Archive for the ‘fuck it’ Category

new years day for liars and hostages isn’t new or happy.

don’t read me wrong.  i’m not his hostage.  i’m my own.   i am responsible for enduring this.

all day has been such a mess.  stupid, worthless and totally unnecessary lies, anger belching out of him towards our daughter for acting her age (under three) and his best friend (paranoia) have all taken turns.  an 1/32nd inch wick on his t.n.t. would be enough for the fire department to monitor were it literal.  maybe they could send the robots to defuse him or destroy him.  good luck getting me to care which it were tonight.  i’m aghast at foul demeanor on holidays..

i made the traditional beans, greens and cornbread anyway.  i need all the luck, money and gold that i can get my hands on.  do wish my daughter and i good luck for this year should you have a moment.  we will really will need it.


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post start date:  nov 4 2010…

anniversary time,  happy happy!!  happy radial and ulna fracture!  happy “bon anniversaire, mon divorce hypothétique!”

“feliz aniversario, mi divorcio hipotética!”

“felice anniversario, il mio ipotetico divorzio!”

“юбилеем, мой гипотетический развод!”

you’re worth a bag of sick,




“sretna godišnjica, moj hipotetski razvod!”

“גליקלעך יאָרטאָג, מיין כייפּאַטעטיקאַל גט!!”

happy google translate.

but, yeah, a year ago he jumped up at me and took me down with all of his force saying, “you think you’re tough?  i can be tough too.”  my poor wrist was broken in his hand as it smashed against a table on the quick way down.  that was the first moment of silence we’d had in over an hour while i looked, in total sobering shock, at my twisted arm that was rapidly swelling and changing color.  we’d been fighting and i had lost all control and was hitting him with all of my primal anger and weak hands.  he’d accused me of cheating again.  it was almost a pastime of his, accusing me of things and finding ways to further isolate me.  this time his insecurity involved a man i worked with.  i lost it.  i kept thinking, “you are not going to take my job away… you are not going to make me feel guilty for supporting my daughter.. you are not going to take the pride i have in my work away from me!!!  i don’t deserve this, i’ve never deserved this.”

(do i really want to go into the next moments?  can i?  i’ve really got to.  these are the really painful memories and the gray areas.)

i managed to weakly bark out, “you broke my fucking wrist.”  “call 911.”


he wasn’t going to call 911.

i certainly wish he hadn’t now.  if i’d had any idea what would happen to me,  i’d have crawled to the ER by my teeth.

no.  no.  no.  he wasn’t going to call and he had thrown my phone and i couldn’t find it.  staying low, i crawled to the front door and opened it and started screaming for help from the neighbors.  he grabbed my bluejeans and pulled me inside again, slamming the door behind us.  at that moment, it occurred to me that he was going to kill me.  horrific pain was setting in and i was too weak to fight him for help so i just pleaded repeatedly and cried, hoping to find the place where he keeps his shame and guilt or simply badger him into doing something.  “they’re going to arrest us both and our daughter is going to go to social services.”  “CALL!!!” i yelled.  what a mistake, one of my worst.

i never thought in a million years that they would arrest me.  i thought they were going to take him and put him where he belonged and that we’d sort through his treatment, child custody and our separation later.  what a relief it would be to come home from the ER and have him gone.  oh justice!  oh righteousness! oh how naive.  i’ve always known he was a liar.  a poor one.  just as poor at it as our police force is at their work.

and it rolls.  downhill all the way he’s got me rigid.

i went to my talk therapy.  there had been quite a delay.  i had forgotten all the broken children he left inside of me between our visits. upon query of him i gave too favorable of a report.  i just found last month’s apology letter and the last three days have cut me to threads of old sinew and short muscular fibre of little use.  of little taste, some butcher’s remains am i.  as i ride on my ticketed rickety train from a departure point of sane to an arrival in good old terror depot.  yarrow, pennyroyal, emmenagogues.. a cramp fed straining of my fragile bowel heart.  my gut receiver.  my pennyroyal, my dear black cohosh, do you work psychically?

can you abort him,

can you keep me while he tries to kill me, can you keep me well?  or  hide me from the manic carousel?

he is going to kill me
i found out the other day it’s so rarely complete, my full sentence, my full thought.

of course you can’t.  stay tuned.  it’s ratcheting up.

