Against All Odds

Yes, another hiatus. This time I have an excuse. I have plenty ideas, so that's not it. I need serious therapy, so that's not it either. No. Instead, I've finally gotten out. I've gotten out of the toxicity. I've gotten out of being the victim. I've gotten out of the "tolerable" hell I've been in for so long that it felt normal.

The camel's back got broken. And believe me, I think everyone knew it was going to happen. There was that typical build-up. The kind they teach you to use when writing a good story. The kind I've seen over and over again, if not in my own situation, in those of my troubled loved ones. Money was tight. I'd become physically healthier than I'd been in a while. I got my own job. Gasp. The stress of all of that is maddening, right?? Well, if you are a person with very little self esteem, a drug and alcohol problem, colleagues and/or family and friends enabling, and quite possibly an undiagnosed mental illness, it is.

Somehow, some financial stress mixed with my own gaining independence became a devil of infinite proportions. Because, no one else in the universe had financial stress. No one else knows what it's like to give up a little. To save. To live like, well, a poor person for a little while. Of course, I'm being sarcastic, but sadly, this is how he felt. At least that's what I'm assuming to make my own monster seem much more human.

Needless to say, I don't have all the details. The Big Man and I stopped talking about real things years ago. I've tried, to no avail. He, I guess, just doesn't know how it works. The whole talking thing. Instead, I find 12 random shot bottles of vodka in his trash at work. He comes home from work reeking of booze, barely able to walk straight, refusing to admit to one tiny taste of anything alcoholic. He's irate at the thought of me talking on my phone. Because, I've never had to deal with any of these circumstances before. I'm sure I'm dumb enough to believe he was just tired, and overworked. At a "job" where he's self-employed and I've witnessed his mostly lack-of-work first hand.

No, I'm sorry. This isn't my first rodeo. And even if it were, I've been to God-Knows-How-Many growing up. We'll call this the twelfth straw. And yes, I'm completely comfortable documenting this, for one: this is MY platform. Where I can say what I want; you can judge me or not; we breathe in and move on. And two: out of 8 years and multiple pleadings to read my blog and tell me what he thought, he'd been interested enough to do it never. Okay, he tried once and got less than halfway through and told me my writing was much to textbook style and that no one would want to read it. So amongst everything, I'm quite comfortable documenting this.

So, in accurate form and grace, the lying and paranoid accusations grew. Obviously I was dating a trainer. Why else would I go to the gym. And obviously there was more payoff than just health, I must be dating other random men. And obviously I'm having orgies because I'm working somewhere away from him and being happier and more independent than I have been in ages. It makes sense. So instead of taking these insecurities and using them as anything remotely close to a positive as he could; say...working out to thin down, working out to clear his mind, becoming healthy to be in control of his financial decisions, etc; why not drink himself to oblivion daily. But I don't think that's the extent of it. Although he was angry enough with just alcohol, he began smoking an immense amount of marijuana, which generally, in my knowledge, will calm you down and mellow you out, neither of which was the case. But, he was left to his own devices for 8 hours out of the day now. No more babysitter, and we all know, when the cats' away, the mice will play. His behavior began to emulate that of which he had when I met him. Back when I found out he wasn't just unbalanced, but was also using meth.

Now is not the time for lectures, folks. I'm the first one to say good, clean people don't stay with druggies unless they do some themselves. That is the furthest thing from my case. You'll see, from my previous blogs, the addict lifestyle is what I was raised in. It took so much from me. Loved ones. Self esteem. My life. I didn't have to do drugs to feel it's anguish. I already knew it very well. And this was why, in good political fashion, it was my mission to clean up every druggie, one by one, and prove to them and to the world that they can do it and that I can help! Got me pretty far, I'd say. Two kids and right smack dab back where I started.

But back to the point. This series of unhealthy events led up to a Monday night, much like that of many other nights. He's in charge of the kids while I do something for myself. Said something being going to the gym like I do every Monday. And the five-minutes-ago guy who wanted a hug turned into a paranoid asshole, recklessly trying to prove that I'm cheating on him, all in front of the kids. Mind you, this happens nearly daily. I explain, as always, that this is something we can talk about later after I get back and the kids go to bed, but he doesn't back down. He persists, in fact. He knows how to push every button, until I'm defending myself from these made up actions. It's literally crazy. But finally, I leave for the gym, with fear in my heart that those were the hands of an incapable parent in charge of my children. And I was right.

I got home to an excessively inebriated person, blaring my running playlist (mostly club-quality songs)at 9:20pm with two very tired but very awake children in the living room. This was the norm on Mondays and Wednesdays. He had apparently forgotten how to put the kids to bed. And so instead of questioning him and his lack of parental skills, "why don't I be a mother and put the kids to bed??" And that was just the beginning of a very steep spiral downwards.

After ignoring my pleas to stop until the kids were in bed, I was forced to call in backup. This is where it turns ugly. To keep it more short and sweet, this guy went ape on everyone. Straw number: enough. The camel collapsed. I took the kids to my neighbor's, and called the police so I could gather some things. Of course I got a plethora of obnoxious and victimized, abusive messages. I'm used to it. But what I also got was the courage to stay as far away from this situation as humanly possible.

I know it's still early to say I've beaten the odds, because statistically, the majority of women in this type of situation go back, but I'm determined. I don't love him. I don't need him. And I don't want him tearing me down, in general and in front of my kids. I always hoped he'd get well, but I also always knew he was sick. I actually still hope he gets well because, in my opinion, children need both parents. But only when he's able to be such.

So a week down, and I'm feeling disgusting. I feel like I'm living out of a car. I feel like a slob. I haven't gone to the gym. I haven't done anything. I haven't slept. The kids are sick. They are displaced. They are tired. I've barely eaten. I have no idea how I'm going to do it financially. But, through it all, I'm positive. I know I'm doing the right thing. I know the future holds great things for me and my kids. I know it could be a lot worse. And I know the lack of comfort is building my strength and character so I can be a better parent and a better person.

I was given the idea to do a bucket list, which is something I'll elaborate more on next time, and immediately wondered what grandiose things I wanted to add to it. Still, I haven't started it, but I have thought long and hard. My bucket list so far consists of: getting my own apartment for my kids and me; buying an economical car for us; relinquishing and maintaining meaningful relationships with friends and family whom I respect and are positive forces in my life; proving to my boss and myself that I'm capable and able to excel in what I do, even if it's out of my comfort zone; and finally, basically be able to financially maintain a healthy and well-groomed house full of happy babies and a happy mama. I think after that, the other aspects of my bucket list will fall into place.

Do not misinterpret this posting. I am not lacking in self esteem. I'm not sad, in most meanings of the term. I am extremely proud of myself, and I know that these sloppy days of displacement are temporary, and that I am smart and capable enough to pull right out of this like a jet pilot at an air show. It's just a loop in life, and I can't wait to be the happy, laid back, fun-loving person I have repressed for so long. I'm free.