Narrowly Escaping Escape

Apparently, once divorce papers from the estranged spouse arrived, all bets were off and we were “public” at that point.   He had begun to tell me that he loved me and I ate it up another little snippet of himself that he doled out to keep me happy and we were beginning to settle into a life I suppose; a crazy unordered life.

BT, (Before Tucker), I had been getting my children up and off to school, getting myself to work, coming home, cooking supper and watching movies or reading with the kids or playing outside or whatever.  We didn't have cable tv or internet at the time. Hell if I remember right, I didn’t even have a cell phone.  It was uncomplicated and routine. 

 I suppose that Tucker and his clan descending upon my household was an exciting change that was welcome at first but it slowly began to eat at me.  His teenaged son would come and go as he pleased and then his things were gradually introduced into my garage until I could no longer park my car there.  Tucker Jr. we shall call him began to move his clothes and various bags and boxes of things in until every available corner of my house began to fill up with random stuff.  I tried as best I could to make room and allowances but could not get him to share a room with my son much less his closet or space and invariably had a belligerent snoring teenager on my couch.  Next, the older daughter came and even more allowances and the other end of the couch and a portable closet in my goddamned living room and on and on.  My previously cute, ordered cottage was now filled to the brim with other people’s crap…and other people.  There was eventually a motorhome parked in my driveway that the teenaged son began to live in when we weren’t taking it on the road for various functions.

The next largest drama and what should have been the absolute biggest alarm buzzer for me was when Tucker’s two youngest came to visit; a boy one year younger than mine and a girl one year younger than my girl. They were all in a row at 6, 7, 8, and 9.  The aforementioned motor home had been parked in our driveway for some time and MY children had been firmly instructed by Tucker to NEVER EVER play in it for any reason.  After picking his children up from the airport for him, we pulled into the driveway to hear his youngest daughter say, “OOOOOhhhhh the motorhome, we can play house in that!”

To which my son, ever the hall monitor says, “Um no.  We are NEVER EVER allowed to play in it for any reason.”

Promptly answered with…”My daddy never ever gets me in trouble, I’ll play in it if I want to.”

Ripping the Bandaid Off

I have this picture frame at work and it has pics of my kids and one of my dogs in it and one of the frames is empty.  I couldn’t bear to have it filled any longer.  I’m starting to think however that the empty black hole in the frame is worse than looking at him every day instead.  Maybe I could stick his mug shot in there and that would make it better?

I ripped that aforementioned band-aid off on Monday. I went to visit him and stared at a monitor screen and told him, “Don’t call me anymore. I won’t be in to see you anymore.  As soon as I can afford it, expect divorce papers from me.”  I was very straight to the point and calm which was not at all what I was feeling.  I was feeling like I was on the visitor’s episode of Lockup… I mean what the fuck am I doing in a jail “visitin my man”??

He cried and begged and did all the same manipulative things he always has to try and get me to capitulate.  I gave in a little and stayed for part of the visit but it was only to listen to him try to reason with me like I was an 8 year old as to why we belong together and how much he loves me.  I finally said, “I’m going to tell you good bye now and hang this phone up.”

He screamed and pressed his hand up and said, “Please! No! No! Don’t leave!”

But I couldn’t stay any longer. I did what I told him I was about to do. I said good-bye, I hung up the phone and I walked away.  It was surreal and terrible.  It didn’t feel better. I still don’t feel better. Someone tells you that they love you and you have to walk away from that?  It didn’t seem right and yet I knew that it was. I cried all the way home.  I called my mom and cried some more. I crawled in bed and cried until I fell asleep. I woke up to check on my daughter and cried some more.  Writing this down makes me bleary and teary-eyed.

Supposedly, I’m going to feel all better soon.  The overwhelming urge to curl up in the fetal position every evening when I get home and stay in bed til I have to get up again is going to pass.  That’s what I hear anyway.  I’ll have to take everyone’s word for it because at the moment…I think I’m lost.  Now, not only do I feel like I’m adrift with no land in sight, Wilson done fell in and there doesn’t appear to be a good tailwind either.  Tucker Tucker Bo Bucker Banana Fanna Fo FUCKER.

Nothing

I suppose we shall have to name him for the purposes of storytelling, I can’t just keep calling him that man.  Although I have a few names I’ve picked out over the years, I suppose I should pick something out that doesn’t offend every time you look at it. The kindest thing I can think of right now is Tucker. (And I sing to myself Tucker Tucker Bo Bucker Banana Fanna Fo FUCKER.)  Yes that's why I picked it...shut up.

After Tucker's grand gesture of deciding to meet my children, I introduced them to this man that I was fervently, crazily in love with having high hopes of a gentle loving father figure for them.    After all, I had watched him coddle his own children, both sets…I call them both sets because two were much older and two were the age of my smaller children.  They got his unconditional love and attention and he seemed to go so far out of his way for all of them.  He seemed very attentive to mine as well and by that Christmas it seemed like we were getting close to being a blended family. 

My son looked up to his own father and worshipped him endlessly but was often disappointed and hurt by his behavior.  I must qualify though by saying my son has high expectations from the entire human race and will most definitely let you know if you’ve disappointed him.  So here I thought, “Here’s a good dad, one that loves his children to a fault and can be such a wonderful example.”  As it turns out, you can only be an outspoken brat and get away with it if you’re blood related to Tucker.

