Sadness

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The Curse of July 4th

Published July 4, 2017 by dividinguplife

I used to enjoy July 4th for a multitude of reasons. I love the summer, I love fireworks and how they light up the night sky in a beautiful display of color. As I got older, I loved that I had the day off of work to do nothing – which is exactly what I’m doing today. 

But last night, as I sat in the sunroom with the windows open, and listened to the crickets and cicada’s singing their nightly song, I realized just how cursed July 4th has become for me. Not all memories are bad, but the residual leftovers are sad.

 

July 4th, 2004

My daughter was a month old. My husband at the time (her father) and I were on a trial separation. Probably from the lack of sleep in a colic baby, probably because I was nineteen and had no business being married in the first place. Probably because neither of us had yet to grasp the idea that parenting meant we had to grow up.  The night before, my ex-husband had gone out with his friends while I sat at home with our daughter. This night would be my night to go out and do what I wanted. I was staying with my mother for this period of  time, while my ex-husband and I tried to figure out what our next steps would be. 

Naturally, I ended up at my current husbands house. My need to see Blue Eyes (Now, my brother-in-law) fueled my desire to reclaim some of my freedom. It was at a time that I still drank when I had a free weekend (and before the legal age to do so). Blue Eyes had just moved back to this state from his home state, and I hadn’t seen much of them for six years. I was convinced that he was the love of my life and that I would find a way to make him see me. I wasn’t a scared thirteen year old anymore. 

The party became a neighborhood party. Somewhere inside my mom was getting drunk off her ass, which would later having her clinging to the toilet, wishing for death. I stayed outside in eye-proximity to Blue Eyes, watching him with a fondness that I had always had for him, but staying aloof because I knew that being clingy would just push him away. Playing hard to get really was the answer to this puzzling game of men and women. The more he drank, the more his eyes found mine in a sea of people. I tried to act like I didn’t see him or notice him in the least, but my heart pounded in my chest every time I could feel him looking at me. 

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Eventually he pulled out a huge tarp that covered most of the backyard. He poured Dawn Dish Detergent all over it, sprayed it down with the water hose, and made a neighborhood slip-n-slide. Clothes were shed, there were naked drunk people running all over the yard. Blue Eyes launched himself down the slide, a free bird of balls and biceps. He threw himself on the tarp with so much speed that he kept going once the tarp ended, which resulted in a white ass in the air, face-first in the bushes that lined the woods. 

Meanwhile, my current husband had shut himself in his room to game on the computer with his friends. That is how he spent his time. Eventually it got late. The cops were called for disturbing the peace, and Blue Eyes walked around with a towel wrapped around his waste. The neighborhood dispersed and went to their respective houses. Blue Eyes and myself sat on the front porch, while he massaged my feet, and I half-slid out of the chair. We were both past the point of drunk, but I had his attention. At some point my current husband came outside and looked at me and told me that I needed to go home. Blue Eyes told him to take his ass back inside to his room and to mind his own business. This was back in the days of my not being able to really tolerate my husband very much. I never understood his hostility towards me. It kind of hurt my feelings that he wouldn’t want me around. 

Eventually, Blue Eyes and I crawled our way into the living room and made it to the couch where we collapsed and tried to keep the room from spinning. Some time passed, but I remember becoming coherent because his proximity had lessened. Then he was over me, and his mouth was on mine. His lean body was pressed into me. I told him that I wanted him and heard him groan under his breath. He told me he would take my ass into his bedroom if I didn’t watch what I said. I told him I dared him to.

I don’t remember getting to his room, but I remember clothes being shed, and his ceiling fan being on high, because as he approached me, the air was blowing my hair in my face. He brushed his hand across face to move the hair, and his mouth claimed mine again. 

I remember parts and bits of having sex. I remember falling asleep afterward to “Killing Me Softly” by The Fugees playing on his computer. I remember waking up at some ungodly hour of the morning and stumbling around to drive home. I remembering thinking that this was the start of something I’d always wanted. 

