All posts for the month February, 2017

An Ocean of Memories

Published February 24, 2017 by dividinguplife

Even though I’m uber happy in my marriage, and life is grand – I often find myself in a state of reflection, wondering if people from my past ever think about me. Do I cross their mind? Does it make their heart ache? The one’s that left me, or did me wrong, do they think about me and how good they had it? 

I wonder if it’s normal for me to wonder these things. My first boyfriend (I was 15, he was 20) sends me a message on my birthday every year. We don’t speak a lot beyond that since he lied to me a few years ago and told me he had marital problems, and then his wife went through his phone and let me know otherwise (while also telling me I should be ashamed of myself for messaging a married man) – uh, hello? His messages included things like “I’m sleeping on the couch. We just don’t have that connection. We are passing ships in the night.” Apparently that was all horseshit. He was telling me that he has always envisioned us growing old together and bitching at each other in the nursing home. But seeing as that he lied to me, I thought it better to just let that go. I didn’t want to be with him ever again anyway, because homeboy had a problem with lying. 

But still, I didn’t realize until that moment that he even thought of me. At that point, we had been apart for 12 years.

I wonder if The Abuser ever thinks about me, or misses me in any way. Not that I would ever wish us to be together again, but I find myself really curious about the imprint that we leave on peoples lives. 

I went over to my brother-in-law and mother-in-law’s house last weekend to drop off something and pick something up. It’s always a lot more relaxed over there when my husband doesn’t go, because the tension that ebbs and flows from my husband in regard to his drunk brother makes me want to haul ass away from that house. But when it’s just me over there? We have a great time. I can handle my BIL’s drunken silliness. It makes me sad for him, but it doesn’t bother me the way it does my husband. So, I sat over there and chatted with them for about an hour and a half, and my BIL wanted to do this silly game where he played music from YouTube off of the TV and I had to guess the song and artist. 

The very first song he played ….

The Dream

The first four counts of the song and tears sprang to my eyes. I looked at him with questioning eyes. He stared back at me silently, saying everything without saying it. I was thirteen again. Laying on my bed, listening to the Titanic Soundtrack, followed by Celine Dion’s “Let’s Talk About Love” Album. I’d hear the sliding glass door open, and rummaging in the kitchen. I would put down my Babysitters Club Book and walk down the hallway, a smile already on my face. He would be sitting on the floor, indian-style, bowl of fruity pebbles on his lap, watching MTV. It was usually around three in the morning that he would venture over. I was always awake, always waiting for him. Some nights he didn’t show. Some nights he would come over and borrow my bike so he could go see some girl in the next neighborhood over. Those nights broke my heart. But the nights he did come over ….. those were the best. 

It wasn’t just about the teenage making out. We didn’t always do that. It was about the bond we created. 

And what’s funny? Up until last weekend, I always thought he didn’t know shit about me. My BIL always seemed to be the unaware type. Unaware in things that didn’t involve him. I spent almost twenty years thinking I wasn’t anything to him other than what I could be in the single moment he needed me for something. 

And something so simple as playing this song last weekend, and looking right into my eyes? I think I died a hundred times. 

What’s ironic? My husband has not one clue the importance of a song like that. Or what a fangirl I am of Celine Dion and everything she sings. Why? Because he’s my future. My BIL was everything in my past. And somehow I managed to marry into the family, like I always wanted to – but with the brother I never paid attention to. That shit still baffles me. Like, how did this happen?

How did I spend my life hardly paying attention to my husband, and then in the space of one single day, my entire world tilted off of its axis and suddenly it was the most obvious of things standing right in front of me? I can’t even describe what happened to me. It was as if every single answer to every single question lied within my husband. It felt as if all of the bullshit I had ever been through, didn’t matter anymore. My mind cleared, the sadness lifted, and all I could see was his beautiful, handsome face. 

