Remember a while back I was supposed to have dinner with Dee and she cancelled? Had to go help a friend change out the locks on doors at her house. She asked for a raincheck and I said sure, I understand. I was disappointed but hey, stuff happens. That was the last time I heard from her. Nearly 2 months ago. I called and left a voice mail message once, dropped her two emails and never got an answer. I heard from another friend that she seemed to be fine, was in church every Sunday.
Well, I got an email from her today. It said she had Ms. X move in with her and they were doing great. How was I doing? She hadn't seen me in a while.
Um...nope, you haven't. Short term memory loss on her part, I guess.
I wrote her back, told her I was fine, working a lot of hours, I was glad to hear she was happy, and I wished her well.
I'm still disappointed but for different reasons now.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Nothing like jumping in with both feet, Cate
Well, I've never been one to procrastinate when it comes to relationship issues so I jumped in with both feet. Here's hoping I haven't screwed everything up.
I decided that, since Andy's away on a BS camping trip, I would take the opportunity to lay it all out there to him. He came for his Saturday visit (in fact, he's still here, in the living room with Katie). They spent an hour or so messing with her bike, and then I sent her off to the store for groceries. Yeah, it could have waited but hell, it's now or never.
I put on a pot of coffee, bummed a smoke from him (yep, fell of the friggin wagon, Deb), and said, "We need to talk." He got that deer in the headlights look. I hate it when he does that. Like I'm going to beat him up or something. As if I could. No, actually I think it's that he knows I'm about to lay some hard stuff on the table and he's going to have to suck it up and deal with it.
I sat on one couch, he sat on the other, and I laid it all out on the line. I talked for like an hour or so. I asked him first how he was doing, how he was feeling, and I really listened to the answer. No sense in doing this if he's not connected to reality very well. Then I told him we need to talk about the kids. Actually we need to talk about you and the kids, your relationship with them and theirs with you.
I told them how the kids have been feeling about his visits, how they're feeling and reacting to spending time with him, what I think and feel about how little effort he puts into relationships with his children. I wasn't mean about it, but I didn't sugar coat it either. When I was done, I listened to what he said in response. I told him some of it was valid and, to be honest, some of it was pure bullshit, him copping out and taking the easier route because it's the least effort.
Then I told him he could take what I'd said, think about it, decide what he wanted to do about it. But he also needed to know this was the last time I was going to try to help, try to do anything to mediate. I told him your daughter will be off to college in a year and a half, your son in three and a half. If you haven't figured out how to rebuild that bridge by then, it's not going to be built. I told him if they get to the point where they are really resisting spending time with him, I'm not going to force them. It's up to him to try, to make the effort. Call them during the week, write them a letter and drop it in the mail, send them a card. Hell, send them a damn email, it doesn't cost anything. But this was the end as far as I'm concerned. You make it or break it with them on your own, buddy. You were a fantastic Dad when they were really small. But they don't remember those days much. You can't ride on that carpet for the rest of their lives. It's what you do now that matters. And if you're not there for them now, they'll be gone from your life for good before you know it. It's up to you.
I hate this shit. I feel like his mother. I hate it! But for them, anything. Whatever they need, anytime, anywhere.
She got back from the store about 1/2 hour ago. They're sitting in the living room, talking quietly. I'm trying to stay out of the way. OK, I'll tell the truth. I'm sitting here shaking. That's how much I hate this crap.
I decided that, since Andy's away on a BS camping trip, I would take the opportunity to lay it all out there to him. He came for his Saturday visit (in fact, he's still here, in the living room with Katie). They spent an hour or so messing with her bike, and then I sent her off to the store for groceries. Yeah, it could have waited but hell, it's now or never.
I put on a pot of coffee, bummed a smoke from him (yep, fell of the friggin wagon, Deb), and said, "We need to talk." He got that deer in the headlights look. I hate it when he does that. Like I'm going to beat him up or something. As if I could. No, actually I think it's that he knows I'm about to lay some hard stuff on the table and he's going to have to suck it up and deal with it.
I sat on one couch, he sat on the other, and I laid it all out on the line. I talked for like an hour or so. I asked him first how he was doing, how he was feeling, and I really listened to the answer. No sense in doing this if he's not connected to reality very well. Then I told him we need to talk about the kids. Actually we need to talk about you and the kids, your relationship with them and theirs with you.
I told them how the kids have been feeling about his visits, how they're feeling and reacting to spending time with him, what I think and feel about how little effort he puts into relationships with his children. I wasn't mean about it, but I didn't sugar coat it either. When I was done, I listened to what he said in response. I told him some of it was valid and, to be honest, some of it was pure bullshit, him copping out and taking the easier route because it's the least effort.
Then I told him he could take what I'd said, think about it, decide what he wanted to do about it. But he also needed to know this was the last time I was going to try to help, try to do anything to mediate. I told him your daughter will be off to college in a year and a half, your son in three and a half. If you haven't figured out how to rebuild that bridge by then, it's not going to be built. I told him if they get to the point where they are really resisting spending time with him, I'm not going to force them. It's up to him to try, to make the effort. Call them during the week, write them a letter and drop it in the mail, send them a card. Hell, send them a damn email, it doesn't cost anything. But this was the end as far as I'm concerned. You make it or break it with them on your own, buddy. You were a fantastic Dad when they were really small. But they don't remember those days much. You can't ride on that carpet for the rest of their lives. It's what you do now that matters. And if you're not there for them now, they'll be gone from your life for good before you know it. It's up to you.
I hate this shit. I feel like his mother. I hate it! But for them, anything. Whatever they need, anytime, anywhere.
She got back from the store about 1/2 hour ago. They're sitting in the living room, talking quietly. I'm trying to stay out of the way. OK, I'll tell the truth. I'm sitting here shaking. That's how much I hate this crap.
Ex husband angst
OK, this is going to be long. Feel free to skip by and come back later when there's a far more interesting post. But I have to try to sort this out and I don't have much time. This is the safest place for me to do it. So 'scuse me while I talk out loud to myself for a while.
My ex-husband and I have been divorced for....mmmmm.....2 1/2 years, almost 3. If I'm remembering right. Some days time plays tricks on me. Anyway, the original divorce decree said a certain amount of child support, visitation every Saturday from noon to 6 pm. He could have them alternating holidays for the whole Thanksgiving/Christmas deal.
