, too, because, well, what else do I have left except being the nice person I believe myself to be, but I might have had some measure of disbelief on my face, because he told me that I would be coming back in a year to tell him that things were much better. Another nice thing to say. But, he is going to have to find me where CoolCat are living in the car.
I am stronger. I am also alive, something which I would not be had I stayed for even that day, the day I left. So, all of that is good. I am still alive and able to fret and complain, worry and all that is fine. I have also done some research on how to safely live in a car here. I will still have to sell the car I have now, and buy a panel van for some privacy, and enough room for the extra bit of privacy CoolCat will need for his litter box, all so much better than the tiny car we have. There is even a chance that I could trade my excellent car for a decent van, one that runs well. I can sell most of what I have, bringing in money to equip and keep a van working well. I know the options for parking overnight, and how to live relatively well, already being super-frugal. I will have to give up my volunteer work here and move to a larger city. The one I have in mind is where some of my friends live, so that means that showering is not going to be a problem. I might not have to do this, but it is very comforting to know that I have this option.
So, my attorney has the go-ahead to do what she thinks best. I have the go-ahead to hope for the best.
I am fighting to divest myself of how cynical I have become. I am hopeful because I am a hopeful person. Despair might wrestle me to the ground on occasion, but I always find a way to move on. Forward. It would be a real shame if I gave up after everything that has happened. So, I am not going to do that. I have so many options, which would be one option more if Walmart still had door greeters. :) My personal job this week is to find a job. Any job. There has to be someone who will hire a really, really nice person who just happens to have trouble walking and standing. Someone who would love to hire me and let me sit once in a while.
I have lost so much, I simply cannot lose my trust in a kind and loving Universe. I cannot bear to lose my ability to trust that good eventually comes to good people, or at least people who are doing their best to be good. I am not giving up on hope, either. Trusting in hope. Trusting in myself to solve whatever needs solving, fix the broken stuff and find that still undiscovered life that is waiting for me. The possibilities are limitless. I can hardly wait!
My therapist is knowledgeable, worldly and her expertise, well, she is absolutely the best match I could ever have imagined having. She expresses her own frustration about how my ex continues to ignore every court order. At this point, I have a lifetime of knowing how he is and in terms of truly crappy and disgusting behavior he has never varied in how he moves through the world. Yeah, it still has the power to hurt me, but I am working so hard to release myself from engaging in that kind of energy. It is not as though I still love him, although even through the worst that was remained a condition of our relationship, one-sided as that probably was, but I cannot find a way to hate him, which I think might not be all that much in my best interest, hating and all that, but would certainly make parts of this process. So.
Anyway, we try to work through all of that. Eight months since the final decree and there is very little forward movement. My resources dwindle, mostly because I am finding it impossible to find a paying job. Oh, sure, I can do what I do for free. Volunteering feeds me in more significant ways that a paying job might. Or, maybe not, as I have always loved working. A lot. And, it is nice to have some money to show for the effort at the end of the week. I would like that. Just saying.
I can help other people find jobs, even my clients with developmental issues. My physical limitations are giving me grief beyond the usual crap, and I simply cannot find a part-time job that does not require running my frakkity-frak ass off. Is it too much for there to be a job out there where I can do something similar to what I do now for free? Last week, whilst working with a client, we came across a job that would have ideal for me. My clients come first, so I did not apply, just in case she was able to qualify for the job. I have her time to make application and when I checked yesterday morning, the listing had been modified to "...no longer available." So, someone, or a bunch of someones, have been shortlisted and the job is soon to belong to someone else.
Now, I am not saying that if I had immediately applied for it that I would have been considered or hired, but I did not even try. There is a new program beginning this year for veterans, and I only know about it because one of the people involved is the guy who administers the current menu of programs in this area and he called me a month ago and told me that he wants me to be a part of it, like a paid job and everything. Cool. However, this is government-related, so who knows what will happen with the project/program, who is going to be involved and how, and if it will even come to fruition.