I still find it …… I don’t know ….. weird, I guess? How his brother is my past and he’s my future, and the two intermingle constantly. In the physical sense and in my mind. My first love and my last love. 

Crap Ass Mood

Published February 18, 2017 by dividinguplife

My mood has been shit this weekend. For some reason, my brain has taken to feeling like I’m just taken for granted all of the time. Like I’m just some person that sits in the shadows and things magically get done, but nobody knows how. Plus we’re extremely broke until Wednesday, and that always puts me in crap mood. 

I asked my grams, while she was out today, to pick up some ketchup since I like to eat fries on a whim. She went to the store, came back with no ketchup, claimed she had run out of money …. but was able to buy the fucking dog a pound of hamburger and the cats their 4th bag of cat treats this week. Yes, she cooks a hamburger for the dog every night. She feeds the cats those cat treats almost as if they are food. Despite the repeated arguments that myself and my husband have given her, she ignores us and then tells us to mind out own fucking business, and continues to do just as she wants. I’ve told her she’s killing out animals. She defies me at any turn she can. 

But it was aggravating to see that the animals and their unnecessary needs come before a simple request from myself. No money for ketchup, but let’s make sure the FUCKING DOG has HAMBURGER. 

While I was cooking dinner, I set my phone up and the bluetooth speaker and turned on Dawson’s Creek. My husband came downstairs from his shower, acknowledged that I was watching my show, and then proceeded to turn the TV on and turn the volume up so I couldn’t hear anything. Did he do it to be a dick? No. He just wasn’t thinking. 

And that’s my thing. I’m always thinking of other people, and putting their needs before my own. I’ve resolved myself to having a marriage and a full life of no cuddling because my husband doesn’t like the skin-on-skin shit. That’s fine. I understood that going in. Do I get lonely sometimes? Hell yeah I do. But it is what it is, and I can’t punish him for something that I was aware of going into it. My husband is a wonderful man. He is everything to me. Sometimes my emotions jump front and center and I have a bad night (like tonight), and I just kind of shut down. 

Like, how can I even complain to my grandmother that she neglected to buy ketchup because she had to get the dog her hamburger? What kind of idiot shit is that? I would sound like a lunatic. She came downstairs earlier and asked me what my problem was. I told her nothing. It’s not worth that fight. She would end up going off on me anyway. I can’t have myself screaming at a 72 year old woman about ketchup. 

If it were legal in this state to smoke weed, I’d probably be blazed right now. I didn’t give a shit about anything for those six months that I smoked weed. But I’m too damn paranoid to do it because it’s illegal here. I find it ironic that Opioids kill so many people in the US every year, and that’s completely legal, but weed is illegal in most states. Drunk drivers kill so many people every year, but that’s legal. Weed makes me eat a lot of spaghetti and sleep good at night … but it’s illegal. 

Makes a lot of fucking sense. 

Rock Bottom Isn’t So Bad

Published February 15, 2017 by dividinguplife

I always feel like I have some profound shit to say, but when it comes time to write, there’s usually nothing there. Oh well. 

Work has been rather grueling this week. A lot of difficult patients with a lot of specific needs. I’ve been trying to anticipate what the doctor needs before he asks for it. It helps my critical thinking skills, and also saves me from stopping what I’m doing for one patient to run around like a chicken with my head cut off, for another patient that I thought I was finished with. So far this week and last week I have done a pretty decent job at figuring out what he is going to want before he asks for it. 

I was messing around with google maps tonight. I figured I’d take a trip through the old neighborhood my husband and I grew up in. It made me giggle that I could still see the same route I took when I would sneak out of my house at night and tear through the back yards to climb through my brother-in-laws window. 

The top right was my house. The bottom left, my husbands. 


I ran that same path a hundred times during the summer of ’98. 

In the summer, when the smell of wet, fresh cut grass finds its way to my nose, I’m instantly 13 again. The sound of the crickets on a muggy summer night, and I can hear my childhood laughter as I was tearing through the woods, bright-eyed and excited for the freedoms that I had while dreaming of a future that turned out so completely different than I thought it would. 