Background...he's bipolar. We were married 16 years. He was dx'd 4 years into the marriage. At the time, he became manic, wouldn't see a doc, and eventually tipped into psychosis. A few violent days later, he was hospitalized. The kids weren't home. Thank the baby jesus that eb often references. They kept him for 10 days, sent him home on meds that hadn't had a chance to hit therapeutic levels yet, and enrolled him in an outpatient program. A few days later he wigged again and tried to put my head through the fireplace. It wouldn't fit. :o/
Back to the hospital, two more weeks or so inpatient, and he came home heavily medicated this time. Like, zombies r us time. Eventually he stabilized, they backed off on the heaviest meds, and he abided by the rules I set down for the safety of all of us. He'd take his meds in front of me. If he didn't, he'd take them again. I didn't give a damn if he od'd. That was his problem. He'd see a therapist, a psychiatrist for meds, and do whatever they said. If he ever laid a hand on me again, I was done. It worked for a long time. It wasn't a great marriage, but it was stable at least. Most days I felt like I had 3 children, but it was what it was. I poured my energy into loving and raising my kids.
Fast forward 8 years later, and we've moved from California to Tulsa because he was transferred. Another long story all in and of itself. He worked from home for the first 18 mos. We bought the house a year after we got here, after having paid off all of our debt. Life was bumping along, the kids were settled into new schools. Then he got laid off. The telecomm company he worked for had been laying off thousands, literally thousands. We knew it was coming, but he did nothing about it beforehand. No resumes out there, no feelers put out, nothing.
He got laid off, I went out and found a job 3 days later. He was out of work for nearly a year, wouldn't try, wouldn't look, nothing. Depression had reared it's ugly head and moved in with us. I tried everything to get him to go to a doctor, have his meds adjusted, something, anything. Nope, not doing it. Eventually he got a job at the local bus plant, where they make school buses. Great. Paint fumes do wonders for brain chemistry. Still, he wouldn't hear about anything else. He'd found a job and that was it.
Not long after he flipped. Again, thank that little baby, the kids weren't home. This time was worse. When it was over he went to sleep. I think I sat in a corner and rocked until dawn. I called his doctor. I woke him up just enough to slip his meds into him. He went back to sleep, never knowing that I'd given him a double dose of one of them. I didn't care. I needed time to figure things out. Eventually, I took him to the psych hospital. They kept him. When he was lucid enough, I went to see him. I told him it was over, I was done. I won't risk my safety or that of the kids ever again. I felt awful for doing it, but I did it. When he was released he went to the homeless shelter. He'd lost his job, his home, and his family. I felt like shit for making a bad situation worse. Until I found the extra meds in his drawer. Instead of taking them, he'd been cheeking them and then putting them back in the bottle when I wasn't looking. He made his choices. He'd have to live with the fallout.
Eventually, the divorce was finalized. In the beginning, I wouldn't let him anywhere near the house. If he wanted to see the kids, he had to meet us in a public place, and he had to bring his AA sponsor with him (who happened to be built like a friggin linebacker. Yay!) Yeah, he'd fessed up to drinking for years, without my knowledge. He'd joined AA, was living in a program designed for those with mental health issues who stand a fairly good chance of becoming functional.
So the kids would see him from time to time. Each time he had to bring me his labwork to show me he was med compliant. Otherwise, no deal. It sucked, but I stuck to it because of our safety. He grew more stable, and eventually got a job working as a janitor for the Mental Health Association. Sometimes, I weep for what he had and lost. This man had a career as a Hardware Engineer for 15 years, he had kids and a wife, a good home. And he threw it all away, for a six pack of beer and the chance to not take his meds.
Now...he sees the kids every Saturday usually from about 3 pm til 7 pm. His AA meeting is at 7 up the street. I go pick him up because he doesn't have a car and probably couldn't drive anyway. He comes here, lab results in hand, and sits. He plays video games with his son. They don't talk. His daughter avoids him at all cost, not knowing what to say to him. He's never talked to them about what he did, about what happened. Not a word. He's apologized to me, but not to them.
Today, Critter asked me if he was coming over. I said yes, she sighed. I asked her what was wrong and she exploded. Literally just exploded. She ranted and raved about how he doesn't talk to them, about how he just sits, often falling asleep, about how it's great that he was a good Dad when she was little but unfortunately she doesn't remember any of that, about how he's been shit for a father for the last 12 years that she does remember. I listened to everything she had to say. I explained that when she's 18, she'll be able to choose what she does about their relationship. Not good enough, she said. She doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but "I don't want to know him, Mom! He's a fucking stranger to me!" is what she said.
Jesus. What the hell do I do? The only reason he sees them is because I make it possible for him to see them. They don't want to see him. What the hell do I do?????
My ex-husband and I have been divorced for....mmmmm.....2 1/2 years, almost 3. If I'm remembering right. Some days time plays tricks on me. Anyway, the original divorce decree said a certain amount of child support, visitation every Saturday from noon to 6 pm. He could have them alternating holidays for the whole Thanksgiving/Christmas deal.
Background...he's bipolar. We were married 16 years. He was dx'd 4 years into the marriage. At the time, he became manic, wouldn't see a doc, and eventually tipped into psychosis. A few violent days later, he was hospitalized. The kids weren't home. Thank the baby jesus that eb often references. They kept him for 10 days, sent him home on meds that hadn't had a chance to hit therapeutic levels yet, and enrolled him in an outpatient program. A few days later he wigged again and tried to put my head through the fireplace. It wouldn't fit. :o/
Back to the hospital, two more weeks or so inpatient, and he came home heavily medicated this time. Like, zombies r us time. Eventually he stabilized, they backed off on the heaviest meds, and he abided by the rules I set down for the safety of all of us. He'd take his meds in front of me. If he didn't, he'd take them again. I didn't give a damn if he od'd. That was his problem. He'd see a therapist, a psychiatrist for meds, and do whatever they said. If he ever laid a hand on me again, I was done. It worked for a long time. It wasn't a great marriage, but it was stable at least. Most days I felt like I had 3 children, but it was what it was. I poured my energy into loving and raising my kids.
Fast forward 8 years later, and we've moved from California to Tulsa because he was transferred. Another long story all in and of itself. He worked from home for the first 18 mos. We bought the house a year after we got here, after having paid off all of our debt. Life was bumping along, the kids were settled into new schools. Then he got laid off. The telecomm company he worked for had been laying off thousands, literally thousands. We knew it was coming, but he did nothing about it beforehand. No resumes out there, no feelers put out, nothing.
He got laid off, I went out and found a job 3 days later. He was out of work for nearly a year, wouldn't try, wouldn't look, nothing. Depression had reared it's ugly head and moved in with us. I tried everything to get him to go to a doctor, have his meds adjusted, something, anything. Nope, not doing it. Eventually he got a job at the local bus plant, where they make school buses. Great. Paint fumes do wonders for brain chemistry. Still, he wouldn't hear about anything else. He'd found a job and that was it.