So, I get through one more week and I am feeling good, like strong. Now powerful, but I am working so hard to get there. I am not much of a goal person, but I do hope to get there and be one eventually. Yeah.
Friday's session left me fully vented and feeling strong. There is even a chance that I was taller as I left. I took myself to the hardware store, where they sell reading glasses for 99cents, and whilst I was walking up to the cash wrap to pay for them, my phone rang.
It was my attorney. She told me that she is filing something, a new motion or proposal or some frakkity-frak thing that will try to end this money mess and force my ex to divide our resources.
Now. The resources are greatly depleted, and he has no intention of stopping the blood-letting with those funds, so anything that might move things along and resolve this, well, it is a good thing. However, why is there any expectation that should some miracle occur and he agrees to giving me my share that he will actually do that. Past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior. An excellent saying, one that endures because it is true. Agreement or compliance is unlikely.
My attorney has drafted a proposal that states that I will be given an equal share of what he has already withdrawn (stolen, truth be told) from the accounts and that the resulting funds will be equally divided between us.
What the frakkity-frak???? He was supposed to sign the paperwork eight months ago so that could be done. He did not. He has spent the past eight months gradually taking whatever he wants. What could possibly make anyone think that anything will change. Even if he agrees to the new proposal, he has no incentive to comply. And, I think that he is unlikely to agree to anything anyway.
I do not want to do this, although I accept that any action is better than no action. She tells me that I do not have any choice, and that he will have to comply. I ask how that can be when he has done nothing of the kind so far. She says that this new thing is enforceable. But, how? And, why would he even agree to it. She says he will, and I say that we can do this, knowing that I will likely be spending the last of my resources on trying something that will not work. Everybody gets financial benefit from this mess except for me. This sucks so much that I can hardly bear it. But, I am going to allow it because I have no other choice. She is right about that.
I then tell her that I will be selling the car, which I will need to do to supplement my social security in order to live, and she tells me to not do that because being without the car will completely isolate me. This morning I think that she may be right about the car. Not to avoid isolation, but because CoolCat and I are likely to be living in it in a few months.
Frak. At least I have great food in the house.
You know, I will survive this. I had a really nice conversation with the accountant chosen by my ex and his attorney. I did not share much about this whole frakking mess, but we ended our appointment with him telling me that good comes out of everything, which I mostly think is crap, but bless his heart for being so nice. I was being nice, too, because, well, what else do I have left except being the nice person I believe myself to be, but I might have had some measure of disbelief on my face, because he told me that I would be coming back in a year to tell him that things were much better. Another nice thing to say. But, he is going to have to find me where CoolCat are living in the car.
I am stronger. I am also alive, something which I would not be had I stayed for even that day, the day I left. So, all of that is good. I am still alive and able to fret and complain, worry and all that is fine. I have also done some research on how to safely live in a car here. I will still have to sell the car I have now, and buy a panel van for some privacy, and enough room for the extra bit of privacy CoolCat will need for his litter box, all so much better than the tiny car we have. There is even a chance that I could trade my excellent car for a decent van, one that runs well. I can sell most of what I have, bringing in money to equip and keep a van working well. I know the options for parking overnight, and how to live relatively well, already being super-frugal. I will have to give up my volunteer work here and move to a larger city. The one I have in mind is where some of my friends live, so that means that showering is not going to be a problem. I might not have to do this, but it is very comforting to know that I have this option.
So, my attorney has the go-ahead to do what she thinks best. I have the go-ahead to hope for the best.
I am fighting to divest myself of how cynical I have become. I am hopeful because I am a hopeful person. Despair might wrestle me to the ground on occasion, but I always find a way to move on. Forward. It would be a real shame if I gave up after everything that has happened. So, I am not going to do that. I have so many options, which would be one option more if Walmart still had door greeters. :) My personal job this week is to find a job. Any job. There has to be someone who will hire a really, really nice person who just happens to have trouble walking and standing. Someone who would love to hire me and let me sit once in a while.