He didn’t take well to a rambunctious, outspoken little boy who had already had a rough go of it by the time he was 3 and had a way of telling it like it was even when it wasn’t convenient to hear it.  I’m not saying that little boy was always right but he wasn’t often wrong in his observations.  He never had an unexpressed thought and old-school-seen-and-not-heard adults don’t like this type of child because you can most certainly beat it out of them if you really care about their well-being. I’m also not saying I always liked my son’s behavior but that’s who I had apparently raised and I had learned to deal with it to deal with him and we were making our way fairly well. 

Tucker didn't like it at all and thus began my self-imposed subversion of my real self; the one that constantly tried to keep the peace between them and made excuses for my boy and excuses for my man.  They say that abused women stay in their abusive relationships because there is a trade-off taking place and whatever they’re getting when they’re not being beaten is something they desperately want and thus, they put up with the beatings.  In my case, even though one of the biggest warning bells was that this man and my son were not meshing well, I again, hit the snooze because I needed to keep those quiet times in the night when I laid in his arms and he made me feel like I was wonderful and special and perfect and more importantly, it was worth having that given to me by THIS man. 

I never argued with him.  We didn’t have disagreements because I acquiesced without fail or I figured out the best way to get what I needed or wanted without an argument or disagreement.  I hated this person I had become but so desperately needed all the sweet talk and con-man manipulation I heard in the night that I ignored how buried my real self was becoming.

Every time I lowered my self-respect and did something else he wanted in exchange for praise I thought to myself, That wasn’t so bad, it’s over now and he so appreciates it and thinks you’re perfect. I can remember having sex that was becoming increasingly more sordid and just praying for it to be over so that I could get to the good part.  The part where I was cuddled and held and wanted and cooed over and told I was perfect.  I never turned him down. If I ever acted as if I were tired or didn't want to, I would hear, “Are you turning me down?” and I would always say no because I was so afraid he’d leave me.  I just wish I’d had the fortitude at the time to say, “So what if he does?”

There was another trade-off that I hated to admit.  I hate to admit it now, because I can almost excuse myself for being emotionally damaged enough to remain in a relationship that wasn’t good for me. But there was the money... and giving up yourself for material things is dishonorable and weak and speaks to one’s morality and poor character and it hurts me most to think back on how many times I shut my mouth or gave in and did what I didn’t want to do because I thought to myself that I would have to go back to struggling.

The money that he gave me to keep my checking account flush, the things he bought me that were extravagant and crazy, the times he took me out and showed me off and the money, oh the money.  I had spent my entire life struggling to get by.  As a child, I remember the struggle.  I worked since I was 14 and paid my mother rent to live in my own house.  I can remember leaving at 18 and struggling.  Getting pregnant and married and struggling, leaving my husband with my two tiny children in tow and struggling.  For the first time in my life I wasn’t struggling.  I need only ask and this man would get it for me.  I had a housekeeper; I had nice clothes, expensive purses…whatever I wanted. 

Shamefully I sold my soul for all these things, all these things and words whispered into my ear in the night.  Words that amounted to nothing, just like his “love” or his promises; it pains me to acknowledge that in the end... I was held by nothing.

Starving

At first I felt like I’d met my secret Prince Charming. Why secret you say? Well because he was a client and we aren’t allowed to date clients. Then he eventually said he wanted to see me all the time and didn’t want to worry about that client stuff and he got off the case load. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought… Finally! We could see each other free and clear.

Oh! But no. 

He explained quite earnestly how much he had missed and loved his two youngest children over the last year during his unfortunate and undeserved incarceration. (See Turning Piles of Shit into Gold) He further explained that his then still wife might “throw snake eyes” at him having a girlfriend.

I’m really thinking to myself, “Um…isn’t this the woman that according to all accounts left the state with those two children and left the two older children to fend for themselves and is even now as we speak shacked up with her internet lover?”

Today

Today was hard. Even to look back at this sometimes makes my heart hurt so much that I think to myself, "What is the point of getting up today?"

                                                              I know the point.

Living. Raising the kids. Looking forward to those times when I no longer feel lonely. When I no longer feel like a fool.  Hearing his voice on the phone begging for forgiveness and knowing he only needs what he needs.  He doesn't need forgiveness. He needs another chunk out of me.
Hearing everyone say, "Why are you still taking those calls? Why do you even care?"

Because the thought that he really did see me coming from a mile away and that none of it mattered sucks the wind out me...and because he can't get to me from where he is...not really. I'll rip the band-aid off before he can.
I know I will, but for now...the pain of pulling it off slowly keeps me mad. It keeps my resolve strong. The sting is welcome because it still feels like I deserve it.

Fuck him.

As a very dear friend of mine says, "Fuck him in the neck."

That's all.

Turning Piles of Shit into Gold

When he walked into the room, I didn’t really think much.  His hair was gray and he was slight and had these eyes that seemed to just stare through you, like he was looking at something much more important on the other side of you.  His attitude was sullen and I guess why wouldn’t it be? My job was to help those on public assistance find jobs.  That really should have been it, all of it, right there. He was going on my case load, I was going to help him find work and that was that.    He filled out his work history and left as soon as humanly possible.

I called him up the next week as per my job duties to help give him some job search opportunities and he began to flirt.  Quite effectively, I might add.  I had a recollection of his disdain for the process and saw from his application that he had spent the last year in prison for white collar crime.  Warning bell? Yes.  I put a stop to the flirting and told him to be sure to be in the office for his appointment the next week. I handed his case file to someone else in the office just to put a stop to our interaction once and for all. 

There's a Sucker Born Every Minute

There was this time that I thought that never meeting anyone again, never having another

relationship with someone would be okay. 
I thought you know, “I’m good here.” I’m raising my kids and I have a decent job.  Life could be way worse and it often has been.  A man will just mess all this up.