Not long after he flipped. Again, thank that little baby, the kids weren't home. This time was worse. When it was over he went to sleep. I think I sat in a corner and rocked until dawn. I called his doctor. I woke him up just enough to slip his meds into him. He went back to sleep, never knowing that I'd given him a double dose of one of them. I didn't care. I needed time to figure things out. Eventually, I took him to the psych hospital. They kept him. When he was lucid enough, I went to see him. I told him it was over, I was done. I won't risk my safety or that of the kids ever again. I felt awful for doing it, but I did it. When he was released he went to the homeless shelter. He'd lost his job, his home, and his family. I felt like shit for making a bad situation worse. Until I found the extra meds in his drawer. Instead of taking them, he'd been cheeking them and then putting them back in the bottle when I wasn't looking. He made his choices. He'd have to live with the fallout.
Eventually, the divorce was finalized. In the beginning, I wouldn't let him anywhere near the house. If he wanted to see the kids, he had to meet us in a public place, and he had to bring his AA sponsor with him (who happened to be built like a friggin linebacker. Yay!) Yeah, he'd fessed up to drinking for years, without my knowledge. He'd joined AA, was living in a program designed for those with mental health issues who stand a fairly good chance of becoming functional.
So the kids would see him from time to time. Each time he had to bring me his labwork to show me he was med compliant. Otherwise, no deal. It sucked, but I stuck to it because of our safety. He grew more stable, and eventually got a job working as a janitor for the Mental Health Association. Sometimes, I weep for what he had and lost. This man had a career as a Hardware Engineer for 15 years, he had kids and a wife, a good home. And he threw it all away, for a six pack of beer and the chance to not take his meds.
Now...he sees the kids every Saturday usually from about 3 pm til 7 pm. His AA meeting is at 7 up the street. I go pick him up because he doesn't have a car and probably couldn't drive anyway. He comes here, lab results in hand, and sits. He plays video games with his son. They don't talk. His daughter avoids him at all cost, not knowing what to say to him. He's never talked to them about what he did, about what happened. Not a word. He's apologized to me, but not to them.
Today, Critter asked me if he was coming over. I said yes, she sighed. I asked her what was wrong and she exploded. Literally just exploded. She ranted and raved about how he doesn't talk to them, about how he just sits, often falling asleep, about how it's great that he was a good Dad when she was little but unfortunately she doesn't remember any of that, about how he's been shit for a father for the last 12 years that she does remember. I listened to everything she had to say. I explained that when she's 18, she'll be able to choose what she does about their relationship. Not good enough, she said. She doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but "I don't want to know him, Mom! He's a fucking stranger to me!" is what she said.
Jesus. What the hell do I do? The only reason he sees them is because I make it possible for him to see them. They don't want to see him. What the hell do I do?????
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Sunday snuggles
It's been a hectic weekend. For that matter, it's been a hectic week! The kids started school Monday, and with it came all the accompanying, "Mom, I need this TOMORROW!" statements as soon as we were all in the car at the end of the day. In spite of nearly buying out Staples for school supplies, there is always something else needed that wasn't on the original list. Let's not talk about the TWO scientific graphing calculators needed NOW! Thank God for E-Bay!
Andy has Marching Band practice every morning from 7 to 8:30 so Katie drops me at work at 6:45 and they head over to the school. He marches, she sits in the car and naps or reads. After school, run errands and such. He had football games to play at on Thursday night and Friday night. It's been nuts!
This weekend they had homework, we all had chores, they saw their Dad, one thing after another. Katie had a movie with friends this afternoon, then study group, then a birthday party. Oy!
Tonight I picked her up and I guess we are both just really worn out. We were kind of snippy with each other, not for any particular reason except we were getting on each other's last nerve. I finally said ok, I'm done. I'm going to bed. Kissed and hugged them both, told them not to stay up too late, and crawled into bed. About 20 minutes later the Critter crawls in next to me.
"Mommy? You still awake?" Yeah, baby, I'm awake. What's up? "Nothing, just....I miss you. It seems like there's never time for us to talk anymore." We laid there for the next hour, talking about serious and silly subjects, while I rubbed her back and she burrowed her head under my chin. No mean feat considering she's 5'9" tall and I'm a measly 5'2".
It was nice. I miss these times. I know I'll miss them more as time goes on and she gets busier and more independent. I'll miss her much. But still. For now, it was really nice. Made my heart smile.
Andy has Marching Band practice every morning from 7 to 8:30 so Katie drops me at work at 6:45 and they head over to the school. He marches, she sits in the car and naps or reads. After school, run errands and such. He had football games to play at on Thursday night and Friday night. It's been nuts!
This weekend they had homework, we all had chores, they saw their Dad, one thing after another. Katie had a movie with friends this afternoon, then study group, then a birthday party. Oy!
Tonight I picked her up and I guess we are both just really worn out. We were kind of snippy with each other, not for any particular reason except we were getting on each other's last nerve. I finally said ok, I'm done. I'm going to bed. Kissed and hugged them both, told them not to stay up too late, and crawled into bed. About 20 minutes later the Critter crawls in next to me.
"Mommy? You still awake?" Yeah, baby, I'm awake. What's up? "Nothing, just....I miss you. It seems like there's never time for us to talk anymore." We laid there for the next hour, talking about serious and silly subjects, while I rubbed her back and she burrowed her head under my chin. No mean feat considering she's 5'9" tall and I'm a measly 5'2".
It was nice. I miss these times. I know I'll miss them more as time goes on and she gets busier and more independent. I'll miss her much. But still. For now, it was really nice. Made my heart smile.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Raincheck
I was supposed to go to dinner and a movie tomorrow night. With Dee. She called tonight to cancel, asked for a rain check. She has a friend going through a divorce who has a former partner who is threatening all sorts of bad things. I know what that's like. I know that fear. I feel terrible that she's going through this kind of stuff.
Dee's going to her house tomorrow night to change all her locks and install some window guards. After a long day working out in the heat, she's going to go help a friend. She's really good hearted that way. It's one of the things I like the most about her. That and the fact that she swings a hammer as well as I do. *wry smile*
Still, I'm disappointed. I was so looking forward to tomorrow night. Rain check. Future date undetermined since school starts Monday and I'll be doing road rally most nights and weekends. Marching band, Jazz Band, Football games kind of road rally. Until November.
I feel awful for being so disappointed. How flipping selfish of me. I know that fear. I know what it's like to be willing to do anything to feel safe in your own home.
Some days I really suck.
Dee's going to her house tomorrow night to change all her locks and install some window guards. After a long day working out in the heat, she's going to go help a friend. She's really good hearted that way. It's one of the things I like the most about her. That and the fact that she swings a hammer as well as I do. *wry smile*
Still, I'm disappointed. I was so looking forward to tomorrow night. Rain check. Future date undetermined since school starts Monday and I'll be doing road rally most nights and weekends. Marching band, Jazz Band, Football games kind of road rally. Until November.
