Seeing how we are now in the good tidings and merry season, I shall not try to grumble and moan too loudly about everything that has gone so wrong the past three weeks. I need to keep on keeping on but I have to wonder what the tipping point is?
Is there a DNA component that has a person hitting bottom and rising out of the ashes like the phoenix? Or is there a component that makes a person throw up their hands and look up at the sky declaring defeat?
I hope, hope, hope, I have the phoenix DNA.
At my last job, over 6 1/2 years ago, I worked with a woman who had a black doom cloud hanging over her head. Trouble just seemed to follow her. I have been thinking about her a lot lately, wondering if she ever had any potential and just gave up on striving for things she wanted to achieve by giving in to the ultimate sin of "settling".
Was she once a vibrant, thin, good natured woman? Did life beat her down so much that she put on 60 pounds, took up smoking, settled for a low-wage job where she wore the same stinky sweater with pockets (to hold the cigarettes) everyday? Did she give up on her children and fail to help progress them along? What happened to her?
I hope, hope, hope, I don't become just like her.
***
Think of all my blessings . . .
13 and 6 mean everything to me. Everything I have done has been in the best interest of them. That includes not going back to work right away (this is a very sore subject with a male figure in my family.) As Vickie likes to say "should of, could of, would of". I don't want to regret being home for them during a very difficult time in their life.
I had a flat tire three weeks ago. I was at the country town library where the out of school suspension kids flock to after their class is over (ironic, I know.) As I walked to my car, a young delinquent pointed out that I had a flat. He offered to fix it . . . . for money. I told him thank you and that I had no money on me so I would fix it myself.
One of the other gang members shook his head and told me he would fix it for me, because he said "my mom could be in the same predicament as you and I hope someone helps her." It took the gang one hour to break my jack and change the tire. But I was happy they helped me and offered to write their probation officers and a judge a nice letter.
The 13 year old and I are going to practice changing the tire so that he and I both can learn. But first, I'm going to buy a better jack.
***
Last month the healer sent a huge package to the ADA's office. It included all correspondence from vileman that he has written to me and the kids plus all emails he sends (his bond restrictions are supposed to keep him off the Internet except for job hunting purposes.) After the ADA received the package, she called the healer to report that "if it were true, (duh!?! they had all the evidence) then he was in violation of his bond restrictions".
Nothing ever came of it. Which leaves me to believe that (1) they think it is domestic or (2) they are going to present it during his trial and probably subpoena me to testify. Grrr. Or (3) they know his trial is coming up at the end of December and maybe the info they have will keep him from getting another continuance.
I'm losing my faith in the judicial system.
***
I haven't been able to comment or post because (very embarrassing) I could not remember my password to this account. Ahem. And like the smart cookie that I am, the email address where they send the password info should you forget, required that password that I couldn't remember.
It finally came to me after days and days of trying . . . and I now feel quite merry.
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Gray Area
Today I programed the DVR to record the Dr. Oz show. (We are a day behind because of the tennis match last Tuesday).
It's supposed to be about the effects of stress on a woman's body.
I'm almost afraid to watch.
Waiting for someone to go to trial is very stressful.
Not knowing when vileman will go to trial or what the outcome will be is so stressful.
Lately, my mind has been in overdrive thanks to way too many Law and Order episodes. (L&O: Criminal Intent is my favorite.)
In my biased mind, I think how the trial will play out. I imagine scenarios and think of comebacks for the prosecuting attorney.
For instance, vileman pled the 5th to every horrific question my attorney asked him at our temporary order hearing. So, I think "hmm, I wonder if they can use the transcripts from that hearing in his criminal trial?" If so, how would the ADA know about it?
I had a few things that I thought vileman's community service supervisor should know about, but I'll spare you the details.
So, I called the detective who arrested vileman and told him my thoughts. He was patient with me and understood my position, but it seems I would just look like a revengeful ex-wife. Not a mother trying to protect her children from vileman.
Grrr.
Last week, 6 was home sick with a viral bug and while she was watching cartoons, I picked up one of my dad's cow magazines. It's focus was on stressed calves (moo moo calves) and how the stress when they are taken from their momma's for weaning prior to being sold, affects them negatively.
Apparently, these stressed out calves get sick because of the high cortisol levels that the stress produces.
It made me think about my situation and the disservice I am doing to my body.
Anyways, I will be very interested in watching the Dr. Oz show when I get back from picking the kids up from school.
*********
I'm still up 1.8 pounds - thanks to the Lady cycle week - I sort of deviated from the plan by having three carb-up days and four base-line days that week. My carb-up days were very tame, (as in high fiber cereal for dinner) so no need to beat myself up. The lesson learned is: when I feel lady cycle coming on, I need to immediately switch to carb down day and stay there until the week passes to keep the carb cravings at bay.
This week I started on the accelerated fat cycle.
