All posts for the month April, 2017

Empty Room

Published April 28, 2017 by dividinguplife

This week has been total and utter hell. I finally broke down into weeping tears last night when I went to bed. 

I get up at 5:15 every morning. Work by 7:30. Then, work coupled with jerk patients has been asinine to say the least. Totally overbooked and over-busy, being pulled in six different directions at once. Staying late, and then getting home to have your grandmother ask you to go to the store, and go to drop off and then pickup her prescription meds, and then having to run to a third store to pick up fruit cocktail for my husband, because he only likes a specific brand sold at one store. Get home, the guinea pig cage needs to be cleaned out. The dog needs a bath because she ran into the mud and she’s an all white dog. Dinner is half-way cooked but needs to be finished because my Grams “just can’t” as she disappears upstairs to sleep. I finally sit down for the first time at 9:30 at night and then I’m in bed by 10:00. I’m not sleeping, though. My brain decides at that particular time to start trying to figure out how I’m going to pay the bills on time. That’s always a fantastic time to start figuring out how to produce more money from the sky than what you will actually have. 

Last night, after I had done another nightly store run to pick up sugar (Grams can’t live without sweet tea), my husband and I were sitting in the sunroom and I was looking through old pictures of myself and of my daughter. I scrolled past one of me when I was a lot thinner, shortly after The Abuser and I split up. My husband joked “You used to be pretty” (we always make fun of each other in the worst ways) and I was like “Yeah, I know.” Then, in a serious voice he was like “Honey, you could look like that again if you wanted to.” 

That destroyed me. It messed me up so much that when I went to reach for my drink, it went shattering to the ground. I was like “What did you say??” He was like, “You know that’s not how I meant it.” In my head, there was no other way to mean it. I told him goodnight and went to the bedroom and cried myself to sleep. He sent me a text just before I fell asleep that said “I don’t care what you say, you know I think you’re gorgeous.” I didn’t have it in me to reply. The voices in my head were loud, and they were harsh. The Abusers word ran through my mind over and over again. 

“The first time I saw you, my first thought was that I should have kept driving.”


I will rub your back when you get down to the weight you’re supposed to.”

Don’t smile, it isn’t attractive.” 

“You will never be anything without me.” 


“I want to be with someone that I can pick up and put them against the wall and fuck. What kind of boring sex will we always have if I can’t even pick you up?”


You should be able to see the knuckles on a woman’s hands without her making a fist. You can’t see your knuckles because of the fat on your skin.”


“If you can’t see your collarbones, you’re too fat.”


My mind has replayed all of this shit plus more, all day today. When I looked in the mirror last night, I hated myself for the first time in a long time. On the way to work this morning I thought about getting Gastric Bypass surgery, then realized that requires recovery time out of work, and I don’t have the kind of job that I can afford to miss work. 

The other day my daughter told me that her step-mom said something about the age in which my daughter can start dating. When my daughter told her step-mom that both I and her dad said a different age, her step-mom remarked “Well, your mom started dating at 14 and look how that turned out.” 

Man, that shit really hurt, you know? I mean, step-mom grew up in a very VERY well-to-do family. Her parents paid for her private school, paid her way through college, and still pay for them to go no expensive trips. My dad abandoned me at birth, my mom was a drug addict, I had to raise my brother when I was eight years old because my mom was too drugged out to get up and take care of him. I left home permanently at 16/17 years old. I had my daughter just before I turned 19. I’ve worked since I was 15, I graduated high school despite all of that. My mom had drug addicts live with her that stole all of our shit, down to our clothes. I mean, I think considering the fact that I didn’t have the same life that she had, or the same opportunities, I’m doing pretty damn good. And it makes me sad to think that she see’s me that way, because I always thought we got along pretty well. 

It has been a very bad week. I feel ugly, unwanted, stupid, and an all-around failure. I just want to sleep. I want this to just go away. I want to wake up and be flawless so nobody can tell me what it is that i need to improve about myself. I want to make the voices of my past go away. I want to undo the damage that has been done. 

Exes and Ohh’s

Published April 23, 2017 by dividinguplife

It’s unusually cold today, with rain forecast for the next three days. I’m fighting the urge to take a nap, because if I do I won’t sleep for shit tonight. That doesn’t make for a very happy person on a Monday morning with a schedule full of asshole patients. 