How much heartache and disappointment must one endure before they get their happy ending? I consider myself lucky to have found what I have at the age of 31. It is rather amazing to look back and think of the bullshit and hell I’ve been through with abuse and cheating and heartache in the last 13 years. 

Honestly, though. I wouldn’t change one bit of it. The emotional, physical, and mental abuse? It taught me how to and how to not treat other people. It wore down my self-esteem, yes. But, now I know what it feels like to be made to feel like you’re worthless. I could never intentionally say something to another human being to hurt them with regard to how they look, dress, or feel. 

Being cheated on multiple times? Another blow to my self-esteem. A lot of hours of therapy. But it taught me the pain of another persons selfish actions. It taught me that at the end of the day, every single one of these men always asked for me to come back to them; that they’d made a mistake. It taught me about the proverbial fence and the color of grass. It taught me to continue to be the person that I am, because someday someone would appreciate all of the positive things I bring to a relationship. 

13 years of weeding through the assholes, through the bullshit, through the pain. I’ve cried an ocean of tears. I’ve written more journal entry’s, spent more nights in deep thought and reflection, and lived mature lives well before I was supposed to be old enough to do it. I grew up poor. I became co-dependent on men. I’ve lost everything and been homeless. I’ve rebuilt my life and learned the hardest lessons. I’ve survived. 

I still live paycheck to paycheck. But I made it a goal of mine to make sure that my daughter never had to grow up in the environment that I did. I have busted my ass to ensure that she lives in a home that has a permanent foundation as apposed to the trailer I grew up in . She goes to a private school. I take her and her friend skating and to the movies on the weekends when we have the extra money. She even admitted the other night that I was “cooler than most parents” – which was a compliment of the highest regard coming from her almost-teenage self. 

So, if you find yourself careening towards rock bottom – allow yourself to fall. Allow yourself to learn from it. There are so many lessons to be learned if you turn the focus from you to everything else around you.

Rotting Family Tree

Published February 12, 2017 by dividinguplife

My niece had her Christening today. It was my first time in an Episcopalian Church. I never knew how close to Catholicism it actually is. Thank goodness I’ve attended Catholic Church with friends back in middle school, so at least I knew the Lords Prayer enough to recite it with everyone. Other than that, I was lost. Growing up Baptist sure made me short-sighted on the goings-on of other religions. 

My brother and I are only half brother and sister, but legally we are full brother and sister since his dad adopted me when I was five. Sadly, I really never integrated into the mold of what that family wanted me to be, and so I don’t speak to them (other than my brother) very much at all. Sure, they are all nice when I come around. Hugs for everyone. It’s good to see you. How have you been? But there’s no substance behind the questions, and I give no feeling in the returned answers. 

The only people that showed up from my mom’s side were my two cousins, my cousins wife, and their baby. Of course my mom wasn’t invited, because … well, she’s mom. She has been banished from this side of the family on all accounts. My grandma on my mom’s side passed away in 2010. My Uncle died in 2015 after a seventeen year old didn’t check his blindspot and sent my Uncle careening into a light poll. But my cousins baby? Looking at him was like a seeing my uncle all over again. When we went to my sister-in-laws parents house after the service, me and baby Jack walked around pointing out simple things and saying the words. I picked him up and took him to the fruit bowl and he ate some strawberries. We watched the boys play cornhole and made sound effects every time the bag landed on the board. He would make the sound and then dissolve into a fit of laughter and look at me with this huge grin on his face. We blew bubbles on the porch. My heart split in two. My Uncle never had the chance to meet him. Jack was born exactly one month after my Uncle died. I could feel my Uncle there today with us, but of course I couldn’t see him, so it’s really not the same. I miss him so much. 