********
Edited on 9/24/09: I'm finally back down this morning (had been up late last week to 2.8 pounds but by Sunday had lost 1 pound and had a 1.8 gain of water retention left) . . . weight loss to date 10.2 pounds - wished it was faster but I don't feel deprived and that is probably going to help with continuing on.
It's supposed to be about the effects of stress on a woman's body.
I'm almost afraid to watch.
Waiting for someone to go to trial is very stressful.
Not knowing when vileman will go to trial or what the outcome will be is so stressful.
Lately, my mind has been in overdrive thanks to way too many Law and Order episodes. (L&O: Criminal Intent is my favorite.)
In my biased mind, I think how the trial will play out. I imagine scenarios and think of comebacks for the prosecuting attorney.
For instance, vileman pled the 5th to every horrific question my attorney asked him at our temporary order hearing. So, I think "hmm, I wonder if they can use the transcripts from that hearing in his criminal trial?" If so, how would the ADA know about it?
I had a few things that I thought vileman's community service supervisor should know about, but I'll spare you the details.
So, I called the detective who arrested vileman and told him my thoughts. He was patient with me and understood my position, but it seems I would just look like a revengeful ex-wife. Not a mother trying to protect her children from vileman.
Grrr.
Last week, 6 was home sick with a viral bug and while she was watching cartoons, I picked up one of my dad's cow magazines. It's focus was on stressed calves (moo moo calves) and how the stress when they are taken from their momma's for weaning prior to being sold, affects them negatively.
Apparently, these stressed out calves get sick because of the high cortisol levels that the stress produces.
It made me think about my situation and the disservice I am doing to my body.
Anyways, I will be very interested in watching the Dr. Oz show when I get back from picking the kids up from school.
*********
I'm still up 1.8 pounds - thanks to the Lady cycle week - I sort of deviated from the plan by having three carb-up days and four base-line days that week. My carb-up days were very tame, (as in high fiber cereal for dinner) so no need to beat myself up. The lesson learned is: when I feel lady cycle coming on, I need to immediately switch to carb down day and stay there until the week passes to keep the carb cravings at bay.
This week I started on the accelerated fat cycle.
********
Edited on 9/24/09: I'm finally back down this morning (had been up late last week to 2.8 pounds but by Sunday had lost 1 pound and had a 1.8 gain of water retention left) . . . weight loss to date 10.2 pounds - wished it was faster but I don't feel deprived and that is probably going to help with continuing on.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Oatmeal Never Tasted So Good
Today is my first carb-down day on the Crack the Fat Loss Code and I had power oatmeal for breakfast. I did continue with cycle 1 all last week (the carb deplete cycle) because I wanted to get the glycogen (the chocolate malt balls fiasco) out of my system. And according to the author of the book, it takes 72 hours to get rid of the glycogen. Last Monday night would have been the 72 hour cut-off, but I chose to continue on.
And I'm glad I did.
I started my lady cycle on Monday night and immediately felt bloated. I could literally feel the water retention filling up my body and I don't salt anything. NORMALLY, the day before, I CRAVE chocolate, which may have been why I had no resistance to 6's chocolate candy. On the positive side, I had no food cravings after that. No sweet tooth!
On the negative side, I had zero energy. Zilch.
By Sunday morning, I was down 1.8 pounds for a total loss for two weeks of 8 pounds.
Beware a tangent:
I have a lot of problems with the book. First, the editing is terrible and I have to wonder if it was even proof read. Another problem (major) her recipes should have been fact-checked/kitchen tested because several of the nutritional values are grossly inaccurate.
***
The kids are at school and let me tell you, it was a lot easier this year dropping them off. Last year, I think we all resented having to be here instead of where we thought our future was going to be. Last year, the boy had to enter a school where he did not know anyone. This year, he is at a different school (moved up to junior high) but he is no longer the new kid. When I was walking the girl to her classroom (she too, is at a new school - this school district has only two grades at each campus except the high school. So last year she was at the Pre K/Kindergarten campus and this year she is at the 1st/2nd grade campus) anyway, one of her little friends ran over and gave her a big hug.
Last year, I cried the whole way home because the boy looked so self-conscious walking into the school. This year, I didn't watch him. I turned the other way. When I finally took a peek in my rear-view mirror, he was talking with a group of kids. Phew.
No tears necessary.
And I'm glad I did.
I started my lady cycle on Monday night and immediately felt bloated. I could literally feel the water retention filling up my body and I don't salt anything. NORMALLY, the day before, I CRAVE chocolate, which may have been why I had no resistance to 6's chocolate candy. On the positive side, I had no food cravings after that. No sweet tooth!
On the negative side, I had zero energy. Zilch.
By Sunday morning, I was down 1.8 pounds for a total loss for two weeks of 8 pounds.
Beware a tangent:
I have a lot of problems with the book. First, the editing is terrible and I have to wonder if it was even proof read. Another problem (major) her recipes should have been fact-checked/kitchen tested because several of the nutritional values are grossly inaccurate.
