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Capulet

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  1. Capulet
    Dear Eddie,
    It has taken me at least five whole minutes to decide whether a piece of shit like you warranted a 'dear.'  It was completely out of habit that I started this letter in the same polite, courteous way I would start a letter to anyone else.  YOU, however, are not just 'anyone else.'  
    I also debated whether or not I should use your name - I don't even know if it's your real name.  Either way, I have decided that I want people to know exactly who you are - and unfortunately, using your first name is not even enough.  This, though, is ALL I know about you.  There are many appropriate not-so-nice names I could call you, but for the moment, they elude me.  And so I'll use the name that has sparked terror and dread in me for the last twenty-two years.  
    While there's so much accumulated that I need to say to you, I don't even know where to start.  
    First of all, make no mistake - you're an absolutely despicable, horrible person and as far as I'm concerned, a waste of air and space.  But, no matter how much hatred I have for you, you're still, unfortunately, an important part of my life.  Not in the sense that I can't live without you - because I certainly CAN and honestly, would LOVE to.  As a matter of fact, I most likely would be living an entirely different life if it weren't for you.  I'm thinking that 'important' is a too nice a word - so perhaps I'll change it to 'significant.'  Clearly, that is ALSO too kind and positive a word to describe the likes of you.  
    I'm not going to worry about word-searching right now though; there's far too much that I need to say to you, regardless of whether or not you ever see this letter.  I'm certain you'll never hear me; why would you?  You quite effectively silenced me 22 years ago.  
    It seems fitting to write you this letter today.  I have had so much time to think and to cope with the emotional, mental, and physical side effects of what you did to me that night. I have not physically seen you in exactly 22 years - but I have 'seen' you MANY times, through memories and other reminders every single day since 10/4/1996.  It's gotten a lot better with time, but you have visited me in my sleep; you've assumed the identity of my grocer, a random person on the street, a classmate, the guy who owns a pizza place in central Long Island, the list goes on.  You were there whenever there were televised rape cases or trials; you did this to me, therefore your face was the one I saw, no matter who was currently on trial.  For a long time, you were everywhere I turned; there was no escape.  Now, you're not there as much, but deep down, I know that you'll never completely leave.  And that's both mind-blowing and kind of fucked up - we knew each other for JUST thirty minutes - and yet you are going to occupy a piece of my brain for the rest of my life.  
    In hindsight, you probably do not remember that night.  Or maybe, you do.  Maybe it makes you smile or laugh when you remember how you brutally and heartlessly overpowered a distressed seventeen-year-old girl.  It doesn't do me any good to consider your pleasure in doing so, so I won't.  But do NOT, for one MINUTE, think I didn't see out of the corner of my eye, that cocky smirk that was on your face while you were holding me down.  You enjoyed every second of what you did.  Perhaps I was just 'another girl' to you.  You've probably done the same to other vulnerable girls.  You were calculated, methodical, and sad to say, you knew exactly what you were doing.  I guess I've always wondered how you can sleep at night - knowing you, using your body as a weapon, destroyed every single one of my hopes and dreams in a matter of just minutes.  And I also wonder why?  Why did you do this?  What was in it for you?  Was it worth it afterwards?  
    Because of you, I spent the rest of that first year of college in a daze - it's a miracle I passed the courses I was taking.  It was a literal chore to get out of bed every day and do the same thing - get dressed in clothes that may or may not have been washed, drive to campus (and back) in a dissociated, autopilot mode, then spend evenings at home in a similar zombie-like state.  Then it was a rinse-and-repeat kind of thing, all while I withdrew socially and drifted slowly into a more consistent state of darkness.  Nothing was crystal-clear anymore.  Everything became fuzzy, jumbled and otherwise difficult to see - the life I had plans for no longer existed and was abruptly replaced with the life you forced me to live.   
    Because of you, I searched for emotional and sexual sustenance in all the wrong places.  I felt as if I had nothing of worth to offer the boyfriend I had at the time - so he was history shortly after.  You were my first sexual experience - and you taught me that sex was painful.  You also taught me that saying 'no' would not work - that fighting would get me hurt, and that it was ideal to just lay there and take it.  And so I searched silently and recklessly, for that 'good' experience that would negate the bad one.  For the record, this didn't happen.  Of course, the guy that SHOULD have been the one I gave my virginity to, was instead, the one I cast aside when I feared my innocence was no longer intact.  Because of you.  
    And on that note, it is because of YOU that I am both mortified and absolutely disgusted with my past behavior.  I've had 22 years to reflect on all of those poor choices and it's a goddamn miracle that I'm alive today!  I'm ashamed of myself - because of what you taught me, I allowed men to do absolutely horrible things to me - because I was too afraid to say 'no.'  I don't know if it was because I was afraid of being punched in the face or it was a learned auto-reaction at that point, but either way, whatever they wanted was usually what they got - this accomplished absolutely nothing more than eventually reducing my self-worth to zero.  I stopped caring about any repercussions or consequences of my actions.  In fact, I wanted to die - I wanted them to just put me out of my misery - the misery YOU started! 
    Obviously, that didn't happen, either.  I survived you, and then I survived my own self.  And today, I'm STILL surviving, although the only difference is - I've forgiven myself for my part in these bad choices - as much as I'd like to blame you for those, I cannot.  I acted alone, same way I did anything else.  ALONE.  I will say, you may be to blame for my self-imposed solitude - it's how I felt most safe and the least threatened - but maintaining this constant need to be alone is on me, and perhaps on my ex, who further implied that leading a private, isolated life was ideal.  Even TODAY, I find myself wanting more personal space and alone time than seems reasonable - and because of this, I'm seriously lacking in social skills.  It may not be entirely because of you, but you definitely helped that along.
    Because of you, I can't wash my floors with Pine-Sol.  The unmistakeable smell triggers me when I try and all I can remember is my face being held down against the cold, hard, wooden floor (which STILL smelled like Pine-Sol) while you raped me.
    Because of you, I have a DEEP, almost UGLY hatred of music.  No, it is not your fault that I was born with the inability to hear it - but it was also the reason no one heard me calling for help.  It brings my children such joy - they LOVE music.  So does my fiancee.  And I can't help but remember and remain stuck on how the 'noisiness' failed me.  Ironically, the music became somewhat of a focal point - when I stopped fighting and succumbed to your brutality, I focused only on the vibrations of the floor beneath me.  And that's what I continued to focus on even after you were finished with me.  It was a small comfort.  I was alone in a place I was unfamiliar with, I was in a large amount of pain, I NEEDED something to distract me.  And so I kept my eyes closed and my face against the floor for several minutes before getting up...just counting each pounding, deafening beat....it was better than trying to figure out WHAT had just happened to me.  And for about five minutes, it was my only comfort.  It was the only time I can remember where I welcomed the 'noise.'  It was during that tiny window where music was still okay, that window was slammed shut once loud, blasting music became a known trigger.  
    Because of you, I have not worn a skirt since that night.  There were a handful of occasions that required me to put on a bridesmaid's dress, but other than that, I refuse to wear anything without a crotch.  Even with those god-awful dresses, I wore a pair of skin-tight spandex shorts underneath because I needed to feel that extra layer of protection.  You taught me that I needed to be mindful of what I wore - and that skirts were not safe, regardless of whether they were long or short.  And every time I walk past one in the department store, I'm reminded of the cream-colored skirt with sunflowers on it that I wore that night.  That was my favorite - it was long, it covered my legs, and came all the way down to my ankles.  Because of what you did, I was forced to throw it away because I couldn't bear to look at it anymore.
    Because of you, I learned all about fear.  The simplest, STUPIDEST things would now cause me anxiety.  For me, fear goes hand-in-hand with trust, another thing that I lost the ability to do freely.  Once upon a time, I was a very trusting person; I had faith in other people, I believed in the good in everyone.  To a point, I still do, but it's become increasingly difficult for me to trust that not everyone is out to hurt me and there are actually kind, honest and truly good people out there.  Because of you, I'm constantly second-guessing people, I'm questioning why people even wish to associate with me - what's their reason for it?  How are they going to eventually hurt me?  I HATE this about myself - I understand it, but I don't like it.  I've walled myself off, because of you, and now I'm in a position where I need to learn to break down some of these walls or risk being alone later.  
    Because of you, I'm afraid to ask for help when it comes to communicating with others and putting ANY trust into the kindness of strangers.  Because if you recall, I was desperate and asked YOU for help.  We both know how that turned out.  Furthermore, I felt for the longest time that being hearing impaired was what landed me into trouble in the first place - I certainly could have made that phone call, myself, had I been born with two functional ears.  But it wasn't about that at all, was it?  This was what you planned, right?  This diabolical scheme of yours was devised and set into motion JUST as soon as I uttered, 'can you help me?'  Am I right?  This, like so many other questions I have for you, will likely remain unanswered.
    You know, I wonder what you are like today.  Have you changed?  (Although it is hard for me to see you as anything other than a cruel monster, I know people change and truly have repented for things they've done in the past.  I'm not sure this applies to you, though.)  Are you a good person now?  Are you happy?  Are you proud of yourself?  Do you have a successful job?  Are you married?  Do you have kids?  Do you have a DAUGHTER????  If you do, I TRULY hope that knowing that YOU, yourself, are a sexual predator causes you to now live in fear of someone doing to her what you did to me.  Of course I am not the type to wish ill will toward the women in your life that you DO love and care about - but I sincerely hope that you understand the severe gravity of the effects of sexual assault - not just on the ones who have experienced it, but on the people around them.  And I hope you know and recognize that YOU are a person who has single-handedly caused these effects.
    Do you ever even think about what you did to me, and possibly, to other women?  Or do you fall into the 'none of the above' category and are you rotting in a cell somewhere because you raped another woman who had more balls than I did and reported you?  Either way, do you feel any remorse at all?  Do you even KNOW what your actions have done to me, and perhaps to others?  I've had to accept that most all of the kickback from that night has been on me - you couldn't have cared less when you left me in that room, a bleeding mess.  If you're still alive and karma hasn't caught you yet, you probably still don't care.  You didn't care when I begged you to stop, you didn't care that all I wanted was to go home.  Instead, you laughed at me, you mocked my screams, you terrorized me.  
    I've come a long way in 22 years, though.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I've fantasized about killing you.  And (because it was the only way I could get away with it) - in my dreams, I have killed you in multiple ways.  I've yelled at you, I've screamed.  I've beaten the shit out of you, I've smashed your face in, I've castrated you, I've hammered your ballsack to a slab of wood with a rusty nail.  You hurt me 'there,' and I wanted desperately to return the favor.  I'm not a violent person by any means, and I'm slightly embarrassed to even admit what I've thought about doing to you and to other sexual predators.  You have certainly made me angry enough to entertain these thoughts, but that's all they were - thoughts.  Time has shown me that the physical pain subsides and there is nothing at all that will completely cure the emotional and mental pain that sexual assault inflicts.  This specific pain, that because of you, I feel every single day.  Yes, time has mended my spirit a great deal, but there is going to forever be a part of me that you stole, you still possess, and that I will NEVER get back.
    You know what, though?  I'm not mad at you anymore.  I have come to the conclusion that after 22 years, it is no longer anger I feel when this time of year rolls around.  It's become a permanent mark, yes, but it's also a numbing sadness that, no matter how much time has elapsed, will always live inside me and become more noticeable in the fall.  While I didn't have a choice in what's been plopped down on my plate (because of you), I DO have a choice in how I deal and cope with what's been served.  And I am now choosing to put that pre-existent anger behind me - it's done me NO good to hold onto it and I refuse to give you any more of my time or energy.  
    Plus, when dealing with anger, there is usually a resolution...a way to come to terms with it and eventually dissolve it.  I think that, for me, means you'd have had to 'make it right' or otherwise pay for your crime at some point.  But you'll likely never be held accountable for what you did to me - even if you've been reported by someone else and you're paying THAT price, the debt between you and I will never be resolved.   So, today, 22 years later, I am feeling that it is time to let go of it...and while I've managed to released all of this pent-up anger towards you - I'm still and always will be disgusted with the poor excuse of a human being that you are.  I will never forgive you, either.  Your fate is truly out of my hands, but I do have hope that when the time comes, you'll get exactly what you deserve.
    I do have remaining guilt for allowing you to walk free, for not getting up from the floor and chasing you out of that bedroom - I sometimes feel that in that moment, I should have mustered up whatever strength I had, found my voice, and exposed you for the rapist you are.  I've run through this scenario in my head, too - maybe someone would have restrained you, someone else would have called the police, and you would have been put away.  I'd have gotten medical attention, my parents would have found out what happened, sure, but at least you'd have been locked up.  Had that been what happened, it would likely have spared other women from having to experience the same thing I did.  But sadly, this is just another one of those 'woulda been nice' thoughts that will never come true.  Because of that life-changing, impactful half-hour I spent with you, the once fearless being I was, was rendered weak, speechless, and paralyzed.  I truly feel that because of you, I froze in fear and shock when that window of opportunity was open - I COULD have done something, but I did not.  While I now understand why I felt powerless in the moment, I feel that I still failed not only other women you may have subsequently harmed, but also myself.  And I HATE you for that, I HATE you for making me despise myself.  I hate you for teaching me the true meaning of the word 'hate.'  Such an ugly word; one that I don't even want my children to use...yet so fitting for how I feel about you.  I hate what you've done, what you represent, what you're capable of.  I hate your type - and that there are so many more of you roaming around.
    I hate YOU, Eddie.
    This is what I have to live with, though.  Other than this nagging feeling that I've failed myself and others, (which I've forgiven myself for as well) I've been a good person.  I've never hurt another person.  I am kind.  I am caring.  And I didn't deserve this.  I know this now.  Because of you, it took a LONG time to come to this realization.   
    I survived 22 years ago and today, will continue to grow as a person.   I am not the same person I would be had I not met you, but that's beyond my control, now.  Instead of trying to duplicate the person I used to be or 'pick up where I left off,' I am going to focus on reclaiming the small, yet significant things that you either stole or otherwise changed for me.  There are some things that are gone forever, but there's hope for some others.  I'm going to embrace the rest of this fall season, and all of the fall seasons to come.  Rather than scowl at the natural beauty of the changing foliage, I will instead smile in appreciation of the breathtaking scenery.  I will buy the biggest fucking bottle of Pine-Sol and wash my floors with it next week.  Why?  Because I KNOW that my face will not be pressed down against that floor afterwards - and I'm going to prove that the dread I feel toward Pine-Sol is simply going to mean it's time to complete the never-fun chore of washing the floors.  I'm going to slowly work on lowering the walls that are up, because of you, and learn to more freely delegate my trust in those who are deserving of it. 
    I suppose while there's plenty to blame and loathe you for, there is one positive thing that I can derive from our encounter 22 years ago.  Undoubtedly, that was the WORST, most impactful night of my life and to me, to be able to gain any positive insight out of such a negative, horrible event is pretty fucked up.  I don't want to give you credit for ANYTHING, more or less anything positive in my life - especially when I don't think I would be inspired to pursue the line of work I'd like to without first encountering your cruelty.  Because of you, I have developed a profound understanding of myself as well as the MILLIONS of other women who have been sexually assaulted.  I understand the deep, lingering pain and constant frustration, the emotional and sometimes physical toll that rape takes on a person.  I know that us women are individual beings and we all deal differently, but we all share this  common burden that we have to live with forever.  Because of you, and other predatory beings like yourself.
    Before you, I was an English major and wanted to become a scriptwriter.  And now, after you, I want nothing more than to use this experience, coupled with my gained understanding and knowledge of 'what comes after,' and become an advocate for sexual assault/rape survivors.  Because of you, I understand EXACTLY what other survivors are going through and the grueling, seemingly uphill journey that lies ahead of them.  I am now ready to grab ahold of as many survivors' hands as I can, and climb this hill with them in unity and solidarity.  At first, I questioned whether I'd be able to devote the rest of my life to doing this type of work - it's certainly not going to be easy, but perhaps in the process, I will continue to heal.  I know and understand that I will be healing for the rest of my life.  And so, I have made peace with this change - I feel more confident in my abilities to help others than in scriptwriting - but perhaps I've done both.  I've re-written my life's script.  I'll never be able to completely discard the old, broken, battered version of myself - but I can certainly decide what happens to me, moving forward.
    As for you, Eddie...
    I don't know what's going on with you right now.  You can be living the American dream with a house and family - or you can be sitting in a 12x12 cell in prison.  I've no way of knowing.  Either way, I truly hope that at one point during the rest of your life, that you learn the true definition of suffering, the way you made me suffer.  I hope that one day, you will understand the feeling of being overpowered, and that you will experience vulnerability.  I hope you see for yourself how it is to feel lonely and isolated because no one around you understands what you're going through.  I hope you learn all about that feeling of keeping your silence - and that you come to realize that it's because you just don't know who to trust anymore.  It'd also be nice to see you struggle with things you thought were simple and easy, but are no longer.  Because following trauma, NOTHING is the same, anymore.  The things you did every day become foreign and become things you have to re-teach this altered version of yourself to do, all over again.  And I hope that someday, something scares you to the point where your heart (I know you have one) starts pounding for reasons that may not be immediately clear.  I hope that in that same moment, you freeze and are unable to move, or even BREATHE.  That's PTSD, that's anxiety.  That's what you unfairly sentenced me to.  That's what I've had to live with for the last 22 years - because of you.  
    YOU however, have to live with everything I've mentioned in this letter.   And knowing your type, there's likely lots more that you're going to have to live with.  And, ultimately, that's what you deserve.  You deserve the absolute misery you've inflicted on others, you deserve pain and suffering.  I'm just sorry that I won't be there to witness that moment when Lady Karma decides it's your turn to pay the price for all the terrible things you've done!  
    And last, but not least, I truly hope you see my face when she finally catches up to you.  Don't forget to watch for the satisfied smirk.
    - Capulet
     (Because of you.)
  2. Capulet
    Well, folks…
    It’s been a minute?  Or two?  Or…like…six months?  
    I have returned to this blog many times over the last six months with an itch to write.  To vent, to yell, scream and cry on paper/screen.  But, then, I’d close it out following an exasperated, ‘never mind.’  This is typical me, though.  I tend to let things build up and then to sit down and write about it all will feel like a more daunting task because by then, there’s a lot that’s piled up and I’m more likely to be saying, ‘oh, yeah, and there was also THAT time….’  I suppose the moral of that story is to NOT stop talking, to keep reaching out and to keep addressing what's on your plate before there's too much shit on it and you don't know what to focus on first.  
    I’m actually taking my own advice and working on this shit-storm of a blog entry in a word document first – for I’ve learned that things don’t always auto-save.  And so, this will probably be a long entry.  Might want to make sure your coffee/tea/caffeinated beverage is close by!
    We’ll start with January.  
    COVID struck on Christmas Day, 2020.  J spoke to her parents to wish them a Merry Christmas and her mom looked HORRIBLE.  She was wheezing, she was feverish, she was having trouble breathing.  ‘Just the flu,’ she said, ‘I’ll be fine.’  All of the sisters (J has four sisters) urged her to go to the ER and she said, ‘if I don’t feel better after taking a nap, I will.’ 
    This would be the last time J physically heard her mom’s voice.  By day’s end, she was admitted into the hospital with a positive COVID test.  J’s Dad also tested positive, but my mother-in-law had some serious pre-existing conditions (rheumatoid arthritis, previous stroke, COPD, emphysema, all of that on top of a terrible immune system) so they were understandably much more concerned with her.  On the 26th, she texted J and her sisters and told them that they were going to intubate her and ‘hopefully it won’t be for very long.’  Sadly, she remained intubated until she passed away on January 15th. During that 20ish days, she’d been put into a medically induced coma so that her body could heal, she suffered a brain bleed and was transferred from one hospital to another via airlift.  After they’d run some tests, they would discover she’d also had a massive stroke.  On the 14th, my father-in-law called all of his daughters and said, ‘it’s time to come.’  
    J drove to her sister’s house, where the doctors arranged for a Zoom call between the medical team and the family.  They basically said that the stroke had been quite severe, and that if by some miracle, she were to come out of this – (also not likely, for her lungs were SHREDDED), that she’d likely not know who anyone was, or how to take care of herself anymore.  She’d not be able to walk, she’d need to be in a nursing home.  The family made the decision then to say goodbye and drove to Boston together.  They were allowed up two at a time and were able to spend fifteen minutes with her.  My father-in-law went up last, and the call came as soon as he’d come back down. 
    My mother-in-law was gone in less than a minute.  The machine was the ONLY thing keeping her alive at this point.  As soon as they turned the machines off – that was it.   
    J spent a few more days in Massachusetts at her sister’s house.  We would touch base daily over FaceTime, and more often than not, she’d be either high or drunk – which I definitely don’t like because of my previous experiences with people who were high and drunk - but also understood.  She’d just lost her mom – y’all know how much I butt heads with the Oompa but I don’t think I’d handle it well if the tables were turned.  And so, I bit my tongue, and actually suggested she take an edible when she was feeling overly depressed.  Lesser of two evils, right?  We don’t have a lot of hard alcohol in the house, either.  
    In the meantime, I was just about to start my final semester.  A paper-heavy semester.  Let me see if I can remember – there was a ten-page assignment right off the bat.  There was to be three exams between February and May; each requiring ten to twelve typed pages.  There was a field paper that needed to be turned in at the end of the semester (this one a ‘free writing’ sort of thing as it was a personal assessment of our field experiences), there were 30 journal entries needed to be submitted, and then there was the ‘monster paper’ – my Capstone paper totaled out to be 63 pages.  There were also seminars for four hours every Thursday night via Zoom, and there were countless meetings we’d have to attend in order to accrue the ‘field hours’ we needed (340) before the end of the semester.  I’m sure that I’m missing a couple of additional assignments that were sprung on us, but think I’ve effectively shown just HOW MUCH writing there was to be done last semester.  The short answer - A LOT.  To top it off, I was working with student clients at the University's Gender and Sexuality Center five days a week.  There was ALWAYS something going on.
    Perhaps that’s why I had no motivation to revisit my blog.  Either way, there was a lot on my mind with school and with a grieving wife at the same time.  
    I’ll talk about my father-in-law, now, since he’s #1 on my shit list at the moment. 
    Literally the day after my mother-in-law’s passing – he said to all of his daughters: ‘when your mother was alive, my job was to take care of her.  Now that she’s gone, my job has changed – now my new job is to make sure you all walk right with God.’  
    A little background on my in-laws.  They are extremely religious born-again Christians.  There is one sister who went to church with them and has become very involved with the church.  This sister is single and bitter in every sense of the word.  There are two sisters who are married with children.  There is one who is married without children.  And then there’s J – who is unmarried and has been living in sin (with another woman, yours truly) for the last twelve years.  Our relationship has never been one that my in-laws condoned, though they were never in a position to contest it, for J is a grown ass woman who would have put them in their place.  Mom would make comments every now and then – and J (or one of her sisters) would shut her down.  So, she started making comments privately to her husband, and now my father-in-law has made it his personal mission to get J onto the ‘right path.’  He ordered all of his daughters to ‘buy a bible’ and told them all that he would be calling them two nights a week to make sure they’re all reading.  We all know that he’s fine with his other married daughters, for they’re all married to men – and that his golden child is the sister who is devout, as he is.  We all know that he fully intends to see that J, the only lesbian daughter of his, will ‘straighten out.’  
    Now, those of you who know me – know that while I have issues with religion, (my uncle, a PRIEST, sexually abused me from ages 3-6, my mother swept everything under the rug despite the very obvious signs of child abuse – and even better, actually made me confess my sins to my uncle so that I could receive communion during Sunday mass) I do NOT judge others for their religious beliefs.  What people choose to believe is entirely their business.  What’s NOT okay is forcing onto others YOUR ‘set of rules,’ so to speak.  It is NOT okay to condemn someone for feeling differently – hell, if you do, you agree to disagree and move the fuck on, it’s no one’s place to say what’s right and what’s wrong – and certainly it’s not my father-in-law’s place.  
    He’s persisted, though.  He’s called twice a week and EVERY time, will ask if J’s done her reading.  She lied a few times and told him yes, while she doesn’t even own a bible.  He began to say things that are disturbing, to say the least – including that she’ll not see her mother again (in the afterlife) and that she’ll be ‘left behind’ if she continues on the path she’s on.  And I’m clear on this – other than her sexual orientation, there is nothing ‘wrong’ with the path she’s on.  She’s a good woman.  She’s kind, she’s loving, she’s compassionate.  She works hard, she loves hard.  And I’m crazy about her – as are my kids.  We have TWELVE years of history.  But because she’s in a relationship with a woman – she’s not ‘right with God.’

    So, if we’re to translate her Dad’s words - this means….if she stays with me, she’ll be left behind. This is what I’m getting from it.  Unless she’s willing to leave behind our 12-year relationship, she’ll not see her mother again. 
    I’m so enraged at him.  Is THIS what the fuck you tell your daughter, when she’s JUST lost her mother not even six months ago????  Before she’s had a chance to GRIEVE this massive loss?  Where the fuck is the compassion your so-called church supposedly encourages?
    I’m angry, overall.  Very angry.  At him, for being this way and adding to her already-mounting stress.  At her mom for not being able to give J the reassurance that she’s loved and accepted and who had left this earth (if she’s to believe her Dad’s revelation that her Mom never could accept our relationship) feeling this way?  
    I also can’t help but feel responsible.  I know, realistically, that this isn’t my fault and that I’m not to blame for the way all of this shit’s gone down.  I’m not at fault for loving my best friend and wanting to marry her (which is happening, by the way – whether he likes it or not) and wanting a life with her.  But then there’s also that pestering thought that if I wasn’t in the picture, J wouldn’t be going through all of this right now.  I know that’s not a thought that is helpful, but for now, it feels true and I hate that her Dad has made me feel this way.  
    After twelve years of keeping my distance around them, I know now that they’ve always considered me to be representative of what’s ‘derailed’ her.  They ARE that selfish and closed minded.  They may have liked me as a person, but they definitely did not embrace me as one their daughters’ to-be spouses.  And deep down, I knew that and was always respectful.  Whenever we’d go visit them, I’d purposely keep a distance from J.  I would not kiss her in front of them.  I would not hold her hand whenever they were in the same room.  I would not show affection when they were present.  I knew it chafed them, and so I went out of my fucking way to make sure they were comfortable whenever we were visiting.  Now, granted, I’m not an overly affectionate person unless I truly love someone and am comfortable with them – in those cases, I’m a hugger – but they made me feel weird showing affection to the person I love the most.  And that’s not fucking okay.  It’s not.       
    I watched as J began to crumble under all of this pressure.  It was a slow process – a five-month long process.  The edibles made a regular appearance.  She wouldn’t want to get out of bed sometimes.  She’d come home with her eyes puffy and red, having cried on her way home.  She threw herself into work.  Her depression worsened.  She went back to therapy.  The anxiety got worse, every time her father called.
    She made another trip to MA after we went to the services in the beginning of February.  She went alone, for she intended to go to lunch/dinner with her Dad and to try to talk a little bit about how all of this was making her feel.  We all (me, her bestie, her sister) encouraged her – tell him how you feel, it’s gotta be said, he can’t be this pushy, it’s not going to help…
    Long story short, it didn’t go well.  At all.  They did make it to the restaurant, where J ended up in tears over some of the shit he said.  He acknowledged that she’d been through abuse when she was a child, (and this, you can imagine, pissed her off because if he knew – why didn’t he say anything or intervene?) and that this is what he believed was responsible for her ‘wrong choices.’  He didn’t care that she was upset, in tears or unable to speak.  And as if that wasn’t enough – he then took them to a secluded location and forced her to ‘pray’ with him (consisting of her ‘repeating after him’ her promises to dedicate her life to Jesus Christ) before he would let her get out of the car.  She was shaken, overwhelmed, and this, if you ask me, is what broke her.  On her way home, she FaceTimed me and told me she needed to take a break from her father for a while.  And sure as shit, she sent him a text that night letting him know that she didn’t want to talk to him and that she would call him when she was ready. 
    He stopped calling, which is good.  There was a little bit of a reprieve from all the bible thumping. 
    In the meantime, I finished up school.  Graduation was on a cloudy and cold day in May, but it still was a lovely event.  I’ve finally done it….met my goal of finishing up school.  I’m now officially a social worker with a degree – and while I should be beaming with pride, right now, I’m just going through the motions.  It hasn’t been easy contending with school during all of this, during a time when my better half is struggling so much.  And of course, feeling like I’m contributing to her pain by just existing.  (A thought I’m trying like hell to chuck into extinction, for if it wasn’t me, it’d be some other lady – you just CAN’T ‘fix’ or ‘undo’ gay!)  
    Oh, and this isn’t even OVER, yet.
    Her sister (the one who is closest to him/the church) called in the middle of May and said they were planning a surprise 70th birthday party for their Dad.  They are all aware at this point, that J is not really on speaking terms with him, yet they kept calling and saying things like, ‘you should come, he’s still your Dad, it’s his birthday, we’ll all be there for you, it’ll all be fine…’  And J, being the type of person she is, knew she’d feel like shit if she didn’t go.  And so, she decided to call him prior to his surprise party that she was planning to attend, that she couldn’t and wouldn’t deal with the force-feeding of their religion anymore.  She knew she’d be seeing him soon and as they hadn’t talked in a couple months by now, she didn’t want for it to be awkward.  Her intention was to call him and reopen communication/smooth the waters so that when she saw him, it would feel a little more comfortable. 
    That didn’t go well, either.  He still persisted and told her that everything she was doing was wrong and that he never could come to accept our relationship.  She took that to mean, basically, that he never would be able to accept her.  If being forced to pray and recite words she didn’t mean didn’t break her, this conversation certainly did.
    She decided after hanging up that she could not and would not be attending her father’s party.  She cried herself to sleep and said she wasn’t sure how to deal with losing him, too.  
    She called me the day after (A Thursday) – asking me to meet her at the hospital.  
    I frantically asked what happened, thinking the worst.  Accident?  WHAT hospital?? WHY??
    ‘Nothing,’ she said, ‘but if one more thing does, I’m going to completely lose my shit.  I’m signing myself inpatient.  I HAVE to do this and I HAVE to disconnect from everything and everyone for a while.’
    I dropped everything, got into the car and drove an hour to the hospital where she was.  Went through the intake with her.  It was the scariest thing in the world, to be handed her phone, her personal belongings, her keys, even her earrings, to take home.  She’d be transferred to a psychiatric facility on Friday morning, and she’d have her assessment on Monday.  She would be able to wear her own clothes, but as a precaution, all of the drawstrings would have to be cut.  She’d be allowed slip-on shoes, but nothing with laces.  
    This was really happening.  She’d had a mental breakdown, and this man (I refuse to call him my father-in-law anymore) being celebrated on that Saturday, was responsible for putting her there.  
    On my way back to the hospital on Thursday night (I’d driven an hour home to pick up clothes for her to wear at the other facility, then an hour back to the hospital, then an hour back home) I released a string of swears, probably met my cussing quota for 2021.  FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!  SON OF A bit*h!
    Drove TWO hours on Saturday morning to the new facility (further away than the first hospital) and wasn’t able to see her – for some reason, she needed her meds dropped off – so another four hours in the car on Saturday (the daughter and dog took a ride with me) just to plop a bag down at the front desk.  More swearing ensued on the way there and on the way home.  The daughter, thankfully had her earpods in and the dog – well, he got an earful but at any rate, was just happy to be with us for the ride.  Of course, now there was a plan to make that ride a second time to pick her up and bring her home when it was time. 
    While she was in the hospital, I threw myself into job training.  (That’s right – I didn’t mention this, yet – before she’d gone inpatient, I’d had an interview and was told that as soon as I finished a 40-hour online training to be a Registered Behavior Technician I’d be hired!)  I was done with training by the time she was to be released and was told to report to training on the following Monday, which was last Monday.  I’m officially employed, now – but as with graduation, the excitement, the anticipation – all of that?  It’s been a ‘mehhhh’ for me.  
    A couple weeks ago, when she was on the inside, I will admit that I felt so disconnected from everything and everyone.  The few friends I’d shared this information with were absolutely amazing and supportive and I love ‘em all.  They listened to me, they offered a shoulder, they encouraged me to vent if needed, and to get out of the house every so often.  They’re the ones who know damn well that if I don’t have a reason, I stay home and isolate.  They know who they are and how thankful I am to them. ❤️
    It also bothers me that aside from one sister relaying messages of what J needed and one other sister checking in with me on the day she went inpatient, NOT ONE other person in her family even bothered to see how I was doing with it all or if I needed anything.  I didn’t.  What I needed was sitting in a mental hospital, but it’s the principle.  It WOULD have been nice to hear from the sisters.  Would have been nice to hear that they wished her well.  And over the last few months, I’ve felt increasingly awkward with the ‘bonus’ family I’ve had for twelve years.  I’m not sure how to get past these feelings right now, either, because honestly, I don’t know if they’re blaming me (even if only partially/silently) for being the forbidden fruit/cause of the friction between J and their father.
    Anyway.  I just couldn’t really talk about all of this. I didn’t know how to put into words what I felt.  I didn’t know how to vent it all, because there was anger, yes.  But there was also sadness, frustration, and downright exhaustion.  All I wanted to do was whatever was needed for work.  I slept like shit.  I woke up every morning wanting to text J but would be reminded by the phone sitting on her nightstand that I couldn’t.  I felt WAY off, physically, mentally and emotionally.  But because the one who’s supposed to hold ME up was not there, I plowed through it all, just so that I could stay functional.  I withdrew into the shadows, and just did my thing.  Got up in the mornings, took the dog for a walk. Sat in front of the computer for hours, completing the training.  Did my job here at AS – because that’s a major part of my daily routine and I wasn’t about to change that.  Forced myself to take care of myself and get up and eat (cooking for just one is just lame!) and lazed in front of the television.  The kids were with their Dad for the majority of the time so I just kept to myself.  Safe to say I had a little bit of depression of my own, but I think that it was more of an unsettled feeling than depression.  The love of my life is hurting so badly and I can’t help her.  That intrusive feeling of responsibility, too, has been nagging.  That doesn’t make me feel very good at all.  
    She was discharged after a week and went back to work yesterday.  She’s looking better, she’s feeling better.  I was a little reluctant for her return to work, given what just happened, but she has been working on a plan of her own – to map out her day the night before, and to not bite off more than she can chew with work.  No extra shifts, no swooping in to another’s rescue.  She’s going to take it slow as ‘75% of her problems right now are family-related’ and to be sitting at home with nothing to do would likely give her more time to dwell on that other stuff.  She’s also come to the realization that her family right now is just not ‘safe.’  She maintains contact with one sister (the one whom she called from the hospital daily with updates) and is finding it odd that NONE of the others (or even her Dad, who has been made aware of her hospitalization) have reached out to see how she was once discharged.  She was home for an entire week and not one person - other than this one sister – picked up the phone to call.  Surely, she wouldn’t answer the call from Dad if there WAS one – but as for the rest of them?  Shame on you! They are, in my eyes, TOXIC as all hell, and all a part of the problem.  None of them will ever read this, but mark my words – she’s noticed who has reached out and who hasn’t.  And right now, I don’t give a fuck whether you want to talk to me or ask me how I am, but she’s YOUR sister.  Y’all ought to be fucking ashamed of yourselves for not reaching out to her when you know damed well that she sat in a psychiatric hospital for a week because of the father you ALL share.
    I started my new job last week, literally the minute she came home.  They didn’t waste any time and weren’t kidding when they said that the position was contingent on the 40-hour training.  AS SOON as I sent in the certificate of completion – the call came in to report to the office on Monday last week.  There have been trainings on how to complete the appropriate paperwork, there have been HIPAA trainings, and other fun ‘feet wetting’ trainings.  I am now waiting for a permanent client, but in the meantime, working on learning the ropes through trainings and shadowing.  Tomorrow, Thursday and Friday, I take on a temporary assignment – so this’ll help me to gain some groundbreaking experience before the permanent client comes along.
    Allrighty.  I think that sums up the gist of the last six months.  I don’t mean to be away from my blogs for too long.  It’s really not in my character to be.  I’m used to being able to sit down and to write, but there’s been way too much head traffic lately.  Thankfully, that traffic has eased up a little and I am able to navigate through most of it and decide what I can share for the moment.  I WILL try to be more attentive to these self-care needs of mine but know better than to make promises when it comes to my blogging. 😉  
    All I can promise is to try to do these little mental dumps every now and then - and hope nobody minds.  LOL.  
    Hoping all of my friends here are doing well and are hanging in there.  Know that I love you, regardless of your religious beliefs, of your gender, your race, your sexual orientation.  I DO NOT CARE how you identify - what matters is being a good person and I know that here, I am surrounded by good people who will support and do not judge.  For that, I am appreciative and eternally grateful.  It is also the reason I am finally feeling a little more comfortable sharing what's been going on in my world over the last six months.  I feel safe here, and I thank all of you for contributing to that feeling of security.  It's been hard to feel that way offline, lately.
    Much love,
    - Cap 
  3. Capulet
    *** This was also posted in the Aftermath section.  It was a little bit longer than the standard length of most posts there but the message I hope to convey is a powerful one and I feel that it is more than just a post.  I've copied/pasted it here because while it was meant to be a post, it's also another one of my famous 'cleanses' and certainly belongs here, too.  ***
     