I have lost so much, I simply cannot lose my trust in a kind and loving Universe. I cannot bear to lose my ability to trust that good eventually comes to good people, or at least people who are doing their best to be good. I am not giving up on hope, either. Trusting in hope. Trusting in myself to solve whatever needs solving, fix the broken stuff and find that still undiscovered life that is waiting for me. The possibilities are limitless. I can hardly wait!
Thursday, April 11, 2013
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...
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.
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)
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.
Monday, April 8, 2013
food
It is my drug of choice. I am too lazy to choose something else, and am stuck with a substance that I can abuse with relative impunity because it is necessary for life. It is not, however, something that I need to indulge in quite so much.
I do not eat much junk food. I had brunch out with a friend last Sunday and ate a lot of stuff. All of it healthy, or as much so as buffet/brunch food can be, but too much. All of it was freshly made, some of it to order. I had an omelet, with mushrooms, spinach, tomatoes and a little bacon. Oh, dear, I also had three strips of bacon. Erp. All of it was delicious. Butter on the green beans. Lovely marinara-ed meat balls. Yummy roast beef for sandwiches, which I had sans buns or toppings. Excellent salad and fruit; managed to resist the dressings, though, as well as the breads, because they were offering margarine/poison instead of butter. Oh, I guess that is what was on the green beans. Missed that entirely.
I eat at home, cook from scratch, and eat kind of simply. Meat, vegetables, whole grains and cereals, a little fruit. Not much dairy, no cheese (causes interesting and embarrassing gastrointestinal expression). Although, cream and half&half do not when used as a small part of soup or something. Especially in my most often prepared and eaten soup, hot sausage, potato and kale. Those who live in the US and have been to Olive Garden know what soup I mean. Mine is better. Lots better. Really.
I mostly make my own bread, at least I do until I just have to stop eating so much of it. Hardly anything tastes as good as a nice layer of creamy butter on a slice (or twelve) of freshly baked bread, still steaming, hot out of the oven. I rarely eat pasta, but when I do it is whole wheat and a smallish portion.
If anyone would ask me if I was an emotional eater, I would have said "No." Total denial. True, I have been fat for most of my adult life, but I was an amazing and creative cook. It was something that I could do well, and it rarely got me in trouble. Even when someone who is not me decided at the last minute that he wanted something other than what I had prepared for a meal, he would get mad, but not hurt me. He would grumble and complain and even criticize, but would also eat everything. That is how good at cooking I was.
I did a lot of the cooking when I lived in the shelter and when I stayed with a friend, before I found a place to live. I eat much more simply now. No need for several courses and dessert. Just me and CoolCat, him and his kibble and me eating simply, giving him all the salad he wants, as well as bits of meat, although he mostly loves meat juice, but not on his salad. No dressing. He hates dressing.
However, the past month or so has been hyper-stressful and my go-to mood altering is food. No ambiguity, no equivocation, no blathering about looking for relief. Straight to the kitchen.
Since food does not magically appear on-site, I am forced to go out and actually shop for it, make choices, pay money and haul all of it home, put it away and eventually do something with it. Seriously.
I had a bad patch early in this past month, or so, when the results of doing something with ingredients were a dismal failure. A sad and mostly disgusting failure. Total erp. I tried to eat some of it, but it made me even more depressed and stressed, so I threw out the first disaster. And, I am not exaggerating when I say it was a disaster. Then, the next day it happened again. Several days later, a repeat. The material and resource and money waste was appalling.
I managed to get back on track, but have been eating too much. I make dinner, with enough extra for lunch the next day and way too often I eat most of it, maybe all of it. When I shopped last week, I bought frozen pastries and potato chips. I knew that if I opened the pastry box that I would eat all of them, so I took them to one of the support groups I attend and foisted the darn things on them. I resisted, having a couple of mandarins. As for the potato chips, I ate all of them.
I am disgusting, not only for all of the eating, but for how really fat I am now. Just a month of unrepentant eating and I am huge, big as a house. Sure, not a huge house, but a house nevertheless.