***
The kids are at school and let me tell you, it was a lot easier this year dropping them off. Last year, I think we all resented having to be here instead of where we thought our future was going to be. Last year, the boy had to enter a school where he did not know anyone. This year, he is at a different school (moved up to junior high) but he is no longer the new kid. When I was walking the girl to her classroom (she too, is at a new school - this school district has only two grades at each campus except the high school. So last year she was at the Pre K/Kindergarten campus and this year she is at the 1st/2nd grade campus) anyway, one of her little friends ran over and gave her a big hug.
Last year, I cried the whole way home because the boy looked so self-conscious walking into the school. This year, I didn't watch him. I turned the other way. When I finally took a peek in my rear-view mirror, he was talking with a group of kids. Phew.
No tears necessary.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Fear Snacking Factor
You remember in January, the divorce was finalized and I was doing too much giddy eating? Well, eventually that giddiness snacking was replaced by fear snacking.
Fear snacking?
Yep.
I kept snacking when full and just couldn't place what was wrong, and I knew something had to be bothering me or why would I be over-eating?
It was fear of what the future held for the kids and I. Fear that vileman will be acquitted. Fear that he will then show-up demanding to see the kids. Fear that his guilty verdict will make this city's paper (they always print vile peoples sentences from around the state in this mid-small newspaper). Fear that I might have to testify at his trial - something I do not want to do because I had nothing to do with his decisions or that lifestyle that he lived behind my back. DO NOT want to be dragged into his ugliness. Fear that when he serves his sentence, he will show up wherever my doorstep will be. Fear I will always be looking over my shoulder for him.
Vileman keeps getting continued by agreements - his trial has now been pushed back to late September. Very aggravating to me because I'm ready to exit this transitional phase.
Quieting the fears without food:
Acquittal is probably highly unlikely.
Should an acquittal happen, he will not be able to just show up - the kids have the backing of counselors who know and will testify that it would not be in the best interest of the children to visit with him.
I will not have to testify because he did all that ugliness when he should have been at work. If it was in the off-hours, it was because he called home and said he had to work late or left his keys at the office or my favorite excuse "I forgot I drove to work and rode the bus home - so I just stayed on the bus and went back downtown."
If I do have to testify, I will be confident and not allow attorneys to frustrate me. I will take my time and think out each question prior to a "yes" or "no" answer.
I will not let "what is going to happen when vileman gets out of jail" paralyze me. The kids and I need to live our lives for today.
Phew.
To counter-act the 10 pounds gained from "snacking", I got on the Crack the Fat-Loss Code diet. Started on Sunday and this morning my weight-loss was at 5 pounds. Woo Hoo!
Fear snacking?
Yep.
I kept snacking when full and just couldn't place what was wrong, and I knew something had to be bothering me or why would I be over-eating?
It was fear of what the future held for the kids and I. Fear that vileman will be acquitted. Fear that he will then show-up demanding to see the kids. Fear that his guilty verdict will make this city's paper (they always print vile peoples sentences from around the state in this mid-small newspaper). Fear that I might have to testify at his trial - something I do not want to do because I had nothing to do with his decisions or that lifestyle that he lived behind my back. DO NOT want to be dragged into his ugliness. Fear that when he serves his sentence, he will show up wherever my doorstep will be. Fear I will always be looking over my shoulder for him.
Vileman keeps getting continued by agreements - his trial has now been pushed back to late September. Very aggravating to me because I'm ready to exit this transitional phase.
Quieting the fears without food:
Acquittal is probably highly unlikely.
Should an acquittal happen, he will not be able to just show up - the kids have the backing of counselors who know and will testify that it would not be in the best interest of the children to visit with him.
I will not have to testify because he did all that ugliness when he should have been at work. If it was in the off-hours, it was because he called home and said he had to work late or left his keys at the office or my favorite excuse "I forgot I drove to work and rode the bus home - so I just stayed on the bus and went back downtown."
If I do have to testify, I will be confident and not allow attorneys to frustrate me. I will take my time and think out each question prior to a "yes" or "no" answer.
I will not let "what is going to happen when vileman gets out of jail" paralyze me. The kids and I need to live our lives for today.
Phew.
To counter-act the 10 pounds gained from "snacking", I got on the Crack the Fat-Loss Code diet. Started on Sunday and this morning my weight-loss was at 5 pounds. Woo Hoo!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Fleeing the Bastille Anniversary
Oh what a difference a year makes. I wish you could see and compare my old drivers license picture with my new one that I got last week.
It's all in the eyes.
Last year on the 26th of June, I sat at my parents' dining table not knowing what the future would look like for us. All I could think of was the worse case scenarios - having to foreclose on my house, losing everything, filing for bankruptcy and the fear of heinous things vileman may have done prior to being caught.