    This is likely going to turn out to be a long post. I apologize in advance.  There's just an enormous amount of brain-clutter these days and the OCD person I am is trying to sort through some of it, organize it.  Writing is simply my way of doing so.  I also am still trying to debate whether this should be a blog entry as opposed to board pollution, but it may very well end up being both...the message is powerful regardless of where it's placed.
    I made the stupidest decision when I was 20 years old. A decision even more stupid, it sometimes seems, than those I made during my own personal mission to self-destruct.
    I will set a small timeline in order to better convey where I'm going with this.  And in doing so, I dare not touch my suspicions of there being CSA in my childhood.  I have tried to remember the details of that, but to no avail.  I'm SURE it played a part, even a minuscule one, in my 'blueprint,' but without facts, I can't say for sure what stems from this and what doesn't.  And so, I'm leaving that alone.  Until the memories that have been repressed decide to resurface, this is not something that it's currently within my power to sift through, and so it's probably best to pull it out of the equation.
    So I will declare the rape I experienced at 17 years old to be the catalyst for the behavior that would soon follow.
    Shortly after the assault, I broke up with the first boyfriend I'd ever had.  A GOOD guy.  Very sweet, very kind.  He hailed from a strictly devout Catholic family.  We'd done nothing more than kissing and some over-the-clothes stuff.  We were both virgins and we'd talked about marriage being the best time to 'give' this to each other.  We HAD talked about marriage.  We were kind of serious/kind of joking, in that teenage dream sort of way.  It gave us something to talk about when being physical wasn't an option.  But anyway - after that virginity was taken from me, I felt I had nothing left to offer him.  
    Now, I know that's not the realistic way to look at it - I WAS still a virgin - I hadn't willingly given my virginity to another person.  I hadn't given my consent.  At the time, though, my brain was not allowing for me to think clearly.  All I could think of was how HE felt about it being so sacred.  I thought about how it'd be on our wedding night, should that ever become a reality...he'd probably know that he wasn't my first.  As if and he'd be disappointed, angry, maybe?  It wasn't something I wanted him to feel, nor was it something I wanted to explain as having happened to me, either.  And, oh, God, what if he didn't BELIEVE me? 
    And so, I sent him a lengthy e-mail and told him that I didn't love him, I didn't want to be together anymore.  He pleaded, he cried, he begged, he told me he loved me and wasn't giving up that easily.  But I was unrelenting.  Mean at times.  I cut him out.  Completely.  Eventually, he stopped emailing, writing letters, sending little presents.  He was truly gone...along with the rest of whatever was good in my life - discarded.  And for a long time, I blamed only myself while I grieved what could have been.  I did love him.  I did love the thought of him being the first person I had sex with.  But that was gone now.
    Time went on...I'd say a few months crawled by.  I signed up with AOL and began to frequent chat rooms, not looking for anything other than just to connect with someone.  I couldn't do it in person; I was too awkward around other people.  I wanted to be around SOMEONE, someone neutral, someone who didn't know me, someone who didn't know the girl I was before this monster....ruined me.  So, while those who DID know me questioned these personality changes, (that I, almost too flawlessly dismissed as being 'busy' and dealing with 'college stress') I was looking for companionship with people who weren't so perceptive to these new differences.
    Really, though..there was an incredible void within, and I didn't know how to fill it.  I was indeed isolating myself from people who cared about me - I withdrew socially, I stopped talking to life-long friends and eventually, they, too, followed suit.  I'm not sure if that's a failure on my part or theirs - aren't friends supposed to pick up on these things???? - either way, it was just how the cookie crumbled.  I fell apart, academically and JUST managed to pass my classes. Not sure if it was a pity-pass by the professors who probably noticed there was something wrong.   
    Eventually, I did what I thought was the safest, most anonymous way of connecting-but-not-connecting and socialized online more than I did in reality.  These people didn't know me.  Although I WILL say that I wasn't dishonest about who I was.  I was truthful about the important details - age, where I was from, etc.  I just wasn't me anymore.  These were strangers and I found it was easier to talk to people when there were no emotions attached. I was no longer the cautious, innocent, happy young lady I vaguely remember being.  I was now '18/f in _____' and no one really wanted or cared about all the background information.  It's just the hookup they wanted, sadly, and after a while, I began to (stupidly)  arrange for some of these meetings.
    My "first" was a guy who lived a couple towns over.  He was a year older than me.  Didn't go to my college, which was a good thing, in hindsight.  But we'd talked online first for a little while and then met in person.  He, too, was hearing impaired, so there was a little MORE of a connection than I'd learn I was comfortable with at the time.  I WAS attracted to him; he was very handsome.  And he quickly became the first person I consented to.  There was a brief, sloppy, clumsy encounter on the floor in his room, all of our clothing hadn't even been removed.  As quickly as it started, it was over.  And while this meant that I TRULY wasn't a virgin anymore, I can't help but feel like that didn't count, either - during this encounter, I felt absolutely nothing.  No pain, no pleasure.  Just...nothing.  
    He WAS a looker, but I didn't love him, I felt dirty and ashamed afterwards, I'm sure a side-effect of being touched for the first time since...that guy.  I ignored that feeling, though.  If anything, I felt it was a replacement of sorts.  A subpar experience to refer back to instead of the bad one that still plagued my dreams at night.  He DID contact me a few days after I'd slept with him and said that he felt needed to be honest - he still had feelings for an old girlfriend and he was going to attempt to re-connect with her.  He just would rather we remained friends.
    I graciously accepted that.  
    I think, for me, I was only looking to feel something...I wasn't sure what.  I was still having my bad days.  Nightmares, flashbacks, things were triggering me left and right, I'd begun to self-injure.  I continued to isolate from people I already knew.  I stopped caring about the importance of the things that truly mattered.  I was now fully emerged into a downward spiral.  
    So when approached (electronically) by men (and women) wanting to meet for drinks or for dinner (which I knew meant sex and more sex) I usually obliged.  I'd go, not expecting sex...maybe perhaps I'd be pleasantly surprised and someone actually wanted something of substance.  It almost ALWAYS headed in the 'meaningless sex' direction, though.  There was one-night-stand after one-night-stand.  I began to sleep around, not because it was something I enjoyed, but because, little by little, it began to chip away at my self-worth and in order to feel something - ANYTHING, that's what I needed.  
    Physically, these experiences were unsatisfying, sometimes painful.  Sometimes they'd be courteous to ask if I was okay with having sex.  Having once said no and not been listened to, I wasn't taking that chance again.  And so I would say nothing in place of the 'no' that I SHOULD have been able to say and instead became a silent participant, even if it was just by way of pleasing THEM in ways they wanted to be pleased.  That 'I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt me' mentality was a constant - and rather than allow myself to be harmed, the submissive side of me would emerge and I'd find myself doing whatever necessary just to get through it.
    Eventually, there were more risky hookups...hookups that I am TRULY fortunate did not end badly for me.  I allowed for a lot of things to be done TO me - without caring, without feeling, without fear.  Numbness completely took over.  I allowed for some pretty messed up things, things that PROBABLY could be described as borderline assault, but simply because I allowed these things, they were not.  I want to say this is when I was at my lowest point.  Secretly, I wondered if this would be the end - would one of them kill me when they were finished?  Was I just not cut out for this cruel, unfair world and death was about to become a consequence?  Would one of these guys do me a favor and just end it all for me?  Was this what I was actually doing?  Trying to kill myself?
    Obviously, that was not the case as today, I'm still alive.  
    Okay, so here's what this post is REALLY about.  
    I have a question for you all - a question that lately I've had to ask myself.  Mostly because in some respect, I spend a lot of time trying to justify marrying an asshole.  The temporary insanity argument just doesn't cut it as well as it used to - there's so much more behind it all.  
    So, I met the wasband in the middle of all of this, shortly before turning 20.  He was introduced to me by a mutual friend, though so from the start, it was different from previous 'hookups.'  AND - he was a cop.  I suspect that friend we shared knew that I needed some positivity in my life and while she didn't intend for us to become anything more than friends, she had hoped that he could help me straighten out my life and sort of re-route the direction I was headed in.  She did tell me about him, too, before asking if it was okay to pass along my screen name.  He was recently separated, he had two small children and he was a 'good' guy - and bonus!  He was local.
    I met him online first.  We chatted a few times before agreeing to meet for dinner.  So at this point, my brain's like, here we go - here's the next one, this'll end just like all the rest of them...
    But then, it didn't.
    We went on several dates (dinner, movies, long walks...oh and there was TALKING!  Imagine that!?)  before he ASKED me if he could kiss me before I would go home for the night.
    I'm not sure what happened to my brain then, but something clicked.  Where that 'do whatever you can to keep from getting hurt' went, I don't know.  It wasn't there then. I did want to kiss him, yes, but there was also that fear of this turning into another hookup.  For the first time, it felt significant, it felt safe.  He wasn't pushing for sex.  He was patient with me.  It felt..not 'right,' but better than anything I'd ever felt before.  So, my first thought then was to test him.  And myself.  
    I told him, "Not yet."
    He respected my boundaries and didn't ask again until our next date.  I obliged this time and we shared our first kiss then.  From there, he would ASK me before proceeding any further.  We eventually (slowly) became more intimate - and were pregnant with my son four months later.  The choice to marry was next - and I was quick to accept his marriage proposal.  I didn't think about it.  I said yes.
    But I have to admit to myself that it wasn't out of love.  Shit, I didn't have enough TIME to learn how to love.  It's such a complex feeling, one that requires TIME to develop.  
    But, now there was a baby involved, now I'd met someone who made me feel that it was okay to leave all of the self-destructive urges behind and refocus on something far, FAR more important than ways to hurt myself.  And now, I had more to look forward to, I was bringing a perfect little human being into the world and it was time to put such thoughts to rest.  The transition from being a nothing more than a booty call or one-night-stand into someone's wife and mother, was sort of forced, but in a way, I think it's what I needed - I needed to be grounded, I needed to be forced into making this choice, even if I was the one to force myself.  Otherwise, I really don't know where I'd be now.  And so, I took what felt acceptable at the moment and went with it, regardless of the absence of the head-over-heels feeling that usually is the deciding factor in getting married...and so against my better judgement, I said yes to the dress.
    I think that for a while, it felt pretty great - I was beating myself at my own game, at life.  It's because when we were just starting out, he allowed me to take control.  And looking back, this is highly unusual for him - shortly after we were married, he seemingly evolved into an entirely different person and managed to seize any relinquished control back and became the aforementioned asshole.  At first, it was usually the money and budget related, or kid-related, parenting fights.  Then he would slowly bring up (and criticize) each and every one of my past flaws - possibly due to my still having some lasting, left over, under-the-surface issues despite his 'rescue' efforts. 
    I think that once I took his last name, he'd assumed that my name wouldn't be the only thing to change.  He had expectations that being married would somehow "fix" or diminish anything bad that had happened in my life.  I'd attempt to reach out and discuss things that still bothered me.  At first, he would listen.  Then slowly, he began to become increasingly 'tired' of hearing it and eventually the words, "you need to get over this," came out of his mouth.  That was my cue to stop badgering him with such matters.  I went to others with it, instead, especially those I felt could relate on some level.  When he found out that I was sharing feelings with people other than him, he became angry with me and accused me of seeking attention and that my preference to take some of these issues elsewhere was 'emotionally cheating.'  Even though I explained to him that I no longer desired to burden him with all of this, he was still paranoid and untrusting.  He needed to see ALL of my communications - emails, texts (now that they were a thing) and instant messaging.  If he, Heaven forbid, saw that I was beginning to confide in someone else, or even become close to someone (even though it was strictly on a friends-only basis) he'd get angry all over again and sometimes insult my friends to the point where I felt ashamed even talking to people that I truly liked.  To open myself up to someone else, even if it was just to spare him the repetition, he would view as a betrayal - I have absolutely NO idea how that even is the case.  
    I soon began to suppress EVERYTHING.  I just stopped talking.  I stopped thinking.  I stopped dealing.  Whenever something popped up, I engaged in a mental game of whack-a-mole and would quickly banish it back from whence it came.  I knew there was stuff still lingering, but it just wasn't acceptable to discuss any of it anymore.  And I certainly wasn't going to resort to old ways - I was now married, I was a mother.  The beast had been 'tamed,' unsure if this is even the correct way to describe it.  Yet, by respecting his wishes, although unreasonable and suppressing, I suspect I did some further damage.  Instead of healing through the support that others would have been able to provide, I began to isolate again.  
    Although I felt I did as he wished, I'd find out that this wasn't going to change the type of person he was turning out to be.  He continued to bully and manipulate me and everyone else around him.  He continued to put me down when I needed the opposite.  Little by little, he broke me down.  He made me feel horrible about myself.  I soon began to feel that just as I sadly didn't really love him when we agreed to marry, he likely felt the same way about me.  Why else would he treat me this way?  There just wasn't any other reasonable explanation for it.  I soon felt that this was punishment for all the crap I'd done in the past - it HAD to be.
    I'd just basically gone from one prison to the next.  Getting married and having children and raising a family did NOT fix me.  It only ensured a transfer from maximum security to minimum.  I'm still so, SO affected (although not as severely) by what's happened in the past, but now I've learned better ways of coping, simply because I forced myself to.  I served 8 years in this particular mental prison, he was my 'guard' rather than a husband and he subjected me to the most confusing 8 years of my life.  I was paroled and set free only by divorce, which will be close to 10 years ago that it was finalized.    
    During the time I've been 'out,' I've worked hard to pick myself up.  I'm in a healthy relationship with an absolutely amazing woman.  When I met her, I was a complete MESS.  
    I didn't know how to communicate very well offline, with another human being.  I'd gotten SO used to keeping to myself.  To allowing others to see only what I wanted them to see.  Once we met in person, we had an interesting time trying to get to know each other on every level.  And that's where I found the love that I didn't know I was capable of feeling.  My only regret was having not met her sooner, but I'm not sure if that's how life would have played out if I had.
    I have had to re-educate myself on how to properly sort out my feelings, my thoughts.  Regardless of being in a MUCH better place now, I'm finding it to be a lifelong process....and the whack-a-mole games have restarted - only I'm now struggling with moles I've never seen before...the moles, when they used to be purely black and white are now teal, pink, purple, red, blue, polka-dotted, striped, etc.  One pops up and I'll take a swing, only to find that another has popped up in a different location before I've had time to deal with the first one. And that's when it starts to get overwhelming.  
    Guys...there's still so much SHAME, though. 
    I'm so ashamed of myself for the things I did prior to meeting the wasband.  I know that I just didn't know how to handle it and I let others handle things FOR me.  My personal growth and evolution has provided me the wisdom to understand why I (and others) did (do) these things.  I get it.  All of it.  
    It doesn't help the feeling of shame I still get from time to time when I think about the blatant disrespect I treated myself with.  I was literally ready to punch in my one-way ticket to the point of no return.  But instead, I did something that I thought would potentially be less harmful and would give my life some purpose, no matter the cost.
    So...
    Has anyone else ever done this?
    Did anyone else get married just to escape the possibility of an alternative, less favorable path?  In my case, it didn't work out but it DID deflect from a far more dangerous existence.  If so, what was the outcome for you?  
    I think more people than we realize are guilty of this.  Not particularly on the same level, but still. I think this is something that I need to be told is normal (under the circumstances) and that I'm not a terrible person for making some of the poor choices I've made.  I've already forgiven myself for past indiscretions and accept my reasons for doing so but in the process, I've felt so ALONE with it all.  I've felt judged, even though very few people even KNEW this about me.  I was and still am my worst critic.
    This turned out to be MUCH longer than intended - will also post it in my blog as it's a cross between a post and a cleanse.  Regardless, it's one that I'd TRULY appreciate some feedback on, so please don't be shy.  Hit the comments below.
    Wishing you all an endless supply of hugs, if those are your thing.  If not, then I wish you strength, healing and light.

    - Capulet
  4. Capulet
    Did I mention how much of a pain in the ass my mother is?  You all might know her as Oompa at this point, but - I might change that to 'pain in the ass.'  She's always going to look like an Oompa Loompa,  but lately this new nickname for her is becoming FAR more appropriate.
    I might have indeed mentioned...but just in case I didn't...
    My. Mother. Is. A. GIANT. Pain in the ass!  I just spent most of this morning arguing with her and one of my lovely readers is likely going to have to front me some bail money because I'm about to be arrested for matricide.  Unless of course, I can 'untwist my panties,' (as she so eloquently put it) by venting here.  It seems like a much safer alternative to jail time, so - here goes.
    The son has pretty much commandeered use of my car - he uses it to get back and forth to the (local) college.  When he goes back to the wasband's on Saturday evenings, he will take the car with him (unless I need it for any other reason) and more often than not, it's with him these days more than it's with me.  That's okay - this was always my intention - let him 'take over' my car - in lieu of a hefty monthly car payment, he would pay for gas, insurance and any other upkeep/maintenance costs on that car - and I would get a new one to ensure I had a means of getting from A to B without having to rely on anyone else.  I've told him this, too - 'you NEED to find a job - if you want to have a car (and I added the usual mom-style pep talk about growing up, becoming responsible, etc) then you NEED to start learning how to budget and manage your money.'  
    As is, we are now living somewhere where 4WD is NEEDED and owning a SUV is highly recommended - and although my existing car (which will soon be the Son's) does not have 4WD and is TERRIBLE in the snow, I don't have the heart to trade it in as it was bought from money my aunt and uncle left me upon their passing.  Rather than the son spend the money (that he doesn't have) on a car that he'll have payments (that he cannot make) on, he can make do with a significantly reduced financial responsibility and use my old car to get to school/work.  It does snow a lot here, but it's NOT a CONSTANT problem - when it does snow, his classes are usually cancelled anyway.  
    I have some money saved - and am now feeling the need to be situated with a car - I'm going to be starting school in the fall, so there's a little time.  However, I've realized that the son is also dragging his feet.  He won't move unless I do.  He had PLENTY of time to find a job during his first semester (last fall) and didn't.  He isn't fully to blame for this, though - the wasband (another VERY accurate addition to my 'Top Five' Pains in the Ass) has been taking the majority of his elder son's and daughter's paychecks, 'to pay house bills with.'  Our son, aside from having an endless supply of self-admitted laziness, is a VERY perceptive and observant young man.  He sees that his older brother and sister NEVER have a penny to their names - they work and hand their paychecks over.  This has been going on for months, already, and my elder stepson, having finally reached his limit, has left the wasband's home and moved back in with his mother.  There was a HUGE blowout between him and the wasband, something I had no idea was happening until AFTER the fact - and long story short, Junior is no longer 'supporting the family,' and MY son has now been told that he now has to take over Junior's job working alongside his sister at HER job.  
    This means, now the son has a job.  Which is what I've been waiting for.  It is my intention to let the wasband know that he's going to need to afford the son a little bit of leniency with his paychecks so that he has the money he'll need in order to maintain the expense of having his own car and possibly his tuition so that he doesn't doom himself to a lifetime of debt. 
    So, how does Oompa fit into all of this?
    Well, for starters, she knows I've been saving up to buy a car.  And now, my savings is starting to dwindle - as we have lately had some hefty financial responsibilities - vet bills, vacation bills, household repairs, etc, all in the last three months.  The vacation we planned on, but the rest, we did not.  So, now, I am of the impression that leasing my next personal-use vehicle is likely my best option.  But being 'President's week,' she has began to urge me to research the sales because 'there are some excellent deals out there.'  Not a lie, but still, considering the window of opportunity is beginning to close on the Son's EVER being in a position to control his own finances, it's time to move.  To top that off, my sister's best friend's husband is a dealer at the Subaru near her and he's 'EXCELLENT' and 'can get me a good deal.'  (Though, likely only on a Subaru.)
    I've always wanted a Jeep.  I've already accepted that I'll not be able to afford the pretty purple Wrangler that sits teasingly in front of the local dealership - but saw today that a local dealership is offering NEW Jeep Cherokees, and I could lease for $169 a month.  I supplied Oompa (the pain-in-the-ass) the phone number and instead of calling THEM to find out more about this 'special,' she called the dealer she knew.  She then mentioned that he wouldn't recommend a Jeep (as no Subaru employee likely would) and that he recommended an Impreza or a Legacy and could get good deals on those cars for me.  We could go see him on Saturday because he got my brother-in-law a good deal on HIS car - he would definitely do the same for me.
    I told her that those cars mentioned were NOT SUVs.  And I had told her previously that I did not want anything other than a SUV.  WHY was she pushing cars?  Apparently, 'they have 4-wheel drive,' but, still.  These are CARS.  I told her, 'I am absolutely not wasting my time looking at cars when I already know what I want."
    "But why do you need such a big car?"  
    I could NOT believe she'd just asked me that.  I've never had a big car/SUV.  Before my Avenger, I had a Neon.  Before that, a Mitsubishi Mirage.  My SISTER, (who is smaller than me) - has a GMC Acadia - that is a VERY large SUV.  Why doesn't she ask HER why she needs such a big car?  She has two kids - who combined, are still much smaller than my 12 year old.  My 18 year old is bigger than ME.  J is bigger and taller than me.  What if I want to take my family somewhere?  We're not all going to fit in a clown car!  
    I told her I had my heart set on a Jeep.  She then proceeds to tell me that I should look them up online - they're not the most reliable, they're not the safest (Subaru is) and they've got bad reputations.  She actually went as far as to say she wouldn't 'cooperate,' should I not agree to keep an open mind and at least LOOK at cars that are 4WD.  Yes, you heard correctly - SHE will not cooperate.  Another manipulation tactic.
    I'm DONE with manipulation.  In the course of my forty years, manipulation has been a constant.  My mother and my ex being the two biggest offenders - the reason for that being they were people I depended on most.  Yes, manipulation indeed goes hand-in-hand with dependency - for if you 'upset' or 'disappoint,' you lose a means of support - whether it is a GOOD source of support is irrelevant.  What matters is, I THOUGHT these people actually were looking out for my best interests, and am sad to realize that this was never the case - it is a matter of what is more convenient for them, what THEY want.  There were almost always ulterior motives.  And I'm not even sure what my mother's motives are, here - was she trying to get my sister's friend's husband a commission?  
    I finally said, 'Look - NOTHING pisses me off MORE than someone who tries to change my mind when I've made it clear what I'm looking for.  I asked you to come along because you're good at negotiating with dealers (she is) and working out the best deals - but If you're not going to cooperate and help me find what I want to find, then I'll go without you and go buy myself a fucking Jeep!'
    That's when she said I should untwist my panties, the dealer would sell me whatever I wanted.  I told her that if this 'excellent' dealer could show me an actual SUV (like the Forester - more the type and size I'm looking for) and beat the lease price of $169 a month for a Jeep, then we'd talk and see about getting him a commission.  But that $169 a month was the right price for a car that I actually wanted - so why WOULD I settle for anything other than that?  Is she paying for the car?  No.  Is she co-signing?  No.  So what's the fucking problem???  Safety?  A Jeep would be safer than what I'm CURRENTLY driving.  They're not known to be reliable? Well, that's why I'm better off LEASING, isn't it?  Repair coverage.  And after the lease is up, I'd be put into a brand-new car.  There's not enough time for something to go wrong with it - if something does, it's covered. 
    As it stands right now, I'm going to the dealership in the morning - armed with my dwindling patience, my checkbook and my manipulation-proof vest - I know all too well how it's going to go.  She's going to try and push those 'cars' on me again - she's going to ask (again) why I need something so big...she'll get J to 'talk some sense into me,' and J is fully prepared to put her in her place - SHE likes Jeeps, too!  It's just sad that I have to be this firm with my mother - at forty years old.  That she still feels the need to control me and she CANNOT just let me make choices without trying to meddle.  She has two other daughters, younger than me, and who LIVE closer to her than I do.  Why can't she bother them!?
    In closing, I will let all of you know tomorrow of the following: 
    Whether I need bail money and where to wire it; (I'll pay you back...someday?)
    Whether I get a new SUV tomorrow or I end up planning to 'buy a fucking Jeep on my own;'
    And whether my mother is still breathing, and carrying on with her usual day-to-day annoyances...she likely will be, as no matter how angry or annoyed or irritated I can get, I could honestly never hurt a fly.
    My tolerance for bullshit is at an ALL TIME low with my mother, and with my ex, both of whom are tied for top pain-in-the-ass!  Some days, I just don't know who's worse.  When I eventually figure it out, I'll let you all know.
    Hoping the rest of you are having a less stressful weekend.
    My best to you,
    - Capulet
  5. Capulet

    Auntie Cap in da house...