Facebook is becoming less and less interesting. So much political drama. I find myself on there less often than ever before. After The Abuser friend requested me, his wife blocked me for whatever reason. Then a few weeks later she unblocked me. If I ever comment on something that he puts up, his wife is sure to comment as well, just to make her presence known. It just makes me laugh. She will never again be able to sleep a full night wondering if her husband really misses me (he does), and wonder if I’m the one that is on his mind (I am). That, my dear, is what you get for being a homewrecking, cheating, slut. Enjoy the rest of your life. I get pleasure in showing The Abuser that I’m happily married, despite his warnings years ago that I would be nothing without him. I enjoy seeing that they live in a shit house. I enjoy knowing that his wife doesn’t work, and that he does all of the cooking and cleaning, and raising of the kids because she’s a lazy cunt. I enjoy knowing that he cheated on me and married below me. I don’t have a lot of self-esteem because of him, but at least I know this much to be true. I know he looks through my Facebook and my pictures, because I know him. I’m willing to bet she logs onto his Facebook and looks, too. He has blocked me on messenger (I would imagine at her request) so we can’t really communicate … but I know him as well as she does. 

Why do I maintain a friendship with him? I forgave him of the abuse. I had therapy for it. I know that he can never physically hurt me again. And truth be told, I WANT him to see how great I’m doing. Yes, the fat girl that you thought “had potential” is doing well for herself, even though you threw her and her daughter out on the streets with nothing. I’ve sure come a long way from homelessness, haven’t I, dickhead? And you know what? I did it all on my own, before my husband and I got together. Nothing puts the boot up your ass faster than having absolutely nothing and a small child to take care of. I lost it all because of his infidelity and her low morals. You slept with my then-fiance you fucking bitch. I hope karma gets you in every way possible. She did me a favor, yes. But the point remains that she absolutely destroyed me eight years ago. They both did. I have never felt so ugly and torn down as I did when I found out he was fucking her behind my back, and then left me for her. 

Country Boy has been in steady contact over the last few weeks. He’s had a few meltdowns because things are continuing to go downhill for him and that girl that is dating and living with her baby daddy. She keeps flip-flopping back and forth between wanting to leave this guy and be with Country Boy, and wanting to stay with baby daddy. I’m at the point that I’m about to block him on messenger because I am just tired of repeating myself and him not listening. She isn’t going to leave the guy, she isn’t going to get with you on a steady thing, she is using you for what she needs in the moment, and then she goes home to her man. This isn’t new shit for cheaters. This is cheating 101. Get with it, man. Rather than him feel thankful for having a job and a roof over his head, he complains about everything simply because he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and hasn’t had one in nearly two years, since we dated. I don’t know if he’s ever stopped to consider that his shit-ass attitude matched with his horrible temper may be the problem. Whatever the case, I’m tired of hearing about it. He doesn’t have a lot, but he still has so much more than other people have, and he acts like he’s the only person that has ever lost anything in his life. 

People just get on my damn nerves. Especially those with entitlement issues. Life owes you nothing. Work hard for what you want. No excuses. 

Almost Not Quite Perfect

Published April 19, 2017 by dividinguplife

I’ve been feeling kind of … wayward the past week or so. I don’t know if it’s the changing of the seasons (even though I love Spring and Summer), or if I’m just having one of those weeks, you know?

Two weekends ago my husband decided he was going to sit at home and do absolutely nothing but sleep all weekend. Which is cool, I guess. But I needed him to go to the Tractor Supply store to find these cedar shavings that I couldn’t locate. He poked around on Sunday and then told me he’d go after he got up from a nap. I told him to go take his nap and I would just go back and see if I could find them myself. I did, but I still miss having him go places with me. Even grocery shopping – he used to go with me and we had a lot of fun. I’m just missing him, I guess. We are so …. boring. I mean, we are broke as hell and I guess that has a lot to do with it. But even when we got our taxes in, we had all of these plans of places that we wanted to go, just to get away. And then we didn’t. We sat at home. Sometimes I feel like he just doesn’t want to do anything if he doesn’t have his children with him. He just wants to waste away in that damn chair in the living room. I don’t know if it’s the Percocet causing this or what. He’s still him, but at the same time … he isn’t.