The last six months of 2008 were so uncertain, but by December I was feeling pretty darn good. The first of that month, I went back to the old place to pack up some toys for the kids and to sign some paperwork at my lawyer's office. His paralegal was shocked when I gave her my drivers license (the old one) for her to write down my DL number in her notary book. She gasped and said I looked nothing like that lady in the picture. I joked and said that yes, I had definitely aged over the last six months and she insisted that wasn't it, that the picture depicts a very sad woman.
That old photo just screams "help me".
The paralegal wasn't the only one that day to notice. Prior to heading to the lawyer' office, I stopped at my swimming buddy's house to drop off the entire "Left Behind" book series, where her 12 year old son looked at me and said "you look different."
I guess I was wearing a new attitude.
2009 has been the year of transition . . . it started off perfect with the divorce finalized on January 6th, the selling of the house in April and (keeps fingers crossed) this fall, I hope to find a job and return to work after 6 years of being a stay-at-home mom.
Those first few weeks last June, I slept with a large, heavy, lucite award given to my dad in 2000. What little sleep I got, you could bet my fingers were tightly grasped on that odd security blanket/protection. I kept my fears to myself, but the boy voiced them out loud - "I'm scared he is going to come and kill you because you didn't bail him out of jail". That is so sad, yet he knew, at age 11 (at that time), that vileman might be capable of violence.
I believe the book "The Sociopath Next Door" says one in 25 people are a sociopath and suggests the best way to avoid one that was previously in your life, is to ignore them. The author counsels not to try and spar with them because you cannot reason with a sociopath.
On April 6th, when we closed on our house, the realtor asked me if I needed to be in a separate room from vileman. I assured her I would be okay and I sat next to him. I was very civil and made small talk with our realtor and on occasion with vileman. At one point he had to excuse himself from the table because he had started crying. I chose to ignore his tears. Afterwards when I was getting in my car, he pulled me toward him for a very uncomfortable, awkward and unwanted hug.
I used a pay-as-you go cell phone when I lived there. It was the best plan for me at that time because I never talked on my cell phone and only kept it for emergencies. I kept it going when I moved up here because my lawyer and realtor lived there and they wouldn't have to phone me long distance because my number was a local number for them. On the evening of April 7th, that cell phone rang and it was vileman. Just as casual as could be, he reminded me that "Rescue Me" was coming on that night. What the heck? The man had caused my family agonizing pain and he was calling me like nothing had happened. I said thank you and hung up.
It's all in the eyes.
Last year on the 26th of June, I sat at my parents' dining table not knowing what the future would look like for us. All I could think of was the worse case scenarios - having to foreclose on my house, losing everything, filing for bankruptcy and the fear of heinous things vileman may have done prior to being caught.
The last six months of 2008 were so uncertain, but by December I was feeling pretty darn good. The first of that month, I went back to the old place to pack up some toys for the kids and to sign some paperwork at my lawyer's office. His paralegal was shocked when I gave her my drivers license (the old one) for her to write down my DL number in her notary book. She gasped and said I looked nothing like that lady in the picture. I joked and said that yes, I had definitely aged over the last six months and she insisted that wasn't it, that the picture depicts a very sad woman.
That old photo just screams "help me".
The paralegal wasn't the only one that day to notice. Prior to heading to the lawyer' office, I stopped at my swimming buddy's house to drop off the entire "Left Behind" book series, where her 12 year old son looked at me and said "you look different."
I guess I was wearing a new attitude.
2009 has been the year of transition . . . it started off perfect with the divorce finalized on January 6th, the selling of the house in April and (keeps fingers crossed) this fall, I hope to find a job and return to work after 6 years of being a stay-at-home mom.
Those first few weeks last June, I slept with a large, heavy, lucite award given to my dad in 2000. What little sleep I got, you could bet my fingers were tightly grasped on that odd security blanket/protection. I kept my fears to myself, but the boy voiced them out loud - "I'm scared he is going to come and kill you because you didn't bail him out of jail". That is so sad, yet he knew, at age 11 (at that time), that vileman might be capable of violence.
I believe the book "The Sociopath Next Door" says one in 25 people are a sociopath and suggests the best way to avoid one that was previously in your life, is to ignore them. The author counsels not to try and spar with them because you cannot reason with a sociopath.
On April 6th, when we closed on our house, the realtor asked me if I needed to be in a separate room from vileman. I assured her I would be okay and I sat next to him. I was very civil and made small talk with our realtor and on occasion with vileman. At one point he had to excuse himself from the table because he had started crying. I chose to ignore his tears. Afterwards when I was getting in my car, he pulled me toward him for a very uncomfortable, awkward and unwanted hug.
I used a pay-as-you go cell phone when I lived there. It was the best plan for me at that time because I never talked on my cell phone and only kept it for emergencies. I kept it going when I moved up here because my lawyer and realtor lived there and they wouldn't have to phone me long distance because my number was a local number for them. On the evening of April 7th, that cell phone rang and it was vileman. Just as casual as could be, he reminded me that "Rescue Me" was coming on that night. What the heck? The man had caused my family agonizing pain and he was calling me like nothing had happened. I said thank you and hung up.
