So much drama in the LBC

So, this is happening today. Not so awesomely cool. He has taken the license plates off of my car, and returned them when I threatened to take him to court. He says he never wants to see or speak to me again, after I threatened him with a restraining order. Again. And, he's told me that I need to speak to his mother to make arrangements for Scout. To be honest, I'm not going out of my way to do that. If he intends to make me "work" to ensure that they maintain a relationship, then he can kiss my fabulous ass. He can spend a little more time worrying about his daughter than whether or not I'll ever go "home."

Also, not a fairy tale ending. I mean, at least not until it is. 

This is one of my favorite pictures of me.

Because I remember this day.

I remember my strength.

I remember being amazed that my body is capable of doing what it does.

I remember feeling accomplished that I could do this almost entirely without medication.

I remember my baby. Even the third time, it's just as amazing.

Even knowing then, but not admitting that I would be doing things alone.

Some days, I need to remember the strength of my body, and the resolve of my soul to ensure that my children will always know that I am there for them, just the same ways that they brought new strength to me.

Sometimes, I sit by myself.

I'm okay with that. Like now. I sit at a bar, by myself. Do I enjoy the company of the people that surround me? Absolutely.  Does that make me relish my time alone any less? Nope.

I enjoy being alone. Is that strange? Sometimes people make me believe that it is. For me, though, it's important to maintain my autonomy. My own personhood. Separate from any person that I choose to attach my life to, or interact with.

We've established my own failings at relationships (at least I think we have), so my desire for independence shouldn't be so shocking.

Maybe I'm just bad at interpersonal communication. Probably.  I probably am.
But, really, is it so bad? Is it that difficult for a dude to accept that maybe, just maybe, I'm not looking for someone forever. I'm just looking for someone for tonight. And tomorrow if that works. I'm okay with one day. And another if it works.

None of that means that I'm looking to get married.  I don't really plan on doing that ever again. Nor does it mean that I'm looking for more kids. I have more of those than I have hands at this point, so I'm content. I mean, I'm sexy as fuck pregnant, but I'm good. Not in my search. 

I'm so very happy being alone with my kids, and having whatever I'd like separate from that. This is kind of my ideal. 

Whatever though. I'm sorry.  I'm a bit tipsy right now. I guess this is probably the most open I'll be for a while. I may edit later. Meh.

"Whoa-oh, here she comes..."

"Watch out, boy, she'll chew you up. Whoa, here she comes. She's a maneater."

My brothers, who love me a lot, played that song for my new husband at our wedding reception. They played it out of jest. We're funny people, and it's a funny thought. I'm a strong, independent woman, and I have only ever taken shit while trying to pretend that a relationship is okay.

They say that I break men. I make them crazy.

Maybe I do. But I don't think it's my fault. Unless you'd like to blame me for making poor relationship choices. I'll own that. Sometimes things happen, though. Sometimes extenuating circumstances exist that make things harder than they should be, whether it's a long term commitment, or a dating relationship that is just starting out.

I loved my ex-husband. Part of me still does. But some things didn't work. When he got angry, and called me terrible names, I couldn't deal with that. When his OCD would get the best of him, and he would obsess over the "signs" that I was cheating on him. I would interact with men, and would have to remember the conversation in order to recount the details later.

It was all too much. I had two kids at the time, and he had one. Plus he was in law school, while I worked full time to support our family. Law school did not help his confidence. Not in the least. As he felt less successful, he mistrusted me more. It was a dreadful cycle.

I don't make men crazy. I just don't tolerate it well when it comes out. I like to have time for me. I like sitting alone with a beer and some football. I like not answering for every second of every day. Often, I forget. Because it doesn't matter.

I enjoy feeling wanted, sometimes. I don't need it all the time. I've offended every significant other in my life when I've told them that I don't need them. I like them, I want them there, but I don't need them.

What's so wrong with not being needy?

I fear that this is all over the place, but I'm going to let it ride for now, and revisit it another time.

I promised this girl I'd tell my stories...

And I have a lot of them. So I think that I want to start at the beginning.

When I was young, I always felt like I was just there. There are a lot of us, and I was never "trouble." Not until I was older. And, even then, trouble was relative. It was incidental. And then became the highlights of my life. I got pregnant young. I was young, our relationship was young, and it was a surprise. Each time. (Yeah, more than once. Judge away.)

I dated Huck and Pippi's dad for just a few months before I found myself pregnant. So, we tried to make it work. I was young. And pregnant. It seemed like the right choice. It was really hard. It was really hard because it didn't work. I had the babies and didn't work - it wasn't financially feasible. Their dad jumped from job to job, and spent a lot of time volunteering with the fire department. I would get very angry. And very lonely. I would get angry because I was lonely. He would get angry because I was angry. He put his hands on me one time. That was the day it was over for me. I pretended for a very long time that it would be okay. It wasn't. It wouldn't ever be.