I feel awful for being so disappointed. How flipping selfish of me. I know that fear. I know what it's like to be willing to do anything to feel safe in your own home.
Some days I really suck.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Bittersweet connections
Sometimes I think back on the friends I've made over the internet and I realize that, for the most part, they have been wonderful blessings in my life. Yeah, there have been a few that went wrong, one terribly wrong. But overall, I've been fortunate. I've met, and become friends with, a lot of people in the last 10 years. Many, many of them I've met in 3D.
My best friend, Marcy, I met nearly 10 years ago online. We had much in common, a bond of friendship was forged, and eventually we met in 3D with some other friends in a meetup in Albuquerque. I'm trying to remember, I think that was in 1997 or 1998. A few months later I came here, to Tulsa, to visit her. One very laughter filled five days later, I knew I wanted to live here. I remember so much laughter in those five days. Playing pool, sharing Cokes and realizing at some point that the damn 8-ball was missing and neither of us could remember sinking it. We still laugh about that now.
Kath and Jas I met when I lived in California. Yep, I met them online. Only to find that they lived "20 Andretti minutes" down the freeway from me. In case you didn't know, I tend to drive fast. Kath and Jas lived in San Jose, I lived in Fremont. Roughly about 25 miles away from each other. I made it home from their house one night in 20 minutes, stopping for a gallon of milk on the way. Ever since then my last name has been Andretti, according to them. I spent a lot of weekends at their place for a couple of years. They were my escape when I needed one badly. They shored me up when my ex-husband flipped out and was diagnosed bipolar. Solid friends that I know will always be a part of my life.
Angela is from Britain, and we've known one another about 8 years or so. She came to visit one summer, staying at Marcy's house because she knew her as well. What a complete pleasure to meet and get to know her all over again in person.
Then there's Maddy. I met Maddy also about 8 years ago initially. However, we grew much closer about 3 1/2 years ago. Her brother was dying of cancer. He was in his early 30s. Maddy...was so lost. She loved him so very much. She didn't know how to walk that road. She asked one day if anyone knew about losing a loved one to death, if anyone would be willing to talk to her about it.
It was the start of a friendship that deepened, grew more important to both of us. We talked about my Dad a lot, what it was like for me when he was diagnosed, when they told me he would only live another 6 months. He fooled them all. He lived 17 years. Never worked again, but he lived a long and happy life. Still, he was sick often, critically more than once. Each time it was like standing at the edge of an ever widening chasm of fear and grief. I knew what Maddy meant when she talked about how much she loved Matt.
We talked about loving and living, death and dying, sickness and letting go, letting someone die with dignity; subjects that were really hard to talk about with anyone. Eventually, she shared some of my emails with Matt. He asked her to ask me if he could write to me. I said of course he can. Matt and I corresponded for 18 days. 41 emails sent back and forth. No holds barred, no subject off limits. Matt was dying, and it was going to happen soon. He needed to talk to someone who would listen, someone who wasn't a loved one. He needed to talk about his fears, his worries for his wife and daughter, for his sisters.
I learned later that when Matt went into the hospital he took my emails with him. Tucked them into his shirt pocket, close to his heart. He told Maddy I'd helped him find peace within himself. I was humbled. What Matt didn't know was that I'd grown to love him deeply in that much too short a time. He was a good, gentle soul, a man I was honored to call my friend. When he died I grieved deeply. But I knew my grief was a mere pittance compared to that of Maddy and his family.
When Jess came to live with me, she knew about Maddy and Matt, their friends and family. For a time, after Matt died, I corresponded with his daughter, Julie. She told Maddy she wanted to talk to the lady who knew her Daddy's heart. Julie was 8 at the time. An amazing little girl. Truly amazing.
I remember getting an email from her one day. She said she'd had a dream that she wanted to tell me about, but she wasn't sure she should. I encouraged her to tell me. Like her Daddy, she needed to talk. The last email I sent to Matt, when I knew he was going into the hospital for the last time, I told him that when he got to where he was going, to look for a very tall guy with black hair and big, brown eyes. He'd be holding two cups of coffee, one for Matt and the other for himself. I told Matt that would be my Dad; that I'd told him to watch for Matt, help him to find his way. Matt never told anyone about that email. I know that for sure.
Weeks later, Julie wrote me of her dream. She said she'd dreamed of her Daddy, that she'd met him in the park where he used to take her to play. They spent time on the slide and the swings, and then they sat and talked a while. He gave her a hug, and one for each of his family members to pass on to them for him. Then he gave her one more and told her it was for Cate; that when she sent me his hug in email she should also give me a message from him. He said she should tell me my Dad makes good coffee. I cried. Big, huge, gulping sobs. But through those tears I was smiling from ear to ear.
I lost touch with Maddy; with Julie and her mom, with all of Matt's family and friends. I lost touch with them because of things that Jess did when she was here. One more way she fucked with my head. I lost touch with most of my friends after Jess moved in with me. She's very good at isolating people, before they can even realize what she's doing.
I met Marcy, Kath and Jas, Angela, Maddy, and many more of my friends at the same place online. It's a community for survivors of abuse, for those who dissociate, or who did as children. It is a community filled with women who are so incredibly strong, even in their frailty. And yes, there's a couple of guys who post there too. But the bulk of them are women who, like me, walked through a war zone of childhood. I lost nearly all of those friendships in the last two years because of Jess.
Two weeks ago I picked up the phone and called Kath. It was so very good to hear her voice. She understood. She knows Jess, has seen her in action, knows what she's capable of. She was glad to hear from me too.
A couple of days ago I posted in that forum for the first time in a very, very long time. Not many of the people I knew are there still. But those who are welcomed me with open arms and hearts. Maddy wrote. I answered. She found a way to leave an email address for me. I answered her. She told me some of the things Jess had written to her. I told her why I'd lost touch, the things I'd been told by Jess. It turns out it's one more instance of Jess lying left and right, trying to isolate me. It's one more time she's failed. It's one more piece of my life I've reclaimed.
I know that Jess reads there. I know it because back when I was still talking to her last year, she mentioned something that I'd only posted there. It's a password protected community, and she was banned from it a long time ago for actions that were intentionally harmful to others there. Still, you can be anyone on the internet. I know she reads there, I suspect she posts there too. They just can't prove it yet. When they can, they'll ban her again.
I'll be careful. I won't put an email address out there, or the link to this blog. I know she's still out there watching. That sounds so damned paranoid, but it is the truth. I know it. So does Marcy. So do Kath and Jas, Maddy, Angela, others.