It made me sad in a way. As far as who I call family? There isn’t much left. Seeing as that I don’t associate with my brother’s dad or any of their family, and I don’t talk to my mom – there really isn’t very many people left for me. I have my Aunt and my cousins. My grandmother that lives with me, and my brother. That’s it. I feel bad for my daughter, because there isn’t anyone on my side of the family for her to associate with. Come to think of it, there isn’t many people on her fathers side, either. She has the most extended family through her step-mom’s side. It’s no wonder I cling onto my husband so much. He is my entire world (next to our kids) and if I lost him on a permanent basis, I don’t think I’d survive it. 

My daughter will be thirteen in June. Hanging out with all of these babies today made me realize how much I’ve matured as a person. I wish I could have been this way when my daughter was baby, and enjoyed those days more than I did. There is so much I would have done differently. 

Life is flying by much too quickly. 

Real Nightmares

Published February 8, 2017 by dividinguplife

Today is the first sick day I’ve used in over a year. Not because I’m sick, but because my daughter isn’t feeling well. My boss isn’t at work today, so there are not patients, otherwise I’d be at work after giving my kid meds. Sick time is allowed only when convenient for the boss. 

Last night was the first night that my husband and I had a spat in the year we’ve been married. It lasted for about two minutes and then it was done. He was in a shit mood from work yesterday, so everything I said that sounded like fun, he had a negative spin to put on it. Being an empath, when his mood is shit, I can feel it and my mood turns to shit. He had to run to the store and asked me a question while I was in the downstairs bathroom. The wall behind me had the washing machine going,  he had the TV blaring like a movie theater. Of course I couldn’t hear him, so I said “What?” and he thought I said it with an attitude. So I told him that if he was going to be in a shit mood about having to run to the store then I would do it. He snapped back and went to the store. When he got home he was fine and I was too, and we went on about our evening. 

I read somewhere once that if you don’t argue, then something is wrong with your marriage. But, we don’t argue. Ever. So I don’t understand what could be so wrong. If that statement is true, then I’m screwed. I shut down when arguing happens. I guess it’s residual leftovers from The Abuser. Something in me just closes up. My heard starts to equate arguing with loss of love. It tries to tell me that if we’re arguing, he doesn’t love me anymore. I try to stay quiet so that I don’t cause him to love me less. That’s not just with my husband, that’s with any past relationship after The Abuser. I blamed myself after my arguments with The Abuser as to being my fault. If I would have just stayed quiet, if I wouldn’t have been aggressive in any form, he wouldn’t have quit loving me. He wouldn’t have hit me. It has been eight years since the demise of our relationship, and his words still haunt me. People don’t realize how long abuse sticks with someone. In my heart I know that I am safe, and that my husband loves me. My head pulls archived files and puts them in my face. 

I just wonder if there will ever come a time that I’m not scarred by relationships past? 

Back to the Past

Published February 5, 2017 by dividinguplife

Some of the best writing comes from the most outrageous drama in ones life. Sometimes I sit down to write, and find that there just isn’t anything to say. I don’t find that to be a terrible thing at all, but it’s hard to put emotion into your words when everything is running so smoothly. What is there to talk about if I don’t harp on my past? That’s where all of the bad things have happened, and for the most part I’ve done really well at leaving my past behind me. It’s a major feat, as I have always been one to drag it along with me, wherever I go. 

Today I went couponing as it was Super Doubles and I love the challenge of getting the most groceries that I can for the cheapest amount. Then I drove home marveling at the fact that I’m married to the most wonderful man in the world. I bought chicken wings so I can fry some up for him tonight with the recipe that he loves. I decided to making tacos for dinner. I cleaned the guinea pig cage and took a shower. And that’s about it. I’m watching Lifetime while blogging (they are doing a VC Andrews movie marathon), and that’s about it. That’s the extent of my day. That’s hardly anything to brag about. 

