2.37. In All Honesty

Spring is near…hell it’s Kansas so Spring may show up in August for all we know, but the overall symbolism of the season has set into full blast…kinda. Actually, it should be the opposite…the beginning of Winter. When life is ending, things die, everything is cold, quiet, and gloomy.

People say divorce is comparable to a death. And it is. The death of something you thought would last forever. Now, don’t have me mistaken with someone else; I chose to go through with my divorce…I asked for it. But I imagined it would be a rebirth. An opportunity for two miserable people to find their happiness again. What has manifested is a full blown war…a spiteful display of tyranny and a chaotic concert with nothing but hate blasting through the speakers.

 

I recently attended a class called FOCIS. Focus On Children In Separation. Sadly, that hasn’t been the case in the demise of my union. It has been an icy exchange. Something embedded with vengeance. Something VERY hard to deal with.

Before I go any further, let me make it very clear that I have no clue what I’m doing. That I’m making tons of mistakes. I am emotionally screwed right now. I have no idea how to have friendships, family ties, interactions with the adult species. The epitome of my understanding is with that of a three year old (my son) and even then…I get lost sometimes and just wish he would understand that I want to cry, to hide, to fade and not deal with the agony of breathing. But he will not understand my pain. He shouldn’t have to. He didn’t choose this. He sure as shit didn’t choose me.

During that FOCIS class, the instructor went over the 5 stages of grief, first really introduced by Elsabeth Kubler-Ross in her 1969 book “On Death and Dying.”

  1. Denial and Isolation
  2. Anger
  3. Bargaining
  4. Depression/Guilt
  5. Acceptance

According to the instructor, the journey through these stages…on average…can be between 18 months and 4 years. 4 YEARS!!!! I slip into each one of these stages, depending on the day.

I have isolated myself despite playing the open book. I have walked away from friendships without so much as a tear. Because these people will leave sooner or later. It always happens. It always will happen. So fuck it. There is no use in holding on to people who will throw me away like garbage.

I become so angry, it’s sickening. I hate people who are happy. I hate people who complain about petty shit. I hate people who have it all figured out. I hate people who have no emotional understanding. I hate people who assume I should just deal. I hate people who pass judgement on my every fucking move. I hate people who think, for one second, they could deal with this pain. I hate people who have never been single a day in their adult life telling me to not feel completely lost. I hate people who have no courage to be alone telling me to stay strong…ALONE. I hate people who use that bullshit line, “you think you’re the only one in the world who…” No shit I’m not the only one going through shit. But I’m living my life. Is a rape victim supposed to think, “well, someone else went through this and worse so I should just get over it.” UM, NO! I hate the bullshit optimism and then the continuous “whatever” mentality when everything doesn’t go as fucking wonderfully as you’ve tried to convince me it would. You were wrong. Accept it. Admit that being a part of my life was a mistake and walk away. I’m giving you the option. Because I hate, more than anything, anyone who will stay in my life and is miserable because of that connection. Just walk.

I have bargained. I will do anything. I will die if it means peace for my son. For people around me. I will shut up and take it. I will forget. I will forgive. I will pretend to be happy when I’m not. I will do whatever…if only…

I have fallen into depression. I feel guilt every fucking day for existing. For just being alive. Wouldn’t people be so much better off if I were gone? Wouldn’t they all just be happier if I never existed? I have cried myself to sleep and screamed to a God I don’t believe in. I have begged for mercy. I have prayed on the phone. I have called hotlines. I have puked out the remnants of an empty bottle. I have lost myself in the pure feeling of being a mistake. I have been ashamed of my feelings because I have a child and I should never think of my own end. What kind of mother am I if I don’t want to jump out of bed every day to look at my beautiful boy? I feel guilt that he got such a pathetic ass excuse of a mother as me. I feel guilt that I am not better. That I don’t even know how to be better.

Acceptance is supposed to be that one when things make sense and there is a sense of peace and clarity. But in my acceptance, I have come to an understanding that none of this pain will EVER go away. My life is meant to be shit. And it will never change. It will always be this hard. It will always be this dark. It will always hurt this much.

Feel free to have a rolling of the eyes session, a “this bitch swears” moment…I seriously don’t fucking care. These are my emotions. These are my thoughts. This is my life. It is not and does not have to be a part of yours.

In all honesty, there is only ONE thing I am certain about…just one…but it is the most important thing for me to know – I love my son. I love my baby boy with every ounce of my being. I do not care if not one single person on this planet cares about me as long as my son knows I love him and I live ONLY for him.