It is an indescribable feeling to have these women a part of my life again. They have understood me over the years, in ways that no one else has ever been able to. They've walked the same roads I've walked in many, many ways; been shaped by the same type of childhood that shaped the woman I became.
I love them all; dearly, deeply, always.
My best friend, Marcy, I met nearly 10 years ago online. We had much in common, a bond of friendship was forged, and eventually we met in 3D with some other friends in a meetup in Albuquerque. I'm trying to remember, I think that was in 1997 or 1998. A few months later I came here, to Tulsa, to visit her. One very laughter filled five days later, I knew I wanted to live here. I remember so much laughter in those five days. Playing pool, sharing Cokes and realizing at some point that the damn 8-ball was missing and neither of us could remember sinking it. We still laugh about that now.
Kath and Jas I met when I lived in California. Yep, I met them online. Only to find that they lived "20 Andretti minutes" down the freeway from me. In case you didn't know, I tend to drive fast. Kath and Jas lived in San Jose, I lived in Fremont. Roughly about 25 miles away from each other. I made it home from their house one night in 20 minutes, stopping for a gallon of milk on the way. Ever since then my last name has been Andretti, according to them. I spent a lot of weekends at their place for a couple of years. They were my escape when I needed one badly. They shored me up when my ex-husband flipped out and was diagnosed bipolar. Solid friends that I know will always be a part of my life.
Angela is from Britain, and we've known one another about 8 years or so. She came to visit one summer, staying at Marcy's house because she knew her as well. What a complete pleasure to meet and get to know her all over again in person.
Then there's Maddy. I met Maddy also about 8 years ago initially. However, we grew much closer about 3 1/2 years ago. Her brother was dying of cancer. He was in his early 30s. Maddy...was so lost. She loved him so very much. She didn't know how to walk that road. She asked one day if anyone knew about losing a loved one to death, if anyone would be willing to talk to her about it.
It was the start of a friendship that deepened, grew more important to both of us. We talked about my Dad a lot, what it was like for me when he was diagnosed, when they told me he would only live another 6 months. He fooled them all. He lived 17 years. Never worked again, but he lived a long and happy life. Still, he was sick often, critically more than once. Each time it was like standing at the edge of an ever widening chasm of fear and grief. I knew what Maddy meant when she talked about how much she loved Matt.
We talked about loving and living, death and dying, sickness and letting go, letting someone die with dignity; subjects that were really hard to talk about with anyone. Eventually, she shared some of my emails with Matt. He asked her to ask me if he could write to me. I said of course he can. Matt and I corresponded for 18 days. 41 emails sent back and forth. No holds barred, no subject off limits. Matt was dying, and it was going to happen soon. He needed to talk to someone who would listen, someone who wasn't a loved one. He needed to talk about his fears, his worries for his wife and daughter, for his sisters.
I learned later that when Matt went into the hospital he took my emails with him. Tucked them into his shirt pocket, close to his heart. He told Maddy I'd helped him find peace within himself. I was humbled. What Matt didn't know was that I'd grown to love him deeply in that much too short a time. He was a good, gentle soul, a man I was honored to call my friend. When he died I grieved deeply. But I knew my grief was a mere pittance compared to that of Maddy and his family.
When Jess came to live with me, she knew about Maddy and Matt, their friends and family. For a time, after Matt died, I corresponded with his daughter, Julie. She told Maddy she wanted to talk to the lady who knew her Daddy's heart. Julie was 8 at the time. An amazing little girl. Truly amazing.
I remember getting an email from her one day. She said she'd had a dream that she wanted to tell me about, but she wasn't sure she should. I encouraged her to tell me. Like her Daddy, she needed to talk. The last email I sent to Matt, when I knew he was going into the hospital for the last time, I told him that when he got to where he was going, to look for a very tall guy with black hair and big, brown eyes. He'd be holding two cups of coffee, one for Matt and the other for himself. I told Matt that would be my Dad; that I'd told him to watch for Matt, help him to find his way. Matt never told anyone about that email. I know that for sure.
Weeks later, Julie wrote me of her dream. She said she'd dreamed of her Daddy, that she'd met him in the park where he used to take her to play. They spent time on the slide and the swings, and then they sat and talked a while. He gave her a hug, and one for each of his family members to pass on to them for him. Then he gave her one more and told her it was for Cate; that when she sent me his hug in email she should also give me a message from him. He said she should tell me my Dad makes good coffee. I cried. Big, huge, gulping sobs. But through those tears I was smiling from ear to ear.
I lost touch with Maddy; with Julie and her mom, with all of Matt's family and friends. I lost touch with them because of things that Jess did when she was here. One more way she fucked with my head. I lost touch with most of my friends after Jess moved in with me. She's very good at isolating people, before they can even realize what she's doing.
I met Marcy, Kath and Jas, Angela, Maddy, and many more of my friends at the same place online. It's a community for survivors of abuse, for those who dissociate, or who did as children. It is a community filled with women who are so incredibly strong, even in their frailty. And yes, there's a couple of guys who post there too. But the bulk of them are women who, like me, walked through a war zone of childhood. I lost nearly all of those friendships in the last two years because of Jess.
Two weeks ago I picked up the phone and called Kath. It was so very good to hear her voice. She understood. She knows Jess, has seen her in action, knows what she's capable of. She was glad to hear from me too.
A couple of days ago I posted in that forum for the first time in a very, very long time. Not many of the people I knew are there still. But those who are welcomed me with open arms and hearts. Maddy wrote. I answered. She found a way to leave an email address for me. I answered her. She told me some of the things Jess had written to her. I told her why I'd lost touch, the things I'd been told by Jess. It turns out it's one more instance of Jess lying left and right, trying to isolate me. It's one more time she's failed. It's one more piece of my life I've reclaimed.
I know that Jess reads there. I know it because back when I was still talking to her last year, she mentioned something that I'd only posted there. It's a password protected community, and she was banned from it a long time ago for actions that were intentionally harmful to others there. Still, you can be anyone on the internet. I know she reads there, I suspect she posts there too. They just can't prove it yet. When they can, they'll ban her again.
I'll be careful. I won't put an email address out there, or the link to this blog. I know she's still out there watching. That sounds so damned paranoid, but it is the truth. I know it. So does Marcy. So do Kath and Jas, Maddy, Angela, others.
It is an indescribable feeling to have these women a part of my life again. They have understood me over the years, in ways that no one else has ever been able to. They've walked the same roads I've walked in many, many ways; been shaped by the same type of childhood that shaped the woman I became.
I love them all; dearly, deeply, always.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Opposites
Some days I sit and think of opposites. I smile and shake my head with a rueful grin. I never would have believed that two things that began through the same medium could have turned out so completely differently.