I wouldn’t see him again for another six years. 

 

July 4th, 2005

It took me an entire year to get over the fact that Blue Eyes and his family moved away again, without saying goodbye. This was the second time they had done this to me, and I was just as devastated at nineteen as I had been at thirteen. At the end of that July their house had caught fire, and they decided to return to their home state, ten hours away from me. 

My ex-husband and I had split up for good after we realized that we couldn’t make our marriage work, no matter how hard we tried. I was finally owning up to the fact that being a mother meant my kid came first. He hadn’t quite gotten there yet. I moved out and into my own place with our daughter. He got her every other weekend if he could manage, or if he didn’t have plans to go riding with friends on his motorcycle. (Now, he’s a fantastic father. It didn’t take him very long to get his shit together and figure it out.)

I signed up for match.com and put my profile picture out there. The night of July 3rd I received an e-mail that piqued my interest. This man was recently separated. His wife packed all of her things and moved out while he was at work, leaving him devastated. He liked my picture. I replied back explaining things about myself, and also told him that I was a bigger girl – to not be fooled by how photogenic I was in my picture. He said he didn’t care about that. We agreed to meet in the Circuit City parking lot the next day since we were both spending the 4th of July alone. I was still heart-broken over Blue Eyes leaving again, but I had a determination to move on from him hurting me again. 

I arrived first, and waited a short time for him. He looked angry and awkward. I could tell that when he pulled up, he wasn’t very impressed with what he saw. My heart deflated. I was going to have a difficult time finding someone to love me. Still, he got out of the car and we talked for a bit, then I got into his car and we went to Subway and had lunch. We went back to his house and sat there in awkward silence for a bit, and then he drove me to my car and that was it. I knew I would never see him again. That night while I was at the store, my phone rang, and it was him. He asked me if I wanted to come back over. He was lonely and he enjoyed talking to me. I agreed and thanked my lucky stars that someone was interested in me. This is the man that I refer to affectionately as The Abuser 

Today would have been our 12 year anniversary. I spent last night digging through old pictures on photobucket. His login crept into my mind – and I’m sure he hasn’t even used photobucket in ten years. But I tried logging in, and I was able to. Immediately I was overwhelmed with pictures of us. 

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There are days (like today) that it still hurts. I don’t miss his abuse, and I don’t miss him. I don’t regret my marriage to my husband in the least. But I will always feel like a failure with this one. I don’t know if it’s residual emotional abuse from him. I don’t know if it’s my overachieving ways that my ego is still bruised from not being enough for someone. I don’t know if maybe it’s because he was the first person I loved in my adult life that had such a pull over me, that I will always think about him. 

He beat the shit out of me for three years, and then he cheated on me and threw me out on the streets. He never loved me. He moved on to marry someone else and have a child with her. Someone that treats him exactly how he treated me. He had it good with me and didn’t realize it until he had thrown me away.

I find myself wondering if he even remembers what day this is. If I was enough to cause him to remember this day for the rest of his life, like I do. 

 

July 4th, 2015

On June 25th, 2015 I was sitting in my living room, scrolling through Facebook when a picture of my uncle popped up on my wall, from my Aunt’s boyfriend. All it said was “Please pray for Dennis, he has been in a serious accident.” My face paled and I immediately sent a text to my Aunt. I was confused as to why nobody had reached out to me. My aunt was in a daze when she answered the phone. They were up at the hospital. She apologized for not calling me, but said she couldn’t even think straight. I rushed up to the hospital that night to sit with the family.

I returned nearly every day for the next week. He was in critical condition. His brain was swelling, but he was responsive to commands. He could move his hands when asked, and make a peace sign when prompted. His eyes were still swollen shut, but he knew we were there. His fifteen year old daughter, my cousin, stayed glued to his side. She was about to be sixteen. She said she didn’t care if she had her sixteenth birthday party in the hospital as long as she could celebrate it with him. They were inseparable. 

