So I finally womaned-up and sent an "I am done" email to the guy I've been dating for almost a year. Turns out he doesn't consider me his girlfriend, never did, and likely never will. But he thought we were "friends" (with benefits obviously) who could fuck whenever it was convenient for him, and he could enjoy "fucking with my head" and calling me crazy and overly dramatic and suggest that I euthanize my dog because she has bad knees. Yes, he suggested that. Also he has no intention of introducing me to his children even though we were looking at the year mark in our (oh I guess it wasn't really a) relationship.
So I expressed that I didn't like the way he made me feel, that this wasn't the first time I'd mentioned I didn't like the way he makes me feel, and that in general that conversation resulted in him telling me that I was not understanding the words he was using and we should look closer at syntax. Or that "any normal person" would understand him.
This is a man who would take me to parties and with me standing next to him, tell stories about things he had done with other woman, as if I was the person he had done them with, and when I told him I didn't like that, said I was being ridiculous. That it didn't matter, he wasn't lying, because those things did happen, they just didn't happen with me. Narcissistic much?
Since he read the email, he's been trying to get me to talk to him. My phone has blown up with texts and he's actually called twice. More contact than I've had from him in months. And he has said he wants to preserve our friendship. He doesn't seem to understand that while I've been his friend, he has not been mine. And on top of all of this I get to know that I've wasted yet another year with someone who doesn't actually care about me.
I did text him at one point that I was honestly surprised he was bothered with me calling things off based on how he had been treating me. He responded with "Wow, bitch level pretty high, shame."
Because, you know, he's my friend.
*sigh*
Today he tried to call when I was at Family Sunday, when I texted I was unable to talk he told me to enjoy and I responded "thank you." Being polite. His response was along the lines of "see, we can be friends without the drama of dating." Ugh. I responded "there is a difference between being polite and being friends." Because you know, he still doesn't get it. What he's done is not okay. But I doubt he will ever understand that another person has feelings too.
This is an issue too many woman face in all relationships. If we are dissatisfied and end it, we are the bitch, the ungrateful cunt, the whore, the idiot, the cruel one. No matter what we have gone through and tried to make work, if we say "enough is enough" it is our fault. This is why we stay.
I'm not staying anymore. But it has taken me until 40 to be able to recognize more quickly when I am being gaslighted or manipulated. And I simply won't abide that treatment.
I truly hope other women figure it sooner. And that Wildflower Child never has to deal with this shit, or if she sees it starting, she stops it much much sooner.
Am I a Person?
So I've been debating in my head for much too long if the man I have been dating likes me as a person, or because he gets what he wants from me.
This is a debate I've had many too many times.
This is probably a debate too many sex positive and sexual woman (and probably more than a few men) have.
Also, am I dating a sex addict? But that's another question all together.
I want to be loved. I don't think that's unique in the world of humanity. I love often and deeply and in a kaleidoscope of ways. I love my family. I love my dog. I love my friends. I even fell a little in love with the man I'm dating. Do I want to get married? No. Do I want to move in together? No. Do I want to feel appreciated and safe and respected, and maybe even a little bit part of his life? Yes. That would be nice. Because even if we aren't meant to be together for the rest of our lives, doesn't mean we can't be there for each other now.
More and more I am thinking that for him, all I am is a way to relieve stress, have fun and get what he wants. Sometimes I am good for a ride or to help out with a yard sale. I am a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, a companion when he wants it. Otherwise, I'm not even on his radar.
Or at least that is how it feels right now.
I wrote an email, because that is what I do, asking him one question; "Are you interested in getting to know me better?" It is a yes or no answer type of question. If yes, then we go forward and hope that he takes a moment to understand that he needs to put in some work that matters. If no, well then I have to decide if I like the sex enough to not be a complete person.
I am waiting for the response.
This is a debate I've had many too many times.
This is probably a debate too many sex positive and sexual woman (and probably more than a few men) have.
Also, am I dating a sex addict? But that's another question all together.
I want to be loved. I don't think that's unique in the world of humanity. I love often and deeply and in a kaleidoscope of ways. I love my family. I love my dog. I love my friends. I even fell a little in love with the man I'm dating. Do I want to get married? No. Do I want to move in together? No. Do I want to feel appreciated and safe and respected, and maybe even a little bit part of his life? Yes. That would be nice. Because even if we aren't meant to be together for the rest of our lives, doesn't mean we can't be there for each other now.