I met you both on the internet and, as I look back, I realize that is the only common denominator. It's taken me a while to believe that the latter could turn out better than the former. I'm getting there.
One of you I met years ago; the other a little while back. One I met in a community I'd been a part of for years; helped to build from the ground up. The other I got to know through a site I've only been to a short time, a few moments here and there. Life is busy these days, there isn't the time or the desire to sit in front of this little box very much anymore.
One of you I thought I'd known for years. You took my world by storm; leaving nothing and no one unscathed. For the short time that it was good, it was really good. You can't build a lifetime on a week's worth of good though and, when I think back, I can't even be sure it was a whole week.
The other has moved into my world gently, slowly, treading respectfully. She is ever mindful of boundaries, both mine and hers. She is also ever mindful of the draw we feel toward one another. We both know there is whatever time we need to find our way, if it is meant to be.
What is it he used to say to me? There were a number of things he said over those eight years that stick in my mind, worthy of being turned over and over and over again. But this one I find myself coming back to more and more lately.
"It's the same, only very different."
I met you both on the internet and, as I look back, I realize that is the only common denominator. It's taken me a while to believe that the latter could turn out better than the former. I'm getting there.
One of you I met years ago; the other a little while back. One I met in a community I'd been a part of for years; helped to build from the ground up. The other I got to know through a site I've only been to a short time, a few moments here and there. Life is busy these days, there isn't the time or the desire to sit in front of this little box very much anymore.
One of you I thought I'd known for years. You took my world by storm; leaving nothing and no one unscathed. For the short time that it was good, it was really good. You can't build a lifetime on a week's worth of good though and, when I think back, I can't even be sure it was a whole week.
The other has moved into my world gently, slowly, treading respectfully. She is ever mindful of boundaries, both mine and hers. She is also ever mindful of the draw we feel toward one another. We both know there is whatever time we need to find our way, if it is meant to be.
What is it he used to say to me? There were a number of things he said over those eight years that stick in my mind, worthy of being turned over and over and over again. But this one I find myself coming back to more and more lately.
"It's the same, only very different."
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!
I kept hearing that in my head all afternoon. "Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!" I remember that show from when I was a kid. The space family. The robot who warned the kid whenever danger was near.
I met this woman online not too long ago. Emails exchanged. She lives locally. Seemed pretty nice. We had a lot in common. Still, those walls I've built stayed intact. Didn't give out my phone number. Didn't tell her where I lived. Lessons learned in the past stayed firmly at the forefront of my mind. Don't let anyone in. Not really. You can be nice, be friendly, be cordial, but don't let anyone close. Remember, always remember, what it was like when she destroyed all you had and were.
Still, we talked. Surface stuff mostly. Jobs, kids, interests. Nothing too intense. Nothing really personal. Yet I was drawn to her. Nothing I could really put my finger on, but something kept drawing me to her. A couple of days ago we got to talking about churches. She was telling me about the church she attends, I mentioned that I'd stopped going to church a couple of years ago. My faith is still very much a part of who and what I am, shaky though it may be at times. But still, it's there. He's there, always. I know that. However, the church I'd been attending wasn't too happy with me when I divorced, even less happy when I told them my new partner was a woman. I wasn't welcome there any longer. OK. I can talk to God without a middleman, guys. I don't need you or this place. I left.
She told me about her church, invited me to come there if I wanted to. She thought I would like it a lot. I hemmed and hawed. We'd never met face to face, never talked on the phone, never even exchanged pictures. Remember, I was in "hunker down and protect" mode and had been for a while. Saturday night I told her I might be there, I wasn't sure. Saturday night I slept really badly. Tossed and turned, up and down. I finally fell asleep shortly after 5:30 am, which was the last time I looked at the clock. I woke at 8:30 to an email from her, saying she hoped she'd see me. Oh boy. Not much sleep, a pounding headache, and lots of fear. The best way to put myself out there. Not!
Coffee poured into me, 4 Advil on board for the headache, one shower and some light makeup later, I ironed a blouse, finished dressing, and headed out the door. Don't ask me why. Something was drawing me there. I decided to trust that "something."
I walked into the place, told the usher lady that I was looking for someone named Dee. She pointed her out to me. I walked over, she jumped up with this huge grin on her face, shook my hand, said she was really glad I came. She introduced me to a few friends, we settled down for the service.
The service. I really enjoyed the service. There are a number of same sex couples in the congregation. Imagine that! In Tulsa, Oklahoma. I'll be damned! Sitting there, I kept trying to pin it down. She was familiar. I'd seen her somewhere before and couldn't figure it out. Then it hit me. I turned to her and said, "I know you. I know I know you. But I'm not sure if I'm right about where I know you from." She looked at me, puzzled. I smiled. "Edison. I know you from Edison. My kids go to school there." She grinned. Yep, I was right. She used to be a security guard at my kids school. She doesn't work there anymore but that's where she was the first time I saw her.
She works for the City now, as a welder and small-engine repair tech in the Water Department. This is her "second retirement" job. She retired from her first career in Michigan 7 years ago. She froze her pension, travelled a while, settled here in 2000. She's a carpenter, welder, jack of all trades type woman. She doesn't know my kids, but she said that's a good thing. Working at the school for a couple of years, she only got to know the kids who got in trouble. This is a good thing. She doesn't know my kids because they're good kids.
After the service, she invited me to her house for coffee. Um. OK. I think that might be good. I followed her car, she lives about 15 miles from me, about 10 from the church. She invited me in. 2 dogs, 3 cats. LOL This is good. The house is small, but neatly kept. Her artwork is all over the walls. She's a woodworker, and a damn good one. Beautiful art. Small cut-out scenes, stained and varnished, then mounted on logs or big pieces of branches. She's good.
Tall glasses of ice water and we sat and talked. Oh. My. God. We talked for 3 hours. Everything and anything under the sun. We laughed. Often. There's so much we have in common; likes and dislikes, interests, passions, beliefs about relationships.
The walls are cracking. I think I'm in trouble. The walls are cracking. I worked so damned hard to erect those walls.
I'm scared. I'm happy. I'm scared. I'm terrified. And yet, I am so drawn to her.
I have to be out of my freaking mind.
I met this woman online not too long ago. Emails exchanged. She lives locally. Seemed pretty nice. We had a lot in common. Still, those walls I've built stayed intact. Didn't give out my phone number. Didn't tell her where I lived. Lessons learned in the past stayed firmly at the forefront of my mind. Don't let anyone in. Not really. You can be nice, be friendly, be cordial, but don't let anyone close. Remember, always remember, what it was like when she destroyed all you had and were.