My Uncle had a craniotomy done to allow his brain to swell comfortably. Shortly after that he was brain dead. I went in to see him one last time before they pulled the plug on his life support. His hands and legs were still doing involuntary twitching, giving us false hope that he would recover. The nurse explained that it was just his body’s response, but that there was nothing going on in his brain. When we pulled the plug, he would be dead. 

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His organs went on to save six people. Everything had changed the moment that seventeen year old didn’t check his blind-spot and sent my Uncle careening into a telephone pole. Our lives were affected. He left behind two kids, and a grandson that was a month away from birth. He was 45 years old. A survivor of cancer, a business owner, an incredible human being. 

That night, my husband and I took his kids downtown to see the fireworks. I stood there in awe and shock, wondering if any of this was actually real. I prayed that my Uncle had a better view of the fireworks from Heaven. I prayed that he would always be around us. I prayed that his children would recover from losing a man that was so incredible. 

 

Today, I’m staying home. I’m not going anywhere, I’m not doing anything. The memories of years past are enough to make me want to shut myself away from everything. My husband is working until five. I have no desire to celebrate this stupid day. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Knew a Future Murderer

Published May 26, 2017 by dividinguplife

I’ve been kind of shell-shocked this week. 

I worked with a man from 2010 – 2012 at my first position in the eye care field. His name was John. He worked over in Optical. He could sell the shirt off of his coworkers back. Women loved him. He always had the highest sales every month out of all of the guys that worked in optical. He was decent-looking. He immediately attached to me when I started there. He would come up to the desk and make small talk, he would eat lunch with me in the food court. We became pretty good friends. With my uncanny ability to read and feel-out people, I could sense that there was something dark lurking underneath the happy boy facade. 

Over time I discovered that John was a registered sex offender. He raped an 18 year old woman in New York in 1989. He went to prison for over ten years for it. He claimed he had been rehabilitated while doing time. He was a former drug addict. He was bi-polar. John was a dark and dangerous man that wore a shield of sunshine. He was smart as hell. When he was clean, he’d give you the shirt off of his back. 

Because he was a sex offender, I never let him near my daughter, who was six at the time. I know people can change, but I wasn’t willing to risk it with her. Any time we hung out, it was when my daughter was at her dad’s house. He and his girlfriend went with me and the guy I was dating, to the beach one day. We had a fun day. 

John

Not too long after that, something turned dark in John. He started missing work. When he did come in, he was so tweaked out of his mind, he hardly knew what day it was. He would be sweating, his pupils dilated so much you couldn’t see the hazel iris of his eyes. 

And then one day he was gone. No goodbye or anything. Just, gone. Later I would find out that he was house sitting for some family members while they were on a cruise, and he ended up selling everything in their house for drug money. Before they came home, he bought a bus ticket and hauled ass to Ohio to stay with some of his girlfriends relatives. His girlfriend called me to help her pack their one bedroom apartment, because she had no one else. 

Apparently with John being a registered sex offender and on probation, skipping town was a bad idea. He failed to register in Ohio, and because he was on probation, he wasn’t supposed to leave North Carolina. Within six months US Marshall’s kicked his front door in, and he went back to jail for 33 months.

I kept in touch with his girlfriend while he was in jail. Once he got out he called me to catch up. He invited me up to Ohio for his wedding to his girlfriend. I couldn’t get away from work, and I wasn’t about to drive up to Ohio for a wedding anyway. When our old boss died last year from a blood clot to her lungs, I sent him a text message to let him know. 

May 5th he called me out of the blue, but I was working. I sent him a text message asking him if he was okay. He said his alternator went out in his car. I knew he was hinting around at wanting money, but I don’t have extra money and it isn’t my responsibility to financially support someone that isn’t my family. He told me to call him when I had time. I didn’t.

Tuesday night I was scrolling through my Facebook feed and a post that a friend of mine in Ohio liked had an article that had a picture of a man being arrested. I thought to myself “That looks like John.” Then I saw the title of the article which said “Ashtabula Man Charged with Murder..” and I was like “No way, it can’t be.” I knew John and his wife lived in Ashtabula Ohio. 