More and more I am thinking that for him, all I am is a way to relieve stress, have fun and get what he wants. Sometimes I am good for a ride or to help out with a yard sale. I am a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, a companion when he wants it. Otherwise, I'm not even on his radar.
Or at least that is how it feels right now.
I wrote an email, because that is what I do, asking him one question; "Are you interested in getting to know me better?" It is a yes or no answer type of question. If yes, then we go forward and hope that he takes a moment to understand that he needs to put in some work that matters. If no, well then I have to decide if I like the sex enough to not be a complete person.
I am waiting for the response.
Understanding
I've been sort of dating a man for about 11 months now. He's very different than I am, but we have fun when we get together. But there was one conversation a long time ago that has stuck and pissed me off. I was trying to explain why I'm very restrictive about my ex having access to the Wildflower Child. I was under a lot of stress at that time and trying to explain that I sometimes fear he will steal her. And had told him that my ex is not allowed on school grounds or to have any say over her medical care or education. I was not explaining myself and my fears very well and at one point he said, "well you are responsible for staying with him. For whatever reason, you stayed."
And I saw red. Especially considering he is a former NYC police officer and all I could think of was whether or not he had asked rape survivors what they were wearing. Because he had just essentially accused me of staying with my abuser so it was my fault I was abused.
It was a fucked up conversation.
Anyway, we talked a few nights ago after I had gone back to the house. And he said he wasn't really getting what I had experienced from the texts I had been sending him. So I told him about what I had found. And he just listened. At one point I was explaining what the pellet stove was and mentioned that it was our primary heat source because we couldn't keep the oil tank full, he responded, "I'm afraid to ask why you couldn't keep the oil tank full..." I said, "because he drank the money. You can't get an oil delivery under 100 gallons, but you can buy a few bags of pellets at a time. And the oil heated our water, so there were weeks at a time I would heat water on the stove or in the microwave to wash up." And at the end, still a little pissed about that conversation from months and months ago, I said, "so if you think I'm crazy..." and he cut me off and said, "No, I get it. He's just awful. Now I understand."
It's taken almost a year for him to really come to an understanding of what I went through. And I don't think he really gets it completely, but now some of how I respond to situations makes sense to him. And why I will do anything to keep Wildflower Child with me as much as possible.
And I saw red. Especially considering he is a former NYC police officer and all I could think of was whether or not he had asked rape survivors what they were wearing. Because he had just essentially accused me of staying with my abuser so it was my fault I was abused.
It was a fucked up conversation.
Anyway, we talked a few nights ago after I had gone back to the house. And he said he wasn't really getting what I had experienced from the texts I had been sending him. So I told him about what I had found. And he just listened. At one point I was explaining what the pellet stove was and mentioned that it was our primary heat source because we couldn't keep the oil tank full, he responded, "I'm afraid to ask why you couldn't keep the oil tank full..." I said, "because he drank the money. You can't get an oil delivery under 100 gallons, but you can buy a few bags of pellets at a time. And the oil heated our water, so there were weeks at a time I would heat water on the stove or in the microwave to wash up." And at the end, still a little pissed about that conversation from months and months ago, I said, "so if you think I'm crazy..." and he cut me off and said, "No, I get it. He's just awful. Now I understand."
It's taken almost a year for him to really come to an understanding of what I went through. And I don't think he really gets it completely, but now some of how I respond to situations makes sense to him. And why I will do anything to keep Wildflower Child with me as much as possible.
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.
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.
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.
Sixth Birthday
The Wildflower Child turned six-years-old today. I have no idea where the time has gone, but there it is, she's six.
The plan was her father would pick her up at 9:00am and take her to Dorney Park for the first half of the day and then bring her home by 2:00pm for my chance to celebrate.
By 8:45am we were waiting outside for him and I got a photo of her the moment she actually turned six. By 9:30am I sent him a text wondering where he was. By 9:47am he responded "on my way."
He showed up at 10:30am. An hour and a half late for his only child's sixth birthday. And having eaten up too much time to be able to go to Dorney Park. So he's taking her to the pool next to wear he will apparently be moving after the house he hasn't paid the mortgage on in four years goes to Sheriff's sale next month.
Father of the fucking year.