Still, we talked. Surface stuff mostly. Jobs, kids, interests. Nothing too intense. Nothing really personal. Yet I was drawn to her. Nothing I could really put my finger on, but something kept drawing me to her. A couple of days ago we got to talking about churches. She was telling me about the church she attends, I mentioned that I'd stopped going to church a couple of years ago. My faith is still very much a part of who and what I am, shaky though it may be at times. But still, it's there. He's there, always. I know that. However, the church I'd been attending wasn't too happy with me when I divorced, even less happy when I told them my new partner was a woman. I wasn't welcome there any longer. OK. I can talk to God without a middleman, guys. I don't need you or this place. I left.
She told me about her church, invited me to come there if I wanted to. She thought I would like it a lot. I hemmed and hawed. We'd never met face to face, never talked on the phone, never even exchanged pictures. Remember, I was in "hunker down and protect" mode and had been for a while. Saturday night I told her I might be there, I wasn't sure. Saturday night I slept really badly. Tossed and turned, up and down. I finally fell asleep shortly after 5:30 am, which was the last time I looked at the clock. I woke at 8:30 to an email from her, saying she hoped she'd see me. Oh boy. Not much sleep, a pounding headache, and lots of fear. The best way to put myself out there. Not!
Coffee poured into me, 4 Advil on board for the headache, one shower and some light makeup later, I ironed a blouse, finished dressing, and headed out the door. Don't ask me why. Something was drawing me there. I decided to trust that "something."
I walked into the place, told the usher lady that I was looking for someone named Dee. She pointed her out to me. I walked over, she jumped up with this huge grin on her face, shook my hand, said she was really glad I came. She introduced me to a few friends, we settled down for the service.
The service. I really enjoyed the service. There are a number of same sex couples in the congregation. Imagine that! In Tulsa, Oklahoma. I'll be damned! Sitting there, I kept trying to pin it down. She was familiar. I'd seen her somewhere before and couldn't figure it out. Then it hit me. I turned to her and said, "I know you. I know I know you. But I'm not sure if I'm right about where I know you from." She looked at me, puzzled. I smiled. "Edison. I know you from Edison. My kids go to school there." She grinned. Yep, I was right. She used to be a security guard at my kids school. She doesn't work there anymore but that's where she was the first time I saw her.
She works for the City now, as a welder and small-engine repair tech in the Water Department. This is her "second retirement" job. She retired from her first career in Michigan 7 years ago. She froze her pension, travelled a while, settled here in 2000. She's a carpenter, welder, jack of all trades type woman. She doesn't know my kids, but she said that's a good thing. Working at the school for a couple of years, she only got to know the kids who got in trouble. This is a good thing. She doesn't know my kids because they're good kids.
After the service, she invited me to her house for coffee. Um. OK. I think that might be good. I followed her car, she lives about 15 miles from me, about 10 from the church. She invited me in. 2 dogs, 3 cats. LOL This is good. The house is small, but neatly kept. Her artwork is all over the walls. She's a woodworker, and a damn good one. Beautiful art. Small cut-out scenes, stained and varnished, then mounted on logs or big pieces of branches. She's good.
Tall glasses of ice water and we sat and talked. Oh. My. God. We talked for 3 hours. Everything and anything under the sun. We laughed. Often. There's so much we have in common; likes and dislikes, interests, passions, beliefs about relationships.
The walls are cracking. I think I'm in trouble. The walls are cracking. I worked so damned hard to erect those walls.
I'm scared. I'm happy. I'm scared. I'm terrified. And yet, I am so drawn to her.
I have to be out of my freaking mind.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
The Critter goes public
Shortly before the school year ended the kids both had a blizzard of activities. Andy's end of the year party, a Prom (yes, middle school had a prom. Oy!), Katie's RogueNight (poetry group reading night at school), a play she was in, and last but not least, a poetry reading at the local Barnes and Noble.
Katie (AKA the critter, since she was very tiny) read a few of her pieces, along with all the other kids. She stood at the front of the reading area, hands jammed in her pockets, afraid to look up at all the people listening and watching, and read her words. They made me smile, at least the first two. One about her brother tumbling down the porch steps to dance with her in a rainstorm at this gawky stage in his life, the second about her swinging at a local park, and what it feels like for her to "almost fly". They were both sweet.
The third piece she read nailed me to my chair. A poem she wrote about her father. Tiny glimpses of her memories of him from when she was smaller. Bits and pieces about him playing guitar, church hymns that he never seemed to enjoy playing, how he played Norwegian Wood more sadly than she's ever heard it before or since, how she always knew he loved John Lennon more than Jesus. The poem talked about his lack of feeling toward her and her brother, and even more so toward me. She's been far more perceptive than I ever realized, for far more years than I ever realized. When she was done, the reading group began to break up. I sat there like a stone.
A woman approached her, they talked for quite a while, the woman handed her a business card. A few minutes later Critter came running to me, legs tumbling over one another in her excitement. "Mom! Mom! She wants my poem! She wants to use it. Holy Crap, Mom! She wants my words!" She launched herself at me and I hugged her tight, this taller than me, beautifully awkward young woman. I was so proud of her. The woman is a pastor at a local UCC church, and she wanted to use Katie's poem about her father in her sermon and writings for the following week. It's a beginning for my daughter, the budding writer and artist.
It wasn't until much later, when I got home and looked in the bathroom mirror that I realized my face was tear-stained, as was the front of my shirt. I don't even remember crying. I asked her. She said yes. Tears running down your face. I'm sorry I made you cry, Mom. I write what I feel, and he always made me feel that way.
I'm proud of her for finding a voice for her feelings and thoughts. But sometimes, they're so damned hard to hear.
Katie (AKA the critter, since she was very tiny) read a few of her pieces, along with all the other kids. She stood at the front of the reading area, hands jammed in her pockets, afraid to look up at all the people listening and watching, and read her words. They made me smile, at least the first two. One about her brother tumbling down the porch steps to dance with her in a rainstorm at this gawky stage in his life, the second about her swinging at a local park, and what it feels like for her to "almost fly". They were both sweet.
The third piece she read nailed me to my chair. A poem she wrote about her father. Tiny glimpses of her memories of him from when she was smaller. Bits and pieces about him playing guitar, church hymns that he never seemed to enjoy playing, how he played Norwegian Wood more sadly than she's ever heard it before or since, how she always knew he loved John Lennon more than Jesus. The poem talked about his lack of feeling toward her and her brother, and even more so toward me. She's been far more perceptive than I ever realized, for far more years than I ever realized. When she was done, the reading group began to break up. I sat there like a stone.
