Listen to On the road by Shaina Abbs #np on #SoundCloud
Also know as The Meeting Place, The Crossroads, The place where you HAVE to play nice or That place we’re courts arrange for you to meet so you don’t kill each other trying to plan.
Most divorced parents know what I’m talking about. That place where you meet every other week, once a month or whenever your ex decides he wants to be a “Dad” to his offspring.
Idly you wait, because the last time you were late you got reemed out in front of the kids. So you make it a point to get here early….and inevitably they are half hour to 2 hours late. But you swallow your pride for your kids, throw on a fake smile and even hug the ex goodbye. You don’t hate him persay, he gave you miracle babies, but you don’t like him either.
He tried to keep your kids from you till you came to am agreement. He honored the agreement at first…now it’ll be the first time since July 4th and that was only a few hours. Before that May 28…for a few hours….notice fathers day was skipped.
I’m not sad or angry anymore, just disappointed. Frustrated. But I was so fortunate to reconnect with an amazing man from my past, whom my kids call Dad. Who treats them like a Daddy should, and treats me like gold. Even through all my triggers.
It makes each drop off a little easier, because I know no matter what happens we have a safe loving enviroment to build out future, write our story, have our faerietale.
Well whilst I can’t answer this directly on here just yet as it was a question posted for gishwhes. I will say, things have not been peachy and there are days I feel like I am fighting for my life.
As I wiped the tears away from his little face and held him in my arms and tried to explain to him that he did not have to wear a cape to be a superhero I internally cursed his fathers name. We had not planned ahead for this day, Charming and I had assumed they were making stuff at camp not that we would have to send them dressed as super heroes. And our boy, well he always wanted to be different. I call him our boy because he is. Charming is more of a Dad to him than Trip will ever be.
Trip…Oh Trip. I don’t even have words anymore. After all the put us through, the kidnapping, the court battle, the drain in money. The child support paid whenever the hell he felt like it during the month(he couldn’t get in trouble as long as it came during the right month). The arrears that were smaller than the damn vet bills he paid for his and her dog and still, STILL, he couldn’t be a real fucking father to his children.
At first it was every other weekend. And for a week last summer, because by the time the papers wee written up that was all that was left. But he didn’t want Labor Day, which was his. Then Halloween, he wanted the weekend before, cool that’s cool we had a rockin Halloween just the kids and I. He had them for Christmas and I gave them to him for New Years, because I felt it right since i had them the year before.
I dread the holidays, I dread that I will have to give them up on the important ones, I missed Passover this year because he got them for Easter and it was the same weekend. *sighs* I have to drive so far to meet halfway and considering I don’t make even half as much money as she does it is a strain on my wallet. When the holiday falls on a Sunday they are supposed to be brought home, guess how often that happens?
Then it started to get weird. He finally got a job (oh by the way he lived off of her for YEARS because he could so technically she was paying child support not him), and he doesn’t get his schedule till the Friday before ad so I have to move my whole schedule around just in case. I refused.
Mind you I have done it once or twice but it has led to late pick ups (which I was always reamed out for mind you, so now I am always early), or canceling visits. Instead of spending the weeks after school let out with him they stayed with my mother for two weeks, and instead of being with him for Fathers day he ditched them. For his dog, her son and her grandson. At that point he hadn’t seen them since Pixies recital and even that he was late for *shakes head*
He turned around and instead of taking him for a week, he took them for two days over the 4th and then told me he would be working out of town for 3 weeks and didn’t know when he would be around again. He doesn’t call, doesn’t try. But he fought so hard to be a father….Why? Why try to take our lives away? WHY?
So as I wiped the tears from my little mans face and explained to him that the cammos and gray shirt represented the real life heroes that protect our country everyday. That Charming and various family had all chosen to be everyday heroes are so much cooler than superheroes, he continued to weep because he just wanted to wear a shirt like his Father in the Navy.
I was heartbroken. I found a shirt, it wasn’t his fathers, it was from my Wolf who had given it to me as a souvenir a long time ago. But he didn’t need to know that. The tears stopped flowing and he saluted me. He told me now he was a real superhero like his Father. I bit my tears back.