Apparently, from what I read throughout various articles – A family friend called John over to take their 13 year old daughter out of the house because her parents were arguing. He walked over there and got the girl, and then decided to kidnap her along with one of his friends. Why? According to him, because the girls father owed them thousands of dollars for Meth. The plan was to hold her hostage until her father paid up, and then give the girl back, unharmed. 

Something went very wrong. Based on John’s mugshot, I know for a fact that he was tweaked out of his mind. I know John’s “drugs look” unfortunately. 

This is the John I knew. The John that wasn’t drugged up. 

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This was the John that was arrested last week. 

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According to his confession, while him and his buddy were driving this 13 year old around as a hostage, they pulled over and struck her to make her be quiet. They then pulled into a field and John told his buddy to leave. John shot this girl and then set her body on fire. Karma intervened and made it to where his car wouldn’t start, so he had to abandon the car at the very place he murdered that little girl. Another friend of his his a bloody knife and disposed of his bloody clothes and gave him a pair to change into. 

He stole a neighbors car, drove into PA and led cops on a chase before he was captured a short time later. 

The Article

I knew John had problems, but I never imagined him capable of murder. Even drugged out, it’s hard to imagine that your mind is so altered that you could murder a child. I knew a man that went on to murder a child. It makes me sick to my stomach. 

I hope he gets the death penalty. Even thinking back to any good times I had with him, they are all now tainted by the murdering of a thirteen year old little girl. How can you do something like that? 

His wife was also arrested for tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice. She choose to help him after he did what he did, and now she will pay the price for his crime, as well. 

I cried myself to sleep Tuesday night. All I can think about is the fact that I have a child that is a week away from being thirteen. I knew this man, and it could have just as easily been my family that was affected by him. Granted, I never let her around him, but I did associate with someone that was capable of this. 

It’s just another reason to add to my list of reasons that I don’t hang out with people outside of my household. I just don’t. I don’t like to, and I don’t see a good enough reason to. I have my husband and my kid and that’s all that I need. 

Lust for Life

Published May 22, 2017 by dividinguplife

Yesterday was another rough day with my head waging war against my emotions. I went to bed early and cried myself to sleep because I felt like useless garbage. I always seem to feel and do better when I’m at work, helping my patients with their life. It gives me a sense of accomplishment. When I’m at home on the weekend and my husband is working and I’m utterly bored and my mind has time to wander to hell and back, that’s when the demons in my head start telling me all of the shit I don’t want to hear. 

Chris Cornell died from suicide last week. Another amazing person gone from this world because of depression. I sat around and listened to “Sunshower” on repeat while I sat amazed that he took his own life. I’m no stranger to suicide; I tried it when I was a teenager to escape the hell my mother made me live in day after miserable day. I’ve lost friends to suicide and accidental overdoses. I’ve lost friends to murder from spouses. I feel like the people I know are becoming “the people that have died” in faster rates than should be allowed. 

Some dickhead bombed the Ariana Grande Concert in the UK tonight. I can’t even imagine how many children that selfish, senseless, asshat murdered. It has gotten to the point that you can’t even go to a concert and enjoy yourself without having to worry about being murdered by an extremist. This shit isn’t fair. I’m about ready to send an e-mail to God asking Him when he plans on coming back to get us, because this is getting old and very very sad, very quickly. It’s no wonder the birth rate in on a decline. People don’t want to bring children into this shit. Can you blame them? Who wants to risk raising a child in this bullshit? 

A few months ago The Abuser friend requested me on Facebook. I thought “why the hell not?” I have always taken a small pleasure in seeing how his life has turned out since he cheated on me and threw me and my daughter out on our ass. I refrain from commenting very often on things he posts, because his wife is always right behind my comment to make sure her voice is heard. I’d like to say that I don’t know what her damn problem is, but I do know. She knows and she will always have to live with the fact that she was partly responsible for the demise of my relationship with her husband. That nasty, homewrecking skank will always have in the back of her mind that her husband tried multiple times to come back to me, but I wouldn’t let him back in. I mean, I’m not a gluten for punishment, and getting my ass beat again never sounded very appealing. Being verbally abused is not a thing I want ever again. Once I got over the brainwashing of how I would be nothing without him, telling him that we would never be together was a lot easier than I thought it would be. 