She of course is fine because she's going to go swimming. But these false promises are going to add up and eventually, she's going to start being disappointed. Eventually she's going to be crushed. And I'm really pissed.
The plan was her father would pick her up at 9:00am and take her to Dorney Park for the first half of the day and then bring her home by 2:00pm for my chance to celebrate.
By 8:45am we were waiting outside for him and I got a photo of her the moment she actually turned six. By 9:30am I sent him a text wondering where he was. By 9:47am he responded "on my way."
He showed up at 10:30am. An hour and a half late for his only child's sixth birthday. And having eaten up too much time to be able to go to Dorney Park. So he's taking her to the pool next to wear he will apparently be moving after the house he hasn't paid the mortgage on in four years goes to Sheriff's sale next month.
Father of the fucking year.
She of course is fine because she's going to go swimming. But these false promises are going to add up and eventually, she's going to start being disappointed. Eventually she's going to be crushed. And I'm really pissed.
Worst Father's Day EVER
Today started out beyond wonderfully. In spite of only having approximately three hours of sleep, I got up this morning in a good mood; ready to take care of my dog and my child and go out to breakfast with my parents. And in fact, for the first few hours of the day, it was delightful. We went out to a dinner, the four of us, had a nice breakfast, went to Home Depot to find spindles for a broken banister in the house and came home.
And then everything went to shit.
My father is even more emotional and mercurial than I am and apparently there were issues with plane tickets for my parents' anniversary trip in the fall. So after two hours of phone calls he was, let's call it "annoyed."
Then he started working on the broken banister and the project went wrong. And he fucking lost it.
He couldn't find drill bits because he hates clutter and my step-mother might have moved them. He couldn't finish the project because he "can't fucking find anything in this fucking house and can't do anything fucking right!" And so on...
After a bit of this I heard him yelling at his dog Dexter, who only wanted to play and that's when I decided that the night was truly farked and to get Wildflower Child in a shower and to bed as soon as possible. She was crushed because she had wanted to celebrate Father's Day with ice cream and Pop-Pop and that wasn't happening. Also dinner didn't happen.
So I got her to bed, and started cleaning the kitchen and erasing any evidence that I had been there and putting all the food that we hadn't actually prepared away. By now my dear father is sitting on the deck just being a ball of angry. I'm being quiet as a mouse and fucking manic trying to get as much done as quickly as I can and knowing that I have to give my dog her meds early and get the fuck out of sight asap.
Which I did. Also just realized I forgot my meds. Nice.
So anyway...Happy Father's Day to all the dads, even the one's who take their frustration out on their families.
And then everything went to shit.
My father is even more emotional and mercurial than I am and apparently there were issues with plane tickets for my parents' anniversary trip in the fall. So after two hours of phone calls he was, let's call it "annoyed."
Then he started working on the broken banister and the project went wrong. And he fucking lost it.
He couldn't find drill bits because he hates clutter and my step-mother might have moved them. He couldn't finish the project because he "can't fucking find anything in this fucking house and can't do anything fucking right!" And so on...
After a bit of this I heard him yelling at his dog Dexter, who only wanted to play and that's when I decided that the night was truly farked and to get Wildflower Child in a shower and to bed as soon as possible. She was crushed because she had wanted to celebrate Father's Day with ice cream and Pop-Pop and that wasn't happening. Also dinner didn't happen.
So I got her to bed, and started cleaning the kitchen and erasing any evidence that I had been there and putting all the food that we hadn't actually prepared away. By now my dear father is sitting on the deck just being a ball of angry. I'm being quiet as a mouse and fucking manic trying to get as much done as quickly as I can and knowing that I have to give my dog her meds early and get the fuck out of sight asap.
Which I did. Also just realized I forgot my meds. Nice.
So anyway...Happy Father's Day to all the dads, even the one's who take their frustration out on their families.
I Need What?
Fair warning: This post will deal with "woman's issues."
So I had my first physical in many many years this past Thursday. I've had exams and doctor's appointments over the years. Even had a baby. But no regular annual exams. And finally, I made myself an appointment with the Nurse Practioner (Patty) at my clinic. Because it was time, and I had reasons.