As I hugged him goodbye I told him that he was MY superhero, because everyday he struggles to figure out how people work, he struggles to be accepted and make sure that he is understood. He fights so hard to just be him. And that makes him MY superhero. He kissed me goodbye when there was a knock at the door, his parting words were…
“I love you Mommy, you will always be MY Superhero”
all my love
So here we are, I have no money…Just what my mother has in her bank account because she has come to my bedside to pull me out of bed and out of depression. She brought me to NYC to remove me from the situation. I saw friends that I hadn’t seen in years. But I didn’t leave the house. I counted the minutes the seconds, that I would text Trip so he would give me permission to call my kids. It was only a week and I felt no different, I had no energy and they had to force me to eat. So back home I came.
We spent the afternoons downtown, eating yogurt at the same cafe, stopping by the attorney’s office to go over the facts. We were the only one’s at court that day when the judge practically laughed at HIS attorney. She had no clue what she was getting herself into. The abundance of things that had been withheld from her were numerous. She had no idea what was going on. The judge said he would look into things and that was that. My lawyer was feeling positive, I felt like puking.
We met up with my son’s BSC at Starbucks and then Angel, Mom and I went to Wild Wings. As I pushed my food around my place the text came in. It was over. I could get the kids. I knocked my soda into my mothers lap. I ran out the door to call and make sure it was true. I couldn’t believe it. After the brokenhearted son I heard on the phone last night (while he hid in the closet so he could take it off speaker phone and no one could hear our conversation) begged me to take him home, At that point I had no words for him. Now I could come and get him.
But there were choices, when, which car, do I call the police, do I go alone or do I take my mother.?
It didn’t matter, nothing else mattered. 4 hours later and they were in my arms, Trip watched through a window as his other half gave me everything (well my mom because I was busy holding the kids).
That case was ended last year, I have full custody and he has visitation rights. Every other weekend nd alternating holidays. I have to drive halfway to meet them unless a holiday falls on a sunday and then he can drive them to me. After everything I still have to share my kids. Who half the time don’t want to go. He took them, a snatch and grab, when I was in the hospital, and I have to let him have them….Oh did I mention 4 non consecutive weeks during the summer…But this wasn’t the end of the broken hearts. This wasn’t the end of what story just the middle. There will be one more part. And I will write it today. I promise
*Note* This story is not over, there is just one more part to writ about, and this part is the current part. It is day by day. It is the right now, it is the heartbroken me that sits here before you right now and tyes at these key and wants nothing mre than to paste a smile on her face and say it is all going to be ok. So the last part of the story I shall write….Will follow shortly Heartbroken
Said he would not understand, I left a note and said I’m sorry I, had a bad day again.
Suicidal ideation, thoughts of scratching and cutting and taking all the happy pills just to see if they would make me happy, or make me fall asleep and wake up in a land where I was happy again. But I couldn’t do that, or at least I wouldn’t. For various reasons, number one and always number one is the kids, I wouldn’t let Trip have them. He didn’t deserve them, in my eyes he donated his sperm to my miracles and that was that. He didn’t deserve the title of Dad let alone Father, he does nothing for them save for spoil them and make them think he loves them when I know the truth, they will know the truth one day too. A harsh reality when they are teens and they find out the kind of person he really is. But I won’t tell them, it isn’t my place, just as it wasn’t my mother’s place to tell us (even though she did). Number two, I was a wuss, always had been. I lined up pills one by one by one and took them all, over two hundred when I was 13 and they told my best friends best friend, who hated me that I was going to die. I took them in the lunchroom at breakfast, no one stopped me but I didn’t want to die I was just tired of being awake and when I woke up finally in a hospital bed, my mother took me home and berated me. And for the next 5 years of my life tossed a big bottle full of pills at me whenever I was sad asking me if it would make it hurt less. It only made it worse because I knew she wouldn’t understand. So last night, instead of doing those things.
I punch the cabinet. Hard.
I don’t hit things.
I have weak girly hands.
But I punched it hard, two or three times. I lost count. But my hand bled and I felt calmer.
Now my hand is swollen, my primary hand. The dominant one.
I can’t even get off because my hand is bruised and swollen. But I guess what does it matter right?
