This is where I draw the line.

It’s been 10 days since I saw Brian and his entire family for who they really are and walked away.   Yes, I know,  I can see the eye rolls out there, the “here we go again” deep sighs, the “When will she ever learn?” questioning looks.

This time?  I walked away.  This time it was my choice.  This time I get it.  I saw what I had been ignoring for years.  I saw him, them, for who they really are and I can’t accept that.  No, that’s not true.  I can accept they are who/what they are.  I can’t accept that into my life.    And so this time, I shut the door.  This time I walked away.  This time I said “I’m done.  I want no part of this any more.”

And that?  Makes all the difference, apparently.

Because there is no nagging doubt, no lingering hope, no strings  left dangling hoping to tie me to him yet again.  This time, it was a clean and final break. Cutting all ties.  Walking away, saying good bye.  Knowing, *knowing* really knowing this time, I’m done.

I am letting go of the past.  I no longer think about ‘what’s he doing today?’  I no longer worry about if he’s at work, or off, of what is happening in his life.  In fact,  have had zero contact with him.

And that, my friends, is peace.

There have been no tears.  None.  He is no longer worth them.  He is not worthy of me.  I am so much better than him, better without him.

Now, that something better.   Right now I believe that something better is just the peace of mind knowing this time, I’m finally done, and this time it’s over, forever, and this is really the best thing I could do.  The letting go, the saying good-bye, the lifted weight,  the freedom to be me without worry.

I live my life now for me.  Without having to answer to anyone but me.

So much so, that last Friday, when I picked up the girls, I drove an extra half hour to have a birthday dinner with one of my girlfriends because she asked, and I had nobody I had to get home to.  Then?  I drove another hour to The Lake, to see a friend I hadn’t seen in years, because I could.

And I had a blast.  I laughed, I relaxed, I played, I enjoyed… all because I could. Because I didn’t have to answer to him, or anyone.  Because I was on my time schedule, not someone else.

It was heaven.

And for a while, all those years ago,  I thought that Brian was The One.  And maybe he was.  Maybe he was The One to teach me Here is the line in the sand.  He is where you stand, this is what you believe, and this, *this* is not negotiable.

That is important stuff to know.

Like the feeling of being wanted, the feeling of being important to someone, the feeling of being special.  And just maybe that friend you haven’t seen in years will be just the person to remind you of that.

The Day I Became The Watcher

Someone in my life was awaken (awoken?)  in the middle of the night by a fist slamming into their face while they slept.  The fist belonged to the person they live with, the person they were going to marry.

I got the phone call later that morning with just the briefest of details, basically fist, face, middle of the night.  That was just about the extent of coherent thoughts they could put together.  They knew decisions, BIG decisions, and a lot of them needed to be made.  They also knew that their world was no longer familiar.

This isn’t about them.  Their story is not mine to tell.  This is about me, about how I became what Britt terms A Watcher.

I have made it no secret here, and it’s no secret to anyone who knew us, that my marriage to the Drama Tweens’ Dad was not a good marriage.  I can step back and take responsibility for my part of it now, I was undiagnosed, therefore unmedicated bipolar.  I suffered PPD after both girls, I was a mental mess.  Our fights were epic.  I own my part in it.

One fight in particular was bad. We were arguing over whether a bill was paid or not.  Instead of just showing him a copy of the check I wrote to pay it, I argued and fought and decided this was the perfect time to prove to him he didn’t trust me.    My word should have been enough.

The fight escalated as our fights were known to do, and he started punching walls, and breaking my things, specifically my kitchen chairs.  So I picked up a jar candle and smashed the glass door on his gun cabinet. (hindsight says not the smartest thing to do). Without a moment’s thought, he slapped me across my face.

I grabbed the girls and went to the police department and filed a complaint. And then? I went to my best friend’s house.  She was married to a police officer at the time.  I knew we’d be safe.

The police picked the girls dad up, took him in, and released him shortly thereafter.  He went to his brother’s house for the night.

I spent that night making plans, I’m going to leave him. I’ll take the kids and go to my mom’s (She had Zero room for us at the time but I didn’t care).  I’ll file for divorce.  I’m done.  I’m taking this, and that, and this, and that and that will show him.