So, in the spirit of continuing to be able to fit in my car and through doorways, I have decided to eat better. I though that I would combine it with some decent exercise, but even my recent success with two walks and a saunter are not enough to make that happen.
The only thing left is the actual eating well, better, more cleanly. More content, better ingredients, less volume. In the pursuit of that, I am now eating a quite small portion of last night's marina (tomatoes, onions, ground beef, mushrooms, hot peppers) with celery.
Lots of celery. I read something about how it helps with high blood pressure...got it...and inflammation...got it. Eating it.
I have also read about how bad wheat is for some of us, but even though it is a carbohydrate that I am careful about eating, that whole wheat thing sounds like hokum. If it is even partially true, I am not interested, as I am now greatly reducing the grains and cereals in my diet, hoping to eliminate them entirely. I thought for a while that I could go gluten-free, but getting all of it out of my eating is for the best.
Of course, that means that my popcorn dinners, for when I just do not have the energy to make anything else, are pretty much over. It is probably for the best. Totally delicious, but not a very good carrier for balanced nutrition. No hummus, either. Just made a double batch. Rats. That and raw vegetables are what I eat when I cannot stomach more popcorn. Guess that goes to support group this week. Maybe use up some of the flour to make crackers.
This is going to be boring without the carbs. I now eat meat a couple of time a week; now it will have to be almost daily. I can do this. I need to take better care of myself. If I get sick or develop a disease or have a heart attack or stroke, there is no one to care for me. If nothing else, I have family who would miss seeing me, and there is CoolCat. I am so lucky to have that sweet guy. I have always put his well-being and care above anything else, now I need to join him there.
I do not eat much junk food. I had brunch out with a friend last Sunday and ate a lot of stuff. All of it healthy, or as much so as buffet/brunch food can be, but too much. All of it was freshly made, some of it to order. I had an omelet, with mushrooms, spinach, tomatoes and a little bacon. Oh, dear, I also had three strips of bacon. Erp. All of it was delicious. Butter on the green beans. Lovely marinara-ed meat balls. Yummy roast beef for sandwiches, which I had sans buns or toppings. Excellent salad and fruit; managed to resist the dressings, though, as well as the breads, because they were offering margarine/poison instead of butter. Oh, I guess that is what was on the green beans. Missed that entirely.
I eat at home, cook from scratch, and eat kind of simply. Meat, vegetables, whole grains and cereals, a little fruit. Not much dairy, no cheese (causes interesting and embarrassing gastrointestinal expression). Although, cream and half&half do not when used as a small part of soup or something. Especially in my most often prepared and eaten soup, hot sausage, potato and kale. Those who live in the US and have been to Olive Garden know what soup I mean. Mine is better. Lots better. Really.
I mostly make my own bread, at least I do until I just have to stop eating so much of it. Hardly anything tastes as good as a nice layer of creamy butter on a slice (or twelve) of freshly baked bread, still steaming, hot out of the oven. I rarely eat pasta, but when I do it is whole wheat and a smallish portion.
If anyone would ask me if I was an emotional eater, I would have said "No." Total denial. True, I have been fat for most of my adult life, but I was an amazing and creative cook. It was something that I could do well, and it rarely got me in trouble. Even when someone who is not me decided at the last minute that he wanted something other than what I had prepared for a meal, he would get mad, but not hurt me. He would grumble and complain and even criticize, but would also eat everything. That is how good at cooking I was.
I did a lot of the cooking when I lived in the shelter and when I stayed with a friend, before I found a place to live. I eat much more simply now. No need for several courses and dessert. Just me and CoolCat, him and his kibble and me eating simply, giving him all the salad he wants, as well as bits of meat, although he mostly loves meat juice, but not on his salad. No dressing. He hates dressing.
However, the past month or so has been hyper-stressful and my go-to mood altering is food. No ambiguity, no equivocation, no blathering about looking for relief. Straight to the kitchen.