    By Capulet,

    Not every post has to be about food or kids.  Okay, not MY kids, anyway.  
    So...ya remember my sister?  The one married to a jerk?  In previous blog entries, we referred to her as #1.  
    Well, that sister's water broke last night at around 8pm.  I was at Monday night bowling and heard from Oompa that she was meeting my sister and brother-in-law at the hospital.
    I stayed up all night long - I did trudge over to the bed around three-thirty this morning, but the anticipation of my niece's impending arrival effectively kept me from the deep sleep that renders me functional for the remainder of the day, so please forgive any run-on sentences or other grammatical errors.  I'm not all here today and I'm a bit zombie-ish, but still wanted to share with everyone some very wonderful news.
    My niece arrived this morning at 6:44am after 10 hours of waiting and countless texts between Oompa and I.  Oompa was there before and during the birth and for the cutting of the cord.  My brother-in-law doesn't do well in hospital rooms, so my mother was, for the second time, able to witness the birth of her fifth grandchild.  
    Both my sister and the baby are doing just fine.  Brother-in-law also doing fine.  
    I took a nap as soon as the first picture came through.  She's adorable.  Full head of hair.  Big, round, alert eyes.  Teeny-tiny little fingers.  Swaddled in the new-baby blanket that every single hospital in the United States has a patent on.  And the little pink hat they put on her head to keep her warm. Those widdle, teensy toes, too!  
    My uterus is tingling, guys.  Oh, my God.
    Not too much, though.  It'll pass.  I just SO miss when mine were that small.  The thought of nibbling on their toes NOW, at their ages, truly sickens me and simply wouldn't be right.  LOL.
    I'll just enjoy being an Aunt.   If we're counting my Godchild, we'll say I've now got three beautiful nieces and my one nephew.  All are happy, in good health and I couldn't ask for more.  
    I am very, very blessed, indeed.
    - Capulet
     
     
     
     
  6. Capulet

    25

    By Capulet,


    Blogs
    So...today is twenty-five years.  A quarter of a century.  Which one sounds better?  Or worse?  Especially when something that happened twenty-five years ago is still fresh in one’s mind?  
    Three years ago, I wrote a letter to my rapist and posted it as a blog entry.  I found myself reading it again the other day.  Why?  I don’t know.  Nothing’s changed.  I still stand by all of what I managed to say to him, knowing that he’d never read the letter.  I guess it’s different when you know that all of your anger and frustration is safe to release because there’s no consequences attached.  He will never know I am speaking to him and he will never be able to respond. I couldn’t find him if I tried – I know and have accepted that he’s either a) in prison because someone stronger than me has put him there, b) dead because someone even stronger has put a bullet between his eyes, or c) living the American dream – has a nice house, fancy car, wife and kids, high-paying job, and spends no time thinking about the pain he’s caused people.
    Every year, I cannot help but wonder.  Which is it?  Where is he now, 25 years/a quarter of a century later?
    I almost always, ALWAYS gravitate towards ‘c.’  The answer I hate the most.  The answer that is the most unfair.  I’m still disgusted, angry and completely repulsed by the damage a single person can cause in such a small amount of time.  I also, every day, see that this pain is widespread – for people like him unfortunately still exist.  They multiply, they breed.  It’s like a fucking episode of The Walking Dead, sometimes.  No matter where you turn – there’s danger looming.  No one is safe, no one is immune.  Being a member of this site for over 14 years has shown me that.  It has also shown me that although I am a warrior (ironically my college mascot, too – the Warrior) that I still feel like every day is a battle.  Some days are easy, some days are hard, some leave me feeling wounded, some victorious.  
    Link to my letter to him, below – please be advised that I did not hold back – there was a lot to say three years ago.  Much of what I said there still applies, so - trigger warning for anger, for swearing and for some details:
    http://www.aftersilence.org/forum/index.php?/blogs/entry/1910-because-of-youan-anniversary-letter/
    This battle is always tougher in the fall - AKA ‘trigger season.’  I’ve NEVER been able to get through the last twenty-four autumns without contending with the familiar underlying feeling of pure and utter dread.  And I spent some time thinking about this last week and have come to the realization that it’s not even the changing of the seasons that triggers my feelings of anxiousness and overall unrest.  It’s the impending arrival of Fall; because when the leaves started to change 25 years ago, I was still reeling from what had happened, and there was no joy involved in experiencing the summer-to-fall transition.  No desire to stop, look around and take in the (and this is hard to even admit) the beauty of the foliage.  I isolated myself in the days and weeks that followed the rape.  That hasn’t changed, either.  I still tend to withdraw during the fall months.  I teeter the (very) fine line between wanting company and wanting to be alone, which usually ends up being my choice.  Being a helping professional will always have me believing that to clam up and shut others out isn’t ideal, but yet, there’s still great appeal in kicking aside those things whenever the Fall comes around.  
    Time has made it easier in some respects.  The hurt isn’t as severe.  The nightmares have lessened (even though I did have a disturbing dream about a week ago).  The flashbacks are few and far between.  What doesn’t get any easier, though, is the feeling in the pit of your stomach – that something is off, something is wrong, something is going to happen.  And it shows up, every single year.  And then it begins to lift as we creep closer to the winter season.  A friend mentioned the word ‘fog,’ which fits quite well when trying to describe my mental state these days.  I’m holding it together as best as I can and trying to stay focused on work, on home, on my wife and kids, on life.  My head, though, feels as if it’s enshrouded in fog.  I can see the things next to me clearly, but what’s ahead feels uncertain.  The fog brings forth a swirl of questions.  Am I EVER going to be able to enjoy the Fall, including the natural beauty of it all?  Am I going to wake one October 4th with a smile on my face and without a concern in the world?  
    I thought I’d have a lot more to say today than I do.  I guess I also thought I’d have additional reflections on the 25th traumaversary.  Sometimes the words just flow and I can write page after page of feelings, thoughts and frustrations.  That’s just not happening this year.  I don’t think it happened last year, either – it seemed that the isolation was never-ending because of the pandemic.  The feeling of dread was there, but it was extended, almost, for months longer, because the WORLD was shut down.  We were all unsettled, we all had no choice but to isolate, to allow for space and distance.  
    But - I guess, like other things, the words can't be forced.  When they're there, they'll let me know.  And then, I'll share them.
    I'll come back to this, later. ❤️
    - Cap
  7. Capulet
    Hi, all!  
    I'm not sure what today's blog is going to be primarily about, so we'll call it a smorgasbord.  We'll try a little bit of everything!  It's been a turbulent week (I've been using that word a lot - I feel it best describes a lot of the unexpected emotional twists I've had to endure this past week) and today is only the second day that I haven't felt as if I were on the verge of tears.  I've done a lot of thinking and have been able to put a few things into perspective, so am feeling stable enough to try and transfer some of it here.
    To start with, I have an interesting question for my survivor friends and peers.  
    Do any of you experience an unexplained physical coldness/chill during those 'turbulent' anniversary time frames?  My anniversary has already passed - it was on the 4th of this month, but I am wondering if some of the side effects are taking me a little bit longer to move past?  It is 67 degrees in my house at the moment (I've checked the thermostat multiple times!) - and I'm FREEZING.  My fingers are literally icicles. I've been 'cold' all week last week and thought it was because of the drop in overall temperatures, but....67 degrees?  I shouldn't be dressed like an eskimo and have my hood on while indoors just yet.  Aside from feeling like my bones are constructed purely out of ice cubes, I feel fine.  I do not have a temperature, I am not sniffly or have a cough.  My fiancee remains a furnace (I wouldn't want to subject her to cuddling with me right now, though) and my kids have said that they're not cold.  I do have to add that I remember feeling cold, above other things, on that night 22 years ago, but I cannot remember if I felt this same unnatural chill during last year's anniversary time - or the previous, and so on.  Is this new???  And if it is, what brought this on?
    So, I had my second group session last night.  More people showed up to this one - and one person from the first meeting was there.  They first started off with some meditation - something I don't have a whole lot of experience with.  I was having trouble with the listening part (the leader was instructing us all to take our deep breaths, try and picture a safe place, inhale, exhale, relax this, relax that) and I couldn't really participate-along with the rest of them because by the time I got the 'message' to do whatever, she was already moved onto the next thing.  It wasn't her fault - it's just a casualty that being deaf has taught me to have to accept from time to time.  So, safe to say, this part of the meeting was not effective for me.  And I'd soon learn that the meditation was something leading up to the NEXT part - although I do already have a lot of experience with journaling, she handed out plain black-and-white composition notebooks and asked us to decorate the cover to reflect and show where our 'safe place' was during the prior meditation process.  A place that I'd not 'arrived' at, nor would I be able to envision as effectively as the rest of the ladies in the room.
    Well, SHIT.  I'm already flunking at support groups!
    So, after some quick deliberation, I ended up taking a different approach on the design of my journal cover.  I'll PROBABLY not use my journal at all - this is the place where I've been able to most effectively convey my deepest thoughts.  Maybe I'll consider printing out some of my most powerful and impactful entries and pasting them into the book - perhaps there will be a future discussion where I'll be able to read from some of those entries - I'll have already thought them out and perhaps they will resonate with someone else.  Otherwise, the pages will likely remain blank.  
    To fill a page wasn't even the assignment; it was to present a decorated cover - depicting or representing my safe place.  It's safe to say I don't really have a 'place,' but there are some things that I try to remind myself of when I meditate - or rather, through my own way of meditation.  Yes, I do the deep breaths, I do inhale and exhale, but while I do this, I do not picture a particular place.  I instead mentally throw all of my cards onto the table and address each of whatever my current struggles are, with a motivating counter-thought.
    And lately, I probably could do with a little more of (my type) of meditation.  I'm going to sideline this particular thought train for a little while so that I can explain a little bit more about why I'm feeling the excess turbulence this month.  
    We already know by now that it's my anniversary month - and that this year, I'm experiencing some different side effects.  
    Another thing that's been on my mind....(and this is something I've had that internal debate on whether or not I should share it with you guys or keep it to myself)...is a recent dialogue with J that has left me very confused, very unsettled and very anxious.  
    First off, it wasn't a fight.  We don't fight.  We sometimes disagree, but neither one of us wants to fight with the other - we talk about things more often than not, but there ARE times where we 'drop' things and leave them alone because it's something that's not going to be resolved and falls into the 'just bitching' category.  Sometimes this is best, but lately, it's only succeeded in mounting our problems and issues and they are now starting to wiggle like a stack of Jenga blocks threatening to come tumbling down at any moment.
    I've mentioned before that she's become more social and has taken a liking to going out with her friends after work.  Sometimes it's once a week, sometimes it's twice.  I've also mentioned previously that I am absolutely hating this - not that she's blossomed into a social butterfly, because that isn't necessarily a bad thing, but more so that she's found things to do and ways to have fun that do not involve me but instead involve people that are seemingly taking up 'more' of her than I am.  I don't even know if I feel this way because I'm not at that same point in my own life, but either way, it has left me feeling more and more lonely than usual.  And lately, I've been more openly 'bitter' about her spending time with her friends - she'll, as a courtesy, let me know when she has made spontaneous plans after work, and I'll usually respond with a one-liner that fails to hide my disappointment.  Last week, this such one-liner was, "Ughhhhh."  PROBABLY not the best choice of words, but in the moment, it's what my fingers wanted to type.  
    Now, she KNOWS how I feel about social situations in general, and she knows about the anxiety I feel when it comes to the expansion of my own social circle.  She also knows that I quietly fume to myself whenever I'm told I won't be seeing her after work.  I have been honest about that and we both understand this is a direct result of what my ex has successfully ingrained in me.  She continues to remind me that I am no longer married to him, I am FREE now, and I need "more than just her" in my life.  This, too, is something I am struggling with - because for the last ten years that I've been divorced, it's been just her and I - there wasn't a need for me to have 'other people' to share (EVERYTHING) with.  It was a nice, comfortable, PRIVATE circle.  Either way, I've recently (probably for the last year) watched her change in multiple ways, from the person she used to be into a more evolved version of herself.  She's now made a true friend out of her boss, is becoming more and more friendly with co-workers and has taken more interest in doing things outside of our home 1-2 days a week.  As a direct result of some of these changes in her, she has now taken notice of me becoming increasingly withdrawn and snippy.  On top of all of this, she's also made the choice to return to therapy, a choice I support 100% since she's also mentioned the need to do some maintenance work on herself - something I think we ALL need from time to time.
    I'm not sure if the return-to-therapy is what prompted her to bring up on Sunday evening, that she felt that we BOTH needed to work on things within our relationship.  She made it clear that while she wasn't unhappy, she just felt that there were some things that needed changing.  
    This confused the fuck out of me, I won't lie.  The first thing that came to mind, was, "Oh, my God, I'm losing her."  
    And for the entire day on Monday, I sat in silence and solitude - ready to cry at the drop of a hat - and thought, thought some more and thought HARD.  About everything that was said on Sunday night - which confused me even more.  She had stated she wanted me to be 'okay' with her outings so that she didn't feel guilty about them.  I told her that I wasn't going to hold her back from going out with her friends, but at the same time, I couldn't be expected to be automatically okay with it, either.  It was something I needed to work at, as well as something entirely new that I needed to adapt to.  On Sunday, it got to the point where she ended up telling me that I've been saying I would figure it out for a while now (truth) and haven't done so, yet.  I responded that I was trying - "Rome wasn't built in a day!"  Another thing she mentioned was that she wanted me to be more honest with her about what I was feeling - which baffled me, because I guess, I thought I already was.  My "ughhhh" text message was an honest response.  My admission that this wasn't easy for me was another honest thought.  My snippiness and grouchiness whenever she talks about her pals, you'd think that is all based on some form of honesty.  
    How much more honesty did she want from me?  I think she sensed there was more that needed to be said, but at the moment, I was feeling lost and was drawing blanks.  Granted, emotions were running wild and I admit to having lost my shit on Sunday night during our talk, in an ugly-cry sort of way.  We both agreed to take the day on Monday to do some thinking and we'd reconvene when we were both in a better frame of mind.
    So, on Monday, after a long day of reflection, I was able to summarize a little bit more of what I was feeling and I broke it down some to J.  Not by choice - I was already semi-crying when she got home from work.  I had tried my hardest to hide from her my 'I'm holding it in' face, but when you're with someone for as long as we've been together, these things become virtually un-hideable.  She asked me what was the matter and I lost it again.
    And so, out it came.  What I'd realized in the less than 24 hours since Sunday's blind-siding conversation.  I have not changed.  She has.  She now has a more demanding job.  As is, our time spent together has diminished greatly.  She works a 40-hour week and VERY often ends up putting in a ton of OT to make it a SIXTY-hour work week.  Add to that, she's become so increasingly tired, unnecessarily stressed out, and on the days she comes home from work, all she wants to do is eat a quick dinner and go to sleep.  And as far as her friends go - it feels like they get more out of her than I do because she goes out with them AFTER an already extended day at work.  I VERY rarely even SEE her before she leaves in the morning (it's usually right after 6am) and when she's out with her friends, she comes home at 10 or 11pm and I'm LUCKY to get a five-minute conversation out of her before she's snoring.  She spends time with her boss for just about the entire duration of the work day and then there's the 'after work' activities that include this same woman, (counting two separate occasions when J went to help her move into her new apartment) so yes, maybe I do have a legitimate problem with that and maybe this is why the MENTION of this woman's name makes me envious enough to want to punch something.  MAYBE this is why when J invites me to come along, I really don't have any interest in it.  These are the people who are taking her away from me; (I know that's an unrealistic, paranoid thought, but for the moment, it was yet another honest take on it) why would I want to associate with them?  They represent the 'fun' that she's having that I am not a part of.  I am instead left feeling genuinely lonely after lately not seeing much of my one and only consistent 'person.'
    And that's just not a nice feeling at all - it's how I felt when I was married to my ex and he didn't want me to have any 'other' people - and it's not how I want to make J feel, either.  You see, I KNOW where my strengths and weaknesses are - and perhaps the biggest confusion here is - neither one of us has done anything wrong.  We remain faithful to one another - that's never been a question.  We love each other.  We just are, for the moment, at different places in our social lives and she's just more comfortable with her newfound status than I am.  And just because she has changed, does not mean I also have to if it's not what I want or am not mentally ready for.
    I honestly DO, though.  I don't want to let this go right now and then have to revisit the same problem ten, fifteen years down the road when she and her boss friend decide to take up knitting together after work days.  (Another unrealistic guess, but y'all get the point I am trying to make!)  I am absolutely TERRIFIED that if, by some twist of fate, I ever lost her, I would TRULY be a mess.  I'd force myself to physically move on but emotionally, that is going to be the challenge of my life, as I've no desire to forge this type of connection with anyone else, should she become unavailable to me.  I can honestly say I'd be FINISHED and a permanent emotional shut-down would likely be inevitable.
    We had a longer (calmer) talk after my (blatantly honest) little outburst.  
    I first have to admit that it didn't feel so good, though, guys.  I know that we're not likely to get what we need or want unless we ask for it, but I can't help but feel as if expressing these (irrational or not?) fears has made her see me in an entirely different light.  Does she now see me as an inconsiderate, ungrateful, needy bit*h?  I am not a selfish person at all and I'm admittedly the type to want to avoid confrontation at all costs, so just spitting out all of this inner poison has made me feel even more like shit!  I thought it was supposed to feel GOOD to take any kind of a stand - but nope, I'm not feeling that, just yet.
    But, despite what I'm feeling, she heard me.  And unlike my ex, she actually acknowledged what I was saying and where I was coming from.  This, too, is something that STILL floors me, even after almost a decade of being in a healthy, trusting, communicative relationship.  Maybe that's why this feels like uncharted territory - I've NEVER had that before.  If I ever were to tell my ex how I felt, he would have slammed me back with insults describing how the way I was feeling was entirely my fault and about how truly damaged I was.  My J and my ex are absolutely not the same person - not by a long shot - J is a kind, loving person while my ex was a monstrous asshole that has succeeded in reducing my self worth into an unidentifiable pulp.
    We have decided that she will work on being more present when she's at home.  Together, we'll do whatever it takes, we'll go out, we'll engage in activities that will keep her from falling asleep so soon after coming home from work.  Bowling two nights a week certainly helps!  We'll liven up our relationship by having a once-a-week dinner date night (not a bowling night), where it will just be the two of us.  We'll have a drink together.  We'll take in the occasional movie.  We'll try new things.  Last night was the first of several 'date nights' to come; we met up at a local steakhouse after my group meeting.  And it was truly nice to take that time to start to reconnect - because, as much as I hate to admit it, we DID lose something along the way.  It's never been MORE important to me to try and reclaim that connection before it drifts even further, simply because she's become too busy or I'm responding by shutting down. 
    And in the meantime, I have some work to do....more so for myself than for anyone else - but work regardless.  I will work on trying to find other things to become involved in and I will do so at my own pace.  I will put my social anxieties aside and join her on an outing with her work friends from time to time - and I will ATTEMPT to get to know some of them.  I've already spent some time with the boss lady, and all jealousies aside, she is not a terrible person.  I will keep more of an open mind when it comes to dipping my toe into these social situations.  
    We have established that relationship-wise, I trust my J completely, I am not afraid she'll fall in love with someone else.  This isn't the issue.  I've determined that I am more afraid that she'll eventually evolve even more and discover that she truly likes or wants more than what she has with the boring, laid-back, homebody that I have learned to be.  I am loyal.  I am trustworthy.  But right now, I don't feel 'fun,' nor do I have much to offer someone as far as a good time goes.  I'm stuck in a rut and I NEED to climb out of it.  
    And so, I am going to begin to work on trusting MYSELF; and in my ability to intiate a transformation of my own.  Given where I am right now and all of the damage that has already been done, it may take years.  But, I will get there.  I think I just needed to feel more united and connected with my "main" person in order to take these steps toward learning to trust and confide in and learn to relax around others. I needed to be able to feel that I'm not in the process of losing the one person who changed my life for the better.  And perhaps, that's the root of my recent snippiness - I do not respond well when I feel threatened with that idea - it also makes sense that this is why J's family/sister's words to me several months ago are STILL fucking with my brain.  This is why I cannot get past what was said to me, even if it was said in desperation or anger.  It cannot be unsaid and is possibly where all of this started.  
    Well, at least we recognize it - and I'm happy to say that we are working on us.  I know no relationship is perfect and by all means, neither is ours.  We are as good a couple as they come, but we've never had to really work at it, though.  It's just always come so naturally to us both, and I think I need that reassurance that we aren't the only ones who hit the occasional bump in that road!
    Now, back to the journal cover that I was to design.  I found some 'phrases' in the pile of magazine clippings.  Words.  These are what I use to get through things.  I think about them, I redefine them, I write them.  Aside from some not-so-nice things, I've been called a wordsmith.  And so this is what I decided to decorate my composition notebook with.  Single words and phrases that right now, ring true for me.
    "A window of opportunity has opened."
    "Comfort zone."
    "Friendship."
    "Chocolate."  (A reference to THIS blog - I could not let that go without some form of recognition as this is where I usually retreat when I have a lot of mind-clutter.)
    "Your future is yet to be written."
    There were a couple more - along with cut-out letters that I used to spell out my real first name across the top of the book.  When my turn came, I explained that I'd taken a little bit of a different approach to my journal cover decorating - and discussed that I use words and phrases in order to quell whatever my current anxieties are.  And each of those statements, at the moment, mean something to me.  
    And why did I put my (given) name?  
    Well - my name as well as my identity is another thing that I am struggling to define. I can tell anyone my name, but I honestly don't have a clue who I even am, being constantly torn between the person I really am and the person I present as, is exhausting!
    You see, here, I am Capulet.  You all know why I am here.  You all know my story.  You know my fears, the things that make me happy, the things that make me sad.  Chances are, you feel the same way.  I've been nothing but honest with everyone through my blogs, my posts, my private conversations.  It helps that being here affords us all that unspoken understanding of each other - we're automatically able to validate one another because, one way or another, we all get it.  We don't have to truly know someone to understand them when they write something that rings true with us, too.  And so, I honestly feel more connected to myself when I am Capulet and less connected to the person that my given name represents - the person that people offline see.  And partially, this is my fault, I have spent so much time shielding these offline connections from the things that aren't so easy to share or explain face-to-face.  I feel like I am someone else.  And that 'someone else' is what people usually see upon spending time with me.  And if these people do not know or understand the reasons behind why I am the moody, withdrawn, shy, anxious, unapproachable person I appear to be (especially in social settings) then it's likely harder for them to make the extra effort it requires in order to get close to me.  Additionally I can't expect them to keep trying if I'm going to constantly shut them down.  This is yet another reason I feel that I need to work on opening up to more people, (once I've established them to be trustworthy) and allow them to understand me in entirety; allow them to see me, not only as Capulet, nor as the person they think I am.  But somewhere in the middle where both 'identities' can merge.  Only then will I truly begin to comfortably live my life as an evolved, transformed woman.
    After the meeting, I was feeling a little bold and inquired about whether the Women's Center had any volunteer opportunities.  I was told they do, however they require one full year of affiliation with the center before they consider taking on someone as a volunteer.  And so I will continue to attend the group meetings and take them all for what they're worth - even though I may not in the moment be able to gain anything from them, they are thought-provoking and force me to be honest with myself.
    I should mention that I am also feeling a little anxious about tomorrow's (yes, tomorrow's!) appointment with the VR intake counselor - I will be discussing with her the possibility of going back to school as a full-time student, and then continuing onto acquiring my bachelor's.  I am trying to allow myself to feel excited and to ignore that voice within (the one that seems to always be lying and misleading me) that is telling me that my dreams are not possible; that a better version of ME is not possible.  That I will have to settle for the minimum because I am aiming too high.  I don't think that will be an acceptable answer, and I fear that if this is the one I am given, that it will emotionally derail me - again.
    I've also made an appointment with the support group leader for next Friday - I feel satisfied with having shared this much tonight, but feel that if J can seek 'outside' help and a place to safely put all of her own 'excess' baggage, then I certainly can, too.  I'm not looking for a permanent thing - just a safe place to vent to someone who is unbiased and may be able to offer me some suggestions on how to initiate some of these much-needed and long overdue changes.
    I do feel a little bit better tonight.  I had all day to myself - she again went to trivia night with her friends.  And normally, you probably could see the smoke coming out of my ears while I silently fumed over being alone (again) but I think that tonight, I needed it, I truly needed the alone time to think and to process and to refocus.  I also think that I need to continue to find a different focus for the times/days she chooses to go out - tonight, my aim was to find a way to adequately express what was going through my mind this past week and I have done that.  Moving forward, I will just have to learn to occupy myself with different things and explore alternative ways of keeping busy when she's otherwise unavailable.  
    I just wish this newfound, unfamiliar quest of mine for more purpose in life wasn't so fucking scary!  And that it came more naturally for me without my having to work so hard at it.  
    And with that, it is time to wrap up.  I am emotionally drained (and ironically this will put me to sleep quicker than a dose of NyQuil) and have been for a while.  I've dropped with exhaustion before 12:30am for the last few nights - tonight, I'm up a little bit longer because it was important to me to not interrupt the flow of thoughts.  I've got that habitual tendency to 'drop' things if I'm too tired or reserve them for another time, but this simply could NOT wait.
    In closing, I thank you all for continuing to listen to me, for not giving up on me, for getting to know me, and for supporting me.  I know I am by no means perfect and I know deep down that I definitely do contribute to my own problems, but, shit...none of this is intentional - it's just what I know and was taught that was needed as primarily a means of self-protection.  It truly does help to also know that the persona that I feel most connected to, truly has an army behind her.  So for that, thank you.  I truly appreciate you all.
    ,
    - Capulet
  8. Capulet

    "I get it, Ma..."