In all honesty, my son is the ONLY thing I’ve done right in my life. The ONLY thing I am proud to be a part of. The ONLY reason I have the tiniest glimmer of hope in my heart that this life can be beautiful. As hard as the days get, I know this life has possibility…for happiness, for love, for laughter, for growth, for beauty…ONLY because he is in it.

I am a flawed human being. I am struggling to find peace in this battle. I am lost, scared, uncertain, feeling broken…

BUT I am willing to continue my journey, no matter what, because my son will always know I kept going…despite it all…FOR HIM. Here’s to healing, to growing, to figuring me out. To fixing me. One stage at a time.

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2.35. Humbled But Happy

 It’s all about POV. 

I’ve spent the past year or so thinking…he has a home, he has a relationship, he has a great paying job, he has vehicles that work, he has family that lives in this state, he has everything I don’t. How did this happen? What’s the point of me trying…

I have a one bedroom, a car that doesn’t work, a job that pays fair but nowhere near what I realistically need, no family in this state, and no one that cares about me on a romantic/relationship level.

In speaking to a friend today, reflecting on the situation, recognizing how much I’ve been smiling lately…

He has stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. And is still a miserable, bitter, angry person. And that saddens me.

On the other hand, I have my son. I have genuine people in my life. I have a clear head and an open heart. I have so much more than I could have ever hoped for. I’m not to my destination but I’m definitely on my way.

This life is about your POV. I may have “nothing,” to many but my “nothing” is absolutely everything to me. And I’m happy.

Can’t say that about the other side. And with no ill will do I hope he gets there. I hope he learns to enjoy life a little more, smile a little more, appreciate a little more. Because the stuff doesn’t matter. The stuff will all go away.

In losing all of the “stuff,” I’ve gained my life back. Knowing just how hard these past two years have been…I wouldn’t change it. Not at all.

My POV is not about what I have or don’t. It’s about cherishing every single awesome moment with my child, every personal accomplishment (no matter how big or small), knowing genuine gratitude for beautiful friends and family, finding peace in myself, spiritual calm, and learning about the ability to take life as it comes.

It’s not going to be perfect here on out. That’s not the really real world. But damn if I don’t feel optimistic about tomorrow. Because each day has grown to be better than so many of my yesterdays.

It’s all about your POV. Do you have the right one?

2.24. Parental Efforts

If you’ve gone through a divorce, you know life can be hard. If you’ve gone through a divorce with a child in the mix, you know life can be gut wrenching. But I have to tell myself, time and again, this isn’t about me. Revenge cannot exist when you have a child with someone because the only person you’d be punishing is the innocent. The one who didn’t ask for two parents who couldn’t resolve their shit.

I’ve been on the receiving end of the spiteful intent many times over the course of this divorce. I’ve been deprived of hearing my sons voice solely for the fact that it means so much to me. And as much as I want another to know what that agony feels like…I can’t.

He calls and I answer. But my son is somewhere between sleep and annoyance. He doesn’t want to talk on the phone and screams instead. The call ends. It could be just that. I answered. I did my duty. But is that all my duty entails? In my eyes, no. I sit with Hunter and talk to him. I ask him why he doesn’t want to talk on the phone. “I don’t want to talk to daddy because daddy is mean.”

And that breaks my heart. But I know my son can also say I’m mean because I won’t give him 5 cookies. So, I try again. I tell him that his daddy loves him. That his daddy called because he misses him and thinks he is very important. I tell him that his daddy is happy when he hears his voice just as I am when I call. I ask him if it’s okay to call daddy back and try again. He says okay. He calls and they share a moment on the phone. They laugh and say I love you. The conversation ends and it is good for them.

Now, my duty is fulfilled. At the end of the day, I may not like the person on the  other end of the line. I may feel that my son is being used as a pawn to punish me. BUT I know that despite my feelings, I cannot do the same things and feel good about the state of my soul. And so, I will encourage every phone call. I will encourage every visit. Because encouraging my son to love and know his father does not take away from our bond. It simply says that my son will know that I always put his needs before my own.

I can’t force anything. I can’t make strong bonds form. I can only nurture what is there. I can be strong for my angel and be there for him, to talk and work through the good and the bad.

Bottom line, we didn’t get stuck with each other. He got stuck with us.