Since food does not magically appear on-site, I am forced to go out and actually shop for it, make choices, pay money and haul all of it home, put it away and eventually do something with it. Seriously.
I had a bad patch early in this past month, or so, when the results of doing something with ingredients were a dismal failure. A sad and mostly disgusting failure. Total erp. I tried to eat some of it, but it made me even more depressed and stressed, so I threw out the first disaster. And, I am not exaggerating when I say it was a disaster. Then, the next day it happened again. Several days later, a repeat. The material and resource and money waste was appalling.
I managed to get back on track, but have been eating too much. I make dinner, with enough extra for lunch the next day and way too often I eat most of it, maybe all of it. When I shopped last week, I bought frozen pastries and potato chips. I knew that if I opened the pastry box that I would eat all of them, so I took them to one of the support groups I attend and foisted the darn things on them. I resisted, having a couple of mandarins. As for the potato chips, I ate all of them.
I am disgusting, not only for all of the eating, but for how really fat I am now. Just a month of unrepentant eating and I am huge, big as a house. Sure, not a huge house, but a house nevertheless.
So, in the spirit of continuing to be able to fit in my car and through doorways, I have decided to eat better. I though that I would combine it with some decent exercise, but even my recent success with two walks and a saunter are not enough to make that happen.
The only thing left is the actual eating well, better, more cleanly. More content, better ingredients, less volume. In the pursuit of that, I am now eating a quite small portion of last night's marina (tomatoes, onions, ground beef, mushrooms, hot peppers) with celery.
Lots of celery. I read something about how it helps with high blood pressure...got it...and inflammation...got it. Eating it.
I have also read about how bad wheat is for some of us, but even though it is a carbohydrate that I am careful about eating, that whole wheat thing sounds like hokum. If it is even partially true, I am not interested, as I am now greatly reducing the grains and cereals in my diet, hoping to eliminate them entirely. I thought for a while that I could go gluten-free, but getting all of it out of my eating is for the best.
Of course, that means that my popcorn dinners, for when I just do not have the energy to make anything else, are pretty much over. It is probably for the best. Totally delicious, but not a very good carrier for balanced nutrition. No hummus, either. Just made a double batch. Rats. That and raw vegetables are what I eat when I cannot stomach more popcorn. Guess that goes to support group this week. Maybe use up some of the flour to make crackers.
This is going to be boring without the carbs. I now eat meat a couple of time a week; now it will have to be almost daily. I can do this. I need to take better care of myself. If I get sick or develop a disease or have a heart attack or stroke, there is no one to care for me. If nothing else, I have family who would miss seeing me, and there is CoolCat. I am so lucky to have that sweet guy. I have always put his well-being and care above anything else, now I need to join him there.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
humdrum
It has been an interesting few weeks. All the same old stuff. Regular crap, the usual, that has, unfortunately, brought back panic attacks. It is so frustrating to be having them again. I worked so hard at reducing the darn things. And, you know, it is the same old things. Efforts from someone who is not me to control or complicate my life.
The worst part is that I am still reacting to this stuff. All this work, a whole damn year of it and despite the occasional backward movement, I am really doing well. It is not as though I give a rat's ass about him, but he refuses to just do what needs to be done, comply with the court orders...and, really, how freaking difficult is that?...it is not!...and move on with his life. Given the way he behaved, surely he must be much happier without me around. Or, maybe it is simply more fun or entertaining or something to keep being difficult. It has come to the point where he is refusing to take the advice of his attorney, just to make me unable to file tax reports for last year.
I submitted my information to him, via my attorney, nearly two months ago, giving both of us time to properly file. As of last Monday, nothing was coming from him, so I freaked, had a total melt-down when my attorney's advice was to just do what he wanted. Again. To shorten a very long and stupid story, we have an appointment this week to get the taxes done. Well, we have two appointments, because the mere thought of being in the same building with him nearly paralyzed me. So, we are seeing this guy at different times of the day. He is my ex's choice, is insanely expensive (although I will be paying him directly and will not end up paying the entire bill, like last year) and I am, now that I have had a week to calm down, very glad.