    By Capulet,

    Hi, friends.
    I don't normally post a spontaneous blog entry...usually I save these periodic updates for when I find that I've been struggling or something has 'clicked,' or unless I feel there's generally more to say.  Sometimes, though, it's okay to post the shorter entries, too, and in the interests of keeping the mind-clutter down to a minimum, I want to share a little thought I had this morning...a thought that didn't immediately register, but instead was automatically shuffled back to the 'let's deal with this later,' pile on account of bigger things occupying the front lines.
    I remember so clearly the night that the wasband and I sat our (then) 7-year-old son down in between us on the couch; it was the night we told him that we were going to be getting divorced.  It was the first time that we've ever broken his heart. I remember him looking up at each of us with tear-stained 'now, what?' face that in turn, broke MY heart.  The wasband, completely unfazed by our child's reaction, said, 'it's between your mother and I.  Suck it up, you'll be fine.'
    I remember thinking to myself in that moment, I'm the one who is going to be fine - I'll not have to deal with this man anymore, I'll no longer have to answer to him, I'll no longer be CONTINUALLY subject to his emotional and verbal abuse - even if I wouldn't be completely devoid of it - because this is the kind of man he IS and always was.  And as long as we have children together, this asshole is still going to remain a consistent part of my life...and he WILL harass me the same way he harasses his FIRST ex-wife, the same way he verbally puts down everyone he comes into contact with, be it at home, or the workplace or at family gatherings or at K-Mart because someone had the NERVE to say something that offended him.  Either way, a divorce, to me, meant that my contact with him was going to be severely reduced, and I was secretly THRILLED that this was finally happening after being his wife and living with him for the 8 years we were together.
    So, fast forward to ten years later, and also few days ago, my son came home from classes.  He and I sat at the table and had lunch - grilled cheeses!  While we were eating, he made the statement that he wasn't looking forward to going back to his father's house because he knew he would be treated badly, called names, and overall be made to feel like shit.  
    I understood exactly what he was saying.  I HAVE indeed (in the last year, especially) noticed a HUGE change in the wasband.  His health is declining - he's got multiple stents in his heart, he's got a protruding belly hernia that requires surgery to fix, and he's got existing blood pressure issues, diabetes and likely more unknown underlying medical issues that we're not aware of, yet.  He's a homeowner now, for the first time in his life, and now has financial issues up the wazoo (new house, new car, new everything), and all of the added stresses of commuting back and forth to work (4 hours total) every day and having his THIRD wife and six kids to support has taken a tremendous toll on him.  He's angry ALL the time.  He barks at everyone around him, even his current wife LOOKS miserable and is failing at hiding her unhappiness.  I have NEVER been more glad that I'm not his wife anymore - but at the same time, I feel terrible that our kids constantly bear witness to his mood swings and his bitterness.  He's a truly miserable man and this is NOT what I wanted for my son and daughter.  But this, like many other things, is truly out of my hands.
    BOTH of my children have recently come to me with, "I hate Dad."  BOTH kids have gotten to the point of (more than usual) eye-rolling at the mention of his name.  They have shared their frustrations about him with me and J - and I'm finding that I can 'defend' him less and less these days.  When they've complained about him in the past, I've always told them that he loves them and provides - and he does - financially.  His provisions are more obligatory than they are sincere - he SAYS he loves his children but instead belittles them all and acts as if he can't stand any of them.  He is the biggest definition of a hypocrite.  
    He mostly verbally and emotionally abusive toward them - although he is NOT afraid to resort to physical means of discipline when he sees fit.  My son put it perfectly - right now, he is physically unable to give them the beatdowns he THREATENS to give them, so they just stand there and take the slew of verbal threats, knowing he probably is too weak to carry them out and can't really move very quickly - THAT's how bad his health has gotten.  And they've learned to NOT take his threats seriously, either; they KNOW he is a bully and an irrational sonofabitch and that his treatment of them, although it's not necessarily right, is simply all he knows how to do and it's not likely to change.  Ever.  
    So, while we were eating our grilled cheeses, I asked my now 18-year-old son what he needed from me.  Did he need me to confront his father about how he's treating our children?  Did he need me to grab the balls I hadn't been born with, and defend him and his sister and speak up about what I now know goes on in his (unstable) household?
    "Ma, there's absolutely nothing you can do."  He said, "I get it, I know how he is.  If you tried to do anything, he would just make everyone's life even more miserable.  He probably won't live past 50, anyway, so I have learned to just take it for now and shrug off whatever he's gotta say."  (And he said that with such a casual ease - almost as if he, too, anticipates his father's dying to be what frees us all from him!)   
    I did the math, mentally.  He turns 50 in 2020.  If he's right, that's not a whole lot of time.
    "Dude, you're an adult," I told him.  "You know you CAN break away from him, you always have here to come and live full-time if that's what you want to do."
    My son shook his head, "No. Because then he'll say I abandoned my family and that I am refusing to help out.  And he'll harass me and treat me even worse than he treats me now."
    There was a little more back-and-forth but eventually, my son confirmed that the divorce was the BEST thing I could have done for myself, and that breaking his heart when he was 7 was a necessity.  He also said, "I WILL be fine - my dad's an asshole but I have the kindest, most supportive mother - so I have both ends of the spectrum!"  
    I managed a weak smile before he retreated to his room after lunch.  
    It also occurred to me that not only is going back to school, getting my degree, and finally starting a job is definitely going to help me break away from HIM - if my son is wrong and the bastard lives past the time it takes for me to finish my education, then I'll be in a better position to make a jailbreak move and remove my daughter from his house if she's under 18 at the time.  But as is right now - I am not financially able to sustain myself and my own current living arrangements without the child support he pays.  I mean, how fucked up is this??  If I were to take him to court and to petition for full custody, (right now we have joint custody - they spend half the week with me and half with him) I know damn well he would argue that I'm an unfit (in the sense that I'm jobless and completely reliant on his child support payments on top of monthly SSI) mother.  Deep down, I know that is not the case, I've taken care of them for their entire lives - I've loved and nurtured and supported them in every single thing they've strived to do - I was the one to take them to doctors, emergency rooms, any appointments.  I'm the one who attended basketball games, concerts (even though I can't hear a damn thing at those - it was MY face they saw more often, because he was either late or held up at work).  I'm the one who took them shopping (yes, with his money) whenever they needed anything.  In my opinion, that's better parenting than he's ever done.  But all of that, for some reason, doesn't seem like enough when pitted against a person like him.  He's spent enough time putting me down and making my accomplishments seem minuscule compared to HIS 'financial support' and I'm left with that dreaded feeling that a judge will agree with him and declare that they're better off with him.  Granted, the judge would have to be just as much of an asshole as he is but it's not a chance I am emotionally comfortable taking right now.  
    And, unfortunately my kids, if they were asked, are too damn afraid to speak up on HIS faults and abusive ways.  For some reason (probably because of his constant abuse!) they are naturally terrified of disappointing their father and I am fearful that I'd lose them entirely if they were too afraid to speak the truth.
    I've decided that, for now, I'm going to watch the wasband like a hawk - and the MINUTE he causes either of my children (or any of his others, I don't discriminate, especially since I raised his elder two and his youngest is my godchild!) any physical harm, will be the same minute I contact an attorney.  The emotional damage has already been done to all of us - and although I don't live with him anymore, I am STILL suffering those effects.  Y'all have seen how much of his bullshit has seeped into my current relationship.  And my kids, one of whom is now an adult, I can't expect to say or do anything that I can't even do, myself.  
    It looks like, though, little by little, my ex is losing their respect.  And it is something that he has brought upon himself.  In a way, that's a win for me. I'll no longer defend him to my kids - they're too smart for it, now.  And it is a small comfort that they are seeing him for who he is and that they don't like it, either.  Of course they love him.  Very much.  But it's VERY possible to love someone and hate them at the same time! 
    My son will likely never read this, but I feel I need to say something to him, even if it's in my head or here in the blog...
    BUT, thank you, Son.  You validate me more and more each time you share with me.  I hope you'll feel safe enough to KEEP talking to me about these things because for the first time in years, I feel like we COMPLETELY understand each other.  I'm glad that you know that I love you and will support you if ever you needed or wanted it.  And when the time comes for us to be 'freed,' I think this is what will enable us to heal together, along with your sister!
    The domestic violence struggle is so real, friends.  It's had (and still has!) such a debilitating effect on me and on them.  And I hope that this blog entry serves to further explain what DV survivors struggle with on a day-to-day, even after they've been removed from the situation.  It's not fun-and-games, it's not easy, it's frustrating, and it's disheartening.  
    With that, I hope you'll take the opportunity to let someone else know that you love and support them, regardless of what they are dealing with - that doesn't matter.  What DOES matter is knowing that you have their back.  That makes a world of a difference, and it's what I'm going to tell my kids, EVERY SINGLE DAY.
    - Capulet
  9. Capulet
    Hello, all!
    There's so much to update on but this week, the words elude me.  I guess I will just write, though - and see what flows.
    To start things off, we once again are hearing the pitter-patter of little paws in the house.  J has been feeling lately that void where Dexter used to be - he was her comfort, he always seemed to KNOW when she needed a cuddle.  So we adopted Salem - he's an 8-week old, all-black kitten.  Accompanying him is the plenty of scratches and teeth marks up our arms and legs - but all in all, we're happy and he's setting into his new home nicely.  He's not Dexter - nor will he ever be - but in some ways, he's already channeling our buddy, who will officially be gone two months on Thursday.  It still seems so unreal.  It IS, however, bringing content smiles to my beautiful wife's face, smiles I have not seen in a while.  If she's happy, I'm happy - and I gotta admit, the little guy IS cute!!
    Oompa came to visit, as promised.  I mentioned a couple of blog entries ago that she wanted me to 'greet' my uncle at my nephew/niece's birthday celebration - I chose not to.  My mother wasn't happy about this and stated that when she asks me for 'favors,' it's usually for a reason.  I asked at the time WHAT possible good reason there EVER could be for me to say hello to someone that I loathe.  She couldn't supply one at the time; she was likely at my sister's house and there were roaming eyes - so she said she'd tell me when she came to visit.
    Well - that visit came and went - and the only thing I was left with was a headache that lasted for two days post-Oompa departure.  While she was here, she tasked herself with the cleaning of my kitchen - (apparently she decided that my kitchen had excess 'clutter,' something that HER kitchen is not completely devoid of, nor was it ever!) and working on a blanket that she brought with her to crochet.  When she's at home, all she does is complain how tired she is - granted, she takes on way too much and this is her own fault - but when she's here, she won't go to bed until after 11.  (Yes, you may insert the moaning and groaning here!)  
    While she was here, she wanted to watch an episode of SVU.  Now, I don't watch this frequently - if it's on and there's nothing else of interest, I'll watch it - but I honestly lost track of the show during the Stabler days.  Anyway, my mother watches it weekly and did so on Thursday night - "watch with me," she said - so I did - but only because she'd be going to bed after and THEN I'd have my peace and quiet.  
    Anyhow, this particular episode - a man was about to get married and someone stood up in the church when the minister said, "speak now or forever hold your peace."  The woman who stood claimed, in front of all of the guests, that the groom had raped her.  I won't get into details in case any of you watch SVU and haven't seen this episode - but the accuser was investigated thoroughly, and my mother's commentary throughout was, 'oh, she's lying,' or 'I don't believe her.'  
    As it turns out, the woman wasn't being 100% truthful, but she was also not lying.  It's something you'd have to see to understand the full story of - but to hear my mother repeatedly invalidate this woman's words - it just further solidified that I can never - EVER - share with her.  Not about her brother, not about the isolated SA experience that further changed me.  None of it.  Instead, I have to pretend that I am unaffected by sexual assault; I have to shield from her, from most people around me, reasons for my being the way I am.  I am just not safe to emerge from behind that shield, yet.  I wonder, though, if I ever will be.
    I'm also momentarily propelled back into childhood when my mother would tell me that I lied, I made up stories.  For her to invalidate a fictional character was telling me that she was also invalidating ME - and so, even though I wanted to scream at her, I kept my mouth shut and 'put it in my sleeve.'  In a way, I'm GLAD she said nothing about her good-for-nothing brother - at this point, the anger I feel has bottled up over having to see him recently, (being asked to say HELLO to him, too?) is invalid because I'm a liar, too, just like this woman on television, and I made up a story when I was six years old.  If Oompa is of the self-imposed mindset that I made this up as a young child and is OKAY with that belief, then there's no changing it now, nor any motivation to try changing it.
    Come to think of it, perhaps this is why, for a full day after she left, I was feeling as if I was carrying a boulder (that was my head) atop my neck.  It was like there were a marching band making its rounds through my brain.  The throbbing was AWFUL.  I am glad to say, though, that has stopped and I'm feeling MUCH better and calmer now.
    SAAM (Sexual Assault Awareness Month) is in full swing, here - got the heads' up from M that this month's group would have to do with SAAM and we'd be designing and making Take Back the Night signs in Art Group tomorrow (Tuesday).  
    During the last several days' Mets games, I've been making loom bracelets in between pitches - I now have 20 of them - to distribute among the ladies at Art Group when I go tomorrow evening.  I think they'll love them - and I'm only wishing I could have made more. I probably would have, too, had I not run out of the color I needed - but I felt that SOMETHING needed to be done to spread awareness.  I've NOT participated in the #metoo movement on Facebook, even though a part of me did want to.  I've not posted anything on social media that could be interpreted as, "I'm a survivor," and no, it's not because I'm ashamed.  I've just got eyes (Oompa's, my kids', other family members') on my social media accounts (even if it's just Facebook and a somewhat-abandoned Instagram account) that I don't want seeing this side of me that I've chosen to keep private.  With what I've mentioned of my mother above, I do know not many would blame me for doing so, but at the same time, I feel angry that I've had to hold my tongue for so long, and that my reasons for keeping silent are for self-protection - I certainly don't wish to protect the man who raped me; he SHOULD be exposed for the animal he is - especially if he's living the good life that I know he doesn't deserve.  
    I went through HUNDREDS of black, white and teal rubber bands and although after the first two or three, the rest were woven in autopilot mode, I did do some reflecting as I put them together.  I'm going on 23 years since I was SA'd.  Yet, it still lingers, it still stings, it still tarnishes thoughts that would otherwise be beautiful. Yes, time has been good to me in the sense that some of these thoughts have lessened and I'm in an overall good place with all of it - but there's still the occasional reminder of that night.  I'm not even talking about the CSA that happened prior to the rape, I'm referring back to that night in 1996 when I'd be forced down an alternative path, one that was unmapped and held nothing but uncertainty.  
    I've also decided that in synchrony with going back to school and getting my Bachelor's in Social Work, I will also be exploring other ways of getting involved within my community.  I feel that I have spent enough time silently acknowledging that I am a survivor.  It is time to embrace the fact that I am not just a survivor, but one that is ready, willing, and able to interact with other survivors - even if on a peer level first.  I think I've kept this part of my life private for FAR too long - and it's time to emerge within my community as a 'known' survivor, even if it means continuing to keep my mother in the dark.  It's easier to do this now that I don't live so close to her and I've effectively managed to keep her at arms' length.  
    I've expressed a desire to M to, when the time comes, do my internship at the Women's Center where the monthly groups are held - and have made it known that I would like to volunteer there, as well as eventually apply for a job there.  She will be letting me know when I can speak to their volunteer coordinator - in October, it will be one year since I joined them at the center for groups, and that's the amount of time you need to be affiliated with them in order to be considered for volunteering services.  
    You know what's messed up, though?  In a small way?
    I did tell Oompa my plans to volunteer at the center.  And I told her that it was in preparation for the line of work I'll be going into once I've got my degree in hand and that they offer the training class to their volunteers for free - non-volunteers needed to fund this training course out-of-pocket.   She did ask why I would be going to a place like that or getting involved with them - and to tell her that it was because I wanted to eventually WORK there and not because it was because I BELONGED there - seemed...I don't know.  Like it was the truth, but not the whole honest truth.  I don't consider myself a dishonest person but to put it that way...it feels wrong.  Does that make sense?  
    A little?  Not at all?  Is my brain just in overdrive, per usual?
    For those of you who are observing SAAM alongside me - know that I stand next to you, whether or not you're observing silently.  I support you this month, and every month. I believe you.  And I am sending you one of my handmade loom bands, even if I've got to do it mentally.  
    Anyway.  Just wanted to empty off some of this chatter that is swirling within my brain.  I do think I'll be back within the next few days with another update, especially after tomorrow's Art meeting. 
    I am hoping everyone's having a fantastic day in your parts of the world!  Spring has officially sprung here - it is LOOKING like we are done with snow and 50-60 degree weather is here for at least the next ten days.  But living where I live is anything but predictable and that's subject to change.  Hoping not, though - I'd REALLY like to break out my outdoor furniture and get the back yard 'barbecue ready!'
    Until next time.  Sending y'all lots of love and hugs.  If you don't want the hugs, kindly pass 'em onto the person behind you.  I won't be offended. 
    - Capulet
  10. Capulet

    Snowmageddon!

    By Capulet,

    My deepest apologies to you all for being MIA; my being scarce were for reasons beyond my control. 
    As some of you know, I live in Eastern Pennsylvania, and we have met our match in Mother Nature.
    Last Thursday, which will be one week since chaos had began to ensue, I took the daughter for her flu shot.  You’d think spending three hours at the doctor’s office (waiting, waiting, and WAITING - this lady takes literally an hour on each patient!) would be a forewarning of the holy hell that was about to arrive, pure insanity by the name of Winter Storm Riley.
    After the doctor administered the flu shot + two other overdue immunizations, we asked her if there would be any side effects.  To this, the doctor replied, “She may run a fever.  But we’re likely to not have school tomorrow, anyway.”  
    We look out the window.  The freezing rain had begun.  
    Now, this is a doctor whose office doesn’t even have the proper in-office apparatus to run strep or flu tests, so any throat cultures or flu swabs have to be done at another location, so that DOUBLES the waiting time in most cases.  And she can’t even tell me what my kids have right then and there, I have to go to the lab, have the tests run, then go home and wait for them to call with results and a diagnosis.  In what world is this even right???? 
    On THAT, though, she was one hundred percent correct.  The cancellation call arrived at night.  The automated, monotonous message that my kids have grown to LOVE.
    “This is a call from the Blah, Blah, Blah, School District.  Schools will be closed tomorrow, March 2nd, 2018 due to inclement weather.”
    Both of them high-fived each other.  “AWESOME!”
    Yeah, those are my two scholars.  Sadly, they both inherited my hatred for school, although the son does well without trying while the daughter, more like I did, has to work a little bit harder to get the higher grade.
    Anyway, we all sleep in on Friday morning, with the exception of J, who went to work for 7am.  When she left, the snow had just been starting.  Snow started early in the morning and accumulated quickly, along with some nasty winds that blew the snow around, making it pretty hard to see past a few feet ahead of us while standing at the front door.  I managed to get ahold of the wasband via text and come to find out that his power had gone out around 11am.   
    We stayed inside the whole time; none of us were brave enough to go out and attempt to shovel; I say brave, my son will still say ‘stupid.’  Because, of course, to a lazy 17-year-old, to go out and shovel and then have your hard work erased by more fallen snow, was pointless.  When it was time for J to leave work, I coaxed him outside, though, to attempt to dig out a spot for her to pull into.  But the whole, ENTIRE time… 
    “Oh, man, Mom.”
    “Ma, look, it’s really bad.”
    “Look, Madre, the trees are swaying pretty hard…and I think the neighbor’s Sycamore just fell down.”
    “Mom, you know, we’re going to die out here.”
    I told him to cut out the dramatics, suck it up and shovel…he did.  But he did also attempt to complain several more times before realizing that they had no effect on me.  We managed to clear the “wall” plowed into the top of the driveway and we went back inside knowing we’d done the best we could.
    Let it be known that J leaves work at 3pm.  By 4:30, she still hadn’t arrived home.  She texted to say she couldn’t get through the main road that she takes to get home.  There are about three or four different ways to get home.  Each path she had attempted to take was riddled with downed trees and power lines, cars were pulled over on the side of the road because they were either stuck, or also trying to plan out alternate routes.  She said via text that she was going to get a bite to eat at Wendy’s which was open, and then she’d try a different way after she’d had something to eat.
    I sat in the ‘worry chair,’ the same recliner I sat in when I let my son take the car.  Yep, we all remember that chair! 
    Then, at about 5pm, our power went out, taking with it our heat and running water.  For those of you who don’t understand that last bit, our well pump is run on electricity, so when there’s a power outage, there’s absolutely no running water.  Toilet-flushing is not possible unless you're a survivalist and have about a dozen gallons stored somewhere in the house, reserved for such catastrophes.  And apparently, no internet, either.
    “Oh, my GOD!!!!  My internet isn’t working!”  The daughter is screeching now, likely because her bestie’s face is now frozen on her iPad’s screen.  “Mommmmmyyyy!  There’s no WIFI!”
    “Okay, we’re just going to have to wait it out, kiddo,” I’m still sitting in the worry chair.  Where the hell is my better half??  I could just envision her being stuck and getting nowhere, it’s not a pretty thought at all.
    “You see?” the son is looking out the window, “It doesn’t even look like we shoveled.”
    He was kinda right.  I couldn’t even see the path we’d shoveled for J.  And daylight was beginning to run out, and we were soon to be welcoming darkness for an unknown period of time.
    I lit some candles, using whatever little light was left in the house.  I also fired up the fireplace, as that’s operated on propane, in hopes of conserving the heat we had circulating around the upstairs portion of the house.
    The son stated he was bored out of his mind (because, really, when there’s no power, cable or internet, what is there to POSSIBLY do?) and retired to his room, stating that I should wake him up when the power comes back.  The daughter too, went to her room and said she was going to TRY to sleep.
    At about seven, J walks in, cold, pissed off and wet.  Apparently a 30-minute commute had taken her FOUR HOURS, and had she found herself unable to get home, she would have gone back to work.  Thankfully, though, she made it home before having to resort to returning to her place of employment.
    After wifey had changed into comfy dry clothes, we went to daughter’s room to get her, then we dug out board games and a camping lantern we had lurking in the garage.  We ate ice cream for dinner/food since that’s usually the first thing to go in a freezer with no power.  We ate chips.  Anything we could possibly eat, we ate.  Many laughs were shared, especially during a game of LIFE, where J was the big winner and daughter and I retired with about a hundred grand apiece.  We played another board game with the son who came upstairs around nine, in search of a snack.  Got to say, he wasn't happy to see that his nap didn't fast-forward enough time where there was no power.
    "We don't have power yet?"
    "Yes, darling, we're sitting here in the dark and cold because it's fun.  Should try it, sometime."
    We played another game called "Sliders," where we had to knock each other's pegs out of play, tally up points and be the first to reach a certain number.  Then, after a couple more hours, I turned off the fireplace, we all put on hoodies and I was in my bed before midnight!  J had work early, so she was snoring within minutes.
    Y'all know about my issue with lights - well, as my room was PITCH BLACK without a single light being on for me to cover up, I left the house phone uncovered, just in case I woke up in the middle of the night.  If, at any point, I were to open my eyes and there was a little red light on, then I'd know power had returned.  
    The little red light never appeared.  I could kick myself in the ass for thinking about that too much in place of sleeping.
    J left for work early, while it was still dark.  I got up out of bed as soon as I saw the first signs of daylight.  No power.  No running water.  House was CHILLY.
    The first thing I did was go outside and begin to shovel the mess Riley left us.  Both of my kids remained dead to the world.  I didn't mind, this time.  I needed a little ME time, I needed to think, I needed to busy myself.  I, too, was suffering internet withdrawals and missing being able to connect with others.  I was worrying about the food in my fridge, food that I knew I'd soon have to throw away because we were more than 12 hours without power and the fridge was no longer cold when opened.  After I'd been shoveling for about an hour, I woke them both up and told them that if they came out and helped, we could attempt to get out of the house and go in search of water jugs (for the toilets, which by now STUNK to high heaven), hot food and cell service.
    I think it was the 'cell service' that got them to move.  The son came outside and helped me shovel a path from my car to the end of the driveway.  In the process, I pulled a tree branch a little thicker than a baseball bat in diameter, off the roof of my car, close to the top of the back passenger door.  There is a small dent from where it landed; I suspect it flew off a nearby tree and my car was, unfortunately, in its path.  It's not major damage, so we heaved the branch into a snowbank and carried on.
    We went to town, and my son took a number of photos of the devastation.  Driving through my local town was terrifying.  Traffic lights were out in most of the areas without power.  Thankfully, the locals were as nervous as I and people were, for the most part, considerate and everyone was careful.  A lot of "go ahead" hand waves, lots of open windows, blinking headlights to warn of upcoming road obstructions, which there were TONS of.  To be on the safe side, we took the route J had used the night before to come home from work and no matter where we turned, there were downed trees, some rested atop the power lines, some lines completely down, some telephone poles only five to six feet off the ground, some debris completely blocking off a lane.  Total chaos.  It took me roughly an hour to get to a part of town that normally takes fifteen to twenty minutes to get to, but boy, did we get a look at all of Riley's aftermath in the process.  I am going to ask my son to send me some of the pictures he took with his phone; as I was behind the wheel and slowed down in many areas, he took the opportunity to photograph some of the mess.
    We found a store selling water (and they were rapidly running out, too!) and I bought ten gallon jugs.  Then, we went to Wendy's, which was packed.  Lots of folks were without power and water, so this was the eatery of choice, being easily accessible and convenient.  Took us another hour to order and eat our food.  Then, we were back in the car, charging all our phones and tablets.
    "Shall we go home and see if the power is back?"
    "Sure, Mom."
    Sadly, our power was not back.  House was getting colder and colder by the hour.  My five cats were VERY confused.  The poor things were huddled together, at least the ones who could stand each other.  
    Rather than give a play-by-play of the last five days, I'll just mention the highlights, or this nightmare will NEVER end. 
    The wasband drove an hour and a half away and bought a generator from New Jersey.  By the time evening rolled around, my two kids were relocated to his house (and it was also his time with them so I wasn't gypped any of my time) where he now had limited power and running water.  Of course, the wasband was also kind enough to invite J and I to go stay over there until OUR power came back, but we politely declined.  Many reasons, but the two main ones were simply there is NOTHING short of chaos every time we're there, and we didn't want to leave our pets alone in a cold house without any heat source overnight.  
    By the way, yes, we do need a generator, and as I told my godchild (wasband's youngest) the other day, it's going to be what I ask Santa Claus for, come next Christmas.  That, and a snowblower.  I just don't have the funds to invest in one right now.  
    J and I relocated all of our food onto the back porch.  The milk, eggs, mayo, Ranch dressing, bags of cheese, other containers with leftovers and other perishable foods, all plopped into the snow.  I filled a cooler with snow and threw other stuff in there.  Fortunately, my freezer contents were still hard as a rock, so I wasn't worrying about those, yet.  But, in the meantime, some things were salvaged.  I was also able to fire up the propane grill and make us some meals out of whatever had defrosted.  We had to eat a lot of stuff cold, but it was better than letting anything go to waste.
    J insisted we move our queen sized mattress into the living room so that we could sleep in front of the fireplace, which is what we did until last night.  You can imagine what a NIGHTMARE this was for me; the living room is VERY sunny in the morning.  Oh, and trying to sleep in a room shared with five nocturnal feline companions who will use your ass as a springboard isn't easy, either.  Needless to say, the first morning, I woke up as soon as the sun came up.  I WAS still tired so I managed to fall asleep for several minutes at a time before I got up and got ready to go back into town, because that was going to be the only way I could connect with anybody.  Still no power, no running water, no service.  J and I planned at least three trips to wasband's house to borrow a shower.  
    We ate a WHOLE lot of pizza.  We ALMOST went to dinner at an actual sit-down place but the local restaurants were ALL packed - power outages for this long has left MANY people defeated and hungry.  Rather than wait hours for a table at a nicer, popular restaurant, we settled for local pizzerias.
    Both of our diets have gone out the window, at least for now.  
    We had bowling on Monday night.  A lot of the people we bowl with live in areas nearby.  Areas without power and running water.  The alley certainly smelled like everyone's ass.  
    Power went out on Friday, 3/2 at 5pm.  It was finally restored on Tuesday night, 3/6 at 8:30pm.
    FOUR days of this crap!
    But that's not even the end of it.  We were actually at wasband's house, (eating more pizza, taking another shower) when the neighbor texted me those three BEAUTIFUL words:
    "The power's on!"
    J and I said our thank-yous to the wasband and his wife, and we flew home.  Turned on all the faucets.  "Water!  We have water!!!"  The cats are even more confused now, because J and I are running around like headless chickens.  We checked all the lights.  "YES!  They work!"  
    "You go flush the toilets upstairs, I'll get the one downstairs!"  I swear to Merlin, the house was starting to STINK because of those toilets!
    We ran into our first problem when we noticed the oil burner wasn't running and the house was beginning to .  There's a button on it that you press to get the thing going again, but for some reason, it wouldn't start.  It actually did once, but then turned off and refused to turn back on, which means - no heat or hot water.  We did have water, just would be ice-cold until we could get the boiler running.
    "Well, it looks like we're sleeping in the living room, again," says J...one more night of relying on propane, but we at least had working electricity.  Which is good because yesterday (Wednesday) we were planning to meet Winter Storm Quinn (the next one!) and there were some people, including the wasband, who still had no power.  I had been hoping and wishing all day long that ours would be back because by now, we're DEFINITELY low on propane!  He does have the generator and they are warm and comfortable for now.  I was just glad that my fridge was running now, and before we had another foot of snow dumped on us, we transferred the food from the porch back into the fridge, praying that we didn't lose power again.
    Anyway, we ran the fireplace one more night.  While the power was on, it was still SO cold in the house, particularly the lower level where there had been absolutely no heat or activity in five days.
    Yesterday morning, we went around the corner to the fire station, which we discovered was an ideal and close-by location to get cell service, and we made phone calls during the 'calm before the storm.'  Managed to get the oil burner guy over and there is good and bad news here - the good news is, he managed to get the boiler going.  The bad news - we need a new one, and SOON.  The way he described it to us was - the exhaust motor was not present and the exhaust wasn't venting properly, the unit was old, for him to fix it this time was like putting a band-aid over a stab wound - we didn't know how long this 'fix' was going to last.  And, so...we consulted with our bank accounts and we have an appointment to have a new boiler put in on Friday morning.  Even badder news - it's going to cost us almost SIX grand to replace the whole system, because the previous owner of this house put the boiler through a BEATING.  He's also the asshole who probably took the exhaust motor with him when he moved, along with the doors and floors.  I mean, WHO does that?!  I don't even need to ask if people are truly that indecent, because I know they certainly can be.
    Yesterday, we got about six to eight inches more of snow.  Power stayed on, sans one 'hiccup' where lights were out for a couple of seconds and then came back on.  Additionally, I lost internet and cable a couple times.  Figured I would update this while it was back, not knowing if I'll experience another outage in the next few hours or days to come.  I don't want to say I'm back when things are still quite unstable but I can safely say I'm 'semi' back.  I'm here when I can be, I've been conserving energy whenever I can, although I don't think that stands a chance against a downed tree.  Thankfully winds aren't as strong today, so maybe this Pennsylvania town can begin to recuperate.
    I'm hoping we can, too, I think we'll feel better once the oil burner is installed on Friday morning.
    So, that's the long-overdue update for now.
    I'll be back when I can with another!
    Love to all.
    - Capulet
  11. Capulet
    Greetings friends, 
    Here's hoping that June is wrapping up nicely for you all!  
    It has been an absolutely insane month between trying to get the back yard finished, my son's high school graduation, the end of the school year for all students, having yet another handyman/contractor show up to install a transfer switch for our new generator (our VERY early Christmas present from Oompa) as well as a ceiling fan in our family room so that we don't melt this summer.  And I also got the ball rolling (with J's help) on making my first doctor's appointment in the state of Pennsylvania.  
    Side note: I'm TERRIBLE with doctors, guys.  TERRIBLE.  I've been sick a small handful of times since we moved here eleven months ago.  I've changed insurances two times but STILL have not gone to a single physician, primary care or otherwise.  ('otherwise' is the reason for tomorrow's 10am appointment)  I don't know if this is the norm for everyone.  Yes, I am well aware that NO one likes the doctor or going to visit but I sadly admit that in the past several years, I've gone out of my way to avoid anyone with "M.D." after their names.  Dentists, too.  While my health is slowly improving due to diet and lifestyle changes that I've initiated without a doctor's recommendation, I've got other, separate issues that I've been ignoring because they're not an emergency and I'm not experiencing any discomfort that I can't live with.
    This won't do, though - I'm smart enough to know and realize that this is by no means a permanent solution.  Over the past several months, I've had some uncomfortable and unfavorable side effects to the birth control medications I'd been taking for years, now - so it's time for a GYN exam/re-evaluation of whether or not this medication is still good for me or it's time to find something else.  This will require a physical examination, I'm sure, as well as a breast exam, a pelvic...and to top all that off, this is a NEW doctor that I've never seen before, and even better (not really) - it's a male doctor.
    Honestly, aside from not being able to live with one, I have nothing against men.  There are some fine, upstanding men in my life that I love very much.  However, from a medical perspective, I don't care if my dentist is a male. I don't even care if my PCP is a male.  I don't care if I go to the ER with a mysterious onset of symptoms, chances are you'll get whoever's able to handle your needs first.  But if someone's going to be poking around in the nether regions, it'd damn well BETTER be a female!  However, I'm not getting my way this time around.  The situation I'm having right now with irregular spotting/bleeding needs to be handled NOW (I've had enough) and the female doctor in the office is not available until August.  And so I'll suck it up and go visit the male doctor, but will INSIST upon having a female nurse present during the exam.  There usually is one, though, so this helps me not to lose my shit over this and focus more on resolving this medication issue and for future appointments, I can always switch to the female as she'll be available for the next visit.
    Anyway - let's move on.  (chorus:  "Yes, please!")
    So...recently, I've had some things come up that have made me question how I come across to others.  It's also made me question myself, in some ways.  I don't blame myself for the REASONS I am who I am, but I wonder if, along the way, I should have made more of an effort to be a different TYPE of person, overall.  A different version of me that others see.
    Yes, I know....you all have your "HUH?" faces on right about now?
    As I attempt to explain this, I don't want to get into extremes because in order to do so, I'd have to share personal background information about certain family members that I don't feel that should be put out there by me.  So I will do the best I can whilst omitting incriminating details.  
    There was a misunderstanding about three weeks ago, between myself and a few of my in-laws.  
    I WILL say that two of these in-laws (J's parents) are NOT supportive nor do they approve of my long-lived relationship with J, but it is for religious reasons - as a person, they like me, or so they say...but as J's partner/lover, they do not.  I have repeatedly felt that they hold J's decision to move away from them against me  - for I, at this point, represent to them her choice to leave her family behind in pursuit of love as well as a better life for herself.  I often wonder if this sits in the back of their head, even though J made this decision on her own...every time they see me, are they consumed with a level of hidden animosity toward me and this prevents them from truly liking me?  Whether they do like me as a person is true or not, I really don't care at this point, but let's be real - who wants to be disliked or given the feeling that they're not accepted in EVERY aspect?  I certainly don't, and I don't know if this stems from an early desire to people-please but deep down, the two-facedness of J's parents bothers me a GREAT deal and it has for years.  
    Regardless, they are her parents and I respectfully keep a distance whenever they are around or we go visit them.  I do not believe in their religion, but know that it truly makes them uncomfortable to see me slide a hand around J's waist or hold her hand, or peck her on the lips as I walk by...and so whenever in their company, I find it more effective to just sit across a room or excuse myself entirely so that they can feel comfortable visiting with their daughter without me around.  It's not as if they attempt to engage me in conversation, either - when they do, it's simply small talk.  They have made absolutely NO efforts to get to know me on a deeper level - I don't think they even know J as well as they would like to think - so I don't take it personally. I am comfortable just keeping that rift in place; although we are polite to one another and we engage in simple, meaningless chit-chat and kiss hello and goodbye, there is always going to be that unspoken understanding between her parents and I.  It's unfortunate that it has to be this way, but it's something I simply don't know how to fix nor do I know if its within my capability to do so seeing as they're not only drinking the Kool-Aid, they're also SWIMMING in it.
    Now, one of J's sisters is another story.  She has always been an ally to us, a very strong supporter of our relationship.  She's always been the OPPOSITE of their parents.  And before I came along, she was J's 'person.'  J felt comfortable going to this sister for emotional support, for advice, for whatever at all she needed.  And resultedly, they became EXTREMELY close.  She, too, misses J a great deal, and even though she's been living away from the rest of her family for nine years, will sometimes comment on how she wishes that we lived closer to all of them - I'm sure J wouldn't mind cutting the trip back home by a few hours, but for me, that'd be a HUGE no-no based on the cold shoulder I'm used to receiving from the parents.  And they currently live WITH her sister, so lately, I've felt myself detaching even MORE and allowing J to go visit them all (her parents and sister) and I'd stay home so that she would not have to hear me moan and groan about how uncomfortable I am and how much I want to go home - this usually starts about ten to fifteen minutes after we arrive.   It's not fair to J to have to feel pressured or rushed while visiting her family, and so it's just better this way - it's better for me to stay behind so that she feels less pressure, less tension when she's in their company.
    I'm not sure if this is doing us any favors in the end, though.
    Here's a short summary of what happened.  Recently, J underwent a medical procedure (no further details needed here other than that) - and there was a miscommunication between J and her family and somehow, her sister's claws came out and she lashed out at me because she felt that I wasn't handling the situation in a manner that was acceptable to her.  She said some horrible things to me through Facebook messaging and came at me with some OTHER things that were nothing less than surprising to hear, coming from someone I thought was on our side.  I'm not sure where THOSE comments came from, but basically, I'm wondering if her sister has also been two-faced all along...because yes, while a lot of things are said in anger that aren't necessarily true, there's always an element, no matter how small, of truth to it.  People don't say things that they don't truly believe in the smallest way, so now I'm left with a lot of underlying, leftover stray, random thoughts that are strengthening this rift that was put into place by her parents.  
    At the time when J's sister got nasty with me, I responded in kind.  Actually, I wasn't nasty, nor was I rude - but I WAS firm and I defended myself - I simply told her MY perspective on the whole thing and she seemingly backed off - she ended her part of the conversation with "I'm sorry, I just love my sister so much and if I can't be there, I expect YOU to be."  It was something along those lines, something indicative of her belief that I would actually allow the love of my life to be without ANYTHING that she needed as she underwent this treatment.  And so, I shot back, "I've been loving and taking care of your sister for the last ten years, almost.  I'm not stopping now."
    And it ended there...no resolution, no making nice, just a dropped conversation.  I was SEETHING, though.  I mean...what the fuck!?  Never in my life have I mistreated someone, especially someone I've been in a relationship with.  I've never cheated on a partner - having been repeatedly cheated on by the wasband, other partners in the past, I'd never dare to do that to someone I loved.  I've never been abusive nor have I raised my hand to another person, except in dreams...and many of you will remember that I have trouble doing that even in my dreams.  Sure, J and I have got our occasional moments where we bicker but it's NEVER been a full-on fight.  We are soul mates in every sense of the word...I've never done a thing to deserve what was said to me, and I truly felt blindsided - I think that's really the gist of why I felt so frazzled afterwards.   
    J had her medical procedure done, which lasted one week. During that week, I had many, MANY conversations with her.  I really didn't want to share what was said to me by her sister/family before she had the procedure done as not to add any stress to her already overflowing plate, but she knew something was bothering me before the procedure and all plans to wait on discussing it went out the window.  Honestly, it would have likely made things worse if we had saved these conversations for later.  They couldn't be delayed without mounting anxiety in the meantime...and so I shared with her the messages, to include my responses.  I was completely honest with her about everything that was said, as well as everything I was feeling.  Her sister had made a lot of comments that had led me to believe that she'd been misunderstanding J for a long time, as well - I simply couldn't understand where some of these horrible things CAME from!
    Side note - J's parents and sister were invited to the Son's graduation party to be held at our house.  Prior to this 'falling out,' they were planning to come.  After all was said and hurt feelings and shit being slung from every corner, I wasn't sure they'd still come but they did tell J that they were still attending.  Now, her parents, I knew from before, would never change.  We're still going to have those uncomfortable, awkward moments - because that's what we've established at this point.  It is what it is with them.  
    But her sister was also coming and SHE's the one I am having the most issue with at the moment.  My son's party was going to be the first time I'd seen or heard from her sister since this incident, and nothing had been resolved nor any apologies made, nor any attempts made to set things right.  I wasn't approaching her - because I feel I did my part and what she did, she did unnecessarily and it was completely uncalled for.  
    And so J had a conversation with her sister on the morning of the party.  They called to let J know that they were on the road and asked if we'd like to meet them fro breakfast.  I declined because I still had a lot of setting up to do and couldn't get away, but J got dressed and went to go meet them.  She was also tasked with speaking with her sister beforehand and letting her know that this was NOT the time for continued awkwardness or an argument - it was my Son's graduation celebration and I wasn't going to be made to feel uncomfortable or angry by anyone.  This was a day to marvel in the Son's accomplishments, enjoy the company of the people who came to share in it - there was much to be discussed but now wasn't the time nor place.
    When J's sister arrived, she came in first, ahead of J and their parents.  Without a word, she took my hand and brought me into the bedroom.  There, she apologized for what she said to me and explained that a lot of her behavior stems from her feelings of helplessness - being four hours' drive away from J was taking a toll.  When J called to let them know that she had to get the procedure done, she had been upset and as a result, her sister's protective side took over - she didn't understand the full picture and so she prematurely lashed out, thinking I wasn't upholding my end of what needed to be done.  I told her I, too, was sorry - not for what I said to defend myself, but if I'd somehow given her the impression that I was in any way abandoning J's needs or coming across as being selfish because that indeed is not the person I am.  And I also said that while I expected that sort of comment to come from their MOTHER, it was extremely hurtful to even think she'd (her sister) think that low of me after knowing me for nine and a half years.  Her sister looked me in the eyes and told me that I, too, was her sister.  She loved me, she lost her mind momentarily and her claws would have come out for me too, if there ever were a situation where I needed defending.  (And I think this is another 'issue' that needs addressing at a later time - J is a grown woman and can certainly defend herself if she felt the need to do so...and from our talks on this matter, J has never felt the need to do so with me - it looks more to be an internal issue that her sister is having...for the duty of being J's 'person' is no longer hers - perhaps she's having trouble with that and it has also caused her to lash out on me - because I didn't 'do' things the way she would have, etc...)
    J's sister ended this five-minute conversation apologizing once again and then saying that she would like for us to become closer.  She'd like for us to talk once per week, through text or through FB.  She'd like for us to truly get to know one another, beyond the hellos, goodbyes and small talk - which admittedly while I am more comfortable being affectionate toward J when her sister is around than her parents, I STILL don't feel I quite fit in there, either.  What happened has certainly driven that wedge further, but we made 'nice' for the moment, which is what I needed to happen in order to start moving forward.  
    There is still some work and reparations to be done/made as far as this relationship I have with J's sister, but it's made me think about OTHER relationships that exist in my life.  Relationships with family members, with my parents, with my sisters, with my children, with the wasband, with friends, with people I've met here.  The list goes on.  
    A little statistic for those factoid-lovers out there - on average, us humans live for 78.3 years. Most of us remember people we meet after age 5.  So, let's assume we interact with 3 new people daily in cities, 365 days in a year plus leap yeas days is 365.24. In total it will be (78.3 – 5) x 3 x 365.24 = 80,000 people we interact with in a lifetime.  Let's also assume that at least 20% of these people are ones whose names we know, who we remember beyond that first meeting.  That still comes out to be a pretty big number of people.
    It's made me think about myself a lot, too.  About the walls I put up...(I think the POTUS would be proud.)
    These walls have been up for a long, long time, I'm guessing.  I have such a hard time allowing people through...I am picturing this as I type...there's a HUGE wall, possibly two or three football fields' width, with a single door somewhere in the middle.  Some people have made me aware that they've been running into, driving into, attempting to jump over it, even trying to dig underneath it...but can't seem to get through that tiny little doorway enough to say that they TRULY know me.  And, you know...this isn't their fault - it's the way I've intended for it to be - all the while I've had the key and means to allow people in.  
    Right now, after the events that have transpired recently, the only one who is behind this wall and has one hundred percent of my heart, soul and trust, is J.
    She's inside this wall, and she's sitting next to me and we're surrounded by this enormous amount of open space.  I am imagining though that while I like that well enough, it's still a lonely place - because between the presence of this wall and the amount of time it's been up, I'm at risk of ending up alone later in life.  Because as much as I don't want to imagine this ever happening - I have to be realistic and remember that ANYTHING can happen that could result in a break-up or separation.  This is NOT to say this is something I am concerned with right now because J's and my love is a strong one, perhaps even stronger than these walls - but I have to repeatedly ask myself - hypothetically, what if someday, she wasn't there anymore?  Then what?  Where would that leave me, standing in the middle of this huge, empty space?  I know that I have been able to scale J's walls but her sister has been behind her wall before me, so if something were to happen to me resulting in my death, I know that moving forward, J would be okay - she has another rock situated there for life.  Me, though?  She's it. I love her with everything I am and if life could guarantee that she's going to be there for the rest of my life, this wouldn't even be a thought.  But it can't.  And I've been working so hard and for so long to make sure she's the only one there.  I'm not sure if this is more harmful than helpful, though.
    Not even my mother has breached this wall.  She can't figure out why, and she's expressed many times a frustration over not being able to 'reach' me but, well...that's just too bad.  She's too much of a pain in the ass to even WANT inside this wall.
    My two children are stationed at the imaginary doorway - if not sitting on top of this wall.  I only say this because while I trust my children completely, there are still things they do not know about me and that I've not been able to share with them in regards to my life and my past.  I still feel the need to shield them from these details because as their mother, my wish is to spare them some of the grisly details that may otherwise and unnecessarily upset them.  Nothing can be done about these things right now, firstly - and secondly, even though the Son is about to turn 18, he's still in many ways a child.  The daughter is just 11, she's not ready to see past the doorway just yet.  And so they are granted access to the 'inside' by default because of them being 'permanent' fixtures in my life.  Nothing short of death will eject them from my heart - and should they, one day, approach me and ask me about my past or for details, I'd be okay with sharing them - but they'd have to ask for them.
    I also feel the need to mention that with each time I've been burned by someone, a layer is added to this wall, to solidify it.  I think it's all measured in invisible 'materials,' if that makes sense.  For example, if someone were to lie to me or break my trust in a minor way that can be eventually moved past, and otherwise apologized for, I'll certainly forgive them but won't be able to help adding a 'dirt layer' in front of my wall that they'll have to spend some time cleaning up/digging to get through, but will eventually be able to find this doorway and try again. If someone were to cheat on me though?  A wall made of steel will come crashing down in front of these people and they're not guaranteed to get through this one in this same lifetime.  The wasband is currently behind THIS wall - I've forgiven him his infidelities, though - because without having burned me this way, I would not have found my true soulmate.  And so, the only reason he remains behind this steel wall and I haven't banished him into an entirely different universe reserved for those I never want to associate with again, is because of the children we share, that love him very much.  Between dirt and steel, we also have brick, glass, etc to measure the different strengths of wall required for that 20% of the 80,000 people I'll meet in my lifetime to pass.
    So, along with the idea of working with my sister-in-law in future weeks, months, years to come, I'm now wondering if I should further open this make-believe (solidified, of course) door, and see who's still trying to get in and who's given up by now.  Do these persistent people deserve a chance?  Do I need to work on making room (although I think it's a matter of FILLING space rather than making room) in my heart for others by opening up a little bit more and loosening some of these self-inflicted barriers? I've spent a fair amount of time collecting trust - I am told that I'm an easy person to trust - and I believe this because yes, this is a great deal of who I am.  I'm loyal, I'm honest, I'm faithful, I do not break others' trust; I can't live with myself if I ever did, and if that did happen, it'd likely be accidentally or otherwise unintentional.  And I always own up to my mistakes when they're made.
    I wonder though, if it is time for me to reciprocate and put some of my own trust in others?  Even if I do it a little bit at a time (which I'm working on), it's still so, so hard to do enough to allow someone complete access. I imagine that'll take a while but it's another hurdle I'm finding myself facing these days.  
    How does one even clear this type of hurdle?  I'd love to hear, so if anyone has any input, please do comment!  
    Until next time, folks.  My dinner (pizza) and date (of course, J) have arrived.  We're taking in a movie and we'll relax tonight.  I'll be back later.
    ,  and all my best,
    - Capulet
     