2.15. Another Sleepless Night

Can’t sleep. Counting down the hours until mediation. Completely unsure how badly it’s going to go. Certain I have to keep composed no matter how irrational and rude the opposing party chooses to be. Perhaps indifferent, spouting off a ridiculous amount of lies, unwilling to compromise, audacious enough to request a single thing…probably a slew of things. Two hours with a puppet I can’t stand. A person I am disgusted by. A thing I loathe. Two hours that will most likely make me break down and cry the second I walk through the doors of my apartment. A day that will define where and when my future will begin.

I’m scared. Petrified. Worried. Concerned. Overwhelmed. Intimidated. Unsure.

It is needless to say but I’ll say it anyway. I love my son more than I love my own life. I cannot fathom my life without him and I wouldn’t want to. I feel at peace when he is with me and when I hear his voice, when I see him sleeping peacefully and when he is giggling up a storm. When he has sleepy eyes and when he’s pushing me to wake up. I love him more than anyone I have ever or will ever know.

The pessimist in me says tomorrow will be heartbreaking. The mother in me says that no matter what happens – I have to stay strong for my sweet angel. I will never stop fighting for him. I will never give him up. I will never walk away. I will never stop loving him with every ounce of my being.

I don’t know what level of evil and lies I will face tomorrow. I don’t know what schemes will be played but I know it’s coming. This is not paranoia. This is my current reality.

May my love for my son give me the strength to hear whatever is said in this meeting. And to keep my integrity despite the evil that men do.

2.14. ATTN:Stupid People – Stop Breathing

This is a rant. This is not meant to be nice or sweet or even thought provoking. This is me venting because I feel like it.

So, I’ve (very) recently come to the conclusion that I need to work on my positivity, my outlook on the human species, and my inability to give people a chance to show their good side instead of insinuating there must be something wrong.

I hung out with a group of people last night and actually allowed myself to enjoy peoples company without focusing on what could be negative. Went out to play pool and avoided blowing up on a sleazy, dirty old man…two points for me. This is going to take a lot of time and a lot of practice but I’m willing. Yay me.

And then I go to work.

And I listen to the tirades of a old angry woman. I listen to her curse and yell about the conspiracies against her. I listen and even advise her to speak with our manager (yes, she’s a co-worker). And then, she slips in some little dialogue about the favoritism that I have received. Because I have not been scheduled to work at 5am in the past several weeks. And how that is unfair in relation to the fact she she has in fact worked all morning shifts. That someone else has been denied a guaranteed day off to pursue college courses…and here I am getting to sleep in.

Well, fuck me running.

Furthermore, I find out from MULTIPLE co-workers that she has gone on several little tirades about me and the fact that I don’t work morning shifts. She had the audacity to BOLD FACE lie and say I have an arrangement with the manager so I don’t have to work mornings.

Oh no, bitch, oh no.

“Don’t you think it’s messed up that she doesn’t have to work morning and we do, that you can’t go to school but she gets a special schedule, isn’t that upsetting, I should make more money than she does, I wish I could come to work to sit on my ass and be pretty.”

Sit on my ass and be pretty? Because according to this haggard old cranky ass…that’s what I get paid to do.

Let’s see…

Tomorrow, I will be at work at 7am. I will work until 1pm. I will drive to my second job and work from 1:30 to 9pm. I will then go pick up my son and spend time with my boy until he is good and ready to go to sleep. I will sit on my pretty little ass on Monday since it is my off day, which entails me chasing my son around the house, reading to him, playing with him even though I am exhausted, and attempting to clean our hell hole. Somewhere in there, I will devote 3-5 hours at the welfare office in which I will apply (under the advisement of my attorney) for food stamps since, despite working two jobs, I still fall below poverty level. I will also attempt to fathom how I will pay all of my bills and give my son something remotely resembling a Christmas without losing my mind or focusing on the fact that for the past 20 months, my son has been shortened over $8000.00 that he will never get back and 8 grand that could have spared me a lot of fucking tear filled nights. I will rinse and repeat for Tuesday and manage to include a divorce mediation session that will emotionally rock me to the core. Wednesday, I will sit on my pretty little ass for 9 hours, the same Thursday and on Friday I will chase my son around yet again until he leaves for his fathers house. I will then take my pretty ass to bed and sleep (BECAUSE I’M FUCKING LAZY) and get as much rest as I can in before I go to work at 5am and get off of work at 9pm. That is a 16 hour day. WHICH I WILL DO AGAIN ON SUNDAY BEFORE PICKING UP MY SON AND PREPARING FOR ANOTHER FUCKING WEEK.

Sounds like a walk in the park.