And then we fought again. Charming and I. We fought and fought and I don’t know why. Because I needed to take my anger out somewhere and though he wanted me to write a book, he doesn’t understand why the blog was a stepping stone.
He doesn’t read it – invalidating
He didn’t thank me for cooking a healthy dinner four nights in a row – invalidating
He didn’t day he was proud of me for finding lawyers for what I went through in the ER – invalidating
He didn’t say I did a good job cleaning the kitchen even though standing hurts o much after 5 minutes and it took nearly two hours to do it – invalidating
He said I need to grow up. Need to stop placing blame and making excuses. Need to take responsibilities for my own actions. Asked me if this was the point I would turn around and start finding people to mess around with like I warned him I would when I felt I was invalidated in the beginning of our relationship. I cried, I sobbed. I never even look at anyone anymore.
I tried to explain to him my last fling before I saw him again, he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear that it was always him I wanted and how I felt lucky to have him. How I loved him and how I wanted to be with him and I was with him because he pushed me and made me believe in myself. How he got me through PTSD and my triggers and how I was finally writing because of him. We can’t even spend a date night alone without fighting about something. He says I hide in my computer. Well my friends live in here. They do all of you who have validated me during the abuse when I had nowhere else to turn to. He was the one that said I would write a best seller but doesn’t understand why it had to start here.
He said I didn’t know how to be a person anymore.
Is he right? Have I forgotten how to be a person? Have I forgotten the basic principles of being personable? My phone has been broken for almost two weeks and it is so freeing so I blog and I play with the kids and I cook and I clean. And yesterday was a bad day for so many reasons but I am not a person. I look at pictures and cry and try to figure out when the mental illness started. When I stopped being real and started being a mental case. When I stopped being all the colors and became black and white. When I just because borderline. When I became all about me. The narcissist that hates looking in mirrors. The one that understands why her friends hung themselves or took too many pills. The one that feels guilty for their grandmother dying or their babies making their way to heaven. The one that just wishes they could start over where no one knew their name.
But there are crises at home that are too big to bear. The one roll of toilet paper for 4 people that has to last at least a week. The lack of money for medication. The lingering eviction notice and nowhere to go. The fact that if Trip finds out any of this, then I am screwed because maybe just maybe he will take the one this that is keeping me grounded away from me again. A year ago I was happy, well a year and 6 months. I was 150lbs lighter. I looked amazing and I smiled. I was alive, I felt good I had a 3.0GPA. Now I can barely move, I am sick all the time. I can’t afford my medicine and I hide how poor we really are from my kids. There are no movies and no friends allowed at the house because I can’t afford to feed them. Welfare moms have nothing on me. They show up and they are fine and I am not. They have phones and I don’t. I have nothing.
I no longer know how to be a person.
I know I had promised this earlier today, but today was a helluvah day and after everything I thought I was too beaten down to write. But here I am watching Braveheart and on the computer. This is probably going to be my shortest installment of the saga because it was a deep deep depression that I fell into before anything even remotely started to move towards the light….So where was I…Ahh yes
I fell to my knees in front of the diner.
I couldn’t breathe.
War and Grumpy found my not too long after that in a heap on the group, my phone cracked as it has fallen from my hands. My mother still yelling into the other line. I was rocking back and forth. My world was spinning and my fingernails were digging into my skin. My mind was racing. I didn’t know what went wrong. As War calmly picked up the phone to calm my mother down Grumpy lit me a ciggie and helped me to my feet. There were holes in my jeans here I had ripped there against the pavement. Grumpy leaned me against his heft as he held my wrists so I could not bring up any more red dots of blood to my akin. I tripped over my own feet as he placed me in the back of the car and slid in beside me, his hands still gently holding mine as I rambled on nonsensically about summer plans and how it didn’t make sense.
My mother was blaming me, I had done something wrong. Something about cat pee and the bathroom being gross. Something about the living been covered in moldy food and the kids not being promoted to the next grade. How there were too many absences. It didn’t make sense. We arrived home. War and Grumpy helped me up the stairs and heavily medicated me with mouse cake and my meds. War held me and stroked my hair and whispered to me as I fitfully fell asleep.