Background:
Since I first got my period back after having the Wildflower Child, it had progressively becoming more and more of a burden. In that my cycle, while rather regular, was becoming more and more regularly apparent. In that my cycle was becoming ultimately shorter and shorter. There were times when my cycle was 23 days long. Twenty-three days from bleed to bleed. Just over three weeks. With at least, at least, seven days of bleeding. And the cramps start at least a week before the blood. So I was spending about HALF my life suffering pain or blood or both.
Further background:
When I was 26-years-old I had exploratory surgery to determine why my periods were so painful and heavy. A 2" square piece of tissue was removed that had attached my left fallopian tube to my colon. Other than that, results were negative and all I was left with was a post-operative infection and nerve damage in my vagina and left leg.
Currently:
I've been on a type of birth control pill that has only one level of hormones since January. I'm supposed to take the active pills for three months, take the inactive pills for a week to have my period, and go back to active pills for three months, repeat. So I'm only supposed to have my period every three months.
This has not happened. The longest I've gone without my period (and this was only once) was 33 days. Other than that, every 29-30 days I bleed, active pills or not. My last bleed was 14 (FOURTEEN) days long.
So I had a physical and brought this up. My NP was very sweet and said she would confer with my primary physician and get back to me.
She got back to me Friday morning. I need an ultrasound.
Not just any ultrasound. A "Total Pelvic Ultrasound" which involves a transvaginal ultrasound. To look for fibroids. Before we can look at different birth control.
So I had a little freak out.
Then I had a bigger one after Googling what might be going on.
Then an even bigger one after Googling treatment options.
And then...
Then I found out for the first time in my life that both my biological mother, and her mother, have had fibroids. And that fibroids is why my Gram had a hysterectomy when my mother was 16-years-old. Not cancer, as I always believed. Fibroids.
I'm still crossing fingers that I'm fine and that I'm just not responding to the birth control the way I should be. But the evidence is piling up that I have evil little tumors filling up my insides.
And even if I don't. What the fuck is wrong with me?
And why, when I was 26 and having surgery that left me with a very serious infection and painful nerve damage, did no one tell me that this is my family history?
So I had my first physical in many many years this past Thursday. I've had exams and doctor's appointments over the years. Even had a baby. But no regular annual exams. And finally, I made myself an appointment with the Nurse Practioner (Patty) at my clinic. Because it was time, and I had reasons.
Background:
Since I first got my period back after having the Wildflower Child, it had progressively becoming more and more of a burden. In that my cycle, while rather regular, was becoming more and more regularly apparent. In that my cycle was becoming ultimately shorter and shorter. There were times when my cycle was 23 days long. Twenty-three days from bleed to bleed. Just over three weeks. With at least, at least, seven days of bleeding. And the cramps start at least a week before the blood. So I was spending about HALF my life suffering pain or blood or both.
Further background:
When I was 26-years-old I had exploratory surgery to determine why my periods were so painful and heavy. A 2" square piece of tissue was removed that had attached my left fallopian tube to my colon. Other than that, results were negative and all I was left with was a post-operative infection and nerve damage in my vagina and left leg.
Currently:
I've been on a type of birth control pill that has only one level of hormones since January. I'm supposed to take the active pills for three months, take the inactive pills for a week to have my period, and go back to active pills for three months, repeat. So I'm only supposed to have my period every three months.
This has not happened. The longest I've gone without my period (and this was only once) was 33 days. Other than that, every 29-30 days I bleed, active pills or not. My last bleed was 14 (FOURTEEN) days long.
So I had a physical and brought this up. My NP was very sweet and said she would confer with my primary physician and get back to me.
She got back to me Friday morning. I need an ultrasound.
Not just any ultrasound. A "Total Pelvic Ultrasound" which involves a transvaginal ultrasound. To look for fibroids. Before we can look at different birth control.
So I had a little freak out.
Then I had a bigger one after Googling what might be going on.
Then an even bigger one after Googling treatment options.
And then...
Then I found out for the first time in my life that both my biological mother, and her mother, have had fibroids. And that fibroids is why my Gram had a hysterectomy when my mother was 16-years-old. Not cancer, as I always believed. Fibroids.
I'm still crossing fingers that I'm fine and that I'm just not responding to the birth control the way I should be. But the evidence is piling up that I have evil little tumors filling up my insides.
And even if I don't. What the fuck is wrong with me?
And why, when I was 26 and having surgery that left me with a very serious infection and painful nerve damage, did no one tell me that this is my family history?
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