I just saw a commercial on Lifetime for “Little Women of ATL” …. it’s a group of african american midgets. Now I remember why I prefer to read books over watching TV. It literally makes me cringe when I see stupid shit like that. 

I’ve been wrestling with this idea the past few days. I’m in a dilemma that I can’t quite figure out. But there’s a backstory to all of this.

You see, there was a guy I dated after my husband left to go back to his home state. I dated him for a little under a year and a half, until my husband announced that he was moving back here, and that he wanted to get married. He was so vastly different from me. He was this country guy that had been sheltered by his mother for almost thirty years. He was so smart in the ways of books and knowledge. He was such a child in ways of the streets and what life was about. When I met him, he was going through a heartbreak of his own. He told me he was broken. I responded that I was too. I told him that I wasn’t looking for forever love, but I just wanted someone that could maybe help put me back together and I could hopefully do the same for them.

The first time I pulled up to his house, it broke my heart. The house is over a hundred years old without many major improvements. One dilapidated bathroom where the floors were slanted and rotting away. No insulation. His mother was in a nursing facility, and he lived there with his older brother. He wasn’t working and he had no car. He was on unemployment at the time. None of that bothered me. I’ve always been the type of person that wants to show people how much better their lives can be, by example. I looked around the small, dead-end town and realized that his options were limited in way of career choices. I wanted to help him. 

A few months into our dating, I brought him out to my house in the city. He’d never been into the city. The first time we went to the mall, he thought Sears WAS the mall. He nearly had a sensory overload when we stepped out into the main part of the mall and he saw all of the stores. It was scary and exciting for him. 

Our relationship wasn’t without its problems. He had never had a serious relationship before. The last girl that broke up with him and merely been a girl he’d been sleeping with that also had a boyfriend. They were all living together and while the boyfriend was at work, they would do whatever it is that they did. Naturally, when they got caught and it came down to choosing between him and her boyfriend, she chose her boyfriend. She took none of the blame, and so it ended. 

Eventually he stayed at my house more and more, until about six months later he moved in with me. It made more sense, and he was able to find a job in the city working at a gas station. Things fell into a flow with us. The sex was terrible, and he had hangups that he often took out on me. We got into an argument one time as to why I wouldn’t let my daughter wear  Marlboro T-shirt in public. All of our arguments were so totally blown out of proportion because he was brought up to argue out of anger. He never put his hands on me, but he called me names. I was materialistic, spoiled, a bitch, etc ….. he didn’t understand why I had to have nice things. He didn’t understand why I would come home exhausted from work from trying to prove myself so that I could move up and make more money. He didn’t understand why I traded my leased car in at the end of its term so that I could lease another brand new car, rather than just finance the car I had and be almost done paying on it. We really were from opposite sides of the track. He was having a difficult time adapting to my mindset. I was having a difficult time breaking him from his small-town shell. 

We did have good times, though. I remember one weekend we made pallets on the floor and watch the Harry Potter Marathon on TV. We pigged out on summer sausage and cheese. I took him to the beach for the first time in his life. We laughed hysterically has the waves pummeled him, and he washed up face-first on the shore time after time. I took him on the ferry, which was the first time he’d ever been on a boat. We did have some good times. 

One afternoon my sister-in-law brought a makeup bag over that I’d ordered from her. I went into his wallet and got a twenty out. When he found out he flew into a rage and called me a spoiled bitch. He took all of his money out of his wallet and threw it at me and said that since I was a money hungry bitch, I could have it all. Nevermind that I was paying all of the bills and utilities. He’s job at the gas station paid minimum wage at best, and we used his paychecks to buy food sometimes, but otherwise he was pretty stingy with his money. I thought that since we were in a relationship, it was perfectly normal to go into his wallet. I’d never had a problem with letting anyone I dated go into my wallet. It was something that threw me for a loop. 