I was up at exactly 8 am. Trip would not pick up his phone for over 30 minutes. I paced around my neighborhood waiting to speak to him, waiting to find out what happened, what happened while I was in the hospital that made him take our kids. After he left the three of us while our daughter was in my belly and our son was a year and a half old. He only visited 3 times from across the country till our son turned 4 and then I let him stay unemployed on my couch for six whole months just because I thought he needed a relationship with the children. He thought he needed a relationship with his phone and beer. When he moved an hour away his barley saw him. It wasn’t until he was four hours away and was in a relationship with an older woman who had a on our sons age that he even made an effort and believe you me it wasn’t much f one. Even right before the hospital, he wasn’t calling. And trust me the kids had no interest in calling them. I hated them, I hated them because he owed me child support, because he wasn’t working, because she was spoiling him and he was evil and had hurt me but more he had hurt his kids. They told me once he was more like a big brother. And that coming from a child with Asperger’s is a huge deal. So what in the holy fuck was going on?
A half hour later he told me that they went upstairs and the house was a sty, there was food and cat piss everywhere. And cat shit. That there was shit in and on the toilet. That she took pictures. That the kid’s clothes smelled like cat piss. That the school said they were never there and were not passing. That there was no food in the fridge. He told he had a lawyer who was drawing up papers for full custody and that I could visit. That he wanted me to be part of their lives but obviously I couldn’t take care of them. He told me the school said they were failing out. That they wouldn’t go up in grades. He told me our son was already going to her son’s school and was doing better, that he enrolled our daughter in kindergarten for next year. That I was not fit to be a mother, I didn’t have the means to take care of them. It was that point I lost it.
I screamed, I yelled, I asked him who the fuck he thought he was. I was only in the hospital a few days and my house was clean. I knew for a fact the toilet wasn’t dirty because our snow as anal retentive about that. I knew he only sent her upstairs because he stayed in the car, my roomie told me that. She never went upstairs nor in our fridge. I knew that she didn’t go anywhere but the living room and bathroom and that the living room had laundry that needed to be folded and the kids were having a carpet picnic in front of the TV and mind you our cat only goes in her litterbox unless it is NOT cleaned. And she wouldn’t poop anywhere else. I knew the kids weren’t failing or the teacher would have spoken to me I was close to them, and he hadn’t picked up school work because I got emailed by them as well that it was never picked up. And how the hell could he enroll them when he had none of their medical records or insurance cards. Fuck he didn’t even have their social security numbers. He wasn’t sanctioned by me to obtain any of that stuff so how could he do that? WHY would he do that? I slid my back down against a telephone pole and cried, not because of the splinters but the internal pain.
Trip, I said, why are you doing this to me? They are happy and healthy. Jayson has all of his doctors here and his appointments. He has his therapist and med checks here how you could pull him away from that. You weren’t even around. They have a roof, food, clothes and are happy, what are you doing. He told me that he could provide better for them. (Meaning she could because he wasn’t doing anything). He hung up telling me I had to calm down before I called him back. 15 minutes later…and a bunch of wood splinters removed from my back I tried to make my voice as cheery as possible as I talked to our son.
I asked him if he was having fun and how everything was. He said it was ok, but there were no books to read and all they wanted to do was watch TV or play video games. But the teacher as her son’s school was cool, gave him extra work because he already knew what she was teaching. Something sounded off. He asked if I was better and when he could come home. I told him I was still in bed but as soon as I was 100% I would see him. It broke my heart. My daughter was worse, she sounded a mess (I founded after it was over she cried for me every night). She told me it was ok. The dog was good, she missed me lots and was happy I wasn’t going to heaven (that’s what she equates hospitals with). She said she wanted to come home. but since we were talking on speaker phone Trip nipped that in the bud quite quickly and she said I love you bye. Trip said I could call whenever I liked but I had to text him first. And then it was done.
I had just received a refund check and as I went upstairs I watched all of my check fall into the hands of an amazing attorney (whom I still own money too). I crawled into bed, barely talked to anyone, including war and medicated myself to not feel my pain. I spoke to my mom every day, four times a day. But I had no words. Who had words when you just can’t breathe?
Part 3 coming up soon….hopefully
I couldn’t breathe.