I needed more for my kids. I needed to raise a boy to respect women, and a girl who demands respect. If I succeed in that, then I will have hit the lottery.

God, I have so much more for you, J. But not enough energy today. XOXO.

Since you've been gone, and all that cliche horseshit...

I stopped writing here. I stopped writing because I was embarassed and sort of ashamed of the choices that I was making. Initially, when I began to use this media to sort through my thoughts and feelings about the toll that my relationship was taking on my people, I imagined myself as a beacon of strength. I had hoped to be able to stand strong, and be true to my word. 

I hoped that my words weren't lies to myself. They were. I always knew. Some days, it was an easier pill to swallow. Those days were the good ones. Those were the days that I believed that he had changed. He hadn't. He still hasn't. Some days, I'm still afraid of what may come. 

I'm going to tell you my story. Truly. Honestly. It will be raw, and you'll think I'm an asshole. I'm okay with that. Sometimes I am, and there are times that I have deserved a much harsher designation. However, like any person, man, woman or child, in any relationship, I never deserved much of what I went through. There were times I thought that I did. There were days that I thought that I had found the best I would be able to find, and that at least Scout would have her dad around. Pippi and Huck never had that. 

Hold on. I don't want to talk about why I should or shouldn't regret standing up for myself. I should never regret that. I deserve to love without fear. I deserve to move forward without feeling like my past is embarrassing. It isn't any more. I deserve better. I survived, and came through stronger. And I'm going to tell you about it. 

Let me tell you about my last week in our "family" home. It was terrible. 

On a Thursday, I was working late, and Sev was supposed to pick me up after work (we shared the car). He wasn't there when he was supposed to be, and wasn't answering the phone, so, rather than have anyone wait for me, I walked to the 24-hour coffee shop, and called a couple more times. After about a half hour, I was beginning to lose hope quickly. No texts, No phone calls. Friends didn't know where he was. Great. So, at 1:30 AM, I started calling for cabs. Left a couple of messages, waited some more. No one was willing to drive that far. I called all of the surrounding fire departments to be sure that there wasn't an accident. There wasn't. I didn't want anyone else to know what a dick he was, so I did the only thing I thought I could. I started walking. And I walked. All together, I walked over 6 miles. 

He fell asleep. Fine. Whatever. People get tired, I get that. But for fuck's sake, set an alarm. And to show up at 3:30, while I'm walking home, and begin yelling because he "thought you were intelligent." We picked up Scout, and got home by 4. I hopped right into bed, just to be yelled at until 5 because I'm so stupid. Scout got up at 545. A half hour later, he takes her for a little bit, then goes to bed. When I wake him for work, he starts screaming again, says he's leaving, and I should have thought about that before I acted like such a moron. So he left. And I found rides for a couple days.

I had rides to work for the next couple of days, and Scout and I walked a lot. On Saturday he kicked me out again, "but don't touch the baby. You go, she doesn't." The hell you say. I stayed.  Again. 

The next few days were dreadfully volatile, but sadly quite ordinary for me at that point. 

The turning point came when the kids spent the night at their grandparents' house, so that i could spent the next morning "supporting" Sev at court. We fought the whole night. When I suggested that I go pick up Scout, and head somewhere else, I was told that I would never get her from his mother, I would never get custody, and generally how terrible I was. It's worst when you just start to believe it. 

So, I apologized. For whatever slight may have occurred. For whatever made him angry. I comforted him, when I was desperate for a savior. I let him use my body as a means to end the fight. 

The next morning, something set it off again. There was more yelling. I walked away and got in the shower. He followed. And yelled. I ignored him, and told him to leave. That didn't go well. He was furious. He ripped the shower curtain off, and cocked his fist back in my face. He never hit me. 

That was the day that I refused to accept my reality any more. 

Twisting and turning along the path

As I sit here, watching Scout smirk in her sleep, and slowly open her eyes, I wonder about the choices I've made. I wonder if Sev, her father, understands that just because I feel suffocated, because I need space, does not mean that she does. I encourage his relationship with her. I think it's important that they have a relationship with each other, separate from me.

Sadly, I fear that his priorities are skewed. I am afraid that, with his current insistence that we, collectively, need to spend time together, that Scout is slowly losing the opportunity to get to know her father before stranger anxiety and "I need mama" sets in.

I don't have time. I need time. I need to breathe. I cannot do that when I have to, several times a day, decline invitations to hang out. I cannot do that when he insists that my only option to become less angry is to "get over it."

Here is what I need to say, and I hope I'm able to do this someday soon:

I haven't been able to breathe for so long. I can't be somebody's something every second of every day. There are moments that I need to just be me. I need to stand alone. So do you. I can't be needed by an adult, when I have three children.

I need to know that you are not only able to take the baby one your own, but willing to. I feel like asking to see her, and hang out with me at the same time, is just your single vision way of getting me to go with you. She needs to be enough alone. I need you to put her before me. That is the first step.