So…in short – the next time some droopy old cunt decides to talk shit on me and questions my integrity as a worker, I would just like to give a shout out reminder that my work day does not start or end when I walk through those doors. That my work stress is the LEAST of my fucking problems. That there is NOTHING she could do in the entirety of her meaningless existence that will remotely compare to what I do in a day.

Fuck you very much.

Goodnight.

 

2.5. Crossroads

On the edge of the storm, I am fully aware that life will soon show it’s changes – clear and vibrant, dark and gloomy as they may be. As the finalization of my divorce draws closer…I am preparing myself for the death of a life. The blame game doesn’t exist in this new world.

Coming out of the tunnel, a treacherous journey that has spanned well over two years…I am on the verge of starting my existence for the first time in a decade. Every choice I make, every thing I do, every interaction I have must be calculated to enable a better future for my son.

I’ve gone down this particular road many times. The inkling to finish school, to buckle down and further my education, nurture my mind, grow as an artist and an individual, create something substantial that can further my potential. Just as many times as I have tried; I have failed. I’ve walked away to better focus on my household, buckled under the pressure, realized things seemed far too easy for a reason. Either way, I’ve quit on multiple occasions.

But what have I gained from quitting? I’ve put myself in a position where I cannot pursue my passion, my body hurts on a daily basis due to physical labor, I am not a positive example to my son. The last factor is what pushes me to do something about the situation I’ve put myself in.

I want to go back to school. I don’t care who supports me, who blows me off with a typical “mhm, that’s cool,” or who thinks it’s a dumb idea. This is about starting my life over to be something worthwhile for my little man. There is a risk in doing this. A risk in putting my focus toward “success,” instead of creating a growing family. Can I have both? I’m a little bit doubtful. But I can’t hesitate working on a better future for my son because I’m scared I’ll lose a hypothetical. My son needs me to be better.

Divorce is like a death. Losing something that once held life and possibility. Once the dotted line has been signed, all that will be left is choice. I can choose to die with the memory or I can fight and work hard to create something one million times better.

That’s where I want to be. Write instead of left on the crossroads.

1.197 – This Life I Live

There’s nothing funny about going through a divorce but there is plenty of inspiration in the process. Life doesn’t quite feel kind, forgiving, understanding, caring. Nonetheless, this process can only make me stronger. Because I have a lot to live for…a lot to get done.

There are so many things I want to do to enrich my life – to enrich my sons life. Once those papers are signed, I will have to make the best of the results. In the meantime, all I can do is focus on my goals – keep them fresh in my mind and work toward the dream.

Every day is a battle; a test to who I am and what I’m made of. Divorce is not about punishment. It’s setting free two caged birds who weren’t meant to co-habitate. Sadly, for some, divorce is a vengeful fuck you because they got left behind. But this life is about growth and I will not live in a pile of shit when I am meant to thrive as a flower.

I hope you thrive. As I will do my best to do so. Without you. Without the shit of nine years,

The war has yet to begin. I have no idea what damage this war will do to me. I have no idea if I’ll make it out okay. But I’m holding on to the truth. And hope.

May things turn out for the best. For everyone involved.

1.188 – Beyond Scared

Watching Beyond Scared Straight on A&E and I suddenly broke into tears. Teens filled with anger and self-hatred. Teens committing crimes with no sense of remorse. Teens shrugging off drug use, drinking, being expelled from school. Single parents sobbing while their children are carted around a penitentiary…sobbing with hope that something will change.

And I am shattered. After five years of marriage, I chose to walk away. I felt like I was doing the right thing – avoiding a tumultuous relationship that would only teach my son what harm a match and gasoline can really do. I walked away, thinking change would come, either in the form of growth or divorce. I had always secretly hoped for growth but it never came.

I wanted to be free of the fighting. But what has my freedom cost me? My son is a statistic. My son is a product of my failure to fix the broken. I am the first to say it takes two people to make a marriage work and two people to make it crumble. But I am a mother before anything else. And I will carry every burden that is put upon my son in the wake of my actions.

I am scared. The world is a cruel place. The world is hard and unforgiving. My son was born with a united front and now will live with a scattered army – more focused on hurting each other than protecting him from the tyranny of the worlds inevitable pains.

My heart is breaking, breaking as I type. Because this was not supposed to be his start. I prayed for my son. I begged for him. I planned my pregnancy in marriage. And delivered my son to a broken home.