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here you are, if you were wondering, the ultimate- the penultimate failure of judgment i was designated in advance to enact has arrived. i have the clock ticking now on the surveillance.

ha! hahahahahaha!! i lost my own bet. i make good on them too. here’s yer 5 bucks, yer snoot, yer own personal accomplishment in righteousness.

i am a moron.

i’m the fool. the rider waite fool.

upside down, as an artist, things dooooo look a little more composed. i’ve got it now. you’re sick.

you’re sick.

i’m trying to light matches in the rain.

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it would be unreasonable and unfair to blame my problems on someone else, right?

let’s face it i’ve always had problems.  from my drunk mom to my disappearing dad.  they don’t pull you into private therapy from school at the age of nine if you’re okay.. and you’ve always been doing just fine.

they’d give me play dough to build the entities i despised.  they were traits for me and not people and i destroyed them as soon as i built them up.  i told the same truth i have always told, my truth.  so when my file and i got to middle school and i landed 7 state felony counts in one blow my creative writing class took on a whole new meaning.  my favorite subject was simply a double agent.  my stories landed me in alanon to deal with my mother’s disease.  if only i’d known then…

all the things i know now.

absolutely everything would be the same.

so it’s really hard to call anyone out as the reason i’m so fucked up and have been drinking in excess for three days.  it just wouldn’t be warranted, if i said, that someone or something made me feel like checking out (of here) – or checking into the nearest funny farm.  i have to have some autonomy left, right?  left, right? left right left right left right.  these are my decisions.  i have made them as awful as they are.  tomorrow the plane comes and takes me away from here.

how will i come back home?  yes, yes, by the plane.  back to silence and fear.

not to worry now, not now.

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i missed my plane.

i tried to do everything right, but i didn’t and i missed the plane.  we spoke about stand-by.  i looked at my kid and decided we had to reschedule.  so instead of flying away from here and all of this i had to call home, and then my home.  tell my mother, who was suddenly becoming very ill, to turn around and my husband who is mostly ill to return to fetch us.  my daughter laid flat on the asphalt and had a fit when she finally realized that we weren’t actually going on a plane.

i felt like doing the same thing.  then all of our luggage exploded out of it’s giant overstuffed bag on to the ground as my running car poured coughs of exhaust onto it.  so i took the only measures i knew how to, i took pills and drank for the rest of the day.

well, i had to take pills at the airport because i turned white, shook like a leaf and drowned in sweat when the four people in front of me lost their flights.  there was only one person checking baggage.  the security lines almost sent you back out of the building, which would have been nice because at least i could have smoked.  i couldn’t stop crying.

my husband was almost terror stricken by our departus-interruptus.  i spent the ride back home listening to him tell me how he had taken care of “angry-***” and found that he had no right to be angry and that he felt so bad for us and my family as well.  i should have known better.

it’s two days later and i’m coming out of the coma i had to put myself into to live through this last fugue.  he says that when i come home, he’ll have the divorce papers.  he abandoned us near bedtime tonight.  so i locked the top lock, fed, bathed and read our child to sleep.  i heard him downstairs pounding.  then i heard the pitter patter of angry feet while i read as she started to doze.  someone snuck a peek into our dark room and quickly left again.  i’m writing this with the phone in my hand.  not dialed for the police, no… never that again… just for a friend.  i hope he doesn’t kill us.  i hope we can leave monday morning. i have over reacted though.  when he said he was leaving for good he really meant, going to get chinese food because there wasn’t anywhere else for him to go.  i should have never locked that top lock.  i’m such a bitch.

i don’t know what else to do.  i give it cute names.  call these outbursts of fury, fugues.  i refer to the land in which he describes me as a negligent and absent mother as bizarro-land.  the place where he terrorizes me is just the “for worse” they warned me of.

please monday,  come.  i want to be able to feel myself again.