The phone was immediately turned off and it will never be turned back on.
There was no reason to ever have contact with him after the house was sold and his wages were garnished for child support and paid through that system. Time to implement the ignoring him strategy.
I used to get 5 emails along with two typed letters via certified delivery every week. He also includes letters to the kids which I will never give to them. No contact means no contact. He provokes me in the letters, but I know it is just an attempt to get a reaction from me. Since ignoring him, the emails are showing up only once a week and the mailed letters have almost stopped (though I did receive one late last week).
The best way to deal with vileman's actions, is to remind myself that he feels no shame, no remorse, no love. He is a robot.
The emails and letters he sends I read with my eyes wide open, telling myself he is a psychopath/sociopath ped-o-vile. I'm like an English teacher grading a student's paper. I take out my red pen and break down the letters, circling key phrases and writing out beside them what his intent really is.
Right now he is accusing me of alienating my children from him. He will cite that he was their primary caretaker (what!) and that they are being deprived a loving father. (A loving father who left his family penniless for 45 days and when he found a new job making $120,000/year, refused to pay child support for four months so that he could, instead, pay for his criminal lawyer.)
What I'm doing is called protecting. And I have the power of a divorce decree which outlines that he has no access or possession to those sweet babies.
Speaking of those sweet babies, they are doing beautifully. The boy even mentioned how relaxed his baseball games were without vileman coaching him from the bleachers through out the entire game.
Who knew losing 185 pounds of vileness would feel and look so good.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Welcome to Oz!
Maybe a better title would be First Comes Denial then (if you are lucky) Comprehension.
Do you think the Scarecrow and the Tinman were sociopaths?
Switching movie genres, do you remember that scene in the movie Sixth Sense where Bruce Willis realizes the little boy can see dead people and Bruce's character quickly goes through all the past events and realizes that he (Bruce) ***spoiler alert*** . . . . is . . . (gulp) . . . dead?
That is exactly what happened to me after I finished reading the book "Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us" and realized that vileman fit most of the characteristics to a T.*
All of vileman's questionable behaviors through the years, played out in fast motion in my brain . . . and I finally knew what he was.
To back up a bit, over the course of the first month in counseling, the Healer begin to refer to vileman as anti-social. Then it was suggested, gently, that he exhibited sociopath/psychopath characteristics based on some of the events I told her about. I never could grasp that he was a psychopath/sociopath. I didn't want to believe that someone I was with for 13 years could have no remorse and be heartless. Also, I was thinking more on the lines of him being a sick ped-0 -vile. Seems I hit the jackpot - I got the psycho ped-o-vile.
The Healer recommended I read the above mentioned book and after leaving her office that morning, I headed to B&N to purchase the book. I didn't read it right away because I was still in that denial phase but after two weeks, I finally picked it up.
I was mesmerized and quickly found a highlighter to underline passages. At the next counseling session, I brought my highlighted copy of the book and sat down on the Healer's couch. The first words out of my mouth were "I should have known."
She assured me that when it is in your face all the time, you can't see it, as in "you can't see the trees for the forest."
The Healer went over all the characteristics highlighted in the book, then I would give an example. I won't bore you with the characteristics but instead, will tell you about an event that occurred early on in our relationship. After reading this you are going to think "girl, you are stupid"!
I had a very high tolerance of putting up with his behavior. He could do something so rude or unfeeling, and I would think to myself "what is wrong with him?" For many years, I thought I had settled for someone like him, but the truth is, he chose me.
Once, long ago, I was about six weeks pregnant when I begin to spot. It was on a Saturday morning, so vileman took me to the emergency room. After the doctor examined me, he said I was still pregnant but probably was going to miscarry and needed to go home, relax and get off my feet. When we were leaving the ER, vileman asked me if I wanted to go eat at Olive Garden. I looked at him like he was crazy. Did he not hear the doctor tell me to go home and lie down? When I reminded him and suggested that maybe he could place a to-go order from there he replied in a whiny voice "but then I can't get refills on the salad or get extra breadsticks". (Inside my brain: What is wrong with him!?)
The next morning, I woke up with horrible cramping. I asked vileman to please call my OB/GYN. Instead of acknowledging me, he asked me to give him a B J. (Yep, you read that right.) I remember being shocked and yelling at him that I was having a miscarriage and he wanted me to perform a s** act!?! (Inside my brain: What is wrong with him!?)
Later that night, since I had ruined his weekend - no Olive Garden and no BJ, he decided that he was the true victim and begin crying and boo hooing about the miscarriage as if he were the one experiencing it.
I should have walked out the door and never looked back.
But I didn't.
Girl, you stooooopid!
I didn't, because I probably thought I could fix him. And vileman needed me, so he could mimic my emotions, since he was/is incapable of feeling any.