I can try my hardest. I can do everything humanly possible of me to show him love and to give him opportunity. But it will never be enough. He will hate me. He will resent me. He will be ashamed of the fact that I am not an accomplished individual. He will feel for me what every teen feels for their mothers at one point in their lives. And all I will be able to do is say how sorry I truly am. Because he didn’t ask for this. He didn’t ask for me.

I love my son. More than this blog, any blog, words, thoughts, tears or screams can convey. My son is my only reason to breathe. I failed in saving my marriage. I failed in giving him the dream. The dream of a child who came from a broken home.

All I can do is spend the rest of my life showing my son unconditional love, supporting his dreams, listening to him and respecting him as the unique individual he is.

But is that enough to give him the light he needs to avoid the negative influences so prominent in our world?

1.185 – The First Day of The Rest of My Life

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a little girl. Born to the Queen of Tyranny and the King of The Disappearing Act; the girl was made to be the Princess of Ruins.

Surrounded by soldiers of war, the princess traveled through the tainted land in search of the unseen. The lands greatest fairies and demonic elves surrounded the land in which the girl had been born…waiting on the outskirts…waiting for their moment to strike.

The princess, guided by a rare light of intuition, escaped the land through an underground tunnel, a tunnel which led her to a foreign place. Although the new world was covered in light, the darkness lived in the hearts of men.

The princess spent years in a whirlwind of turmoil, anger, and despair. That is, until the moment when she realized that anger and hate could only be carried for those who had once been given a drink of love. The potion that connected souls. The elixir that promised tomorrows.

The moon kissed the sun goodnight and gave the princess a new outlook. Because those that held hate were merely souls shattered by the rejection of their potion.

I am the princess. I hate no one. To hate would mean to care for loss and it is not in me to mourn what was meant to die. I am the princess. I know I am hated. For not giving what was expected of me. For not drinking the elixir. For many things.

And I, the princess, am finally okay with it all. You cannot hate what you do not love. I hope, for the sake of others, past potions can be laid to rest where they belong. So new lives may begin. So happiness may reign in kingdoms to come.

I am the princess. I used to be angry. I used to hate. And then, I didn’t. And the joy of letting such burdens die are as beautiful as the releasing of doves through a darkened land. Under the shadow of night, someone will see and someone will know…peace lives here.

Once upon a time, there was a princess. But now, there is a queen. A queen prepared to build her empire from the ground up.

And so, my story begins.

1.173 – A Memory

She sat across from me. We were talking about God, yet again. It was sunny out. It was warm. The porch I had so often walked across was now an island; a place I could not escape. I would have run away but my belly was full…swelling with the unborn I carried.

She cried. Her faces wrinkling, her eyes turning red. She stared at me as she pulled a drag on her cigarette. He remained silent beside me, as he always did when she spoke – such a passive gentle giant…such a fool.

I didn’t need to ask because I already knew where this was going. She whimpered through her tears. “You’re going to hell,” she said. I put my hands across my belly as if I were protecting my unborn from the heinous accusations being thrust at me. She sobbed, explaining that my unborn would meet the same fate. Because I did not believe. Because I denounced her deity. Because I did not believe.

This is the memory that keeps me up this evening. I have tossed and turned, tried to think of different things, tried to muster the energy tio add just a sentence to my June CampNaNoWriMo project. I cant. Because I don’t have it in me. I chose a topic that is foreign to me beyond compare. I choice to write about God in fiction because I thought it would be good for me, interesting, thought provoking. But I have come to a realization. I just don’t care. I find peace in my life when I am proactive…when I am working and providing for my son. I am tired but I am happy.

I reflect on that moment when I foolishly looked to someone for enlightenment. To the time when I believed that someone could teach me how to find peace and clarity. To a time when I ignored the ugly moments and stood in shame quietly while I hoped for redemption. To the moment when I held my hands over the swell of my belly and said “I don’t believe that,” instead of a big “fuck you.”

Because that is what she deserved. That’s what anyone who believes an unborn child is damned to hell because of the fault/beliefs of their parents deserves. I am ashamed that I have wasted almost a decade of my life attempting to push myself into a mold to appease sketchy people and their convictions. I will not pen another sentence of this novel until I decide where I stand. Period. I will not compromise my feelings, thoughts, emotions, and convictions in the hopes that I will fit into something I do not understand. I will not sacrifice my sanity and stability for anything or anyone who will attempt to demean me in order to overpower me.

She said me and my baby were going to hell. What she failed to realize was…I was already there. The journey I am on right now is the road to help me get out of that hell. The hell she helped to create. The hell I will never return to. The hell my child will not be subjected to. Because I said so. Period.