On top of that, I stopped taking my blood pressure pills and my Adderall because something was causing heart palpitations and my entire left arm to tingle and feel numb. I need to get back into the doctors office, but that kind of shit costs money and I just don’t have it.

I came home last week from work, already exhausted because it was a super busy, shit day. My grams was up in her room sleeping, my husband was sitting in his chair listening to music. No dinner cooked. I sighed heavily and sat my purse down and changed real quick, and then came downstairs and cooked a full meal. By 9:30 I was so dizzy I felt nauseous, and I went to bed. Husbands remark? “You really need to get back to the doctor, you’ve been more tired than usual.” yeah buddy … I know. And I’m also busting my ass at work, doing all of the grocery shopping, and then coming home to cook. I’m tired. I think I deserve to be. It’s not always because I need a medication adjustment. I wish there were a magic pill for this shit. Though I do feel that at 31, I really shouldn’t feel this tired. 

My grams and I went to see my dad on Saturday. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to his house. His fireplace had pictures of my half-sister. There aren’t any of me. I guess I didn’t expect there to be, but it just kind of solidifies the way that I feel in that we are related by blood, but we share no bond. I did learn than my greasy hair comes from him. I was complaining about having to wash my hair every day of my life (Yes, I’ve tried all of the dry shampoo’s and home remedies) and he said that he does as well. We both use Tea Tree Oil Shampoo. I thanked him for the genetic pass-along. He told me I was welcome. His arms are twigs. You can tell the cancer is getting him. It’s eating away at his body. He has to have a catheter permanently now, or the tumors will cause another blockage on his bladder. 

So, it has been a rough couple of weeks. Just emotionally I’m having a hard time. I go back and forth between loving and hating myself – all physical appearance and stuff. It will just hit out of nowhere. And then I tell myself that if I made more money I’d be happier no matter what I looked like.  I mean, who can be sad when you have a couple of jet ski’s?

My husband is on this new kick that he wants a sailboat for the ocean in the next ten years. He has big dreams and low reality for what it would cost to maintain one of those things. I mean hey, if I hit the lottery I’d have no problem sailing around the world and living on the ocean. Works for me. But, both of us combined in our income make less than a 100k a year and between us we have four children. In the words of Aerosmith, Dream On. 

I’ve adjusted fairly well to how physically unaffectionate my husband is, but man there are still days that are so difficult. I just want to spoon and cuddle so badly and I end up going to bed alone and sad about it. I knew this about him years and years before we got married, and I can’t and won’t expect him to change. I just wish that he’d suck it up and do it for me sometimes, but it makes me really uncomfortable, and I can’t expect someone to do things that make them feel physically ill. Kind of like my aversion to clowns, spiders, and those giant wind fans you see out in the Midwest. They make me feel physically ill. That’s how he feels about being touched. That man is so close to perfect, it’s just a coincidence and a stroke of unluck that the one thing I love to do more than anything in the world, he can’t do. But it is what it is, and it’s something I will have to figure out. 

When Cancer Takes Over

Published April 14, 2017 by dividinguplife

My dad went back to the hospital today. This time my Grams went up there and sat with him so she could get some answers, since my dad isn’t very forthcoming with what is going on. 

It seems his cancer has spread to different parts of his body. He’s in a lot of pain, and the doctor said that he is going to be in a lot more pain in the months to come. But as far as his life goes? He’s nearing the end of it. They sent him home after they set him up with daily hospice visits for pain management. They said that, at this point, chemo would be useless. It’s a done deal. His fate is sealed. He will most likely be dead before he reaches his 50th birthday.

My Grams is all to pieces. She says it’s unnatural to bury your own child. I would have to agree with her. I can’t imagine burying my daughter. 

I’m trying to figure out how I feel about everything. I’m sad for him. I hope that pain medicine can decrease the amount of pain he is in. I hope that whatever time he has left, he can have some quality of life out of it. I hope he dies on his terms. 

Being that he has just entered my life over the past year, after thirty years of sporadic visits, and knowing nothing about me, nor I, him …. I can’t exactly sit here and conjure memories of him to be properly sad. 

Because of that, I have finally realized that when people die, we are so upset because we have a memory bank full of things to think back on, and we realize that we will never again have that on this earth. 