Unlike the scarecrow and the tinman, you can't fix a sociopath/psychopath. No great wizard can give vileman a conscious and a heart.
And when I finally understood what kind of person I had been dealing with, the light bulb went on. Acceptance of what vileman is and will always be has kept me sane and strong for the last few months . . . as I deal with his wrath toward me via emails and letters. . . my next post will be how I have been dealing with him since we closed on our house in April.
*Vileman has never been personally interviewed and given the Psychopath Checklist by a forensic psychiatrist. I just choose to believe he is one.
Do you think the Scarecrow and the Tinman were sociopaths?
Switching movie genres, do you remember that scene in the movie Sixth Sense where Bruce Willis realizes the little boy can see dead people and Bruce's character quickly goes through all the past events and realizes that he (Bruce) ***spoiler alert*** . . . . is . . . (gulp) . . . dead?
That is exactly what happened to me after I finished reading the book "Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us" and realized that vileman fit most of the characteristics to a T.*
All of vileman's questionable behaviors through the years, played out in fast motion in my brain . . . and I finally knew what he was.
To back up a bit, over the course of the first month in counseling, the Healer begin to refer to vileman as anti-social. Then it was suggested, gently, that he exhibited sociopath/psychopath characteristics based on some of the events I told her about. I never could grasp that he was a psychopath/sociopath. I didn't want to believe that someone I was with for 13 years could have no remorse and be heartless. Also, I was thinking more on the lines of him being a sick ped-0 -vile. Seems I hit the jackpot - I got the psycho ped-o-vile.
The Healer recommended I read the above mentioned book and after leaving her office that morning, I headed to B&N to purchase the book. I didn't read it right away because I was still in that denial phase but after two weeks, I finally picked it up.
I was mesmerized and quickly found a highlighter to underline passages. At the next counseling session, I brought my highlighted copy of the book and sat down on the Healer's couch. The first words out of my mouth were "I should have known."
She assured me that when it is in your face all the time, you can't see it, as in "you can't see the trees for the forest."
The Healer went over all the characteristics highlighted in the book, then I would give an example. I won't bore you with the characteristics but instead, will tell you about an event that occurred early on in our relationship. After reading this you are going to think "girl, you are stupid"!
I had a very high tolerance of putting up with his behavior. He could do something so rude or unfeeling, and I would think to myself "what is wrong with him?" For many years, I thought I had settled for someone like him, but the truth is, he chose me.
Once, long ago, I was about six weeks pregnant when I begin to spot. It was on a Saturday morning, so vileman took me to the emergency room. After the doctor examined me, he said I was still pregnant but probably was going to miscarry and needed to go home, relax and get off my feet. When we were leaving the ER, vileman asked me if I wanted to go eat at Olive Garden. I looked at him like he was crazy. Did he not hear the doctor tell me to go home and lie down? When I reminded him and suggested that maybe he could place a to-go order from there he replied in a whiny voice "but then I can't get refills on the salad or get extra breadsticks". (Inside my brain: What is wrong with him!?)
The next morning, I woke up with horrible cramping. I asked vileman to please call my OB/GYN. Instead of acknowledging me, he asked me to give him a B J. (Yep, you read that right.) I remember being shocked and yelling at him that I was having a miscarriage and he wanted me to perform a s** act!?! (Inside my brain: What is wrong with him!?)
Later that night, since I had ruined his weekend - no Olive Garden and no BJ, he decided that he was the true victim and begin crying and boo hooing about the miscarriage as if he were the one experiencing it.
I should have walked out the door and never looked back.
But I didn't.
Girl, you stooooopid!
I didn't, because I probably thought I could fix him. And vileman needed me, so he could mimic my emotions, since he was/is incapable of feeling any.
Unlike the scarecrow and the tinman, you can't fix a sociopath/psychopath. No great wizard can give vileman a conscious and a heart.
And when I finally understood what kind of person I had been dealing with, the light bulb went on. Acceptance of what vileman is and will always be has kept me sane and strong for the last few months . . . as I deal with his wrath toward me via emails and letters. . . my next post will be how I have been dealing with him since we closed on our house in April.
*Vileman has never been personally interviewed and given the Psychopath Checklist by a forensic psychiatrist. I just choose to believe he is one.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
S-U-M-M-E-R!
Wow, the kids and I made it through the school year. Hip, hip hooray!
Last day of school was on Friday and as I watched 12 year old walk across the stage to receive a certificate for being on the honor roll for the entire school year, I was so proud of him for accepting the unexpected.
It wasn't easy at first. I remember the first day of school, he looked so awkward and self-conscious as I dropped him off. (He still looks awkward and self-conscious but so did all the other kids walking across the stage.) Twelve must be the most awkward age!
12 year old had a hard time leaving behind the old life and old friends. Several times a week he would ask if he could call some of his friends from our old life and though I would give in, the old life friends would never reciprocate the call. In other words, none of his old friends ever called him.
