Today, tomorrow, for the rest of her life, she chooses herself

He came to her, said all the right words, words she never thought she’d hear come from him mouth.

She didn’t believe them. She knew from before that he would do or say whatever it took to get what he wanted.

And he wanted to get laid.

And when he said it was up to her, her instincts said Damn straight it’s up to me.  Damn straight I don’t have to do it.

But the tiny voice back in the corner said “This time we hold all the cards. This time we call the shots. This time we say this is what we want and if you don’t agree, hit the road.  That power hungry little bitch voice actually thought they would be in control.  When had that ever happened?

But she laid it out anyway.  I’m not in this half way, I won’t settle for part time, I want a commitment, I want a future.  I want it all, or want nothing.

He agreed. (He wanted to get laid)

And then he went away, on vacation, and she didn’t hear from him for days at a time.  But she rationalized it, he’s busy on vacation.  He came home and they had the reunion she dreamed of.

And then he said we’re not really together, we’re more than dating, but taking things slow.

WTF does that even mean?  But she let it go.  Even though it clinched her gut and tore her heart a little.

And for a while things were fine, not perfect, not everything she wanted, but not altogether awful.  Until that fateful day at his work, when he told the guys “I’m never getting married again.”

That was more than a slap in the face to her, it was a gut punch.  He had let her believe that was an option in their future.  He told her he wanted the commitment, the family, the future.  This? She felt was a major betrayal.  He had promised her the ring and the wedding before, now, he denied he ever said it, and that she was crazy because he was never getting married again.

The best he could possibly offer her would be we might share an address, but we’ll never share a last name.

That was the beginning of the very end of the road for them.

He stopped calling as often, claimed to be busier.  There was always an excuse for why he hadn’t called.  He was busy. He was tired. He was driving. He was breathing.  He was arrogant.  He was self-centered.  The list went on and on as to why he couldn’t be bothered with her.

He even went so far as to say “I tried this weekend, and I got blown off. WTF is wrong with you?”  To which she found some balls and said “You tried? You tried this weekend?  Two days? Two days out of 14, and you got blown off?!  I try every fucking day. Every. FUCKING. Day and I get blown off.”

He just stopped called or answering her.  So she called his house, he said he’d call later.  She knew it was a lie.  He sent a text “I’m done, you haven’t been right since all I get is you bitching to me about not doing enough I’m tired of it. I get hurt and b/c I don’t spend all day on my phone you go crazy. Enough is enough.”

Later he admitted that he didn’t make the effort, he didn’t make the time, he didn’t even try.  And “call me a piece of shit, I don’t care anymore”.

It was then that she got to the end of their road together.  She knew she should have listened to her gut when he called her and asked and put the ball in her court.  She should have followed her heart and said “You’re right it is up to me, and I choose no.  I choose me.”

She’s choosing herself now.  She’s walked away, and she’s finished.  And she’s sure the day will come when he comes back again, because he’s sure he will always have the upper hand.

And when that day comes?  She will choose herself. Again and again.

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.