I guess I’m sad that my dad and I won’t have time to make new memories. You can’t make up for lost time when you have no future. I forgave him years ago for his abandonment. I accepted that I wouldn’t have him in my life years before I forgave him. He told me last year that he wishes he could wave a magic wand and do it all over again. But you can’t do that, can you? Once today leaves, you can’t have it back. It’s gone forever. He and I have thirty years of yesterday’s and limited tomorrow’s. 

Grams and I are going over there tomorrow to take him some homemade soup. I wish I could feel more than what I do. When he does die, I’m not sure what I will feel. I’ve spent my entire life without him. The permanence of what is about to happen hasn’t quite hit me yet. 

He knows that I love him. I tell him every time I do see him. He’s my dad no matter what. He’s my DNA. I am so much like him it’s ridiculous. He’s a writer just like I am. He’s introverted like me. We both love classical music. My fingers and toes look like his. He suffers his own demons silently and without complaint.  

I’ve been sitting here most of the night, listening to Crywolf and trying to sort out everything in my head. It just feels like voided, empty space right now. 

At least I will always have his words. 


Stamp of Approval

Published April 7, 2017 by dividinguplife

Yesterday morning, my boss did cataract surgery on my grandmother (the second eye), and my grandpa met us up there so that I could go to the office and then meet them there for post-op care. When I say grandpa, I mean the man that bought me all kinds of stuff when I was a baby (diapers and formula, clothes and toys) not the one that abandoned me on my birthday and never came back.

I think my grandpa taking care of me was the first reality check that blood isn’t always thicker than water. In fact, in my life, I have learned that it rarely is. Sometimes even the water evaporates. Sometimes the realization that you can only depend on yourself comes crashing down on you like a ten ton weight. 

My grandpa is the one that just helped me out of my legal troubles when that surprise court date circa 2009 popped up on me when I went to get my pistol permit. Facing the chance that I’d be hauled off to jail for something that I didn’t know existed in the first place, my grandpa gave me five hundred bucks, no questions asked so I could get a lawyer. He has done more for me not being my blood, than most of my family that is blood, has ever done for me. 

We had breakfast in the hospital cafeteria yesterday morning. It was nice to just sit down and spend time with him and hang out. My grandpa is a cool guy. 100% Portuguese with a temper to match it. He has worked in the carpet business his entire life. I remember being a kid and staying the night at his house on the weekends with my grams, and he’d be on the phone first thing in the morning screaming at his installers because they were idiots. 

Yesterday he brought my grams over to the office so I could check her vision and her eye pressure before she went home. Last night while I was cooking dinner, he was on the phone with my Grams and made a comment about how smart I am. It was very nice to hear that coming from him. I mean, he only saw me do something that is about a fifth of my entire job, and it was enough to impress a man that isn’t impressed very easily. 

When people hear that I’m in Ophthalmic Technician, they never really care to grasp what it is that I do. Or they just shrug and assume I sit on my ass all day and do … what? I’m not sure. Very few people actually understand the level of patient care and the intricacies involved in my line of work. I work with eyeballs all day. I literally have my fingers on and around a persons eyeball. I do the testing (about six different machines for different parts of the eye and different potential diseases), I set up the surgeries, I monitor the billing, the appeals, the denials. Not only that, I’m also the sounding board for elderly people that don’t have anyone else to talk to. I ask them how their eyes are feeling, and twenty minutes later we are talking about their arthritis and how much they miss their spouse that has been dead for fifteen years. By the time we get out of the exam room, I know how them and their spouse met, how long they were married, how their spouse died, and how they have been doing since their spouse died. These patients become more than patients. When they die, a piece of me goes with them. Even now, years later, there are quite a few patients that I think back on, that have passed. I’ve been to numerous funeral’s where the family recognized me and I grieved with them. In the Glaucoma specialty, we see our patients four to six times a year. We get to know them. They aren’t just another chart number. I become invested in them. 

After five years and almost three thousand patients, even now when my boss comes up to me and says something like “You remember that patient that had an ahmed tube shunt that went from Count Fingers to 20/30 and we were able to remove her from her drops?” and I’ll be like “Yeah, it was such-and-such” …. like you remember their names. It’s important. They say you are supposed to separate yourself emotionally from your patients, but I can’t. I find that to be cold and insensitive. 