I started telling him "no" when he asked to call someone back there and would tell him to "call some new friends here, instead."
It's been almost three months since he has asked to call anyone from there and he enjoys texting here friends.
Not that I don't subscribe to "make new friends and keep those old" but I didn't want the boy to hear any gossip about his father (12 year old knows the truth).
Anyway, once baseball started, I think he begin to feel at home. Though he doesn't play catcher here (this team has several boys who also play on a select team, so their skills are a bit more advanced) he says he still enjoys playing. They will continue to play until the end of June. Karate goes year-round.
12 year old says he enjoyed the school year and all the field trips. (Back there, the kids got one field trip.) Two weeks ago, they went to the big city about 90 miles away to a restaurant that had knights fighting each other (didn't want to say the name) and the school chartered nice, air-conditioned buses to take the kids. This field trip was postponed because of the swine flu so I was very happy that they finally did get to go. His principal is a micro-manager, but he did plan a lot of fun things for the kids through-out the school year.
5 year old had a great year too and is currently reading on a third grade reading level. I don't think I knew how to read until I was 7. She played soccer in the spring and still has two more T-ball games left to play. Her dance recital was last night and I am ready for her activities to end!
I need a break.
I hope to be a better blogger now that my schedule will ease up a bit for a little while. I'm more of a reader/lurker than I am a writer these days.
Last day of school was on Friday and as I watched 12 year old walk across the stage to receive a certificate for being on the honor roll for the entire school year, I was so proud of him for accepting the unexpected.
It wasn't easy at first. I remember the first day of school, he looked so awkward and self-conscious as I dropped him off. (He still looks awkward and self-conscious but so did all the other kids walking across the stage.) Twelve must be the most awkward age!
12 year old had a hard time leaving behind the old life and old friends. Several times a week he would ask if he could call some of his friends from our old life and though I would give in, the old life friends would never reciprocate the call. In other words, none of his old friends ever called him.
I started telling him "no" when he asked to call someone back there and would tell him to "call some new friends here, instead."
It's been almost three months since he has asked to call anyone from there and he enjoys texting here friends.
Not that I don't subscribe to "make new friends and keep those old" but I didn't want the boy to hear any gossip about his father (12 year old knows the truth).
Anyway, once baseball started, I think he begin to feel at home. Though he doesn't play catcher here (this team has several boys who also play on a select team, so their skills are a bit more advanced) he says he still enjoys playing. They will continue to play until the end of June. Karate goes year-round.
12 year old says he enjoyed the school year and all the field trips. (Back there, the kids got one field trip.) Two weeks ago, they went to the big city about 90 miles away to a restaurant that had knights fighting each other (didn't want to say the name) and the school chartered nice, air-conditioned buses to take the kids. This field trip was postponed because of the swine flu so I was very happy that they finally did get to go. His principal is a micro-manager, but he did plan a lot of fun things for the kids through-out the school year.
5 year old had a great year too and is currently reading on a third grade reading level. I don't think I knew how to read until I was 7. She played soccer in the spring and still has two more T-ball games left to play. Her dance recital was last night and I am ready for her activities to end!
I need a break.
I hope to be a better blogger now that my schedule will ease up a bit for a little while. I'm more of a reader/lurker than I am a writer these days.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Redistributing the Eggs in the Carton
I know some of you have probably heard of the egg-carton analogy:
In my carton there are three eggs. Two huge ostrich eggs and a small little robbin egg.
Think of the egg carton as a teeter-tauter/see-saw, with the two ostrich eggs taking up most of the carton on the right hand side leaving a little room on the left, which is empty and slightly lifted up in the air. The little robbin egg has slipped out of it's slot and is nestled up against the ostrich eggs, safe from falling out of the carton.
Obviously, the weight of the carton is not balanced.
The 12 year old and the 5 year old represent the ostrich eggs.
Over the past nine months, I have put all my energy into my two beautiful, broken hearted children, ignoring most of my own needs. I have held, hugged, reassured, soothed and wiped many tears from 12 y/o and 5 y/o but have never shed a tear for myself. The few tears that were blinked out were for others.
I needed a cleansing "woe is me" cry, yet for some reason, I refused to allow myself to cry. It's too late now and best of all, I currently do not feel like crying.
Leaving that city on the day that vileman was arrested was the best decision I made besides not bailing him out of jail (I am so proud of the way I handled his call from jail and so thankful I didn't rush to his aid). Had I not fled and instead, stayed in our home; I would have boarded up the house to keep vileman away then retreated to the bedroom, where I would have pulled the covers over my head and stayed there. Not leaving would have prevented us from moving forward and healing.
When we moved in with my parents, they were not going to allow me to wallow in despair. My priorities were the children. Their needs and my counseling sessions with the Healer have kept me from going coo-coo. Unfortunately, I completely threw all my time and energy into their activities, losing myself along the way.