  12. Capulet
    Hello, friends. 
    As many of you already know, I spend a good portion of every day just thinking.  You could call it self-meditation I guess, but without the breathing exercises as most of my current thoughts do not warrant 'calming' breaths.  I just find myself sitting silently, staring into space, and just zoning.   This past week has been one of those weeks where a lot of thinking and reflection has been done.  I am now finding that I'm feeling uncertain about some things - if not uncertain, then just plain confused. I'm probably confusing all of you right now, as a matter of fact, so I'll not beat around the bush any longer. 
    There is one thing that has been on my mind for the last several days.
    I have shared this privately with some of you but haven't mentioned it here, yet.  My parents and J threw a surprise 40th birthday party for me this past weekend.  I've known about it for months, though - I am NOT an easy person to surprise, although there were a few surprises within the (non) surprise that I WAS pleased with.
    Back in August, my mother planted the 'bug' in my ear that she was planning a 65th birthday celebration and that I should keep November 3rd open.  I knew that this would also be the year I turn 40, and that SOMETHING was coming - it was just a matter of WHEN - so this mention of the date was the first 'hint.'  
    This was another - we were on our way home from the wasband's - I want to say it was my goddaughter's birthday and we were there for dinner.  I expressed a desire to have a Halloween party this year.  Halloween fell on a Wednesday this year, and that's a workday/school day for most, so the idea was immediately met with, "well, why don't you do it the weekend before or the weekend after?"  The wasband then (perhaps too) QUICKLY corrected himself and said, "On second thought, do it the weekend before."  (The weekend after would be November 3rd.)  He is NOT one to give any thought to family gatherings, and he's sat the last several out.  Go figure - he makes a big deal when he's not invited and when he IS, he doesn't go.  
    Anyway, on the way home, I turned to J and asked her what was really happening on November 3rd.  She asked why I was asking.  I told her my suspicion that this was not a party for my mother, and that she was trying to throw me off the scent of my own party.  
    J admitted to it, then - and made me promise that I would not let on that I knew.  But she also said she was glad I'd figured it out because SHE wanted my input on things so that she could ensure that things were exactly as I'd like for them to be - my mother is a manipulative, controlling woman above all of her good qualities and tends to attempt to control EVERYTHING she puts her hands on, everything she gets involved with.  She tries to take over, she tries to top everything, she tries to take credit for it all.  The thought of her being in charge of everything was...ugh.  No.  My mother does know how to have a good time, she's good with food choices, she's good at baking cookies and cakes, she's good at tracking down guests and harassing them for RSVPs, (I know this for a fact....she was bugging ME to RSVP to my niece's 1st birthday before I even received the freakin' invitation in the mail!) and so on.  
    But Oompa's interests are NOT the same as mine.  NOT at ALL.  Before expressing my concerns to J about it, I'd been dreading the thought of her being the primary showrunner - and given how I'm feeling toward my mother in general, (other stuff that I'm trying to deal with internally) I didn't even think I WANTED this party.  I also found out then that she was not planning it on her own - my father and J were splitting the plans three ways - so it did make me feel a bit better about the party.  I would be behind-the-scenes, I would be able to provide J with answers to those questions that would likely come up. Plus, I could help give her ideas on who to include on the Facebook invitations - she set up an event page and I supplied about three dozen names.  Knowing they wouldn't all show up, it was still a way for me to make sure that those important to me were included and invited.  My mother doesn't know who most of these people are and I knew she'd only invite the people SHE knew.
    There were also times my mother would drive my J absolutely insane.  When the subject of seating arrangements came up - J let her know we didn't need them.  It was better to let people show up and sit wherever they wanted - perhaps a table could be reserved for the immediate family but everyone else should be free to sit wherever or with whomever they 'gravitated' and it wouldn't be a major issue.  You would think that would be enough, but no.  She kept right on singing the 'I don't know how to plan a party without seating arrangements' song - eventually I told J to let her know that she was free to seat the family as she saw fit but to allow the guests she didn't know the privilege of finding their own seat.  Seemed like a fair compromise for the time being.  
    So, anyway, this past Saturday was the 'big day.'  At this point, BOTH J and I were ready for it to be over with.  She has vowed never to be on a planning committee with my mother again and was looking forward to not having to argue about seating arrangements or however the napkins were folded.  I was getting tired of pretending not to notice all the whispering, the winks, the 'does she know yet?' looks.  Oh and practicing my 'surprised' face.  I had to make sure it wasn't the 'I knew all about this' face when I walked in, so I do admit to practicing my 'surprised entrance face' on my five cats for the past several weeks.  (Yes, I did.)
    I'll mention that ANY announcement to my kids that we're going to a 'family gathering' is usually met by moaning, groaning, eye-rolling, stomping of the feet, whining, irrational excuses and just about ANYTHING negative...I did not receive such protest from neither of my children when I mentioned to them that "Grandma" was having a party for her 65th birthday.  The Son even tried to 'play dumb' and said, 'so, why's she celebrating her birthday late?'  To that, I simply supplied the reason my mother had given me, there are simply too many October birthdays, so she wanted to break away from that cluster.  
    On the morning of, both kids got dressed without complaining about THAT, too - (they are DEFINITELY my kids - most comfortable in sweat pants/leggings and tee shirts!)  They both cleaned up as nicely as they could while remaining comfortable - him in a polo shirt and khakis, she wore a lace sleeved black shirt and black pants with heels.  By then, the cat's been out of the bag for a while but I wasn't about to let these two know that I already knew what I'd be walking into.  Nah, I was gonna milk it.
    Under the guise that she was 'working,' J had gone early in the morning to help with the party set-up.  So I arrived with the kids a half-hour later than they had asked everyone else to show up.  J met me outside, she was the 'go get her' person while I assume my mother turned all the lights off inside and was ordering everyone into position.  
    When I walked in, of course, everyone yelled out, "surprise!"  (And damn it, my cats were not there for me to respond in the manner that I had practiced!)
    I looked at my kids, who walked in behind me.  They were smiling, they had their phones out and were probably recording/taking pictures.
    "You two knew all about this, eh?" I said to them.  Then, the lights were flicked back on and one by one, the guests began to greet/hug me.  In a way, this was good because I didn't have to put on so much of a show.  Of course, EVERY SINGLE ONE asked me if I was surprised.  I'm a terrible, TERRIBLE liar (you can ask J - there's apparently a 'tell' - I giggle/blush when lying) so I said I had a suspicion, but yes, I was indeed surprised.  I just didn't tell them WHAT I found surprising.    
    I WAS pleasantly surprised to see that my closest and dearest cousin, (whom I haven't seen since 2011) flew up from Florida.  He came by himself, he has a wife and kids that I've not yet met (but will in January) - but this was likely one of the better surprises that came from that day.   His mother came - this is the aunt who is the at the root of my ED/weight issues but she was pleasant and said NOTHING other than how good I looked.  So that was another 'nice' surprise.
    I was also surprised in a way that almost makes me feel ashamed to admit.  Ungrateful, even.  Because those who have gotten to know me know that I am not a hard person to please.  The little things make my heart happy.  I'm laid back, I'm extremely low maintenance.  I don't require extravagance, just things as simple as love, loyalty and honesty from the people I care about.  So to write this blog entry makes me feel, for the moment, the exact opposite of thankful - and I do NOT wear this feeling well.  I hate myself for feeling even the slightest bit unappreciative of this party that my fiancee put in a great deal of effort (and worked together with my parents and managed to refrain from killing my mother) to pull off.   I love her with ALL of my heart and it KILLS me to feel anything less than beholden.  
    You see, I quickly spotted that out of the three dozen 'other' people I'd insisted on J inviting through Facebook, maybe two or three were standing in that room.  
    Don't get me wrong, this was not an 'empty' party by any means.  About 40 to 50 people were there.  My immediate family was present.  My parents, step parents, my sisters, their husbands and their husband's parents, my two beautiful nieces and my handsome nephew.  An aunt and uncle from both my mother's side and my father's.  My cousin and aunt from Florida, along with another local cousin, his wife and kids were there.  The wasband, his wife, and three of the four other children were there.  My four bowling friends from where I live now were there - they carpooled and came.  J's parents drove in from Massachusetts.  Originally more of her family was SUPPOSED to come but in the end, it was just her parents.  Then there were a couple of my mother's friends, people I've known for at least two or three decades.  And a few others I'll mention below.
    But....
    My best friend, someone that I've known since 1996, was not there.  (I think this is truly the one no-show that stung the most.)
    My high school BFF and her family - who had been sent a paper invitation because she was not on Facebook - was not there.
    Another friend I've known since CHILDHOOD, who coincidentally LIVES near where the party was held - was not there.
    The members of my softball team from where I used to live?  They were all invited.  NONE of them came.
    About twenty of my bowling friends from the league back in New York were invited.  TWO showed up.  (They were a husband and wife.)
    Then there were random people that I watched J invite - people that although I don't see them often and most correspondence nowadays is through Facebook, were still adored enough for me to want them included within the celebration.  
    None of them came, either.  And some were people I considered to be family, I'd known them THAT long, probably since I was in diapers.  And it's not because they lived too far away - some of them lived far closer to where the party was than I do.  
    I had one FB friend come - and she isn't even someone I've ever really been close to.  I have known her for twenty years, but there was a very long gap in between then and when we reconnected about three years ago.  But regardless of the gap in communication, SHE came.  So while that was a nice surprise, I was also gobsmacked at just how many DIDN'T.
    I mean, yeah - life happens.  But it just chafes me that ALL of these people had over a months' notice to make sure they didn't have to work or they didn't make any alternative plans for that day.  Yet most of them waited until the absolute last minute - some even the morning of the party, to say they weren't coming.  Some said they had other plans, but I don't buy it - if you knew you had plans, why didn't you say something sooner?  
    So while I truly appreciate my parents' and J's efforts to throw me a party, I cannot help that feeling of disappointment that started at the moment I walked in.  Maybe it wasn't complete disappointment because to say that would be an insult to the people who DID make the effort to come.  I am thinking that maybe the correct word is 'sadness.'  
    Yes.  That's it.  
    It is a very deep sadness/hurt that I don't know how to suppress, as I fill out the thank-you cards to the people who did come - while I truly AM appreciative that THESE people chose to make the occasion more special by being there and I sincerely enjoyed their presence, I cannot shake the nagging feeling that most of them likely came out of familial obligation.  It does NOT make me feel good about the person I've become in the eyes of those who were absent, regardless of the excuses supplied.  When you love and care about someone, your ass is there for them - you make it happen.  You DON'T wait until the fucking day before or the morning of the party to send a text or Facebook RSVP - that's just plain LOW.
    It feels like, to them, I've become expendable.
    I want so much for that to be an exaggeration, but it certainly doesn't feel that way.  And for some of these no-show friends - this was the final straw.  Some of these are people I've opened up to, for fuck's sake, because I trusted them with the version of myself that not everyone knows.  
    If I wasn't done with them before, (because I had hopes of them coming around eventually) I certainly am, now.  
    Have I disconnected myself from others to the point where they think it doesn't hurt if they choose not to show up for me?  
    Is this my fault???  Is this something I've done to myself?
    Am I being childish about this?  I feel like I am and that I should just be thankful for how nicely (it truly was - my J did a fantastic job!) this party turned out, despite these no-shows - but there IS that soft, almost muted, little voice in the back of my head, saying that I'm indeed not being immature about it.  It's also saying that I have a right to be sad.  
    Thoughts on this, guys?  And I'm not asking for pity - just a little validation that what I'm feeling isn't unwarranted.
    ....few hugs wouldn't hurt, either.
    - Capulet
  13. Capulet
    I had a dream last night.
    Wasn't too bad a dream. Unless you consider a glimpse at the pathetic being that I called Uncle for 40 years.  It was also a short dream.
    It took place at a holiday gathering.  I want to say it was Christmas - only because that's the first thing that comes to mind.  My mother (Oompa) was there.  My Dad, my step-parentals.  My kids.  The wasband's crew was not there, though.  My sisters and their spouses (yes, even the one who might not be her spouse much longer) and my nephew and two nieces.   
    And also in attendance was the Most Reverend McNasty and his 'partner.'  It might've been a holiday that warranted dressing nicely, but he looked as he did at my nephew's and niece's party where I saw him last.  Like a bum.  His hair has gotten longer; he'd always had a crew cut. He's put on weight.  He's unshaven, looks dirty and disheveled.  I'm SURE that had I been within six feet of him, I'd also discover that he smelled badly, too - a combination of rotten farts and sweat.  His 'partner' has to hold his hands and 'lead' him around.  He cannot walk on his own or without help.  He's looking and smelling like the shit he always has looked like.
    Anyway, this image of him somehow presented itself last night in my sleep.  Or it was possibly closer to morning.  Either way, I remember waking up to it being daylight.  I just laid in bed and processed for a little while before getting up.  USUALLY, I have trouble remembering the cryptic messages hidden within dreams as the day goes on.  Laying down for a good twenty minutes, just thinking, was the only way to ensure that 18 hours later, I'd be able to write about it.
    But - in the dream - dinner was being served.  A grand spread, it was - as it usually is on the holidays.  There was pasta, meat, fish, vegetables, salad - wine, container of ice, napkins all folded, fancy-like.  We never did the napkin-folding, so that was one strange thing about it.  And the food, you know, if Oompa prepared it, was never that great-looking, either.  Everyone was gathering around and getting comfortable in their chairs, passing trays of food around to those sitting next to us.  Of course, I chose to sit at the far end of the table, farthest away as I could from my uncle.
    We must have inhaled our food because only moments later (funny how dreams 'skip,' isn't it?) McNasty's partner pulled me aside as we were getting ready to clear the table - and said, "It might be a good time to make peace with your uncle."
    "I don't want to talk about it.  And besides, this isn't the time or place," I replied. 
    I woke up before he could respond.  Immediately, I was relieved to discover this was all a dream and the Most Reverend McNasty was NOT in the same room as I. There was just me, my pillow, my blankets and a couple of oblivious cats.
    I sometimes dream about people when they're about to die.  Or will soon be dead.  I'm thinking this is either the case - or Oompa truly got to me last weekend, with all her talk about how ugly and/or disrespectful I was being.  I dreamt about my Nana days before she passed.  My grandmother, I dreamt of the night BEFORE she died.  Sadly, I've not gotten any text from Oompa today in regards to my uncle's failing, circling-the-drain condition - but perhaps this text will come soon.  One can hope, anyway.  
    I am of the belief that dreams contain messages and little explanations within - if you can make sense of them.  
    By now, we're all familiar with what Oompa said to me this weekend - that I'd disappointed her by refusing to say 'hello' to him at the last family gathering - and that this was likely the last time I'd see him alive.  I do think that the 'holiday' setting within the dream was representative of my not being 'ready' to interact with him - regardless of whether it may possibly be the last time.  "Not a good time or place," was what I'd said - and in the dream, I was at a holiday celebration - that right there is NEVER a good place or time to bring up such ugliness.  "Not the time or place" is something my mother always said, too, usually when she was dismissing a topic she didn't want to get into - dismissal usually accompanied by 'put it in your sleeve, worry about this later.'
    I also think it means I've been 'masking' my hatred for this man for far too long.  I mean, look at this dream - in it, I'm surrounded by my entire family and no one has any clue of the REAL reasons behind my hating my uncle.  They're ALL of the impression that I'm being unreasonable in choosing to not associate with him. I'm STILL lying to all of them and telling them the same story I've been telling them for years - he treated Grandma badly, he cheated my mother out if her inheritance...ANYTHING but the truth.  Everyone was enjoying themselves and all I could think about was how uncomfortable I was, even being in the same room as him.
    When I last saw him, he looked weak, pathetic.  He's unable to 'do' for himself anymore.  So his partner did for him, just as he 'assisted him' with walking and getting around at the party. In the dream, it was his partner who asked me to make peace with him - in reality, it was Oompa - makes me wonder if he's actually revealed to my mother that it was one of his dying wishes for the niece who hated him to forgive him.
    Sorry, nope.  That's NOT a wish I can grant, nor do I think there will EVER be a time or place where I can forgive him.  For fuck's sake, I'm still trying to figure out the answers!  I also know that I'm not going to have any regrets for not saying a final hello or goodbye to him while I still can.  As far as I'm concerned, he's already dead.
    So, that was the dream.  It was filled with hidden clues - I'm sure there are more that I missed, but for now, I'm needing to purge it from my brain and to forget it for a little while.  Seems this is what I do to ensure that when I AM ready to give it more thought, it will be here for me to reflect upon.
    I also struggle with the thought of him dying, sometimes.  Not with the idea of him FINALLY being gone - because really, that would be great and would instantly make the world a much better place.  But...where's his next stop???  Naturally, we'd think it was Hell, right?  But, see - he's a 'man of the cloth,' a Roman Catholic priest.  I sure hope this doesn't give him a free pass or qualify him for a seat in the 'waiting room' to Heaven - the place the Catholics refer to as Purgatory.  The Catholic Church (that I was raised following the teachings of) holds that "all who die in God's grace and friendship but still imperfectly purified" undergo this process (which the Church calls 'Purgatory') "so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of Heaven."  (That last little snippet was from Wikipedia.)  In Purgatory, there is an amount of repentance and suffering, after which his soul will ascend into Heaven.  
    It's been a long, LONG time since I gave too much thought to the existence of these three places  we could likely go upon our deaths - to Heaven, to Hell or to Purgatory first and then to Heaven.  Ah, I don't even know if there's PROOF.  No one's ever come back and given a review.  And please understand that I am not speaking ill of the Catholic religion - I just never bought into it and having possibly been subjected to CSA by a priest has made religion a VERY hard pill to swallow.  I therefore consider myself to be an agnostic - it's just safer that way.
    I DO know that this is a man who is the farthest from holy as can be.  And here he is - about to be judged (if that's true, too) and he'll not pay for any of the horrible things he's done while he was living - will he EVER be held accountable, even if in the afterlife?  Or will his 'years of service' afford him a ticket to paradise, even if his misdeeds and injustices land him in Purgatory first?
    I shudder to think.  
    Guess that's all for tonight - I'm getting a serious case of eye-burn and need to shut them for a few hours.
    Am hopeful that this morning's (OMG - 3:50am????) dreams are filled with daisies and rainbows and unicorns.  I could use a dose of cute to offset the ugly!
    Hoping also that everyone is doing well this week.  I'll be back soon.
    - Capulet
     
  14. Capulet
    Seriously, Elsa?  
    After dumping a foot of snow and sending trees crashing down onto our power and cable lines two weeks ago, you're SERIOUSLY about to send us more of the powdery, annoying, pain-in-the-ass white shit we call 'snow?'
    Guess what???  It's SPRING.  Today is the FIRST DAY OF SPRING.  It is time for you, Mother Nature, to warm up to the idea of sunny and pleasant days.  Pun fully intended, as I'm sitting here in a hoodie and sweat pants.    
    Kids have missed enough school in a single winter up here than they ever did during snowstorms in New York City.  The NYC mayor didn't give a shit, we'd get a foot of snow the night before and school would still be open.  But now, because you're cranky, Mother Nature, there's an extra week tacked on at the end of this school year because of the shit you pulled during Winter Storm Riley.  Shit that we're JUST now getting over, just in time for you to get your second wind.
    Enough is enough!  I just went shopping too, so if you decide to render us all powerless for another several days, kindly throw a tree on the wasband's power lines instead of mine.  He has a generator.  He can deal with it.  
    Chill out!
    (And by that, you can assume I DON'T mean send us more freakin' wintery conditions!)
    - Capulet
     
     
     