The next day the girls and I went home.  He called, apologized, wanted to see the girls.  I agreed to meet him at the city park.  When he got out of his truck, the sunlight hit his wedding band, and the drama of the night before was forgotten.

I forgave him on the spot, he came home with us that afternoon.  All of my plans to leave, to divorce him, forgotten.

Our marriage wasn’t any better after that.  We still fought. Things still got broken.  I am not proud of it.  But the point is, I had always said “If anyone ever hits me, I’m out of there.” only to find out when it was crunch time? I stayed.

I offered my friend all of my support, I offered a safe place to stay, a safe storage solution.  I listened with understanding.  I did all they would allow me to do. And I knew it was all surface dressing.  Only they could do the hard work.

Nothing has been decided.  They are just now to a point where they can function during the day, but long-term?  They can’t comprehend anything beyond today.  Their future, as they saw it, no longer exists.

And I sit and I wait and I watch, and I keep my doors open,  knowing it could be a long time before they are ready to walk through it.

The Coolest 16 Year Old Guy I know

See that guy right there?  That would Scooter, Brian’s son.  I took that picture the day I met him.  He’d just finished his last race of the day.  In August.  It was H-O-T hot.

Scooter didn’t like me much when we first met.  But really, who could blame him.  I was a new person in Dad’s life, someone taking Dad’s attention away.

It would be months before Scooter and I became friends.  Brian’s dad was in the hospital and I came to stay with the kids over spring break so Brian and his mom could be with his Dad.  And even though Princess could demand every second of my attention, I made it a point to spend time with just Scooter.  Playing catch with him in the basement. I sealed our friendship by catching a baseball with my face.

Today Scooter turns 16.  Even though his dad and I are no longer together, Scooter still holds a special place in my heart.  He is beyond a doubt the coolest 16 year old I know.  Some of my best memories are of the two of us hanging out cutting up.

Like the time Brian sent us to the outbuilding to get the fishing poles ready for our fishing trip the next day and we ended up hosing down the floor and squeegee-ing the floor clean.  Fishing poles? Oh yeah, we were getting to those.

Scooter helped me move more times than either of us like to count.  It was hot, hard work, but with Scooter, it was fun.  And it got done.

So, Scooter, even though I am no longer the best future step-mom in the entire world, I am still thinking about you today Bud, and I’m wishing you eleventy-billion birthday wishes.

You totally rock my world.

 

Your birthday is a special time to celebrate the gift of 'you' to the world.

 

Hateful Bitch, The Pirate, and me.

This weekend, I met another blogger in real life.  For a lot of you, that’s like what? A weekly occurrence? For me? Me… the homebody, the one who is just learning to say “Yes” to stepping outside my house/comfort zone? This is a first.

Five years ago I was just getting started in blogging.  I was just branching out and getting a few readers who didn’t share DNA with me, and I was reading other blogs. Hateful Bitch and I were working together and I shared my blog with her, and introduced her to a few of my favorite bloggers.

One of those bloggers was The Pirate.

Her stories of competing with The Gays over Halloween decorations? Had me peeing my pants with laughter. (You’ll have to go dig through her archives to find that shit, because she doesn’t have a search box on her blog.  And? I’m lazy. Sorry. But it is so worth the read! Trust me.)  She cracked me right the hell up.

Over the years, I stopped reading her blog but apparently Hateful Bitch and The Pirate struck up a friendship.

And this weekend, The Pirate was in The Lou for a conference.  (Some sort of vascular something or other conference.  I don’t know. I just remembered we decided that stabbing douchenozzles was ok, because it would be considered research for her conference.  We’re good with logic.  And justifications. Clearly.)

I met up with Hateful Bitch, and at the time was unaware of who The Pirate was, aside from Hateful Bitch’s friend.  When she finally told me who she is I was blown away.

The Pirate?  Is awesome.  She’s just as funny in real life as she writes.

And that making me laugh till I peed my pants thing?  I returned the favor.

Because I’m a giver.  I care.  Truly I do.