All posts tagged Love

I’ll Fall With Your Knife

Published June 12, 2017 by dividinguplife


When I was thirteen (1998), my husband and his brother moved back up north to their home state. I remember listening to this song and daydreaming about the day I would get on an airplane, and fly up there to see my brother-in-law. In my daydream this song would be playing, and I would be coming down the escalator in a cute skirt, with my hair straightened, and there he would be, with his beautiful blue eyes. It would be in that moment that he realized how much he loved me and needed me in his life. 

I made sure that I got my song and my boy in one fell swoop. In 2013 I jumped on a plane and flew my ass up north. As I was getting off the plane, I put my earbuds in and turned on Peter Murphy. I was wearing knee high black boots, a lacy black skirt, a lacy black tank top with a long gray pseudo-jacket-cotton-throw thing that went down past my knees. I came down the escalator and from across the room I could see the brightest blue eyes – eyes that haunted my dreams at night. 

It was the older brother of the boy I’d crushed on for fifteen years. The older brother of my first love, first kiss, first heartbreak. 

I’m sitting here typing this now, and I glance over to my left, and my heart still skips a beat when I see him. 


I’ve known him for twenty years, but it was only 4 1/2 years ago that I started to see him as something other than the older asshole brother of the guy I was obsessed with. Now? I’d move heaven and earth to keep him by my side. He’s the first man that has made everything I’ve been through, completely worth it. 

30 Years of Packing

Published June 2, 2017 by dividinguplife

For the past week I’ve been helping my grandpa pack up his house. A house I have grown up in. I spent almost every weekend at his house for fifteen plus years. This is the grandpa that isn’t my blood, but is more important than that. Not to mention he helped me out with an attorney when I had my surprise court date for shit I didn’t even know I was in trouble for.

He has three kids and countless grandchildren. Not one of them have offered to help him pack his house. We have three weeks left to get it done, though he hopes to be out sooner. It’s a house that has lived in for over thirty years. I’ve spent about eleven hours this week packing, and have gotten about fifty boxes done. What’s left? Everything that he has shoved into drawers, closets, and his attic. *sighs* …. but what can you do? He has nobody else that will help him. He’s in his mid-seventies, so our days consist of me pulling everything out and him telling me stories about all of it. Most of them I remember anyway, because I was a child when most of this stuff was bought. I know the stories, but I enjoy listening to them anyway. I’m enjoying spending time with him. 

Julie Grandpa

My grandpa and my daughter about five years ago. She’s taller than him, now. 


I used to stand at that kitchen sink on a step-stool beside my grandma and help her wash dishes. 

My grandma and my grandpa lived together for twenty-five years. They never married for whatever reason. But they were together before I was born. So, naturally when my own paternal grandfather flaked out of my life, it didn’t really matter to me because I already had this man. Clothes, diapers, formula … you name it. He was there. He always has been. Even when he decided ten years ago that he wanted to live alone, which meant my grandma had to move out, he has stuck by both of our sides. 

Now he’s moving away, about an hour and a half … which isn’t that far, but right now he’s only twenty minutes away. 

My daughter turns 13 on Sunday. I feel old as hell. I’ll be 32 next month, so I know I’m young. But I really can’t figure out where the time went. She was a baby. I don’t remember a lot about the past 13 years – they’ve gone by in a blur. She will have a learners permit in two years, a license in three. She will be a damn adult in five years. What in the hell is this?



Not many people will admit shit like this – but I do ….. I never wanted to have children. I don’t know if I was scared that I would give my kids the same life that I was given, or if it was just because I didn’t want to be responsible for another human life. Whatever the reason was, when I ended up pregnant at 18, I was excited and scared all at the same time. Admittedly, I could have been a much better mom than I was in the beginning. I never neglected her, I never beat her … but there were days that I would find myself so mad at my own damn self for having a child because God forbid I couldn’t sleep in. Or because daycare cost so much. My dreams of college went out the window. I had to work full-time because I had no family support to speak of. My own family was 50 shades of fucked up and neglect. 

But I tell you something – at this moment, having her was the best decision I ever made. She made me grow up, she has shown me what unconditional love really means. She makes me laugh, she makes me proud with her stellar grades. I love those rare moments when she opens up to me about a person she likes at school, or when one of the girls at her school is acting like a bitch and she wants to complain about it. I love when we are going somewhere and she takes over the radio and plays her crap music (though some of it isn’t half bad). I’m loving the parenting thing now that she’s more independent. But now that I’m older I wish I could go back and enjoy her baby years more than I did. I can’t get those back. They’re gone. And I don’t want anymore kids. 

Time is so fleeting. Life is so short. 

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. 

Way Down We Go

Published March 1, 2017 by dividinguplife

I find it funny – the last blog that I wrote and how it ties into something I discovered last night. 

I don’t know how many women keep tabs on their exes and the partners that they left them for. I’ve always done it. Ever since The Abuser threw me and my daughter out, I’ve always kept tabs on his life and the ups and downs of it. To say that he and his wife have had a tumultuous relationship would be an understatement. A year and a half ago, once he realized that I was getting married and not changing my mind, he went back to his wife and blocked me on Facebook. After this having happened for the hundredth time in our pseudo-friendship, it just made me laugh. I was the one that wanted to maintain a friendship with him once we split up and I had therapy to understand why he was an abusive dickhead. He wanted that friendship too. With our friendship came the jealousy from his wife, even though she always stated that she had no problem with us being friends. I guess when you are part of the reason a relationship is homewrecked, it must be difficult to sleep at night wondering if the relationship you helped destroy, may one day find its way back together. So, The Abuser and I could be friends, but only on her terms, and only when she wasn’t pissed off at him for something. 

Anyway. I’ve been blocked on Facebook for a year by The Abuser. Last night I was suddenly unblocked. Why? I don’t know. If I had to guess, it was because his wife was somewhere that wasn’t at home and he got curious as to how I was doing. He got to thinking about something. I know how his mind wanders. He’s never happy with what he has if he thinks he can have better. I would imagine they haven’t gotten their tax refunds yet if he is catching thoughts about me. When he has money, he is in his element. He’s never happier than when he’s spending money. 

I hope whatever he was looking for, he found. I hope that it was like a punch in the stomach to see that I’m still married, that I’m happy, and that I’m doing okay without him. I remember when he left me, then found out a few months later that I was dating someone else – he had to the nerve to tell me he was irreplaceable. He honestly believed that. But he has been replaced. And I am better off for it. I told my husband last night that I was suddenly unblocked. He found that interesting. But I told him just so that he would know. Just in case The Abuser tries to call me or messages me on Facebook, at least he’d know what was up.

Do I still think about him? Yeah. Do I remember good times with him? Of course I do. I carry a lot of memories with me on a daily basis. I would never want to part with them. Not even the bad ones. 

I saw a video last night that ripped me apart. It’s called “Hurt” by Johnny Cash. Trent Reznor wrote it, but Johnny Cash was born to sing it. 

Johnny Cash – Hurt

When I watched the video, and listened to the lyrics, it made me think of him. I have a feeling that when this life is said and done with The Abuser, he is going to have a life of regret that he can’t ever take back. I hate that for him. I hate that for anyone. 

It even made me want to hug Johnny Cash and tell him that everything was okay. That man was a grade-A asshole in his youth. But it seems as if it all caught up with him in the end. And the pain that’s in his eyes in this video? It’s enough to rip your soul out. 

What have I become? My sweetest friend. Everyone I know, goes away in the end. And you could have it all – my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt. If I could start again, a million miles away. I would keep myself, I would find a way.

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. 

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.

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.