I had to go and cancel my appointment with the tax guy I found. I did that in person, not wanting to do it over the phone, although that would have been way less embarrassing.
Anyway, in a few days it will be all over.
One thing that has become clear over the past weeks is that I am stuck being frightened. And, not just frightened, but too scared to move on to that great like that I know is waiting for me. This fear is a more significant control issue for me than anything he has done with our resources. He does something to me and I hide. He refuses to comply with the court orders and I, well, I do not do anything.
It is not as though I am trying to be weak. It is only that I am still afraid of saying anything or standing up for myself, because if I did that, back then, you know, just asked for something to stop or to not be hurt, things would get worse. I might happen immediately, but it would often happen a bit later. He would walk off, let his anger build and then return. All bad stuff.
My problem is that keeping silent, not protesting or protecting myself, hanging on until it was over worked best then, but it is not serving me now. I am no longer in imminent danger, under nearly daily assault. My mind knows that. My body is slow in getting the message. Two therapy sessions did nothing to help, save for the opportunity to whine.
In the spirit of forward movement I attended a self-defense demonstration. I tried to participate, but I just could not touch the instructor or allow him to touch me, which totally defeats the purpose of coming there to practice some techniques. Or, something. I thought I could do it. I was able to take away some excellent tips on personal safety, and even though I could not actually do it, I now have some really good moves for punching. Other people, bad ones, like really bad ones. Lordy. I occurs to me that even if I had known about this self-protection stuff, that I still would not have used it to protect myself back then. But, the truth is that I would never have considered learning about it, much less use it, not even if I had thought of it and pretended that learning it was for all the nights I had to close the store and leave work, going out to an empty and dark parking lot. Nope, never would have used it.
I walked again. Twice I have left my house and walked a couple of blocks. It was all I could manage, but I did it! I also walked across the street to meet the dogs that live there. I introduced myself to the people who live there and asked to meet with the dogs. It was very nice. So, I think that counts as three times, two walks and a saunter.
That self-defense thing, though. I need to do more about that. There could really be something for me in learning this stuff.
One of the women's shelters is using a few of my poems for their residents, in the group format, I think. They asked for them, did not say how they would be used and I did not ask. This week I am beginning to provide employment services there, as well. My weeks are busy, therapy, two support groups and two volunteer gigs. Laundromat. Grocery shopping. Mostly I take naps. Just the usual.
I can make it through this week. The risk of running into him at or around the appointment times.
One more thing.
Happy Birthday, LittleDude!
The worst part is that I am still reacting to this stuff. All this work, a whole damn year of it and despite the occasional backward movement, I am really doing well. It is not as though I give a rat's ass about him, but he refuses to just do what needs to be done, comply with the court orders...and, really, how freaking difficult is that?...it is not!...and move on with his life. Given the way he behaved, surely he must be much happier without me around. Or, maybe it is simply more fun or entertaining or something to keep being difficult. It has come to the point where he is refusing to take the advice of his attorney, just to make me unable to file tax reports for last year.
I submitted my information to him, via my attorney, nearly two months ago, giving both of us time to properly file. As of last Monday, nothing was coming from him, so I freaked, had a total melt-down when my attorney's advice was to just do what he wanted. Again. To shorten a very long and stupid story, we have an appointment this week to get the taxes done. Well, we have two appointments, because the mere thought of being in the same building with him nearly paralyzed me. So, we are seeing this guy at different times of the day. He is my ex's choice, is insanely expensive (although I will be paying him directly and will not end up paying the entire bill, like last year) and I am, now that I have had a week to calm down, very glad.
I had to go and cancel my appointment with the tax guy I found. I did that in person, not wanting to do it over the phone, although that would have been way less embarrassing.
Anyway, in a few days it will be all over.