But yeah, any time I say anything on his page about something he posts, she’s always there to be loud and proud. She will make sure to call him pet names, or try to sound smarter than me about something that I say. I say nothing in return, I just ignore it and her. 

My daughter’s 13th birthday is right around the corner. I’m really starting to wonder where in the hell time has gone. She was two yesterday. She’s two years away from getting her learners permit. I’ll be 32 in a couple of months. What in the hell is going on here? 

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. 

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. 

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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. 

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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. 

Dad’s Cancer Battle

Published March 13, 2017 by dividinguplife

My dad is back in the hospital. Not that he told any of us until my grandmother threatened to call his boss at work to find out what was going on with him, since he wasn’t replying to any text messages. 

It seems that his Stage 4 Colon Cancer has spread from his liver to his kidney’s, causing the left kidney to swell up and put him in severe pain. Worse than kidney stone pain, which I would imagine equates to something slightly worse than childbirth. He’s on Dilaudid for pain, and is waiting to have scans done to see exactly what the deal is. 

My dad refused chemo and radiation last year when he was diagnosed. He had surgery to have the tumor removed from his colon, and partially from his liver. The doctor refused to do anything more if he was going to refuse chemo and radiation. My dad decided to do The Mistletoe treatment and cashed in his life insurance policy to pay for it, since private insurance doesn’t cover holistic treatments. After doing the treatment, his blood work was coming back better than good, and it seemed as if there was some miracle to be found in this holistic treatment, without all of the side-effects of chemo and radiation. For a while there, he was doing great, or so he said.

I went by the hospital this morning before going into work. I know my dad is super introverted (worse than I am), but the thought of him lying alone in that hospital with nobody checking on him, hurts my heart. I feel like he’s trying to die alone so as not to be a burden on anyone, or have to face the crying eyes of his family. My grandmother can hardly deal with it, and so we try to sugar-coat what’s going on as much as possible. I have to live with her, and being an empath is difficult when she gets on her crying spells – especially if she’s super medicated on her Gabapentin and loopy enough to make all of this even more traumatic for her than it is for anyone else. 

I’m sad for him. He seems to be accepting of whatever happens. Radiation may be an option, and he said that he will do it if that will keep the pain away. I didn’t say anything about the blisters and pus that often happens afterward. It’s equivalent to second degree burns, according to what I see on my patients when they come in for their appointments. You can always tell when someone has had radiation; it changes their physical appearance to someone unrecognizable. 

And as much of an empath as I am – I can feel what other people feel, even if I don’t know them. Total strangers will unknowingly project their feelings onto me when I’m out and about – I can’t feel anything off of my dad. I don’t know if it’s because he has shut himself off so much from everyone that he doesn’t project himself. It seems that perhaps he and I may share quite a few qualities, and he understands what it is to project oneself onto someone else, and so he is mindful to keep all of his feelings to himself. My dad has always held people at arms length, and for that I don’t understand why. According to my mother (if you can believe anything she says), even from a young age he always kept to himself and never let anyone get too close. It’s frustrating because I’m trying to spend as much time with him as I can before he dies. I’ve only had a year of slightly normal conversation with him, and now he’s sick. I dreamed my entire life of having my dad give two damns about me. Now that he does, he’s dying – and the two are mutually exclusive. He didn’t start coming around until the diagnosis. I often wonder if he’d still be MIA if he were perfectly healthy. That thought makes me sad. I’m still like the back-burner daughter. Like “let me make my amends before I travel to the big man, because it’s the right thing to do.” 