     
  15. Capulet
    Hi, all!
    I REALLY should be studying for final exams right now.  I do have three this week that I'm NOT toooooo worried about, content-wise.  I know the material, I'm confident I'll be fine with these three.  There will be two next week that this coming weekend will be devoted to studying for.  Although I'm likely fine, the over-achieving side of me is thinking, 'I am NOT finished until I turn in my last final exam...'
    I came home from school today (we had a snow day yesterday) with intentions to open up a book and start cramming as much information as possible into my brain - but said brain has other things swimming around.
    It's nothing major.  I've just managed to do again what I do best: disappoint my mother.
    Many of you already know that two years ago, I moved 2 hours away from where she lives.  Yes, 'that's all.'  If you let my mother describe it, you'd think I moved from the East Coast to the West Coast.  STATES away.  A plane ticket rather than a car drive shorter than the time it'd take for me to attend 2 classes.  That's all, indeed.  I am still close enough that she can hop into the car and come visit, ANYTIME she wants.  She has a bedroom in my house, for pete's sake.  I'm also close enough that I could drive to either her house or my sisters' houses - and I do, whenever one of their kids has a birthday or there's a baptism.  It's not enough, though, for the Oompa.  She will CONSTANTLY complain that she doesn't see us, but that's not entirely our fault.  Her days are spent babysitting for one of my sister's kids, or she's traveling to some foreign country.  When she does make it here, she has to 'hurry back' because someone back home needs her.  Her visits are rushed, and when In one breath, she'll say 'well you moved 2 hours away, so that's hard!' and other times, she'll say, 'you're only 2 hours away, why don't you come visit your Mama?'  Sometimes I wish I HAD moved to Colorado, if not for the pure gorgeousness of the state, then for the elimination of how EASY it really is to visit with one another, and additionally, how EASY it is for my sisters to do the same fucking thing.  Since I've lived here, they've BOTH been to my house, a total of two times - for a housewarming, and for the Son's graduation.  That's it.  It's been me who's made the (same) trip to go to them/their events every other time.  Me who makes the extra effort.  Me, who bends like a pipe cleaner.
    And yes - a side note here - part of the reason for my move was because my ex was first to move - when we divorced, we made the mutual agreement that we would never move the kids more than a 20-30 minutes' drive from their other parent.  And let me be clear on one other thing: we BOTH agreed we wanted to be FAR away from the city.  City life had been all I'd known.  The wasband, as a child, had a taste of country living and preferred it, so it was both of our decision to move to the same town in Pennsylvania.  We'd share custody of our children, we'd both have new homes, we'd all be starting a new chapter.  I think that's one source of excitement for me; I'd always been a New Yorker, and the idea of being in an entirely new place was highly appealing.  I also admit, there being a distance from where the Oompa lives was an added benefit.  
    For me, though.  For her, though - it's always been a problem.  It's a problem especially during the holidays, when she STILL has old traditions on the brain, and STILL wants all three of her daughters and all of her grandchildren present on Christmas Eve.  When we ALL lived in New York, she would host, and everyone would gather at her house.  Now, her house is 'smaller.'  Our families have grown, now.  Both of my sisters are now married, with children, and a set of in-laws, each.  They (Oompa, and my two sisters and their families) live all within a 20 minute radius of each other - and I'm (along with the wasband, who because of our 'other' agreement, to spend holidays together with our children) 2 hours away.  As stated before, it's not terrible, but Oompa does make it out to be more complicated.  
    Christmas Eve is also J's birthday.  My wifey, up until a couple years ago, has been a good sport enough to join us all at Oompa's gatherings.  This year, she'll be spending her birthday and Christmas with her family in Massachusetts. 
    The wheels started turning in Oompa's head, as soon as she heard that.  It might have been in February or March of this year; J announced that she was going to be spending her birthday and Christmas with her parents and sisters and nieces and nephews in New England.  I suppose she wanted to give us all time to get used to the idea...
    First, she said she wanted to host Christmas Eve at her house.  We all told her that her two-bedroom, one-story house in a retirement community was too small for 18 people to sit comfortably.  Even her house before this one was too small.  She must have heard the same from my sisters, because recently, her story changed.
    "Your sister wants to host Christmas Eve at her house."
    My sister's house is a bit bigger, and more accommodating.  I did say, though, (and it might have been at the same time as J's announcement that she'd be spending Christmas with her family) that I wanted to stick to my new tradition of Christmas Eve at my house - it was simply easier for me to take care of my immediate family - the Oompa was, of course, invited as well as my sisters and their families.  This will be my third Christmas in my new home - they've not yet made it out for a single one.  The first year, the middle sister was pregnant....the drive would be too much for her.  "So, let her husband drive," I said.  "Oh, but he's allergic to cats...and you have five of them."  It was dropped, with 'maybe next year.'  
    And then the second year, there was the excuse that "the baby isn't good in the car..."  along with, "what if it snows....we'd be stuck there, and they have plans for Christmas Day....nobody wants to risk getting stuck TWO HOURS AWAY (her favorite line) on Christmas..."
    I've given up on them coming for any holiday.  How could I expect that, when they've combined, visited me four times in two and a half years?  My mother, though - did come last year for Christmas Eve, and made it home on Christmas morning in LESS than 2 hours.  She's seen for herself that her coming here for Christmas Eve is NOT as complicated as she makes it out to be - she could be with the other two and all of the younger grandbabies on Christmas Day...everyone's happy, right?
    No.  I guess not.  Because the Oompa is NEVER happy!
    I reminded her that I was planning to do Christmas Eve at my house, and that to deviate from that plan would cause stress between me and the wasband - as our agreement was that we spend holidays with our children.  Christmas Eve at my house, Thanksgiving and Christmas at his house.  Whenever there's Easter, he does that at his house, too, but that's not even really considered a 'holiday' to me - it's just another excuse to eat food that I haven't cooked!  She asked (even though she knows the answer) why he couldn't consider letting me take the kids to see MY family on Christmas Eve, he'd still have them on Christmas Day.  I told her that never did and never would fly with him - and yes, we all know he's an asshole, but I think that if the tables were turned, I'd expect the same courtesy of him, and I'd not want him to take my children anywhere that I wouldn't be on the holidays. 
    "Let me talk to him," she said, "he'll listen to me!"
    I'd laughed and told her to see for herself.  This was back in October.  
    Last night, she sends me a text, asking if he'd spoken to me over Thanksgiving about Christmas Eve.  I told her he hadn't, as expected.  She said he'd told her that he'd consider letting me go with FOUR of his kids (our two, plus his youngest, and his stepson) to my sister's.  I told her that 1) he'd likely only said that because he didn't want to hear anything more about it,  2) it wouldn't happen, and 3) where would HE and his WIFE be, if I was taking their kids?  She then proceeds in telling me that she hadn't run inviting him and his wife through my sister, yet.  My sister was already having 15 people there - her in-laws and an uncle, the Oompa and my stepfather, and the middle sister and her family were going to be there.  
    Let me just add, NO invite has been extended to me personally - it's only been done through Oompa's constant need to micromanage other people's lives and holiday gatherings so that it suits her own needs and desires.
    My phone number has not changed in twelve years.  My sisters have every fucking social media account known to (wo)man and yet, they don't know how to text me an invitation themselves.  They KNOW there's a standing invitation to a holiday gathering in my home every year, and they've not accepted a single one.  Perhaps they understand, better than our mother, that there will just have to be other arrangements made.
    I told Oompa to forget it - because 1) my kids are NOT going to want to be spending the holiday anywhere other than with BOTH of their parents, and 2) IF I were to go through with this, I'd NEVER hear the end of it from the wasband, and he'd be RIGHT, because this is fucked up on many levels, and 3) I wasn't going to add another seven or eight plates to my sister's table if the wasband and his wife weren't included in this invitation.  If I know my sister, she'd have a shit fit, being a stickler for plans....and besides, why the fuck would you want seven or eight additional people in your house that you didn't invite, yourself???
    "Can't you consider coming alone?" Was the next thing my mother says.
    "No," I told her.  "I'm not coming alone."
    Immediately, I felt bad.  I know, I shouldn't have.  But I did.  Because this is my mother, and while I want to spend Christmas with my children, I'm knowing and understanding that deep down, she wants the same.  She wants all of her kids and grandchildren around her.  But, you see, she has that option.  She could come spend the day before Christmas here, then the day of Christmas with my sisters.  They could ALL come on Christmas Eve.  They can't even say they've tried that because year after year, they've made excuse after excuse on why they can't come....too pregnant, what if it snows, hubby allergic to cats, baby not good in the car, drive is too long...it LOOKS like it is going to snow six days from now, so we shouldn't take any chances...
    Oompa then suggests alternating.  I do Christmas Eve one year, then sister #1 does it the year after, and then sister #3 does it the year after that...  
    Look, I don't mind letting someone else host.  I just won't be there, if my ENTIRE family is not invited.  And as much as I can't stand the wasband - being the mother of two of his children, and godmother to his youngest daughter, makes him my family by default.  The kids can love him enough for me - at this point, I love him for one reason only, and that is for giving me my children.  Love is possibly too strong a word for him - let's just say I tolerate him at most, for the kids' sake. 
    Anyway, I tell her that alternating is not going to solve the issue of where the kids are going to be.  You'd think that in the ten years I'm divorced, she'd catch on.  The kids spend holidays with him and I.  Everyone there is welcome to join us - but they've never done that, so we've stopped extending invitations - and for the last several years, the Oompa has been rotating.  One year here, one year there, etc.  And I've been having to make a trip into Jersey, for additional holiday gatherings.  Another Thanksgiving, another Christmas.  Even my surprise 40th birthday last year, took place in my mother's neighborhood!  Because god forbid any of them come here for that - I'm the one who moved two hours away, after all!
    (My mother's whiny-ass voice): TWO HOURS AWAYYYYY.
    Yeah. But anyway, there is now a 'December birthdays and holidays gathering' in the planning stages.  Of course, it'll be held in the Garden State, and of COURSE it will require for me (and the wasband and his crew) to travel 2 hours - and it'd be because nobody over there wants to make the effort to come HERE for the REAL holidays.  Because my mother must be appeased, and she must have 'her holiday visit,' never mind if it's an inconvenience to those of us who would like nothing more than to be finished with the holidays by the time 12/26 rolls around.  
    At this point, though - I don't care, anymore.  I really don't.  I feel as if I've been bending for years, doing what others (no - although most of the holiday stress has my mother's name on it, NOT everything does!) want and whatever I might want is usually disregarded....and partially, that's my fault.  I would bend...to dodge conflict, to make someone else happy, to avoid arguments, or just so that I didn't have to hear anything more on it.  I'm aware that I've done myself no favors by bending.  
    Ever open a canned beverage?  You know that tab that you bend forward, first, to pop open the can?  You can then bend the tab back and forth until the tab finally falls off.  Doesn't take too many back and forth before that little piece of tin simply snaps.
    I feel like that tab now.  No more slack, no more strength to keep on bending.  My tab has been stubborn and has held on for as long as it possibly could, and if it bends anymore, it's simply going to detach.  And then, it will have nothing more to do with the can!  
    I just do NOT want to get to the point where I want much less, if not nothing, to do with them all anymore - and it's getting VERY close to that point with my family members.
    Anyway.  
    Thank y'alls for listening to this impromptu vent.  Maybe now I can get a little more cramming done.  I'll be back with a non-school related blog soon (yes, there MIGHT be an announcement of end-semester grades, but that's all I'll do! I promise!  You'll all have a reprieve of school-related blogs until February!) and perhaps having less on the brain will help me to be able to touch on topics more pressing than government terms, nightmare papers, all nighters and final exams!  
    Sending you all my love and well-wishes...and sincerely hoping you guys are a little bit more optimistic about the holidays than I am. For now, I'm still 'bah-humbugging,' but perhaps this will change soon.  
    Hugs, and good night!
    - Capu-scrooge
  16. Capulet

    My Hair, Don't Care

    By Capulet,

    It’s been years since I got my hair did.
     
    I was born with a full head of hair.  Jet black hair at birth, then it lightened some to a brown that in the summer almost appeared dirty-blonde.  My hair has been colored multiple times throughout the course of my adult life.  
     
    I frosted it once, by adding streaks of blonde to my naturally brunette tresses.  Wore my hair down a lot at that time, so it looked pretty good.  It was also the trend; all the 90’s high school/college gals were doing it, so I followed suit.  I know, I know.  Thank goodness no one jumped off any bridges - I was naive enough as a teenager to believe that in order to fit in, you had to follow the leader and do exactly what they were doing. You had to wear whatever they were wearing, smoke whatever they were smoking, drive whatever they drove, and so on…tough trend to break, but I managed.
     
    Then, I went all-red.  That was a big hit.  When done right, I can get away with red hair.  Matches skin tone and eye color nicely, if I may say so.
     
    I went purple, accidentally.  Purple is my favorite color, let me tell you…I have tons of purple clothes, purple sneakers I hardly wear, purple walls in my bedroom, if I could paint my car purple, I would.  But hair?  I don’t think so…see, it was SUPPOSED to be the color of Lauren Holly’s hair in ‘Picket Fences.’  Unfortunately, the stylist who colored it was either color blind or simply too clueless to effectively lighten my hair before re-coloring it….either way, I rocked the purple for a few weeks before letting it fade back into my natural color.  
     
    Then, I stopped trying to find the best hairstyle and color for myself and started wearing my hair the same way, every day, for over fifteen years.  Those who know me, also know this look.  I pull it all back and fasten it with a messy bun in the back.  At one point, I had bangs, to better frame my face, but lately, my bangs have been pulled back, too.  It got comfortable.  J wears her hair the same way.  We’re often mistaken for siblings.  
     
    I’ll add that I’m still mad at some dude at the bowling alley who asked J if I was her mother.  What the holy hell, dude?  I’m only a year older than her.  NOT cool.  Next time we bowl against your team, I’m schooling your ass, JUST for that!  Hmmph.
     
    A haircut consisted basically of me pulling it all back into a low ponytail and handing J the scissors.  One snip and voila, it’s a few inches shorter.  But it was always long enough to continue to wear the same hairstyle.  And for years, that was good for me, because my hair is the only part of me that is THIN.  It was thick when I was younger.  I lost a great deal of it when I was pregnant with my son.  Now that I’ve had my daughter and it’s even thinner, I’m fearful of inheriting my mother’s Oompa-Loompa haircut…HER hair is so thin that it’s the only style that covers the bald spot in the back.  I lie through my teeth whenever she came from the salon…
     
    “Do I look any different?” (She’ll smile at me while she’s patting her hair…and those eyes tell me that I better have noticed that it was not only cut but it was also dyed…I better have the right answer or else she’ll cut me out of her will.)
     
    “Oh, absolutely, Mom.  It looks fantastic.  You look like you’re twenty years younger.  I hope I can rock that look one day, too.”
     
    LIES.  Lies, I tell you.
     
    So I went online the other day and asked for some feedback on Facebook.  Everyone I’ve spoken to on this topic has told me that they think I should just go for it.  Get a new ‘do.  My hair is ALWAYS pulled back, and even so, it’s very obviously thin and it shows.  
     
    One darling friend posted a photo of the beautiful Halle Berry.  Her hair is longer on top and one side, the back and other side are long-buzzed.  Kinda shaved but not to the point where the hair is so short, you can see the scalp.  It’s longer on top and kind of spills over to the side that is longer.  I suppose the best way to describe it is punky, but adorable at the same time.  I like the idea of hacking off all my garbage hair and starting over with new, thicker hair.  Unfortunately, my hair is too thin, too fine to even donate to Locks of Love, so the trash is where it’ll all end up once cut and swept off the floor…I further like the idea of maybe adding some streaks of red to the longer, top part.  I feel that constantly pulling back my hair, day after day, is probably a sign that having short hair is not going to make too much of a difference.  If anything, it’d be less maintenance.  
     
    If I take the leap and ultimately hate it, I have plenty of hats that I can wear throughout the winter.  Hopefully in the spring, it’ll be thicker and my hacking it off in the fall won’t have been a total waste. Then I’ll be googling different hairstyles and blogging about it.
     
    Anyway, after careful deliberation, I did whatever I normally do before making any hasty decisions and texted the Oompa Loompa earlier today when we were on the way home from our weekly shopping excursion, and shared the picture with her. 
     
    “I don’t know, it looks a little butch.”  She replies in the text back.  For added effect, feel free to add Doris Roberts’ classic Marie Barone voice.  Then she says, “Why don’t I get you a makeover for Christmas?  We can do some research and find another one that doesn’t look so…manly?”
     
    Mind you, my mother has seen me shop for my tee-shirts in the mens’ department for as long as I could remember.  She knows that getting me to wear a dress is like trying to peel the white off of rice.  She knows that I find shopping for shoes, purses, bras, anything ‘feminine’ to be about as much fun as a root canal.  She knows that I loathe parties or being invited to parties because it usually means I have to plan for those aforementioned ‘root canals.’  My dress-donning days are over, though.  Both of my sisters got married a few years ago and I was bridesmaid to both.  One dress has been donated to Goodwill and the other one narrowly escaped the burn pile, only because I’d buried it so far back in my closet and couldn’t find it when it came time to make these abominations a distant memory.  I still have the shoes, though, shoes that I never will wear again and only save so my godchild can use them when she plays dress-up.
     
    I’m just amazed at how much my mother, even though she’s accepted my lifestyle and has accepted J as my same-sex partner, is still a little too concerned about my image or what I wear, or that I don’t wear make-up.  Too often I’ve heard that I had to look “pretty” or dress up because someone was having a 90th birthday party next month and it wouldn’t be appropriate to wear ‘those ugly shoes’ or ‘those pants that make you look like a man’ or the same shirt you wore to Aunt Bertha’s funeral.  
     
    bit*h, please.  If they’re lucky enough to make it to 90, they aren’t going to give too many shits about what I’m wearing!  But you kind of see where I’m going with this…it’s always the same with her.  If I look or act like an idiot, it reflects badly on her and we can’t have that, now, can we?
     
    Back to the picture I showed her of Halle Berry…it is by no means masculine…at least, not to me.  It’s sleek, neat, elegant almost.  It’s gorgeous.  A given - I do not look like her in any way.  In fact, I am the complete opposite of Halle Berry.  She’s tall, I’m short.  She’s thin, I’m not. I can add to this list, but the gist of what I’m getting from my mother’s comment - the hair may look good on Halle Berry but on me, it looks ‘butchy.’  
     
    I almost instantly got annoyed as soon as that text came in and had to refrain from throwing my phone through the windshield.  J was driving and listening to music and at the same time, me swearing.  If only my mother knew how many times she has been the cause of my random swearing outbursts and my poor wife has had to listen to me come up with creative new ways to cuss out my mother.  Ay yi yi yi yi…  
     
    Eventually J asked why I cared so much about what my mother thought and why her opinion mattered so much.  
     
    I don’t even know the answer to that.

    See, if you ask me, she cares too much about what HER friends think.  I’m pretty sure she will tell everyone the success stories of her other two ‘normal’ daughters, before she talks about the one who was married at 21, divorced at 29, with a new partner at 30, oh, and let’s not forget that her new partner is the same sex, too.  Don’t get me wrong, she’s been wonderful around J and fully supports my decision to hop on over to the ‘dark side’ but I can’t help but suspect she doesn’t worry about the images of her other two daughters as much as she does mine.  
     
    I mean, one sister married an alcoholic three-year-old (says on his birth certificate that he’s thirty-something, but he often throws tantrums and acts as if he’s three) that looks like the title character of ‘Where’s Waldo?’ with this ridiculous ponytail we all envision cutting off one day, just because.  They already have one kid (who really is three) that was diagnosed with autism.  You’d think my sister would have enough sense to give up her theater days but she feels more comfortable dumping my autistic nephew into my mother’s care while she continues to pursue her dreams of someday becoming a Broadway star.  She got started with her crooning and performing when she was about four or five years old and no one has had the heart to tell her that she has about as much natural talent as a drunk banshee.  And even better - she’s currently pregnant with her second kid, another child that my mother will likely have to raise because she’s too busy running lines instead of a household.  She doesn’t cook.  She doesn’t clean.  She just sings badly.  My brother-in-law will pick up most of the slack at home, but even he’s annoyed and I’ve had to come to the conclusion that she is the main cause of his childish tantrums.  That just isn’t a stable situation at ALL.  
     
    Now, let’s talk about Sister number two.  This is the sister that I feel closer to, even though she’s further away in age from me than sister number one.  One, unfortunately has no filter on her mouth and often comes across as an overly critical piece of work.  This results in a lot of family tension and dirty looks from my children.  Two is more soft-spoken and knows when to hold her tongue.
     
    So, naturally, Sister number two is an overall better person and a more enjoyable person to be around.  She did marry a much nicer, better-looking, sweeter man.  They welcomed a daughter last month. Both are medical professionals.   They have a nice house that they paid way too much for.  About a week after the birth of their daughter, he had to return to work, so Sister number two calls up Mama, who, in turn, drops everything and rushes over there to help her care for the baby.  And this, I understand….we ALL need a little extra help when a new baby arrives.  But, man, oh, man she milks it.  Just like for years before she got married, she milked it.  She lived at home until the day she was married, even though she and her husband had an apartment already.  She spent most of her time at Mom’s house, eating Mom’s food and letting Mom take care of her laundry, pack her lunches for work, etc.  Her reasoning was, ‘Mom’s house was closer to her job,’ but I know that it’s simply because my mother enables her ‘let Mommy take care of it’ behavior.
     
    I wanted to go and see the little one last week and Mom texted me the day before to ask what I was bringing.  “Say what?” I ask.  Mom proceeds in telling me that Sister number two doesn’t cook, either.  Apparently, for the last month, my mother, as well as any visitors who have gone to see her has brought some kind of prepared-to-heat meal for her.  And it would be most helpful if I could throw together a lasagna or something that she could pop in the oven for dinner one night.
     
    “Mom,” I said, “She’s thirty years old.  She’s not the first woman on the planet to reproduce.”
     
    My mother made as many excuses as possible.  She’s tired, she just had a baby, her husband is working all the time, she’s overwhelmed, she’s a first-time mother, baby won’t let her do anything.…  Meanwhile I’m not buying that because well, isn’t my mother also there, every single damn day?  Can’t she hold the baby while my sister cooks her own dinner???  Then she starts with, “Your other sister brought her a pot pie the other day from Costco…because you know she doesn’t cook.”
     
    “Neither does this one, obviously!”
     
    “Out of the three, you’re the cook.  So maybe you can bring her something yummy.”
     
    I probably would have, because I’m nice.  But, I ended up not going to see my niece because both J and I came down with a stomach bug.  I’ve got plans to see her on Thanksgiving weekend, though.
     
    But I got to thinking about how much she enables those two for things that are far more serious than a dress or a haircut.  
     
    Look…when I had my son at 21, I took care of him.  My then-husband went to work every day and I was alone with a colicky child all day.  I shopped, did laundry for and prepared dinner for a family of five. (Husband and his two older children in addition to me and an infant = 5) I took the baby as well as his older two children to doctor appointments, took them to school, picked them up.  It wasn’t a paying job but it was a job.  I didn’t have a singing hobby on the side.  I think I called my mother to babysit only a handful of times when hubby and I would have our bowling night but as far as hobbies go, that’s about all I did with that three hours of freedom per week.  She used to complain that she didn’t see my children enough.  Now her biggest complaint is my having moved 2 hours away from her, from both sisters, and she feels even less needed by me.   They, and their children consume so much of her time and she often expresses anger at my moving so far away because I’m not there to help her help them.  Of course, she masks it all by saying she misses me.  I’m sure she does, but I think she’s just bitten off more than she could chew and spread herself too thin, simply because she is trying to uphold her idea of what the image of a perfect mother and grandmother is like.  She delights in hearing what other people have to say about her, it’s her way of making sure she’s successful.
     
    “What did your friend think of me?”  She’ll ask me after she’s met one of my friends.  I usually have to lie because any one of my friends already knows my mother before they meet her in person.
     
    “They want a mother just like you.”
     
    “I’m the best.”  She’ll say.
     
    “Absolutely.”
     
    The best enabler, maybe.  The best whiner.  The best pain in my ass.
     
    Meanwhile, what kind of an image have I provided for these two sisters of mine?  There’s me who is so used to dealing with things my own damn self…and then there’s these two who, because they allowed her to take over and be such a dominant figure in their married lives, have proven themselves useless and far too reliant on my mother.  And in turn, my mother meddles just enough within their lives to make herself look good in the process.  
     
    I’m pretty sure that in her world, there’s a lot of “Oh, would you look at that?  Look at Vee’s daughter, such a talented singer…and she’s got children at home, too!”  Or, “Look at this one, just had a baby, can you imagine how rough she has it, she juggles a newborn, long hours and prescriptions!”  Then of course when it comes to me, she’s afraid of hearing, “Oh…that one…she doesn’t have a job.  She’s home all day, she’s a bit of a hermit…and she’s just got a butch haircut.  Sssh.  I think she’s a lesbian.”
     
    Well…guess what?
     
    I don’t care.  I don’t give a shit.
     
    I don’t care what image my having short hair puts forth.  If it makes me look like the son she never had, then so be it.  
     
    I don’t care if I end up hating it because the sight of a pissed off Oompa Loompa will look funnier than me, any day.  Plus, hair grows back, so it’s not a life sentence.  
     
    At the end of the day, I care only what J thinks.  And she already has the image of me that she wants.  Hair isn’t something that matters to her.  Looks don’t matter to her.  (If they did, she would have chosen Halle Berry, hands-down.) 
     
    I already have the image of myself that I need.  I’m Vee’s daughter, but I’m also me.  I’ve worked hard to be the highly perceptive person I am today.  My sisters may be the ones with careers, but life-wise, I can safely say I’m smarter.  Aside from being the oldest, I’m sure a lot of life experiences have contributed to my being the way I am, and I’ve accepted that a long time ago.  From the time I got married too young, I’ve marched to the beat of my own drum.  I think the outcome you see in me today is truly a result of having broken away from Mama’s clutches before she could do any further damage.  
     
    It didn’t take too much longer than the drive home from Walmart, but I’ve decided that by the end of this week, I’ll have a new ‘do.  I’ll be sure to post whether Mama survives the heart attack she’s likely to have when I Face-Time her to show her my new haircut.  
     
    Maybe she’ll surprise me and say she loves it.  (I do have to keep in mind, I’ve lied to her about liking her haircuts for years.)  Maybe she can do the same for me.  I wouldn’t even care if she lied. 
     
    I just need her to stop trying to mold me into a person that I’m not.  
     
    Just like you simply can’t shape clay that’s already hardened into its permanent form.  
     
    Until next time,
    - Capulet
  17. Capulet

    That moment when...

    By Capulet,

    ...you realize that you ARE Raymond from that TV show, "Everybody Loves Raymond."
    In short, the show's about an average guy.  Married, a few kids, a nice house.  And a mother who's a pushy, nosy, meddling, annoying pain-in-the-ass busybody.  Said character was perfectly played by the late Doris Roberts.  We all knew Marie Barone.  And we all LOVED Marie Barone because - well - let's admit it.  She made us laugh.  She was that mother we were all glad we didn't have.  Some of us might have wanted some of Marie's attentiveness but have to agree - it was over-the-top and for someone (like, oh, let's see.....me?) who likes their personal space, cringe-worthy.  
    I was unloading a bag the Oompa gave me when I went into Jersey to see my family last weekend.  She had given me a shopping bag with 'things she picked up for me' and this bag remained in the trunk of my car until last night.  
    (Why this bag remained in the trunk for a full week will be explained shortly.)
    There were a few things she'd told me she was sending over.  A bag clip, a pair of pants that didn't fit her anymore that I could probably squeeze into (it's going into the donation bin on account of pure ugliness) and a box that she probably didn't have time to wrap. I open it up and unravel a coffee mug.
    Sighhhh.
    Remembering that she gave me a coffee mug back in July when she came to visit for the kids' birthdays.  I went into the cabinet where I'd put the other one.  I set up both mugs side-by-side and took a picture:

    Okay.  She's trying to tell me something, and clearly, it's not that I don't drink enough coffee. Whether I do or don't is debatable these days, but I'm PRETTY sure this isn't her message.  I stared at these cups for a good while and thought to myself, this ain't normal.  Even for Italian moms, this CAN'T be viewed as an acceptable means of trying to communicate with your child.  I mean, I'm a mother too; but I'd NEVER give my kid one of these.  Maybe as a joke, I'd give the yellow one to the daughter as a reminder that I'm here to listen to her.  But this is not the Oompa's intent.  No, she is clearly trying to guilt and manipulate me into being closer to her.  As stated in previous blogs, this isn't something I want.  I love my mother dearly, but I do NOT see myself sharing anything of a personal nature with her.  I never was able to, and don't think I ever will be.  Small doses is my speed.  Unfortunately it is not hers.  Because she lives two hours away, she has HAD to deal with the small doses, but now this has motivated her gift-giving - and quite honestly all I can offer her is an eye-roll in thanks.  I refuse to feed into this.
    Okay, so - I promised an explanation on why it took me so long to unpack these things from the car....
    I had a bad week.  I spent yesterday evening/night in the hospital.  
    Before I continue - let me assure you all - I'm okay.  Aside from a few bruises and pokes and needle marks, I'm fine. 
    I was hit with a bout of food poisoning over something I ingested on Monday night - I'm not sure what PART of my dinner was bad, but it had me up at 5am on Tuesday morning.  It was my third trip to the toilet when it happened.  I was sitting and all of a sudden was hit with a hot flash, dizziness and sweats.  I remember feeling overwhelmingly nauseous.  Then - nothing.  
    I was on the floor.  My face was against the cool tile.  I slowly got up and realized what had happened.  This had happened before so I knew...I'd passed out.  This has happened a few times in my lifetime, though the incidents were never close enough together that they were to be considered a problem.
    I got back to bed and crawled in.  J's alarm was set to go off in fifteen minutes from that moment, and I realized that I'd been passed out for the last four to five minutes.  I laid silently until J got up.  When she moved to turn off her alarm, I told her to turn on the light, and then told her what happened. 
    We found a bump on the side of my head, close to the top.  And though there was nothing visible, yet, there was some tenderness in my chin and lower jaw.  J asked if I wanted to go to the doctor.  Stubborn me says, 'no.  I'm okay, I just want to go back to bed.'  I promised her I'd text when I got up.  I did.  And for MOST of Tuesday, I was okay.  I ate some eggs, and I had some toast, I did my classwork, attended all of my meetings.  All was as okay as could be. 
    Until nighttime.  
    I'd had a headache all day.  Possibly from having hit my head earlier that morning but I'd taken Tylenol a few times and it'd helped.  Was preparing to have dinner when the nausea peaked and I'd JUST made it to the bathroom.  EVERYTHING I had eaten in the last 24+ hours had come up.  This will sound gross but this is how I knew that it was Monday night's dinner that was the problem...
    "Are you sure you don't want to go to the doctor, dear?"  J was asking again, "You could have a concussion."  
    "Nope," I told her, "I'm good.  I feel better now that all of that is out of my system."
    Wednesday...a little bit better.  Another day of feeling dazed, foggy and overall crappy.  Still had a rumbly tummy.  Made myself dinner, regardless.  I was hungry and on empty.  It wasn't too heavy, though, it was crockpot chicken.  Went to bed still feeling rumbly.  Woke up at 4am this time, needed several trips to the bathroom before trying some Immodium.  Not sure if it was the sheer nastiness of the Immodium or anything else, but I'd barely made it back to the bed before feeling a LOT like I had before passing out on Tuesday.  Hot.  Sweaty.  Dizzy.  J was awake this time.  I told her I was feeling hot and sweaty again and that I was going to puke.  
    She moved fast but not quite fast enough.  Although she got the bathroom trash can over to me quickly, I still managed to soil the blankets with puke.
    "Okay.  You're going to the doctor later this evening when I get home from work," said the wifey, and the one who...cleaned it all up.  "No ifs, ands or buts!"
    I didn't have the energy to argue, and deep down, I knew she was right.  I was now showing delayed signs of a concussion.  They were all there.  The lethargy, the restlessness, the headaches, feeling hazy, foggy, nausea, vomiting.  I nodded.  Yes.  Might be time to cast aside my overall dislike of doctors and hospitals and anything medical-related and go.  I'd fought it from the start, but I couldn't fight it, anymore.  I agreed to be ready to go when she got home from work.  By now, the son had 'slipped' during a call from his grandfather (the Oompa's husband/my stepfather) and had told the Oompa that I was asleep because I wasn't feeling well.  
    Yes, the son is very lucky I didn't kill him.  I didn't have the strength to get angry at him, either, but I DID tell him I'd wished he'd not told her that because she had sent me texts saying, 'are you sure it's not COVID?' and 'shouldn't you go get checked to make sure, so that J could have some peace of mind???'  Already, the drama was starting.  I told her it was food poisoning, and that I was fine - all a doctor was going to tell me was that it was going to have to run its course.  I prayed that the Son hadn't told her about my passing out....so far, it looks unlikely.  
    Thank GOD, too, because I had said to the wife from the very beginning: "We do not speak of this to the Oompa."
    "What, that you passed out?"
    "That is correct.  We don't say a word about that."  (My kids were also told that the Oompa was to hear nothing further of it.)
    I stuck by this even when we were there and they'd started me on an IV (which in itself caused me to go into a full-on panic - needles are NOT my thing) in preparation for a CAT scan.  J leaned in and asked,  "Are you sure you don't want me to call your mother and let her know what's going on?"
    "NO!"
    "Okay, okay."
    I just can't deal with the drama.  I can't.  I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear HER, I don't want the fuss.  My reasoning is - we do not call the Oompa unless it's one million percent necessary.  We do not give the Oompa any reason to think that we need her to meddle or to micromanage any situation.  I know that she has this immeasurable desire to feel as if she's needed but her 'helping' approach is...too much.  If you give her too much, she will seize control and run with it.  I'm not up for that, right now.  I told the wife that if the tests came back showing any problems, THEN she could call the Oompa.  Not before.
    She agreed.
    So - everything came back fine.  My levels - fine.  They did labs, they did the CAT scan, they hooked me up to IV fluids for several hours.  They set me up with the football game while I waited on results.  
    "So, what the hell happened?"  I asked the discharging nurse.  
    He said, "we'll probably never know for sure but I'm thinking it was vasovagal syncope."
    Here it is as defined by Google (and because I'd never heard of it before, I couldn't possibly explain it any better):
    Vasovagal syncope (vay-zoh-VAY-gul SING-kuh-pee) occurs when you faint because your body overreacts to certain triggers, such as the sight of blood or extreme emotional distress. It may also be called neurocardiogenic syncope. The vasovagal syncope trigger causes your heart rate and blood pressure to drop suddenly.  
    According to the nurse, triggers include dehydration and 'pushing' when going to the bathroom, so at least this was a partial explanation for the passing out.  
    I don't know if I believe this diagnosis completely - telling me my body is overreacting?  What's that supposed to mean?  I'M overreacting?  I don't currently have diarrhea anymore - so, why do I STILL feel like I am going to pass out every time I stand, walk around?  The sweating?  It was still happening earlier today.  I dunno if it's because I've only just now started to eat more food and am rehydrating, but ugh.  I'm just not sure they found ANYTHING to explain what happened.  Not one nurse or doctor checked my eyes, my head, or my chin where there's clearly bruises visible, now.  From what I understand, a CT scan does not show a concussion.  I just feel that yes, they checked the important things, but there were things seemingly more of a focus that they didn't check...and then when they didn't see any reason to keep me there, they discharged me.  And, so, on the concussion, I don't have a definite answer - only suspicion.  They did give me anti-nausea pills that I'm instructed to take 30 minutes prior to eating - as explained, these would block the nausea signal from the brain to the stomach, and I'll be able to keep food down.  They told me to take it easy and slow, which isn't too much a challenge for me when I'm feeling normal.
    I just took my papers and prescriptions and thanked them and was glad to go home.  After being there for several hours and getting the "you're good, everything's fine," I didn't want to sit there any longer.  I wanted that godawful IV out of my arm and I wanted to take one of two percocets they gave me and crash.....and that's exactly what I did.  I slept HARD last night.  
    But....I'm okay.  I've been home a little less than 24 hours at this point and actually feel a LOT better.  I've got some food in me, and I've got a lot more energy than I've had all last week.  Thinking tomorrow is going to be a 'catch up' day and I will be focusing on the schoolwork I've missed and on upcoming assignments.
    As this has been a late night for me, I'm thinking tomorrow I'll need some serious caffeine.
    Anyone up for a cup of coffee?  I promise, I've got different mugs.  These are going all the way in the back of the cabinet!  😄 
    - Capulet
  18. Capulet

    Portrait of a Wasband

    By Capulet,

    You all may remember that before my transition over to the ‘dark side,’ (term used in reference to the same-sex relationship I am currently in) I was married to an extremely difficult man.  Mr. His-Way-Or-The-Highway, also known as my ‘wasband,’ was always, ALWAYS stubborn as a mule, on top of being quite adept in the powers of intimidation.  No one wanted to deal with his wrath, people would feel as if they were teetering on eggshells around him.  He knew that, and of course, still knows that.  It is safe to say we are ONLY friends because we share children in common; most of the time, I don’t want to be around him either.  The only reason I spend holidays with him is because he INSISTS upon the children being with him on every major holiday and they’re not yet given any choice in the matter.  Plus, despite his shortcomings, the wasband is a VERY good cook.  It eliminates my need to cook or clean on holidays, small price to pay in my opinion.  The alternative is to spend the holiday with the Oompa Loompa and that’s an entirely different headache.  At times, she’ll come to the wasband’s as well, and usually a good time is had without my sister’s and brother-in-law’s guaranteed drama being present. 
     