A woman approached her, they talked for quite a while, the woman handed her a business card. A few minutes later Critter came running to me, legs tumbling over one another in her excitement. "Mom! Mom! She wants my poem! She wants to use it. Holy Crap, Mom! She wants my words!" She launched herself at me and I hugged her tight, this taller than me, beautifully awkward young woman. I was so proud of her. The woman is a pastor at a local UCC church, and she wanted to use Katie's poem about her father in her sermon and writings for the following week. It's a beginning for my daughter, the budding writer and artist.
It wasn't until much later, when I got home and looked in the bathroom mirror that I realized my face was tear-stained, as was the front of my shirt. I don't even remember crying. I asked her. She said yes. Tears running down your face. I'm sorry I made you cry, Mom. I write what I feel, and he always made me feel that way.
I'm proud of her for finding a voice for her feelings and thoughts. But sometimes, they're so damned hard to hear.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Things that make me go hmmmm....
There's this place I hang out on the 'net', a lesbians forum. I watched for a long, long time before I ever decided to participate. Even now, I don't post much. Partly lack of time, partly my own hesitance at sharing my thoughts and feelings, partly because there's much that I don't understand that goes on there. It's a mostly younger crowd. They listen to music I don't know, talk about places I've never been to, experiences I've never shared. Mostly I just read, learn, take what I need from there and try to leave the rest.
But there is one thing there that really bothers me. There's so much anger in them sometimes, mostly toward women who wander in trying to talk about their confusion regarding their sexuality. Granted, most of those women are married and are trying to figure out their feelings toward other women and considering a relationship outside of their marriage. I understand, to some degree, the inability to empathize with that attitude. I struggled for years to hold my marriage together, because of the commitment I'd made to him, to myself, to our children. The loyalty to that commitment may have been misplaced. Still, it was a huge part of who I was and I had to find my own way toward letting go of it. No one had the right to tell me what to do, although many tried.
Yet, the women on this forum rage, literally rage, at women who come in and talk about looking beyond their own relationships with their husbands. I've read their responses over many months, and they rarely change. Some woman stumbles in, posts a question about how do I find out about my feelings about women, how do I go about learning about relationships between women, how do I explore my own sexuality (most with the notation that their husbands are aware of and supportive of their desires and/or curiosity); the responses are invariably one of a few:
"Hire a hooker."
"Don't forget to tip her well."
"Get the **** out of here, bitch! Go back to your legally sanctioned marriage!"
Usually one of the above, or some variation thereof.
Is that what it's all about? The anger? Is it about those women being able to marry and lesbians cannot? I wasn't cognizant of my own sexuality to really have to fight for it for many years. When I came out my marriage was already over, he was out of the house, the divorce was just a few weeks from being final. My friends accepted me readily. I had no family to speak of, other than the kids, so no one like that to get upset about my choices. The kids accepted it well, it was my choice of partners that they objected to. Having been married for nearly 17 years, I know it's really not all that it's cracked up to be. A piece of paper that legitimizes someone treating you like you're nothing more than an object is nothing to fight for.
The benefits? Let's see. We both worked and carried our own health insurance, so that was never an issue. We paid taxes up the wazoo (yes, that's a word!) so being married was absolutely NO benefit to us there. I can't speak to the benefits of being a party to decision making and such when your spouse falls ill. My only experience with illness with him was his bipolar diagnosis. At that time, strangely enough, HIPAA kicked in and they would tell me literally nothing, all for the sake of protecting his privacy. This despite the fact that the man had physically injured me badly, I had two small children at home to keep safe, and the powers that be expected me to take said man home with me from the hospital BEFORE his meds were in his system long enough to be effective. Just one defect that no one considered before making HIPAA law.
Sometimes I read/listen to those women and I can't help thinking, you have no idea how lucky you are. Stop fighting for something that's truly not worth fighting for. You don't need the government's sanction to love someone, to commit to someone. If you really love her, that's all that matters. Well, that and the fact that you better make sure she really loves you too.
Hmmmmm....ok, done thinking out loud. Time to go fold laundry. Such an exciting life I lead.
But there is one thing there that really bothers me. There's so much anger in them sometimes, mostly toward women who wander in trying to talk about their confusion regarding their sexuality. Granted, most of those women are married and are trying to figure out their feelings toward other women and considering a relationship outside of their marriage. I understand, to some degree, the inability to empathize with that attitude. I struggled for years to hold my marriage together, because of the commitment I'd made to him, to myself, to our children. The loyalty to that commitment may have been misplaced. Still, it was a huge part of who I was and I had to find my own way toward letting go of it. No one had the right to tell me what to do, although many tried.
Yet, the women on this forum rage, literally rage, at women who come in and talk about looking beyond their own relationships with their husbands. I've read their responses over many months, and they rarely change. Some woman stumbles in, posts a question about how do I find out about my feelings about women, how do I go about learning about relationships between women, how do I explore my own sexuality (most with the notation that their husbands are aware of and supportive of their desires and/or curiosity); the responses are invariably one of a few:
"Hire a hooker."
"Don't forget to tip her well."
"Get the **** out of here, bitch! Go back to your legally sanctioned marriage!"
Usually one of the above, or some variation thereof.
Is that what it's all about? The anger? Is it about those women being able to marry and lesbians cannot? I wasn't cognizant of my own sexuality to really have to fight for it for many years. When I came out my marriage was already over, he was out of the house, the divorce was just a few weeks from being final. My friends accepted me readily. I had no family to speak of, other than the kids, so no one like that to get upset about my choices. The kids accepted it well, it was my choice of partners that they objected to. Having been married for nearly 17 years, I know it's really not all that it's cracked up to be. A piece of paper that legitimizes someone treating you like you're nothing more than an object is nothing to fight for.
The benefits? Let's see. We both worked and carried our own health insurance, so that was never an issue. We paid taxes up the wazoo (yes, that's a word!) so being married was absolutely NO benefit to us there. I can't speak to the benefits of being a party to decision making and such when your spouse falls ill. My only experience with illness with him was his bipolar diagnosis. At that time, strangely enough, HIPAA kicked in and they would tell me literally nothing, all for the sake of protecting his privacy. This despite the fact that the man had physically injured me badly, I had two small children at home to keep safe, and the powers that be expected me to take said man home with me from the hospital BEFORE his meds were in his system long enough to be effective. Just one defect that no one considered before making HIPAA law.
Sometimes I read/listen to those women and I can't help thinking, you have no idea how lucky you are. Stop fighting for something that's truly not worth fighting for. You don't need the government's sanction to love someone, to commit to someone. If you really love her, that's all that matters. Well, that and the fact that you better make sure she really loves you too.
Hmmmmm....ok, done thinking out loud. Time to go fold laundry. Such an exciting life I lead.
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