One day he left his Facebook page up on the desktop. When I got on the computer, one of the messages he had been engaged in the previous night after I had gone to bed, was still on the computer. It was another female that he knew in Illinois. He was saying all of these things to her that were inappropriate. How much he wished he could make love to her the right way, how important she was to him. I felt the color drain out of my face. It wasn’t so much that I was upset that he was doing this. It was the fact that it was happening to me again. He knew how I felt about cheating. He knew my past and what I’d been through with the countless other men. I was very calm when I told him what I found. He stood up and tried to come to me to hold him. I told him not to touch me. I was disgusted with him and what he had done. He gave the usual lines “she meant nothing.” and “it isn’t what you think – I had been drinking. I’m sorry.” It was at that point that I started to slowly let him go. I loved him in my own way, but I wasn’t in love with him, and so letting him go romantically wasn’t very difficult.

A few months later one of his old cell phones made a low battery chirp warning from his nightstand. He was working third shift that night, and I rolled over to dig the phone out of his drawer so I could turn it off. When the screen lit up, I saw a porno show up on the screen. Porn doesn’t bother me. But he was not that interested in sex with me, so to find porn on his phone pissed me off. I looked through the history and discovered that his porn addiction wasn’t just rampant, but he watched the oddest shit I’ve ever seen. Things I don’t even want to think about. I sent him a text message telling him that his old cell phone was left on and I saw his porn fetishes. More excuses, more lies, more reasoning that made no sense to me. 

But the problem wasn’t really with his porn. It was the fact that I didn’t really care. Almost every night that I would go to bed, I’d cry myself to sleep, missing my husband. While he was gone from my life, he was never gone from my heart. I was living with a man that I got along with for the most part, but neither of us loved the other like we deserved. I had also noticed that this guy had no ambitions to climb his way up the career ladder. He was presented opportunities to be an assistant manager and to make more money, but he turned them down. He was content being a clerk, making minimum wage, with as little responsibility as he could get away with. That didn’t sit well with me. That form of laziness never has. 

His mother passed away in Februrary of 2015. I was just about to break the news to him that I wanted to end our relationship, and that perhaps it was time for him to go home. She got sick and we went up to the hospital. His mom loved me, and I really liked her. She was a sweet woman that had a rough life and did the best she could. After she passed away, I couldn’t break the news that I wanted to end things, because he was so devastated about his mom dying, that it just didn’t seem like the right time. 

About a month later, while we were both high as a kite (a recreational activity I had taken on as a way to escape the pain and lonliness) I told him that our time had come to an end. He was upset. He didn’t understand. He said he loved me. I told him that I knew he did, but we didn’t love each other the way real love is supposed to be. He resisted that idea. I knew he was just comfortable with the life provided to him, and he didn’t want to go back to his small town full of conflict within his family. I gave him thirty days to figure it out. For those next 30 days there were a lot of tears, a lot of yelling. I cried and he did too. 

Fast forward almost two years later. He’s still living in his old family home with his brother. No car, no job. We still talk online occasionally, especially when he’s having a bad day and his head is getting in the way of rational judgement. Most of the time they’re hungry. They have no heat going to the house and using kerosene heaters when they have the money for kerosene, that is. I haven’t seen him since the day he moved out. 

When I get my tax refund, I thought about going to the butcher shop and getting the hundred dollar meat bundle and driving it down to his house for him and his brother. I hate the idea of them going hungry because they don’t have the money to get food. But, I don’t know how my husband would feel about it. And I don’t know if it’s something that I should even do. My ex-boyfriend has had ample time to get his life together and he hasn’t. He is no better off now than he was before I found him. Everything that I have, I have worked my ass for. When The Abuser threw me and my daughter out, I had our clothes and my car. That’s it. We had nothing else. I had to start all over again, and I learned a lesson from that. That was one thing that this guy could never understand. Yes, I had nice things. But it wasn’t because I was spoiled, it was because I worked for them and paid for them. 

But do I help him?? The thought of them being hungry tears me apart. The thought of him not doing anything to better his life, pisses me off.