Tonight my husband laughed at me because when I vacuum, I kind of lasso the cord around my hand and then hang it on the hook, rather than wrap the cord around the two hooks all proper-like. My husband is a lot neater than I am. I cook and I clean, but I’m just not as detailed with it like he is. He hangs all of his clothes in the closet. I throw mine on the top shelf of the closet. It doesn’t bother him, he just laughs at me. 

When I was growing up, my mom was a neat-freak. I mean like an OCD nazi neat-freak. She would clean everything until it shined, and then bitch at you if anything got messed up. If I tried to clean up after myself, she was convinced that it wasn’t clean enough and she would clean it again, all the while screaming at me about what a slob I was. By the time I was sixteen, I just didn’t care anymore. After I moved out at seventeen and was on my own, I realized that if I left a sock on the floor, the entire world wasn’t going to come crashing down on my head. Seeing small clusters of chaos in my world brings me comfort. It reminds me that life can move forward without everything being so fucking perfect all of the time. I’ve done well enough in my life living by this rule. It’s just another thing my mom fucked up in my head. One more thing to add to a long list of reasons that I wish I would have been adopted. 

Family Affairs

Published April 2, 2017 by dividinguplife

My husband had to work today since he went back out into the field (cable technician), so I washed my hair and then decided to cut it. It was down to my shoulder blades, but it just hasn’t had any life when I dry it. It just kind of hangs there. I figured that nobody knows your hair better than you do, so I took the scissors to it. 


It didn’t turn out too bad. Who knows if it’s even. I don’t really care. I like uneven layers in it anyway. The last time I had a haircut, the bitch didn’t do what I asked because she didn’t think it would look right. So, I did it myself and it turned out how I wanted it to turn out. 

I also went to see my niece tonight. I haven’t seen her in a couple of months, and I really enjoy the baby stage, as long as they are other peoples babies. I’m done with that part of my life. I still think it would have been cool to have a baby with my husband, but both of us have more than enough kids combined. I have one, he has three. I think we’re good. Plus, I was allergic to my pregnancy. I never want to go through that again. I’m also almost 32 and my daughter is five years from being a legal adult. I’m almost done. I’d be bat-shit crazy to start over again. 


But still, that cuddly little face makes my heart melt. 

So anyway – my praternal grandfather has severe dementia, and will probably die sooner rather than later. If it sounds like I said that with no emotion, it’s because there isn’t any. The last time I saw that man, I was eleven years old. He was coming over to my house to take me to lunch for my birthday. He had never been to my house before. I had only seen him twice before in some feeble attempt to have some relationship in my life. I went to the mountains with him and his wife for a weekend trip, and I stayed the night at their house one time. Anyway, he pulled up to the house and came inside for a moment. I was dressed in my finest clothes, ready for my lunch date with my grandpa. He made some flimsy excuse about his wife not feeling well, handed me some ugly ass brown purse as a birthday gift, and he left. I never saw him again. 

I imagine it’s because I lived in a trailer. He comes from money and always had a certain snobbery. After all, he left my grandmother and my dad when my dad was three years old. He didn’t see him again until my dad was in his 30’s. I don’t know why I thought it would be any different for me. 

I say all of this to bring up that my grams (who lives with me) told me today that she talked to my grandfathers wife the other day and she made mention that she specifically wanted me to have some hutch cabinet that is my grandfathers. I looked at my grams and told her I didn’t want it. She kind of got shitty with me and said “Well, he IS your grandfathers.” I told her that he was not. He isn’t my grandfather. My grandfather is the man that my grams lived with for over 25 years that helped raise me, took care of me, bought me things when I was a baby like diapers and formula. THAT man is my grandfather. Not this asshole who is having karma loop, swoop, and pull his ass through the rungs right now. I don’t want his wife’s shitty guilty trip compensation. As far as I’m concerned, she can shove that hutch up her ass. She doesn’t know me. She hasn’t seen me in over twenty years. She is nothing to me, and so is that man. Sorry neither one of y’all wanted anything to do with me all of these years …. but don’t start trying to make penance with me to help you sleep better at night. 

