The End

The house that I bought with my now ex-husband in 2005, that housed us, more than several cats, some ferrets, some chinchillas, and eventually our daughter, the house that I wanted for the amazing maple tree in the side yard, the house that I carefully picked out paint colours and trim and tile for, the house that I fought for over and over and over, the house that I walked away from January 27th, 2014, that house, is going up for Sheriff's sale in two weeks.

So today I helped to take out the wood pellet stove that my parents bought me and I was never able to repay them for. And found every single one of my daughter's toys abandoned in her play room, the floors covered in filth, food and dishes strewn about the yard, cat shit piled in the hall closet. My ex has moved out and he left probably the best visual example of why I couldn't stay with him. A complete ruin.

When we bought the house, we had to essentially gut it to erase the neglect by the previous owners. I scrubbed for weeks. Got a lung infection cleaning and painting and rehabilitating what should have been a home. And all that and more is gone. It was horrible. And knowing that my daughter's toys and pictures and books, were molding away in that filth while he does who knows what is sickening. I grabbed a few last things and spent a very long time staring at the little painted wooden play kitchen that she's much too big for, but I was so proud when I was able to buy it for her. I remember assembling it and loving every piece completely. And there it is. Abandoned. Along with everything else.

And yet he continues to believe that I was the one who abandoned him.


This was the chair my mother bought me when I was pregnant with the Wildflower Child. I found it broken and left in a pile of broken things, under the maple tree on the side of the house. I breastfed in that chair. I nursed our daughter, cuddled our cats, and rocked for hours in that chair. And now it is rubbish.

I was hurting beyond words after this afternoon and when my father asked me what was wrong I told him, "I feel like an idiot for staying with him for 17 years." How could I live for so long with someone who treated me with such disregard? How could I be so blind to his selfishness and slovenliness and just general horridness? How could I allow myself to be drawn into such abuse? Because that chair right there? That's how I felt for the last several years of my marriage. Broken and useless and battered and dirty and worthless.

My father said I wasn't an idiot. That I just wanted, so badly, what most people want. Love and family and security. And that I fought like hell to make it happen. Fought harder and longer than most people would or could. And that he is proud of me. Not proud like a father for a daughter. But PROUD. Because he thinks I am an amazing person.

And I said, "Thank you." Very quietly. Because I don't feel amazing. I don't feel proud. I feel sad.

But I am not a broken chair. 

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