One thing that has become clear over the past weeks is that I am stuck being frightened. And, not just frightened, but too scared to move on to that great like that I know is waiting for me. This fear is a more significant control issue for me than anything he has done with our resources. He does something to me and I hide. He refuses to comply with the court orders and I, well, I do not do anything.
It is not as though I am trying to be weak. It is only that I am still afraid of saying anything or standing up for myself, because if I did that, back then, you know, just asked for something to stop or to not be hurt, things would get worse. I might happen immediately, but it would often happen a bit later. He would walk off, let his anger build and then return. All bad stuff.
My problem is that keeping silent, not protesting or protecting myself, hanging on until it was over worked best then, but it is not serving me now. I am no longer in imminent danger, under nearly daily assault. My mind knows that. My body is slow in getting the message. Two therapy sessions did nothing to help, save for the opportunity to whine.
In the spirit of forward movement I attended a self-defense demonstration. I tried to participate, but I just could not touch the instructor or allow him to touch me, which totally defeats the purpose of coming there to practice some techniques. Or, something. I thought I could do it. I was able to take away some excellent tips on personal safety, and even though I could not actually do it, I now have some really good moves for punching. Other people, bad ones, like really bad ones. Lordy. I occurs to me that even if I had known about this self-protection stuff, that I still would not have used it to protect myself back then. But, the truth is that I would never have considered learning about it, much less use it, not even if I had thought of it and pretended that learning it was for all the nights I had to close the store and leave work, going out to an empty and dark parking lot. Nope, never would have used it.
I walked again. Twice I have left my house and walked a couple of blocks. It was all I could manage, but I did it! I also walked across the street to meet the dogs that live there. I introduced myself to the people who live there and asked to meet with the dogs. It was very nice. So, I think that counts as three times, two walks and a saunter.
That self-defense thing, though. I need to do more about that. There could really be something for me in learning this stuff.
One of the women's shelters is using a few of my poems for their residents, in the group format, I think. They asked for them, did not say how they would be used and I did not ask. This week I am beginning to provide employment services there, as well. My weeks are busy, therapy, two support groups and two volunteer gigs. Laundromat. Grocery shopping. Mostly I take naps. Just the usual.
I can make it through this week. The risk of running into him at or around the appointment times.
One more thing.
Happy Birthday, LittleDude!
Monday, April 1, 2013
decreation
 | |
| I found this whilst trying to mood alter this afternoon. NASA helps me do that. It looks like something coming together or coming apart. It seems to exemplify how scattered I am, how I can never count on any kind of peaceful life. It is the dust cloud around Formalhaut. |
I am having trouble knowing if the past few weeks are the beginning or the end. Today nearly did me in. The truth is that if my ex and his family have their way, and it looks very much as if that is a certainty, this mess will never be over for me. I am fucked. Completely. Yet again, we are all scrambling all over the damn place doing whatever they want done, how they want it and when.
There has never been a time when they have complied with anything, not even things that are so insignificant that they would never have been noticed by anyone, unless they had not made such a big freaking deal about whatever it was.
This most recent thing is that they are withholding the information I need to file my taxes for last year. Doing so makes it so that I will be in violation of the tax laws concerning the sharing of income information for divorced persons, as I would have to file an incomplete return. I provided my information for them nearly six weeks ago. What the freaking fuck?
So, after everything crappy that has happened recently, it appears that I may not be able to file properly. And, now, here we find ourselves with less than two weeks before the tax deadline.
No information for doing the damn taxes. No expectation that I will ever receive my share of our resources, or at least a share of what is left from him stealing from the funds. Nothing.
This will never end. I am so fucked.
When I began writing this evening, I thought that I had made up the word decreation. It appears that I have not, and that my use and intention is spot on. I was thinking that it was the opposite of creating, sort of the un-creating. I am fairly certain that it really is not a real word, in the dictionary-sense. But, it works here because I am coming apart. I am disappearing, bit by bit, each new assault takes what it wants. What he wants. I escaped with my life and it disturbs him. He will not stop until I am completely gone. I thought I was safe. I was wrong.
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