    Anyway, my daughter has been telling me lately that she hates being at her father’s house, that he's harsh on them and makes them get up early and clean.  Of course, she's 11, she exaggerates, so I take that with a grain of salt.  Now, a huge part of her not wanting to go is that she’s forever locking horns with her father's wife.  Another contributing factor is that she is, in many ways, just like the wasband - stubborn, always has to have the last word, and doesn’t do well with being told what to do.  She doesn’t see her stepmother as an authority figure, so end result, she will fight with her Dad’s wife and giggle gleefully to herself when her Dad takes her side.  Yes, she IS a spoiled brat at times, but I do appreciate that he will keep his wife in check when he sees fit.  This is not to say that both he and I don’t put her in her place when she needs it.  However lately, he’s been cracking down on both of their attitudes (they don’t give it to me as much as they give it to his wife, and they certainly don’t do it in front of their father) and my guess is, he’s gotten to the point where he’s tired of hearing his wife complain about our kids.  Plus, he went from being able to walk to work to now having to commute 2 hours by car each way, leaving at 5am and getting home close to 7-8pm every night has turned him into even more of an unbearable pain in the ass.  His wife is the one dealing with all the housework, cooking, cleaning, laundry, kids, etc…so I can certainly understand the stress she puts up with.  
     
    Please don’t misunderstand - I do not envy her or sympathize with her.  When he asked me for a divorce back in 2008, it only took him a couple of weeks to “find someone online that he’d like to take on a date,” leading me to believe he’d been talking to her long before calling it quits with me.  If I were to ask him today, he’d deny it up and down and insist that his meeting her was one of those right time, right place kind of situations.  I’m a lot of things - stupid is not one of those things.  I shrugged it off back then and really didn’t see the point in caring too much about our inevitable split.  Part of me didn’t want to reconcile, anyway.  NOT if it meant being forever miserable.  
     
    But, ya know…if anything, his wife did me a favor.  She took him off my hands.  He is now HER problem.  And I’m in a MUCH healthier, happier relationship now.  She made her bed, now she has to live with her decision.  
     
    So…back to my daughter for a bit of a side story...
     
    Last night, my younger brat wanted to have two of her friends spend the night at my house.  She begged me from the moment she walked in from school…until I told her that there were a few things she needed to do for me before I’d allow it.  Her room had to be made spotless.  She had to sweep the stairs and hallway downstairs.  She had to clean the cat box.  She had to clear her desk of all slime-making supplies and then vacuum the carpet in her room.  She had to put her clothes away, properly, folded neatly and in the correct drawers.
     
    What do you know...she did it all!  She did need a nudge here and there but she did it.  Damn it.  I’d been hoping she would falter on her assigned chores and I’d have a reason NOT to allow her friends to spend the night…but when she sets her mind to something, she’ll do whatever it takes.  On a positive note, I guess this means she’ll not be able to make any silly excuses later on when she's asked to do these things again.
     
    So anyway, two friends met up with her at the bowling alley.  When I was done with my league play, I’d bring the girls home.  We get home and one of them says she didn’t eat lunch or dinner before coming to the bowling alley to meet up with my daughter.  Did I have any food for her?
     
    Okay.  The kid’s hungry.  So I nuke corn dogs for them.  Not exactly my food of choice but at 11pm, that’s all that I had the energy to make.  They inhaled those corn dogs and then disappeared downstairs.  By now, the late night headache was setting in and I retreated to my room.  I woke up with the same headache at 7am, took three Excedrin (because sometimes two does absolutely nothing) and went back to sleep.  I got up a couple hours later and went downstairs to check on the girls.  They were all awake.  I asked if they’d like breakfast.  The Corn Dog girl says yes.  So I go make them pancakes and scrambled eggs. Then I ask them both to check in with their mothers and make sure they find out from their Moms what time they need to be ready to be picked up.  Because usually, a kid’s mother wants them back eventually, right?
     
    No, I guess not, maybe their mothers don’t like them too much, either or they were perfectly fine with my keeping their kids for as long as their kid would like to stay at my house.  One girl’s mother wasn’t going to be getting home from work until after three.  The other one’s mother just said for her to be home whenever I could bring her home.
     
    Let it be known that neither mother offered to come get their kid from my house.  I do know both mothers are drivers and are capable of saying, “Hey, you’re feeding and taking care of my kid overnight, maybe I’ll make your life a little easier and come pick her up in the morning…”  No such thing was ever said.
     
    So, we’re eating breakfast now…Corn Dog girl eats her eggs and my daughter’s eggs too.  My two go to their Dad’s on Saturdays, mid-day.  So I told both my daughter’s friends to tell their mothers that I would be driving them both home at 4pm because my daughter's father would be coming at 4:30 to get her.  Now, MY daughter pipes in and says, “Why do I have to go back to Dad’s?  I hate going there.”
     
    I shrug and tell her that it’s how it always is, they’re with me Wednesday afternoons after school through Saturday evenings and with him Sat nights until they leave for school Wed morning.  It’s a split down the middle and my house and the wasband’s are literally seven minutes’ drive apart.  It works out nicely.  Of course, until recently, BOTH kids have come home and said they hate being at his house because it’s nothing short of chaotic.  
     
    “Did Dad ever abuse you?”  My daughter asks me.  In front of her friends.  Six wide eyes staring at me at the same time, now.  
     
    “No.”  I tell her.
     
    While it’s not the first time I have lied to my daughter, I feel that her idea of abuse is not the same as mine.  At 11 years old, she probably thinks being abusive is limited to being violent/physical.  The wasband was not that way with me, but he was certainly mentally and emotionally abusive.  He made me feel about two inches tall for most of our marriage, to the point where divorce was a blessing.  My 17-year-old certainly can make that connection and recognize his father’s words and actions as being abusive in nature but his sister cannot.  She sees him as angry and to her, anger equals violence equals spankings.  I just told her (and her nosy friends) that her Dad and I just couldn’t get along and that was why we divorced.  He’s absolutely not an easy man to live with, but he’s still her father and he still provides for her.  
     
    One day, I’ll tell her that there are so many different forms of abuse, and she’ll understand more in depth how her father is.  I’m still not sure how I’m going to touch the SA topic with her, but thankfully, the wasband is not in any way involved in any of my memories of SA - this is never a mental picture she will associate with her father, and for that, I’m grateful.  I do think it’s important for her to recognize any and all kinds of abusive behavior, but it just wasn’t the right time to have a heart-to-heart with two sixth graders at my kitchen table.
     
    Luckily, she accepted that answer, and we went about our day.  She and her friends played outside while I showered and got ready.  I then went to Wal-Mart to pick up another string of lights for the bedroom window and then told her friends that I would now be driving them home.  Of course, all three girls tell me they’re hungry, would I hit up the Burger King drive-thru on my way?  
     
    Sure.  Why not?  I told them to pick value menu stuff to have as a snack.  They’d had their pancakes and eggs at 11:30am, so how damn hungry could these kids be?  Especially Corn Dog girl, this kid is a string bean and the amount of food she’d eaten at my house was insane, I wasn’t sure where she was putting all of it.
     
    The other girl lived furthest away, so she was the first drop-off.  I’d met her mother at the bowling alley a couple weeks ago.  Her mother was also at home at the time we arrived.  I didn’t know where to park, so I pulled up to the front of the house and while I left the engine running, my daughter and Corn Dog girl both walked their friend to the door.  They disappeared into the house.  I waited, half-expecting the mother to come outside and thank me for getting her child home in one piece.  Or wave through a window.  Or come to the door in her robe and curlers and pretend she’d been busy instead of sitting on her ass all day long while someone else took care of their child.  
     
    No such appearance made by this girl’s mother.  My daughter and Corn Dog girl came back out, got back into the car.  Off we went to Corn Dog girl’s house next.  
     
    She mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ when she got out of the car…a brief expression of gratitude that I didn’t even hear until my daughter told me later on that she did indeed thank me for allowing her to spend the night at our home.  The first girl didn’t even get that far.  No mother in the bathrobe at Corn Dog girl’s house, either.  I asked my daughter if her parents had been home.  
     
    “Yeah, they were both home.”  
     
    “I see.”  I shifted the car into drive and headed home.  I then proceeded in telling my daughter that her two friends, as nice and as lovely as they both were, need a little bit of a lesson in MANNERS and so did their mothers!  I don’t expect much from 11 year olds, but I’ve always taught MY children to be grateful to anyone who shows them kindness, anyone who feeds them, lets them come to their homes.  You not only say thank-you once, you say it many times!  My daughter may be a brat, but she’s respectful.  I also told her that the next sleep-over would take place at one of THEIR houses.  Maybe my child can teach their parents a thing or two about courtesy?
     
    I got home around 4pm, which was pretty much on schedule, since usually the wasband comes for kids around 4:30.  I come to find out that he had called our son while I was out being my daughter’s friends’ taxi and asked that I drop the kids off to his house rather than him come get them.  Since he and his wife were not at home at the time this request was made, I said I’d do it if he’d set a place for me at dinner - J was working a double shift, my headache had intensified and I didn’t feel like cooking for just myself.  He agreed.  
     
    I waited a little while, strung up the lights I’d bought at Wal-Mart and then got the kids into the car and off we went to the wasband’s house. 
     
    We get there and let me tell you, I cannot be more grateful for what I have now as opposed to the chaos that ensues the millisecond you walk into his house.  Not only is it usually in disarray, it’s akin to walking into a zoo and all the cages, pens and enclosures are left open.
     
    To start with, he has four dogs that bark and jump simultaneously as soon as they realize that there is company present, three cats that don’t make much noise but will scatter in every which direction the dogs are NOT headed in,  and when our two are with him, SIX kids running around TRYING to look busy.  Then there’s of course, him and his wife.  He can usually be seen barking out orders and everyone following directions without question - because that’s how they’re all used to it being over there.  The son usually compares his father to Hitler, and I hate to say he’s certainly onto something.  When the wasband speaks, everyone listens.  When he says, ‘jump,’ we ask ‘how high?’  There is no middle road, no negotiating.  My children have had that indoctrinated in them since they were born.  I’m the gentle, more compassionate parent and he is, and always will be, the hard-assed slave-driver.
     
    Anyway, aside from the dogs barking, cats running away and messy house (and I mean MESSY) there was existing drama when we arrived.  I walked into the wasband’s house and the wasband was chasing the smallest dog around the house - apparently while he and his wife were at the supermarket, the dogs had some kind of a canine pow-wow in the living room and left piss and shit and a trail of Christmas lights, garlands and decorations strewn all over the floor.  Once he managed to catch the dog and rubbed his nose into its mess, he grumbled something about how he hoped I wasn’t in a hurry because dinner would be delayed for about an hour.  I told him that was fine and I sat in the den with my daughter while he and his wife prepped dinner.
     
    A little while later, I hear hollering coming from the kitchen.  I look at my daughter, inquiring what happened.  Apparently wasband’s wife’s son had been given the task of checking the pork chops that wasband had breaded and placed onto the smoker to further crisp-ize.  Instead of just checking that nothing was burning, his wife’s son decided to pick up a pair of tongs and turn them, subsequently causing the crispy coating to fall off.  It likely wasn’t even his fault entirely; the smoker perhaps hadn’t been sprayed with the anti-stick stuff so the coating on the pork chops had stuck to the grill.  Anyway, the wasband lost his shit.  He went ballistic on his stepson, then turned to my son and ordered him to go and do some damage control.
     
    My son apparently made a wise-assed comment back to his father, alluding that entrusting his stepbrother with the task of checking pork chops was not a good idea, what did he expect?  The wasband yelled at him, too, basically threatened the well-being of our son if he didn’t learn to control what came out of his mouth.  Then he loomed over him and dared him to keep talking.  My son said nothing, instead he bit his tongue until it bled and focused on the gravy he was now preparing.  He refused to speak to his father, or even to look at him, despite the wasband’s face being inches from his, and his urging him to speak, trying to bully him into saying the wrong thing.  Still,  my son maintained his composure and continued to say nothing.
     
    He reminded me so much of myself right then, I have to say.  There HAD been times, although granted, not that severe, when the wasband had dared ME to speak, to go ahead and disagree with what he was saying, and I’d freeze.  I’d say nothing because, well, there WAS absolutely nothing I could ever say that was acceptable to him.  He was right, I was wrong.  Just like right now, he IS right, my son was one hundred percent wrong because he’d talked back.  And even if a small part of me secretly applauded my son for speaking up to his father, I fear for him at times.  He probably WILL catch a fist from his father one of these days, and seeing as our son is just six months shy of adulthood, if it were ever to come to blows, he’d likely end up at my house permanently because he’d not have to follow orders anymore.
     
    I don’t want this for my children at all.  I want them to have a relationship with their father.  A HEALTHY, loving relationship with the man I chose to be their Dad.  I want them to know their father as a kind man, but even I don’t remember him being compassionate or kind or loving toward his family whenever we weren’t around strangers or he wasn’t trying to make an impression on someone or actually mislead people into thinking he were a stand-up guy.  He’s forever complaining about the kids, about how they’ve got mouths on them (gee, I wonder why?) and how I, as their mother, need to keep them in check.
     
    I don’t think they’re the problem.  I know that ninety percent of the time, the wasband is the problem.  He is a product of a broken home, himself.  His mother was a drug addict, his father was physically and emotionally abusive.  His parents divorced when he was a young child and he spent quite some time in foster care before he ran away from home at fifteen.  He moved in with a relative on the east coast and eventually joined the military right out of high school.  The military mindset was quickly adopted and that, as well as what he’d been taught about home life as a child, has contributed to the molding of the person he is today - you can see why he became the difficult man he remains to be now, even though he is retired from the army and his parents are not in his life.  The wasband has such denial about it all, too.  He doesn’t see these problems.  Instead, he points fingers.  The children all see it.  They make little comments to me, in private, and all I can really do about it is listen to them and in my own way, compensate for how they’re treated by the wasband by treating them with the love and respect they deserve when they’re with me.  He says I coddle them, but if you ask me, I have to, in order to preserve whatever shred of sanity they may still have in them.  
     
    Sadly, I’ve concluded that in the long run, he’s going to lose their affections entirely.  That’s truly unfortunate, because my kids are good people (they didn’t learn the good behavior from him…if they had turned out to be like him personality-wise, I probably would have let him have full custody!) and I’m proud to say that I’ve taught them to always be respectful to others.  Sure, they have their moments but you know, kids are kids.  They’re going to have moments when they mouth off.  No kid is completely devoid of smart-assedness but if you ask me, this is healthy.  A kid should be able to exercise sarcasm within respectful margins, of course.  There are, however, times they slip and that’s when you, as a parent, step in and using love and logic, teach them with words, examples and explanations, how to handle the day-to-day situations as they unfold in front of them.  I’ll never teach them anger, never teach them rage, and never, EVER will they be of the impression that any form of bullying is okay.  Because this is what their father is - one big, fat bully.  
     
    Not only do I have to teach them how to handle things in stride, I’ve got to teach my son how to be a good man.  I don’t know the first thing about being a man, obviously, but I do know that I don’t want him to be like the wasband, who is on his third wife, who tonight I think, was in tears because it had been her son who had messed up the pork chops.  She saw him lose his shit, interrogate the poor kid, rip into him for trying to be helpful (when really, that was all he’d been trying to do, help by flipping the pork chops…)  Because he was standing there screaming at and belittling her son, she eventually took his side and hollered at him, too.  I felt horrible for him, so I made sure to let him know before I left that the pork chops tasted just fine, even if the coating had fallen off.   
     
    Looking at her cry, though, I see that she’s trapped, like I had once felt I was, being married to him.  It also tells me that I have to teach my daughter something that I never would have learned for myself had he not initiated the divorce, and that is how to take a stand and how NOT to allow herself to be treated by anyone, be it a man, woman or a classmate.  There is NO excuse for the way her father behaves at times, but that’s just so damn tricky to explain right now, especially to an 11 year old.  I have to search for ‘loopholes’ and explain things to her in a manner where I’m not openly bashing her father, but at the same time, teaching her the difference between good and bad parenting.  And while I teach her, I have to remember that despite her reluctance to go spend time at his house, she does love him.
     
    As for the wasband, there’s absolutely no hope for him as far as change goes.  He is who he is because of the poor values instilled in him as a child; all we can truly hope for is that the children I share with him have learned to be more like me than they have him.  If occasional stubbornness is all they inherit from him, then I can certainly live with that.  I just hope it doesn't get to the point where their relationship becomes irreparable, because that will truly be the point of no return.  If that were to happen, then he'd have no one to blame but himself.  The only problem?  He's never to blame!
     
    Listen...if you’re a parent…tell your kids you love them, every day.  Even if it is done in a one-line text or a little note in their lunch bag.  Hug them, as often as you can.  Because these hugs, even if they squirm and complain about them, are still secretly loved.  Trust me on this.  Tell them they’re amazing.  Because they are.  Even if sometimes, they’re spoiled brats.  They’re still your children and they’re going to be just like you.  And you’re amazing too, aren’t you? ;)  
     
    In all seriousness, it has become so much more evident that children are more likely to mimic favorable behaviors if they witness it often enough.  I know I am doing my part.  It saddens me that people like my wasband, and my daughter's friends' mothers are teaching their children to be angry, bullies and just plain rude and ungrateful.  
     
    Sadly, we can only control the behavior we choose to show our children and others around us.  And of course, we can also control who we invite to spend an overnight at our homes, while we're at it.
     
    Until next time.
    - Capulet
  19. Capulet

    I found it!

    By Capulet,

    I'm on a roll, it seems, with these blogs.  I simply have too much time to think these days.  It seems it's all I do.  When something baffles me - this is my drawing board.  I'm reminded of the evidence room whiteboard with scribbled notes and pictures and the strings connecting one to the other....that is an accurate assessment of my brain right now.  There's all this information, all these images.  I know there's more to it, and so I'm constantly and obsessively going over it.  Over, and over again.
    First off, I wanna thank those who provided me with the requested hugs and who checked in on me last night when I was having a moment while trying to release my last blog.  I really didn't feel 'right' talking about (or rather, complaining about) things that really can't be helped.  I know nobody has it easy right now, and my 'inner voice' was telling me that I have no room to complain.  I debated whether or not to post and whether to delete the whole damn thing, but a friend wisely reminded me that I'd likely be pissed off with myself if I deleted.  And so, I posted - but felt terrible for it.  I can't explain fully the reasons behind my guilt over complaining but sure as shit, this is a project for a different whiteboard.  This one is full enough.
    So, I've been trying to find more of a connection between how things are now and how things were in 1996.  This morning, I woke up and scared the shit out of my sleeping dog as I said it out loud.  Maybe, just maybe, a little too loudly.
    "I've fucking got it!  It's the communication barrier!"
    That's the connection.  I knew it had something to do with the ongoing pandemic, I just had a feeling, though, that it was something a little more specific than the feelings of isolation and disconnect.  And this is it.  
    In 1996, it was my inability to communicate by means of making a telephone call (a cab, a friend, etc) that ultimately led to my rape.  Texting wasn't invented, yet.  There was absolutely NO way for me to 'call out' or to ask for someone to come pick me up and bring me home.  There would be no lips or words for me to read.  I was truly trapped.  It was this communication barrier that left me no choice but to ask for help - and doing so resulted in trauma.
    And now, here in 2020 - I'm feeling this communication barrier again.  Of course, technologically wise, we are in a much more advanced place, but this does not change the fact that I still can't see lips whenever I'm out and about, at a store, at an appointment, ordering food.  I am forced into have to ask for help more than I'm comfortable with (for example, if I need to speak to someone and read their lips, I'm HAVING to explain that I'm hearing impaired and that i need for them to either lower masks or write things down) and I HATE this...because of 1996, I absolutely fucking hate this.  
    Mind. Blowing.  🤯
    I would say I'm gonna puke, but I've had nothing to eat, yet.  Still, my stomach's in knots.  Did I really just figure this out?? 
    - Cap
  20. Capulet

    Dibs!

    By Capulet,

    Can someone explain to me what the appeal is of a frozen breakfast sandwich?
    I'm not even talking Jimmy Dean.  I'm talking the Walmart brand.  Frozen.  $3.89 for a box of four sandwiches.  They're about a thousand calories each and are no bigger than a plum, plus the eggs are questionable as to whether they're real or just pretend eggs.  There's a sausage patty, also questionable as to whether they're made of mystery meat or real pork, which would surprise me.  
    My kids LOVE these things. And because getting them up in the mornings for school is a process that leaves very little time for healthy breakfasts, they'll usually grab one of these Walmart brand Sausage, Egg and Cheese Biscuits on their way out the door.  
    Once in a while, when I shop at Walmart (yes, if you've seen weird people at Walmart recently, you may have seen me...especially perusing the holiday clearances)...I will seek out such quickie meals for the kids, so that they have something in their bellies before school.  They will usually skip lunch (daughter more so than son, since he has half-day every day and will opt for lunch at home) simply because they don't find the school meals appetizing in any way.  I suppose I can't blame them there; MY middle-school cafeteria cook used to serve us slop that looked akin to vomit on a styrofoam tray.
    THIS morning, though, my two were arguing over who was going to eat the last "fake" breakfast sandwich.  She claims that he ate the last one on a day that there was only one left...(you do the math, two kids, four sandwiches in the box, two sandwiches per day = breakfast on Thursday and Friday mornings)...not sure how it got lopsided - perhaps because on occasion even the microwaveable breakfast didn't sound appeasing to one of them, but this particular morning, there was only one sandwich left in the freezer.  And he, before she could go looking for it, ate it.  In like, two big 17-year-old size chomps, it was gone.
    Swear to God, you would have thought he ate a filet mignon that she'd saved her allowance for months to buy....she lost her shit.  She went on for about thirty minutes before school about how much she couldn't stand her brother.  There might have been tears.  Some foot-stomping.  Some choice words screamed at his back when she thought I wasn't paying attention.  I vaguely remember shaking my head mumbling something about how the sandwich was now down my son's gullet and there was NOTHING that could be done, so I was going to walk away and drop the issue.  Along with making a mental note to buy more of those fucking sandwiches next time I went to Walmart.
    Fast-forward to last night - I was putting some groceries away and found the same thing I found that other morning.  A LONE SANDWICH.  A result of one morning when he'd come upstairs and fallen back asleep on the couch and hadn't eaten his breakfast.  (There, that's how it got lopsided...)
    So...there's a sandwich, wrapped in the clear cellophane.  I couldn't cover it with a package of chicken breasts fast enough.  She doesn't pay attention to much, nowadays.  She's 11.  But she saw that sandwich, clear as day.
    "DIBS!" She screeches.  "That's MY sandwich!  He ate the last one!"  Couldn't even tell her she was wrong about that, but I accepted that the sandwich was called for, and that I would guard that sandwich for her.
    Fast-forward to this morning.  Snow day!  No school.  Both kids came out of their rooms at just about noon - well rested and hungry.  She decided to have a can of Boyardee (another quickie meal that we really shouldn't keep buying) and when he finally came upstairs, he went straight to the freezer and lo and behold, spied the sandwich that his sister had called dibs on.  He reached in, thinking he'd struck gold.  
    It was like slo-mo.  
    Her eyes got wide.  
    MY eyes got wide.
    It was time to prevent a war.  Because if he would have gotten as far as opening that cellophane wrapper, there WOULD have been bloodshed. 
    "Yoursister'sbeensavingthat." I said to him, real quick.  
    "Whut?" The clueless teenage look we all know so well.
    "Your. sister. has. been. saving. that," I say again, holding my hand out.  "Surrender the sandwich."
    "Why can't I have it?" he wasn't seeing his sister about to scale the kitchen table and go ape-shit on him.  And just picture this, her lips saturated in Boyardee sauce, hair wild, eyes wide.  It wasn't pretty.
    "Because she's been saving it and she called dibs on it last night."
    He rolls his eyes.  Sandwich lands into my outstretched palm.  Crisis averted.  For now.
    Time to go to Walmart.  But I need the heat wave, first.  20's, I can deal with.  Negative temps are NO BUENO!  
    Hope y'all are staying warm.  
    - Capulet
     
     
  21. Capulet

    Why am I here?