That’s how it started. I was doing errands, I had stopped at Starbucks for my usual trenta green tea lemonade and my chest felt so tight and I couldn’t breathe. It was May 12th 2014. I had over an hour before I had to pick up the kids but I knew I had to go to the ER. Something was terribly wrong.
I drove as fast and as safely as I could to the schools. First my daughters, then my friends son then my son’s. I watched my fingernails turn blue as I tried not to panic, tried to remain cheery as I explained to a 7,6 and 5 year old that I had to go to the ER for a breathing treatment but I was OK and I was not going to die. Considering my son has Asperger’s and one of his “things” is medical knowledge al I got was a raised eye brow as his visually assessed my condition.
As they walked me right to the back and hooked me up and nebulizer and dug through my hand for an IV line (Which I had to stay still and not cry which I always do) I kept a smile on my face and kept reassuring the kids I would be fine. I called my ex-boyfriend, my roommate (the father of the third child) and told him he HAD to leave work to come get them. I knew there was a problem when my chest wouldn’t open after a second breathing treatment and I had to lean heavily on a nurse to stand up.
The world twisted and turned and three neurologists came to see me before my ex showed up. He was concerned but ushered the kids out of the room before I had a chance to say goodbye in more than a wave. To hear my little girl cry out of me broke my heart. I was admitted that night.
Breathing treatments every hourish, so many meds for the pain in my chest and head (though nothing seemed to work for that or the dizzy). I was diagnosed with Labyrinthitis. Which of course led me to believe that David Bowie was going to steal my children and then dance on my head.
In all actuality
Labyrinthitis is irritation and swelling of the inner ear. It can cause vertigo and hearing loss.
Labyrinthitis is usually caused by a virus and sometimes by bacteria. Having a cold or flu can trigger the condition. Less often, an ear infection may lead to labyrinthitis. Other causes include allergies or certain drugs that are bad for the inner ear.
Your inner ear is important for both hearing and balance. When you have labyrinthitis, the parts of your inner ear become irritated and swollen. This can make you lose your balance and cause hearing loss
I would remain in the hospital until my lung decided to work again and until I regained my balance enough to take care of myself and the kiddos. After a long talk with my roomie and my mother it was determine that I was going to call Trip (My ex-husband) and see if he wanted the kiddos for a week and a half until Memorial Day, because that was his weekend anyway. (There was no custody paperwork so we had a verbal arrangement that was good enough for us. Now my roomie was a total slob so the house was messy but it wasn’t that bad. On March 15th my ex came to pick them up, he stayed in the car while he sent his girlfriend upstairs. She used the bathroom, grabbed the kiddos and left. Nothing out of the ordinary.
While I was in the hospital she and I planned for the summer, I told her I thought it would be cool, if they wanted have the kids half the summer to go to camp with her son. We spoke of arranging a full family camping trip up to Lake Erie. She told me that the kids work had been picked up at their school and the next week their work would be faxed so they wouldn’t miss anything. Since my ex wasn’t working, he had plenty of time to do it with them and they wouldn’t fall behind. The three of us were all on the same page…or so I thought.
Two days later I went home, I had to stay I my room because I had walking pneumonia and my balance was still off and I was on bed rest. My then boyfriend and his brother were headed to me to help my roommate cleanout the house and put things together to make it perfect for when the kiddos got home (and he was bringing me my new car that I bought with my income tax). The next week and few days went smoothly, I spoke to the kids every night, my house got spic and span and I started to not walk into walls. The weekend arrived and I was excited, Xmen Days of Future Past just released, I had gotten my check for the excess money from school (enough to get the kiddos and I summer clothes and stuff for around the house), and I was in a great mood! Sunday night War (the boyfriend du jour), his brother and I went to see the late movie (which was amazing of course) and headed to the Diner around 1am, when we finally turned on our phones. Both War and I had a ton of VM and texts from my Mom getting more and more urgent, angry and finally shouting so loud you could hear them from a foot away. Considering there was no actually content to the messages other than yelling I slowly dialed her number, and the words out of her mouth would change my whole world forever.
“Where the fuck were you? I have been trying to fucking call and you can’t pick up the fucking phone? Trip called me. He’s not bringing them home!!!”
I fell to my knees on the pavement in front of that diner.
I couldn’t breathe.