*Sighs*

The Active Warrant Debacle

Published March 9, 2017 by dividinguplife

So, Thursday, after I got served with the active warrant from 2009 that I knew nothing about AND the court date for unreturned property that I also knew nothing about …. I stressed all weekend, went back and forth on spending my time finding a lawyer for a price that wouldn’t rape me up the ass, and just going downtown and turning myself in and being arrested and posting bond. 

I went outside Monday to smoke a cigarette at work, turned the corner, and there was a police car parked in the parking lot. I stopped in my tracks, and fourteen thousand things went through my head. Anything from “Chill the fuck out, it’s not uncommon to see a police car in the parking lot.” to “This is it.They are going to handcuff and me and haul me away. I hope they will do it in the hallway, away from my patients. I don’t want them to see me get hauled off to jail.” 

Of course, none of that happened. I called a lawyer on Monday during my lunch. She was 2500 bucks and she could “make it go away” minus the 196 bucks for the worthless check and court cost – whatever price that may be. I nearly hit the floor and almost gave up at that point. I figured all lawyers were going to be like this. I can’t afford a 2500 dollar retainer fee. 

Yesterday I called another lawyer who was very nice but told me he only handles felony cases. He gave me the number of another lawyer, who I called, and spoke to this fantastic paralegal lady who made me feel like she was my fairy godmother. 500 bucks and she would take care of it for me. She got rid of my warrant, she is having my failure to return dismissed because the company has insurance for situations like that. And she is making sure I don’t have anything on my record after I pay the 196 dollars for the worthless check. She’s also getting the court costs waived. 

So, after days and days of stressing about this shit it looks like it’s finally coming to an end. 

I talked to my brother tonight. Sadly, we can compare stories of the ways our mother has fucked us up one side and down the other. A few years ago she stole my step-dad’s identity in the form of an 800 dollar credit card that she had sent to her house, and then promptly maxed out on God-knows what. My step-dad didn’t find out about it until he went to purchase his half-million dollar home and the only thing preventing that from going through was the unpaid 800 dollars on his credit report. Keep in mind that they had been divorced for over ten years by then. I guess my mom held onto his social security number. 

A few years before that, she was living in a fully furnished apartment that was being paid for by a man she would eventually marry (her fourth husband), all the while she was living with a crack addict and would hide his things whenever fourth-husband-sugar-daddy would swing by for a quick lay. He was completely in the dark. He had no idea he was paying all of the bills for a woman that had another man living with her. Oh, I forgot to mention that her fourth husband was her third husbands brother-in-law. I bet you can guess why she and third husband split up. 

So anyway, when it came time for her to move out of the apartment, she took everything out of there. The furnished beds, TV’s, couches, dining room set, etc …. you know who the apartment complex called to collect the five thousand dollars from? My brother. My mom had signed my brothers name on the lease, even though he was only fifteen at the time. They harassed my brother for years for this, until his dad finally got on the phone and threatened to take them to court for harassment. 

She’s swindled so many men out of money by lying. The time she gave me cancer for money was only the tip of the iceberg. It seems that she is still full of surprises. She had an old boyfriend of hers call my brother a few weeks ago (he blocked her number a year ago), to tell him that my brother needs to call our mom because she’s dying, and how dare he ignore her when she’s so sick. He said, and I quote … “Mother fucker, she’s been dying for 24 years. Hell, I’ve been dying, my sister has been dying, WE’VE ALL BEEN DYING according to her. You don’t know shit about her, about me, or about this family. Do not call me again.” 

So, it seems that she has gotten her claws into all of us at some point. I almost ended up in jail because of her. I have a perfect record. She almost ruined that for me. 

Oh, and my dad thinks his cancer is back. So, that’s wonderful. He has started hurting in his back, so he thinks it has spread. He’s supposed to have more scans done soon to confirm his suspicions. Last Christmas the doctor only gave him a year to live. My dad tried the holistic route and seemed to have some luck with it, but that luck may have run out.

No mother, no step-father, my real dad is dying. My materal grandmother is dead. My Uncle died at 45 years old, almost two years ago. I’m running out of people. 

“Everyone I know goes away, in the end. And you can have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt.”