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fugue.  i’ve decided to call his outbursts and nuttiness fugues.  they aren’t really.  they aren’t dissociative behaviors to him.  they are to me, though.  they make me almost physically ill.  the person i believe in and carry hope for disappears into the head slammer, the wrist breaker the monster and i curl up so tight.  we had one, via phone, last night.  airplane eve, as it were.

now it’s less than two hours before i pick up my family.  i think he called and hung up screaming close to five times because, when he had called i was talking to our male neighbor out by our tomato garden, yelling at the deer for eating my only tomato.  the jealousy and interrogation started and then my neighbor, who has seen his insecurity and jealousy, said something untoward just to taunt him.  it was perfect.  he got just what he wanted, i think.  a fight!  even if it wasn’t with me.  he wanted to speak to the neighbor and he obliged.

yelling.  i could hear it.  bad temper.  fear and anger.  then another hang up.  then another call.  i answered, enough beer in me to be disgusted with him instead of afraid.

he wouldn’t trust me if i were a nun and i might as well be.  i’m sure i can get over that agnostic thing if i try.  i got over the sex thing easy enough.  maybe he would have been better off born in a different country.  maybe he would have been better off with his first wife instead of a texan woman like me who can out shoot him and out drink him and wring his ass out at a poker table.  maybe someone else could help fortify his goddamn dick perception better than me.

i’m not doing it right.  i still talk to people other than him.  people still think he’s a jerk.  (that’s my fault even if they’ve never met me and they come to it on their own)  people don’t want to deal with his shit and people think the fact that i put up with him is absolutely terrible.  but, i know him beyond these fugues and i’m trapped by hope for my daughter.

i just can’t believe i have to look at him in an hour.  he made me so ill last night that i took medicine, too much, and didn’t care if i woke up.  i wasn’t trying real hard.  i just didn’t care.  i just didn’t care.  i just wanted out again.  legally, in my situation for at least the next year and four months, sleep and death are the only escape.

it will be my turn to get on an airplane early next month.  maybe i can just focus on that.

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is coming to a close.

i’ve been only able to allow time to knit two inches of the sweater due at the baby shower i attend saturday.  there hasn’t been any time.  my week off of work and family has resulted in daily visits to take care of my parents’ house, two solid back breaking days of work on the kitchen, a meeting downtown with very “foodie” clients who have booked an october event, been to a tasting and and open house with us and still want to ensure that their menu and food are going to be good and trips to help my mother’s friend who has just been released from MD Anderson.

tomorrow morning i’m going to hit the health food store and select some foods that i think she can eat and simply call her when i’m on my way so that she doesn’t feel like she has to ask me for things.  then i’ll go work on getting the pool chem straight for my parents, catch fish for the cats, water the plants, blow leaves and drink beer.  that should keep me on my new schedule of napping from 5-10pm and accomplishing tasks around my own house in the middle of the night in anticipation of my husband and daughter returning late saturday.  i keep telling myself i can knit another 4 inches before i go back to sleep and that’s probably possible.  obligation is such a stumbling block for me in creative endeavors.  so here i sit.

i’ve lost more weight i think.   i’ve had to get a pillow for this wooden bench because it hurts my ass bones to sit here.  i’m eating.  i don’t get it.

i sat outside to smoke a minute ago and felt lonely.  i haven’t felt lonely since their departure.  i was too busy.  i tried to think of the last time i had felt lonely and i realized that it had been really recent.  earlier this month during a fugue that my husband had (verbal/psychological) that left my pstd riddled shell in fetal position on the floor.  then i realized how often i feel so lonely in his presence and even my daughter’s.  it became clear that i have actually been less lonely in the past 5 days than i have been in a long time. i guess the activity can explain that, except it isn’t new.  i’m pretty busy as a rule.

i really like the hypothetically divorced vacation set up.  i am enjoying the loss of responsibility at my home  even if it still exists everywhere else when i leave here.  i like the quiet.  i like it.

next month i take her with me to colorado.  husband stays home.  i’ll be gone a week and a half then.  i wonder if i’ll feel lonely there.  i probably really will.

i probably always will.  i always have.  maybe i should quit looking for reasons for it.  it’s probably a neural pathway that i’ve built up more than other people so my electricity just tends to run those lines again and again.

losing a friend recently probably didn’t help either.  but, even the longevity of the relationship wasn’t an excuse anymore.  i’m not heathy for some people to be around.  the reverse also applies.  it’s just one less lifeline.  one less real human to call.  it actually wasn’t a blow to my self esteem just another hole, where something was at one point and is no more.

in the big scheme of lonely i was already lonely of her.

so, very little has changed.  i’ve built my brain this way.  my plasticity is my own.  i’m just going to need more stimulation that is positive to build new pathways.  i’m not sure i can take ownership of that responsibility yet.

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