As far as I know, my dad’s cancer is getting the best of him. He was recently in the hospital for over a week for severe pain. The tumor that is on his liver seemed to be pressing on a part of his kidney’s and causing issues with urination and making him want to kill himself to stop the pain. Eventually they found a dosage of multiple pain meds that worked for him. He’s at home now, but I think it’s getting close to the point that he will eventually need hospice. He isn’t being too verbal about what exactly is going on. I think he knows more than he’s letting on about his cancer. But, it’s stage 4 colon cancer – there’s only so much that can be done before you die. I’m sad for him. But, I don’t have that bond with him. He apologized for missing the first thirty years of my life. I told him I understood. He wasn’t ready for a child. He gave me up for adoption to my step-dad. That was admirable shit. He had no idea that my step-dad would turn into a world class dickhead. 

So both my father and my grandfather are dying. Neither of which I really know all that much about. I feel sad for my father. While he was in the hospital, the only people that came to visit him were myself and his girlfriend. His other daughter didn’t go. I don’t think she even called him. She’s been very wrapped up in her new boyfriend. I like my half-sister enough – though I haven’t actually seen her very much our entire life. We’re Facebook friends and we chat when it comes to matters of our dad. I think she has some kind of condition where she disassociates herself from emotion. She has had more of our dad than I ever did. Holiday’s, birthday parties, weekends at his house. She had it all. Well, she had as much of him as he was willing to give to another person. 

Life is too damn short to fuck around and treat people like shit. At the end of this life, you don’t want to be the person laying there dying with nobody to say goodbye to, because they said goodbye to you years ago. 

Baby-Daddy Love

Published April 1, 2017 by dividinguplife

My daughter had her first soccer game yesterday. She goes to a private school that is closer to her fathers house than to mine. It’s a 45 minute trek out there, but I was really excited to see my almost-thirteen-year-old doing something extracurricular. 

I discovered that climbing metal bleachers at 31 years old isn’t as easy as it was when I was twelve. Especially with jeans on that are like a second skin. I was lucky I got through that ordeal unscathed. 

Her dad and step-mom met me there and we sat and talked while watching the game. I am always in awe at the ease of our relationship. We are there for our daughter. Even when I hear her step-mom refer her step-child as “my kid” it makes me smile. I love that she thinks of our daughter as her own. Because of the step-mom, our daughter has been afforded opportunities that she wouldn’t otherwise have. She will go on her third cruise, in June. She’s been to Canada, the Bahama’s, and this year will be Alaska. How many cruises have I been on? Zero. But my daughter gets that luxury life having a step-mom that has the kind of money to do those things. I want her to have everything that I never did. 

We talked about the kids future. Currently she wants to be a chef and go to culinary school in New York. The step-mom and I hope she will want to go to Charleston South Carolina because it will be closer. 

There was the usual banter back and forth between baby-daddy and myself. He truly is an amazing person. Every time he says some funny shit, or flashes that smile at me, I am reminded of why it is that I ever loved him in the first place. Of course, that love faded by my own doing of immaturity and not knowing myself. But I love him still for all of the reasons that he is the father of my child. I love his wife and how well they compliment each other. 

It makes me sad that my husband and his ex-wife can’t have this kind of relationship. She hates herself so much that it gets in the way of doing what is best for her children. She is caught up in doing everything the way she wants it, rather than taking the children’s feelings into consideration. She wouldn’t let us have them for Spring Break because she just didn’t feel like it. The last time my husband face-chatted with the kids, his daughter started crying because she missed him, which made my husband dissolve into tears after he hung up with her. It makes me angry, and I have to keep my mouth shut. It’s not my place to insert myself into their business. Plus, if I open my mouth I will assuredly make things much worse. I am very good at keeping my opinions to myself, but once I allow the flood-gates to open, I’m a bitch. I don’t want to give that horrid woman any reason on my end to withhold the kids even more than she already has. It’s sad to wish death on someone, but I just wish she would drive off of a bridge and we could have the kids here full-time. I don’t understand how she can sleep at night being as toxic as she is. 

I keep telling myself that karma is a very real thing, and she will get hers. Even I start to wonder how long that’s going to take, though. It seems that with every year that passes, she gets more and more poisonous towards us and towards herself. But how long can it go on before it all implodes on her? How long before she completely destroys her life and fucks up beyond repair?