    By Capulet,

    Happy Halloween, friends!  I hope everyone is satisfying their sweet tooth and staying safe in the process!
    Will try not to scare anyone with today's blog entry.  It won't be a long one - it serves as a little bit of a double purpose, though.  
    To clarify - I made an appointment for a 1:1 session with the woman who runs the monthly support group that I have been attending.  At the close of the last meeting, I inquired on potential volunteer opportunities for me, and a possible 1:1 session where I could come in and dump some of what was going on with me.  It wasn't an emergency - but at the time, it had been a rough week; I was feeling overall anxiety and uncertainty for MOST of this past month but especially so after recent discussions with my fiancee in regards to her rising social status.  (That can be read up on in my 'turbulence ahead' entry, if interested.)  My relationship, I don't think was ever in any danger - I just didn't realize that right away.  I needed TIME to process everything, to do so in the moment has NEVER been my strong point.  When I'm battling conflicting feelings and inner dialogue, I am guilty of  temporarily shutting down while I overthink things until they make sense.  Sometimes it takes a few days, sometimes it takes weeks, months, years.  At any rate, it's always been the safest pace for me.
    While I think I can safely say that those most recent meltdowns POSSIBLY could be related-but-not-related to my anniversary being at the beginning of this month (which is over tomorrow - GOODBYE, October!) I am feeling a LOT better, now - more calm, more at peace with some of the changes I'm working toward.  I've got some new goals, new responsibilities, new PLANS.  For the first time in several months, I feel I am making progress toward being more successful, more accomplished, climbing out of the 'same ol', same ol'' pit that I've been stuck in for far too long.  There are still some things I am waiting to hear about (school) but for now, everything else is going GREAT.
    And so, I've entertained the thought of cancelling Friday's appointment.  I got the 'you better not!' look from the fiancee when I told her - and so I've decided that rather than cancel it, I'll instead give some thought to what I can 'bring' with me on Friday.  Earlier last week when an appointment time was emailed to me, I asked if it would be all right to bring with me something I wrote - kind of a breakdown of what I felt I needed to work on with myself right now.
    I know I'm going to have to answer the question posted in the title - 'why am I here?'  (Isn't that the FIRST thing a new counselor or therapist will ask?)  And given my past experience with therapy, I'm more likely to shrug and say, "you tell me."  That's not going to fly, I know.  I need to have an answer.  
    I'll discuss my search for additional purpose...the growing need to become more active and involved.  There are already some ways that I've already done so - but it honestly should NOT be THIS much of a challenge!  Especially in the 'offline' mode; I need to better prepare myself for going back to school and other upcoming social opportunities that may arise.  I need to feel the confidence to take on these things without doubting myself and what I know I'm capable of.
    I've done very little 'work' on healing from the DV my ex-husband put me through.  It wasn't even until recently that I realized that I was a DV survivor on top of the other stuff.  On everything else, I've done PLENTY of healing work, thinking, writing, sorting through, soul searching.  But I think MOST of my current mental conflicts are a direct result of his handiwork - although I've broken away from him and have not been his wife for nearly eleven years, his influence STILL haunts me today.  And it's in many ways, affecting my desire to put myself out there.  I just feel that, for the moment, there are 'consequences' to enjoying myself around others.
    I've only got 45-50 minutes for the session, so I'll start with this.  I'm not sure if this is going to become a regular occurrence, going to counseling.  I only know this lady through the group meetings and don't know if she will be an ideal sounding board but the only failure in this case would be not giving it a try.  Either way, I think it will be enough to talk about this time.
    I will be back later on over the weekend or early next. ;)  
    Hoping you're all having a great day.  Please keep me in your thoughts on Friday - and all of your fingers crossed that I can walk out of that meeting feeling a heightened, if not complete, sense of clarity.
    - Capulet
  22. Capulet
    Hi friends,
    So sorry for the lapse in communication lately!  I've been sort of lurking (and I'm not sure I like that word, either - seems almost too 'creepy' to use on a site like this one) and have been doing more reading of than responding to but as always, my thoughts and well wishes have remained with you all.  I just needed a little time to adjust to and process the downswing of last week, when I was dealing with the passing of yet another anniversary.  Happy to say that sleeping has gotten better - I've only been 'startled' awake once this week.  The night time insomnia, however, remains my greatest hurdle - and sadly, will probably be a permanent battle.  
    Anyway, this will be a small, yet significant update.   I'll probably write more after my next support group meeting that is scheduled for next Tuesday.  I like the idea of being able to go over some of the topics discussed in group after I've had adequate time to give them the thought they deserve.
    I am, later tonight, going to be stepping outside of my comfort zone in a few different ways.
    A group of us (yes, I said GROUP!) are planning to meet up at a bar (yep, a place that serves alcohol!) for a couple of drinks and then we will proceed over to a local 'horror night' event.  The theme is Haunted Hotel - and it's apparently a yearly setup - to promote and further enhance the Halloween spirit as well as scare the shit out of anyone brave enough to venture inside.  It's a walk-through type of thing, we'll encounter plenty of those things that go bump in the night, our fair share of (fake) blood and guts, frightening scenes, etc.
    But this isn't what makes me nervous.  I'm not easily spooked by grotesque displays.  Those, I can handle and during Halloween, can be even be entertained or amused by. 
    So, what's my issue?
    For starters, we will be a group.  J and I have gotten close to the couple we bowl with on Friday nights - they are older than we are, but very young-at-heart and are a lot of fun to be around.  We've done other things with them, but it's been limited to contained, easy-to-follow and well-lit situations.  Bowling, for one...when one gets up to bowl, it's easy to have one-on-one conversations with the other.  We did an Escape Room with them and had a lot of fun.  We've had them over to watch football.  We've gone to their house for a game night.  They're awesome company and lots of laughs are usually had whenever they are around.  They are TRULY good people.
    J's boss, now also a friend of hers, will be joining us.  I've met her exactly once - and this is the person J has been spending a lot of time with - both inside and outside of work.  I still have my green-eyed monster lurking within (there's that word again!) but am currently trying to suppress it whenever she speaks of fun times with her friends - (times that don't involve lonely lil ol' me)  - I trust J with every fiber of my being and we both (as well as all of those who have been reading my blogs) know that this expanding circle of hers is my separate issue to work on - especially since I have SUCH trouble expanding my own.  Anyway, J's friend is also a fan of the spooky, macabre stuff.  And so, we (more so J) felt it was appropriate to invite her along. 
    So it WILL be a small group, but still a group.  And even these small group gatherings (and in the dark, to boot!) are uncomfortable for me.  Doesn't matter if it's family or it's friends - I still stand to miss a GREAT deal when there is group chatter and cannot help but feel the simmering anxieties that are present for the duration. I will likely be laughing along whenever they all laugh in unison, even if I have no idea what they're giggling at.  A small voice inside will (LIES!) tell me it's me and my complete obliviousness - not necessarily the truth, but still always the perceived idea.  
    So, first - we will be going to a bar (and this is also NOT my thing) for drinks and introductions (J's friend to our friends) beforehand.  On the rare occasion that I throw back, it is usually done within the safe confines of my own home - I do not feel comfortable drinking anywhere else or around others.  I'm sure it's because being around drunk people is an obvious trigger and usually brings me back to my 1996 incident, but have been told that I need to try to more frequently participate in things that I haven't had much success with in the past.  It's the only way I'm going to build up to being comfortable in social settings.  And this will strengthen my personal mission to build up to the eventual expansion of my own inner circle of trusted friends.
    I'm a different person, now, than I was in 1996.  I'm smarter.  More responsible.  I do trust J and our bowling friends - I don't think there will ultimately be any harm in my having a drink with them in good fun, but because I will not be at home where I feel most 'safe,' I am feeling like I'm back in high school and there's peer pressure - I don't want to be that 'wet blanket' and be the only one not drinking.  J's friend, as well as the couple we bowl with - are all social drinkers.  And going to the bar before the Haunted Hotel, was their idea - it certainly wouldn't be something I would suggest.  J, a non-drinker like me, is even considering having one, only because she's not fond of the 'scary' stuff and will require the liquid courage.  
    And, so, I will probably end up giving in to the 'peer pressure' and have one drink with them - not because I'm comfortable with it, but because I know that despite old (although not unfounded) fears, I need to be able to keep an open mind and try new things.  I will just ask the bartender to make it a mild one.  I will make it a personal mission to stifle any and all discomfort and truly try to put aside my reservations long enough to enjoy the evening.
    It all sounded like so much fun when it was proposed three weeks ago.   Not sure what happened between then and now, but presently, I feel that I am sincerely trying to convince myself that I won't have a good time when I may surprise myself instead.  Isn't that how it usually goes?  You dread something and then once you give it a legit try, you find that it's not as bad as you thought it'd be?
    Pray this is the case for me tonight, and that walking the fine line between what is comfortable and what isn't proves to be a positive experience rather than the negative one my brain is well-trained to expect.
    Will be back in the middle of next week.  Hope all is well with all of you!
    - Capulet
     
  23. Capulet

    Bumpity bump...

    By Capulet,

    Okay, friends - I lied.  
    I FULLY intended to be here and updating a day or two before Thanksgiving, but WHEN do things go exactly as planned!?  I'm just glad that I was able to extend to you all a proper Thanksgiving greeting in some way or another before the holiday.  Additionally, it is my hope that you all made it through the holiday unscathed and that you're all gearing up for Christmas!!  
    I'm here now, so that's what matters.
    My Thanksgiving started off horribly.  It was shortly after 12:45am on Thanksgiving morning when the internet at Casa Capulet decided to stop working.  I tried everything to get it back up and running - I actually was contemplating posting a few things, but there was apparently an alternative force that was hard at work in preventing me to do so.  
    I begged, pleaded with my modem to cut the crap.  I even tried the neighbor's dog's name to see if I could 'borrow' their WiFi.  It was the middle of the night, they weren't using it, so why couldn't I? LOL.  (Either they don't like their dog very much or they were smart enough to use a more randomized password, because that was also a no-go!)  I reset the modem thrice; each time allowing it to be 'off' for longer periods of time in case that was the issue.  It wasn't.  It was too late to place a call to our cable company and demand a fix/reboot on their end, so I ended up giving up on it and going to bed around 3am.  I was up again at six or seven - and the modem was still flashing like a Christmas tree.  Our HOUSE phone worked, but that wasn't connecting me to the internet.  It did connect us to the cable company, though, who first attempted to troubleshoot over the phone - they insisted that it was not an outage, but instead it was a need for our modem to be replaced, for it was likely broken because they were unable to get a signal.  Then, they said those horrible eight words no one wants to hear:
    "We're going to have to send someone out."
    Now, in the past, and especially living in New York City, this meant we'd be waiting for at least a week for someone to come get us reconnected.  I don't know if living in the sticks of Pennsylvania makes any difference but immediately, I began to assume the worst.  I'd be waiting for a week or two, wouldn't I?  I was extremely relieved to hear that I'd only have to wait until Friday (the day after Thanksgiving) and someone would be by between 9am and 9pm.  This did put the kibosh on any Black Friday shopping plans but I didn't really have any other than to use a coupon or two.
    Thankfully we have neighbors (across the street - with a different dog) who are kind and they allowed me to access THEIR network until the techie from the cable company was able to come over.  (And their dog's name was not the password, in case you were wondering!)  So, after Thanksgiving dinner at the wasband's (which went as well as it normally does - we sit around and do nothing/watch their usual chaos unfold as he barks out orders) I was able to come home and connect for a little while.  The connection was slow but it still enabled me to electronically keep connected with others.  So it was a decent end to a long, tiring day with minimal contact with anyone else.  My J was working from 7am until 11pm - so as is, I wasn't seeing her at all.  
    Late Thursday night, J's two sisters dropped in (they did say there was a possibility they would) and so, Friday morning, they went out for breakfast/getting nails done while I stayed behind and waited for the cable techie to show up - in the meantime, I pulled down the attic stairs and enlisted in the help of my daughter in getting out all the Christmas decorations.  Together, we got the tree up and we were decorating it when the cable techie finally arrived.
    Apparently our modem was fine.  It was the wires outside - they froze, and as a result, there was water in our lines.  It was the first I've EVER heard of something like this happening - and during the beginning of this year (March or so) we had two extended power outages lasting 3-5 days each.  Basically no power = no WiFi - so THAT's the worst-case scenario.  Water in the lines, though?  Never heard of such a thing.  
    "So, how do we prevent these wires from freezing?" I asked him, "Do you have wire sweaters, or something?"
    He gave me a look, he must have thought I was trying to be funny.  (Not me!)  I got a 'ahem,' followed by, "sometimes, ma'am, it's what happens in extreme cold weather conditions."
    I gave him a look back.  "You do realize it's only November, right?"
    At any rate, my wires have been replaced.  I am not sure if he took extra measures to keep them from freezing, but I suppose if it were to happen again, I always have my neighbor's WiFi to fall back on until they can come fix it again.  
    And get this - HER wires did the same exact thing on Saturday!!!!!  By now, MY WiFi was fixed, so I was able to extend to her the same courtesy.  I did tell her that just for shit and giggles, she should ask for wire sweaters, too.  
    So, this was the drama surrounding Thanksgiving. Thankfully (not a play on words, but...) it is all over with - the turkey has been ingested, the leftovers thrown away by now, the guests have gone home, and the weekend-after Thanksgiving plans to 'Christmasize' the house have been carried out, leaving just the outside lights to be put up. (maybe later this weekend?)  Now my primary focus is to just get through this ONE last holiday of 2018.  I've done SOME, but not all, of my Christmas shopping by way of Black Friday/Cyber Monday sales but there is still much to  be done in that respect.  
    I'm just not feeling it.  I'm TRYING, but i'm not there, yet.  
    Here is where I will reluctantly admit that there's more going on in my life right now - there is more than just cable/internet problems, more than the usual holiday stress, more than the occasional tiff with the wasband about what I'm not doing correctly, more than the usual kid-related drama.
    In summary, my fiancee has returned to therapy a couple months ago and is currently undergoing EMDR.  
    I'm unsure if I've mentioned her return to therapy previously but it was a choice she's had to make - she's had a lot of work related stressors lately, and they have brought forth some emotional changes in her.  She admits to stuff coming up from 'way back,' stuff that she never truly finished dealing with or working on with her previous T.  When we met, she was undergoing therapy in the state she lived in - and our relationship, although it was what we both needed in order to get ourselves in a happier, better place, did 'interrupt' the work she was doing in therapy - even more so when she moved out-of-state and had to stop going altogether.  
    Now, for the last ten years, we've not had to worry about things - we were both safe.  She wasn't with her ex anymore, she wasn't even in the same state as him anymore.  And I was no longer married to mine - not to say a lot of damage wasn't done to me either, but we had each other, our relationship was healthy and rich in communication.  We carried one another through just about everything.  The love is real, the support is unwavering; we have been each other's rock for the last decade.  But it did neither one of us any favors that her pre-relationship treatment was interrupted and she is now in need of some maintenance.  
    So - it's been tough.  Without getting into details, the EMDR has been intense and there has been some distance within our relationship.  It's not because of a shortage of love or support, but instead a culmination of work stress, therapy stress and the emotional side effects of it all.  J is the one struggling with this, firsthand, and I've had to assume the role of a secondary survivor on top of being a survivor, myself.  She's throwing herself into work and in turn, I'm throwing myself into my new role as a moderator here - she does her thing, I do my thing.  It's probably what we BOTH need the most right now...the time and space to sort through things on our own without the other's influence but it's resulting in feelings of disconnect that I've never experienced with her before, and I'm TRYING not to be so uneasy and unnerved by it.  
    It is not an easy thing for me to feel so disconnected from the one person who really and truly gets me, the one person I've COMPLETELY opened up to.  She continues to remind me that I NEED to branch out more - and damnit, I've been trying!  And the recent no-shows to my birthday celebration isn't helpful either, it's only shown me who I THOUGHT were reliable friends but turned out not to be.  
    So right now, I will continue to make it known that I am there for her when she needs or wants and at the same time, bite my tongue about what I'm feeling about it all.  I've already tried to explain it but we all know that verbal discussions in the moment are not my strong point.    We have made efforts to reconnect already; we have our date night 1x a week, bowling leagues 2x a week and most weekends but there is still an uncomfortable feeling of division looming.  I truly feel this is expected while she's dealing with issues in therapy and it's just temporary and HOPE that's the case, but am trying not to rock the boat any further by being overly vocal about things right now.
    Other than this, in the last two weeks, two mysterious bumps have appeared in the back of my head, both within inches of where my cochlear implant has been living for the last 16 years.  One feels like a pimple, it's an 'external type' of bump and it's been suggested that it's an ingrown hair.  I don't think that's the case, though, as I do buzz my hair every now and then but it has never been completely shaven.  I've tried popping it, I've tried letting the hot water run over it, it's still not gone away.  Earlier this week, I noticed a second bump, this one more 'internal' and bigger than a pimple.  It is located behind my ear, where my neck meets my scalp, maybe a slight bit higher.  THIS one feels like someone smacked me in the back of the head with a heavy object, it feels like a bruise, both to the touch and whenever I press on it.  I do not, however, recall injuring my head at any recent time.  I don't know what is going on and J's suggested that a visit to the doctor may be in order.  And yes, I had to pause before typing that - because I DO know that whenever one has foreign objects implanted in their body and starts to experience discomfort, it's always been imperative to get it checked out.  
    But, y'all know me, I'm terrible with doctors.  I'm deathly afraid of what this means - tests, tests and more tests.  Blood work.  CAT scans.  (I cannot undergo a MRI, that'll kill me since there is a magnet implanted in my brain!)  I just about lost my shit over the summer over having to have tests done at the GYN, and my mammogram test (and re-test) and this is probably mild in comparison.  But it's just not something I want to do, right now.  J herself has a follow-up scan scheduled for later this week to check on whether the radiation treatment she had in June was 100% effective.  So we really don't NEED any other possible medical emergencies, not right now.  And if I can wait things out for a few weeks, that's what I'm likely to do.  Especially since we have a vacation planned (our 10-year anniversary) for the beginning of January. 
    I want to reach for my swatter, and thwack all that is unnecessary into that state of oblivion - at least until much, MUCH later.  
    But now????  Right now???  It's CHRISTMAS time, I cannot fall apart right now, especially having to be the glue...
    But that's a summation of why I'm Scrooge-ish right now, why I put together the Holiday Buddies thingy (have you signed up!???), why I'm such a constant presence here - it is because offline, I've nowhere else to go for support other than to a place that may not be entirely accessible to me right now.  Next week, I have a visit from my mother to look forward to - Wednesday, she will arrive and she will depart early Friday morning - in the meantime, we've plans to bake five types of Christmas cookies (which I will gladly share by way of photo status updates!) and hopefully that'll help somewhat ease into the spirit of the season. 
    Anyway - posting this now - again, my apologies for being somewhat absent.  I am trying to be better with this - perhaps it's a good thing that I have an appointment on Friday morning with the group leader/social worker.  
    I'll be back, soon.   
    Sending you all love.
     - Capulet
     
  24. Capulet
    So, let's assume that Ny-Quil and Melatonin have teamed up with one very important mission in mind - 'twas the night before Spring semester started, and someone (let's call her, 'Cap') needed to undo six weeks' worth of habitual going-to-bed-at-3am-every-night damage.  And let's also assume that EVEN this late at night, it takes Cap roughly an hour to FALL asleep and then STAY asleep for more than three or four hours at a time.  It has also been pre-determined that neither member of Team Sleep Aid could get the job done by themselves...
    Melatonin (Mel) went in first, at exactly midnight - and when she found herself overwhelmed by those brain cells (carrying pitchforks, I'm sure) that refused to shut up and allow her to work her calming, soothing magic, her buddy Ny-Quil, (whom she calls 'Quill') followed, thirty minutes later, in hopes of combatting the army of 'Stay-Awakes' that have taken up residence in Cap's brain.  (How dare they, they don't pay rent!)
    So, are you wondering yet if the duo got the job done?
    No, they didn't.  It would seem that their very worthy adversary (Nerves) won last night. Only two to three hours total of sleep was achieved by Cap, who tossed and turned for several hours as Mel and Quill's efforts were pitiful against the very dominant Nerves, before finally succumbing into a very light slumber, and who was wide awake before the sun dared peek through the blinds and before the alarm clock had the audacity to go off and ruin the rest of the day.  (Those of you who have ever had a bed-shaker alarm clock know exactly what I mean.  If you don't, take my word for it.)
    Nerves, who had made the mistake of reading a policies class syllabus before bed.  Nerves, who could only begin to wonder what she'd be walking into as she now has new routines to become used to.  Nerves, who, while she isn't the praying type, hoped there wouldn't be any communication barriers of any kind, that all three sets of instructor lips were easy to read and that there would be no handlebar moustaches.  Nerves, who has also reserved a fair amount of herself for tomorrow morning's Astronomy class - (what if she can't find the Planetarium, despite her son's very wise advice to search for the dome atop the Science building and align herself under it??) the one class she's deathly afraid of becoming the American Government equivalent when it comes to interest.  That Nerves. 
    The same Nerves that kicked both Mel's and Quill's asses last night - is now ready to fight, again.  I will say, though, that as today's 'first day' went well, that Nerves is significantly weakened and the Stay-Awakes are becoming tired.  In fact, THEY might be sleeping!
    Tonight, Mel is on the bench, taking a break.  We don't need to come at 'em as strongly, I don't think.  Quill is suited up, and ready to go in. 
    Round two, here we go.....check back tomorrow for the results!
    (Yes, go ahead, laugh.  I AM trying to be funny!  I know we've had a few serious entries as of late, so hopefully this one will make you smile a little bit.)
    Good night, all.
    - Cap
  25. Capulet
    Today's been somewhat productive.  
    I probably should be getting ready to wind down and attempt to sleep but instead, my fingertips are tingling; if nothing else, it's a signal that my brain will simply not allow me to sleep until I've said my piece.
    I'll start with this backstory...
    Lately, my fiancee's relationship with her boss has shifted more toward a developing friendship than strictly professionalism.  This woman is J's direct supervisor, but J is also her 'right hand,' she is in a position that is 'above' the other staff members but usually is their go-to person in the event that the supervisor is not available.  Resultedly, J has been working very hard lately - taking more naps after work and is seemingly more physically drained.  There is one other staff member that is in an equivalent position (the left hand?) but he has dropped the ball SEVERAL times - and J's had to pick up a lot of his slack. The supervisor will call J at random times of the day to vent about this, and about work and all the stupid things that the staff does, etc...and she'll also talk about happenings outside of work - specifically about issues she's having at home with her husband and her child...she already communicates with J several times a day about work-related issues - it's probably a natural reaction to call her whenever something personal comes up and she needs a friend.  J is just that type of person.  You can talk to her about anything.  In that sense, she and I are very similar people - perhaps it's one of the main reasons our relationship has been able to flourish and has become stronger than ever.  I absolutely love this about my fiancee.
    Two weeks ago, J's supervisor came here for dinner and drinks and it was my first time meeting her.  I do like her very much, she's very down-to-earth and an overall fun person to be around.  We had dinner and we downed Strawberry Daiquiris like there was no tomorrow.  Additionally, she will be attending a barbecue I am having this weekend - she's J's friend, though - I do not feel, nor do I expect to feel as if I'm 'within this circle.' 
    She recently told J that she's experiencing a large amount of stress at home in addition to at work.  And that she'd like to go for drinks after work one night.  Then, she asked J: "Would Cap mind if you took off with me for a few days and we just stuffed our faces and drank and just forgot about everything having to do with work or life for a little while?"
    J MUST have seen the raised eyebrow when she repeated the question to me.
    "It's not going to happen, don't worry about it."  She said nothing more of it for the rest of the evening. 
    So I pretended it had never been said.  But it DID bother me.  Yes, I DO think Cap would mind.
    Here's the thing....and this was the epiphany that decided to hit me like a fuck-ton of bricks while we were having our weekly cheat dinner at Olive Garden.   The scale was a little bit bi-polar this morning and I'm starting to think it's been malfunctioning for the last three weeks....but yeah, beside the point.  
    Do y'all remember the asshole I was married to?
    Yeah, him.
    Well, while married to his royal highness, I was NOT allowed to have friends.  
    Okay...that isn't coming out the way I need for it to.  He never actually made the statement, "I forbid you to have friends."  No.  His actions spoke louder than his words, even when his words hurt.  
    He casually claimed that he wouldn't mind if I had friends, but he was a firm believer of keeping my friends at a 'healthy distance.'  He made it abundantly clear to me that HE was my friend.  HE was my spouse.  HE was my lover.  HE was the one I went to whenever I had a problem.  And I tried that for a while, I called him my best friend (barf) and I repeatedly tried to convince him that he was it for me, but I don't think it worked very well.  God forbid I wanted to go to a movie with a friend - I'd first have to build up the courage to ASK him to stay with the kids while I went to unwind for a little bit.  There was ALWAYS an argument, but he'd begrudgingly let me go.  And while I was gone, he'd sit, bounce his leg, stew, chain-smoke three packs of cigarettes, go through my emails, check my browsing history, look for ANY signs of my conversing about personal matters with anyone other than him...why?  I wish I knew!  I'd NEVER stepped out on him, I was loyal and faithful to him.  I took care of his children, his house, did his laundry, his ironing, his errands, cooked his meals...and all I wanted to do was go to a movie or to have lunch or dinner with a friend without being made to feel as if I were committing a mortal sin and that the world would come crashing down if I'd actually enjoyed myself.  Eventually it became a matter of 'not being worth it' and I withdrew from everyone.
    He was my person, but I think it's because he FORCED the situation and himself to be my person.  I had NO choice in the matter.  He didn't have any friends, either (I don't think I wonder why, anymore) and so when you have two friendless people under the same roof, one who doesn't particularly have anything to say unless it's mean, derogatory, vulgar or a request for sex, it's a surefire recipe for disaster.  
    When he became seemingly uninterested in hearing what I had to say anymore, I began to withdraw...I know I've said this before.  This seemed to make him unusually pleased - because if I wasn't talking to HIM about the matters that still bothered me, I wasn't talking to ANYONE.  And if it wasn't being talked about, it no longer existed.  At least, in his warped brain, that was the case.
    The only time this changed was when he was done with me and had already moved onto someone else.
    "You should go hang out with your friends," he would say.  "Or if you want to go out with a guy, that's good, too...I'll stay with the kids and spend time with them, you just go have a good time."
    Yeah....'HUH?'
    There was no more 'attention' to what I did online, nor was he behind my shoulder anymore when I had IM conversations.  He just didn't give a shit anymore, because now, he had someone else.  In fact, that was probably WHY he wanted me to do the same.  To justify his own actions, like the coward he truly was.
    So...tonight...J brought up her supervisor again.  It was actually because I sat in the car for 45 minutes before we even got into the restaurant.  The supervisor called J as soon as we pulled into the parking lot.  So I played a few (several) rounds of Candy Crush while they had a lengthy conversation about the problematic staff member they both hated.
    J did apologize for the delay and we went into the restaurant to eat.  She rambled a little bit more about work.  
    Somehow the topic of going out after work came up again.  J expressed that while she didn't feel she needed my permission or green-light to go and be with her friends (right now it's just her boss/friend) and have a good time with them, she felt badly leaving me at home (especially since I'd likely already BEEN home for the day already) and that by going out, she was disappointing me.  She also recently attended another co-worker's housewarming party (with the boss) and had a GREAT time.  She commented on how my face sort of 'dropped' when she mentioned that she'd had plans with her friends.  She asked me if I ever felt angry with her for doing so.  
    I put my fork down.  I honestly didn't know how to answer that.  Because I HAD periodically felt SOMETHING.  It wasn't anger.  But it was significant and VERY hard to explain.
    Have I become my ex-husband???? I am NOT the paranoid, untrusting son-of-a-bit*h that is my ex - I trust J COMPLETELY.  But has his twisted way of thinking somehow become an unreasonable truth, even in a small way?  Was I convinced that I needed to be the only person in her life?  I knew I wasn't - she has her sister, she now has her boss, who has become her friend.  She has me.  Her circle is small, yet it seems huge in comparison to mine.
    To tell her that it didn't bother me at all would be a lie.  And I'm a HORRIBLE liar.  And so I spoke slowly...chose my words as I went along.  
    I told her that I wasn't mad.  Because THAT was the truth.  If there was any anger, it was toward my ex.  Because he's the one who has caused me to feel this way.  It's COMPLETELY his doing.  And now his bullshit was seeping through into my current relationship - a place where such bullshit has NO business being!  I wanted her to enjoy life.  I wanted her to have friends.  I already knew that I wasn't her ONLY person - I don't feel that's the way it should be either - but it was ingrained onto me by my ex - when you're with someone, that's who you spend all your time with.  When you're married, you live ONE life, there's no room to forge additional relationships that may or may not derive from the marriage.  I know this is a hundred percent wrong.  It didn't feel right being on the receiving end of that line of bullshit - and I NEVER wanted J to feel that way - even though purely unintentionally.
    I finally (slowly) told her that if anything, I was slightly envious - because she HAD nearby friends who would call and ask her to go get a drink or to hang out.  I've just gotten SO fucking used to withdrawing from social opportunities, and now people didn't know how to approach me.  Either that, or they knew not to bother trying.  
    While I know I'm not her only, she's my only.  She's the ONLY one I feel comfortable drinking with, talking about the 'deep stuff' with.  And now she's got other people to enjoy those things with.  People who don't necessarily want to include me in their plans.  And almost automatically, that feels like a rejection.  Not particularly by them because really, they've got no reason to invite along someone they don't know.  
    * Side note - I've been working on this, though, on opening myself up to more social situations.  I've told J of the little plans I've got to expand my circle, to somehow break down some of these massive walls that I've build around myself.  I have no secrets from her and she was seemingly excited to hear that I would soon be going back to school, I'd soon be searching for other ways to spend my (too much) free time, and to get involved in SOMETHING that would distract from the loneliness that I've by now accepted as a way of life.  Loneliness that I've learned to like, in a way that is even more difficult to explain, so I'll not try right now.
    "You should," she said when I told her more about things I wanted to do in the near future, "It'll be good for you to get to know people, make some friends.  Go out, have lunch, a drink, enjoy yourself.  And it's okay to do that with someone other than me."
    THAT's when it hit me.  The epiphany, along with the side of parmesan-encrusted zucchini I'd just taken a bite out of and swallowed prematurely.
    And I just blurted out what I said next.  I don't think it was even thought out completely.  It just seemed to be there, waiting to be purged.  
    And out it came:
    "You know, that's the same thing my ex said when he was finished with me and he didn't care about me anymore.  He encouraged me to go out, make friends, have a good time with someone other than him...and now here you are, telling me to do the same thing.  It's what happened just before I lost him completely.  Right before I ended up with no one at all.  And I can't help but be afraid of that happening again."
    Although a moment of blunt honesty, it also felt like a moment of weakness. After saying that, I felt tears well up in my eyes.  I was NOT going to be childish, I was NOT going to cry!  Not in the middle of a fucking restaurant!!!! NO!
    I think it hit her at the same time, too.
    ".........ohhhh."  She nodded.  Her face was silently saying, "Got it."  Then she said she understood....and that it now made sense.  My faces, my reactions to whenever a friend calls her and invites her out, my unintentional interpretation of why SHE was now telling me that it was okay to go out with friends and let loose once in a while - everything.
    I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and told her that it wasn't her fault that I was this way.  It was HIS.  And this was something I now had to add to my list of things I needed to fix....that list of all the shit that's wrong in my life, whether it was taught to me or it was something other circumstances have forced me to learn.  
    She let me compose myself and while she did first assure me that she understood and that this wasn't what she was doing.  She firmly believed that we humans NEEDED more than one person in life.  We NEEDED a more expanded circle.  THAT was the healthy way.  
    And I think I was surprised too...mainly it's the realization of this - I've been divorced for nine years, already.  I've had nine years to 'unlearn' his bullshit teachings.  Yet, my brain is still fucking wrecked by him.  I STILL feel like it's not okay to become emotionally close to other people, even though it really IS.  I still feel like I'm doing something wrong whenever I have a conversation that resembles anything close to enjoyable.  I still see his fat, fucking face in the back of my head, I still hear him telling me that to emotionally invest in other relationships was the equivalent of cheating.  Even something as innocent as a heart-to-heart and a movie was something that would send us to divorce court.  And now it's becoming an evident problem within my current relationship to the point where she feels like she's upsetting ME by wanting 'more.'  
    And I do NOT like this about myself, AT all.  Yet, I can't easily snap out of this funk I seem to automatically enter whenever my significant other wants to go out with friends.
    For a long time, I was fine with J's and my 'arrangement.'  In our old hometown, she knew the same people I knew.  And so whenever I was invited somewhere, so was she.  We were truly a unit.  She'd go to work and when she got home, we'd go to dinner, we'd go bowling, whatever.  We were and still very much are joined at the hip and VERY rarely separated.  It's also worth a mention - she was working in a different job then, and her co-workers were not as much 'friend material' as her current ones.  
    But now, things are changing.  We've moved to an entirely different place.  We BOTH don't really know anyone other than the local bowling crew - the only exception being J's co-workers...she knows and is friends with some of them now.  I do have some acquaintances, maybe even one or two who have the potential of being true friends to us both, given the opportunity.  But when we moved, I've left behind everything and everyone I ever considered to be a friend...I'm feeling as if I'm back at square one and that feeling of being withdrawn is sometimes amplified.
    J is evolving.  That's not necessarily a bad thing, either - she is not the same person she was when we met.  We met here, in fact, if you're just tuning into my blogs and didn't know that - well - now you do.  I'm trying not to panic, as the appearance of a friend in my fiancee's life does not necessarily signal the end of our relationship.  I suppose it just means she's reached the point where she is comfortable being in social settings, while I'm still trying to find my footing.  I just hope that I am able to find it soon - before the misteachings of my ex turn me into the person I don't want to be.   
    This is just an overly annoying, yet significant ingrained fear that I have to learn how to effectively quell. 
    Okay - I think that's about all I've got on the brain tonight.  
    More next time.  Until then, I'm hoping you're all doing well.  
    Peace, love, & light,
    - Capulet
     
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