Those two big ostrich eggs saved the little robbin egg from falling out of the egg carton but it's time to redistribute for balance.
The first egg to be placed on the left side will represent diet and exercise. I'm ready to focus on this part of my life and feel I'm going to be successful. No empty promises to myself this time. I already feel lighter thanks to a divorce and getting rid of the house and though I still maintain the original 15 pound weight loss since June 25th, it isn't significant enough to be noticeable in my clothes, face, butt and stomach. I have a plan that I started implementing last week and will talk about in a future post.
Second egg in my carton will be the need to focus on my mental health. I was seeing the Healer once a week up until my divorce in January. I quit going because I no longer had good insurance after the divorce that would allow me to go with just payment of my co-pay. To pay out of pocket would have been unaffordable. Also, the 5 year old "graduated" from counseling in December so I just assumed I had "graduated" too.
I heard from the Healer in February and she asked if I would be willing to come back and see her. She offered to see me on a pro-bono basis for four weeks. After those four weeks were up, she extended it for another four weeks . . . (how f*cked up am I?!).
Truth is, I love counseling and walk out of her office feeling lifted and empowered.
So for now, I plan to focus time on those two new eggs along with my children. With time, the carton will eventually fill up with more and more eggs representing other areas of my life; all equally distributed.
And as I redistribute my time, emotions and energy from fully focusing on my children, their ostrich size eggs will return to"normal" healthy sized eggs. This should help them progress on and no longer feel the responsibility of keeping mommy happy, fulfilled, and busy.
In my carton there are three eggs. Two huge ostrich eggs and a small little robbin egg.
Think of the egg carton as a teeter-tauter/see-saw, with the two ostrich eggs taking up most of the carton on the right hand side leaving a little room on the left, which is empty and slightly lifted up in the air. The little robbin egg has slipped out of it's slot and is nestled up against the ostrich eggs, safe from falling out of the carton.
Obviously, the weight of the carton is not balanced.
The 12 year old and the 5 year old represent the ostrich eggs.
Over the past nine months, I have put all my energy into my two beautiful, broken hearted children, ignoring most of my own needs. I have held, hugged, reassured, soothed and wiped many tears from 12 y/o and 5 y/o but have never shed a tear for myself. The few tears that were blinked out were for others.
I needed a cleansing "woe is me" cry, yet for some reason, I refused to allow myself to cry. It's too late now and best of all, I currently do not feel like crying.
Leaving that city on the day that vileman was arrested was the best decision I made besides not bailing him out of jail (I am so proud of the way I handled his call from jail and so thankful I didn't rush to his aid). Had I not fled and instead, stayed in our home; I would have boarded up the house to keep vileman away then retreated to the bedroom, where I would have pulled the covers over my head and stayed there. Not leaving would have prevented us from moving forward and healing.
When we moved in with my parents, they were not going to allow me to wallow in despair. My priorities were the children. Their needs and my counseling sessions with the Healer have kept me from going coo-coo. Unfortunately, I completely threw all my time and energy into their activities, losing myself along the way.
Those two big ostrich eggs saved the little robbin egg from falling out of the egg carton but it's time to redistribute for balance.
The first egg to be placed on the left side will represent diet and exercise. I'm ready to focus on this part of my life and feel I'm going to be successful. No empty promises to myself this time. I already feel lighter thanks to a divorce and getting rid of the house and though I still maintain the original 15 pound weight loss since June 25th, it isn't significant enough to be noticeable in my clothes, face, butt and stomach. I have a plan that I started implementing last week and will talk about in a future post.
Second egg in my carton will be the need to focus on my mental health. I was seeing the Healer once a week up until my divorce in January. I quit going because I no longer had good insurance after the divorce that would allow me to go with just payment of my co-pay. To pay out of pocket would have been unaffordable. Also, the 5 year old "graduated" from counseling in December so I just assumed I had "graduated" too.
I heard from the Healer in February and she asked if I would be willing to come back and see her. She offered to see me on a pro-bono basis for four weeks. After those four weeks were up, she extended it for another four weeks . . . (how f*cked up am I?!).
Truth is, I love counseling and walk out of her office feeling lifted and empowered.
So for now, I plan to focus time on those two new eggs along with my children. With time, the carton will eventually fill up with more and more eggs representing other areas of my life; all equally distributed.
And as I redistribute my time, emotions and energy from fully focusing on my children, their ostrich size eggs will return to"normal" healthy sized eggs. This should help them progress on and no longer feel the responsibility of keeping mommy happy, fulfilled, and busy.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
When the Fog Lifts . . . It's Amazing How Clear Everything Is
A couple of weeks ago, in a session with the Healer, I tentatively mentioned a dream I had the night before. Tentatively, because I was afraid of dream analysis and didn't want to hear something like "how long have you been harboring those latent ***insert something horrific or embarrassing*** tendencies?"
Anyway, the dream had me swimming in a huge pool, which happened to be in the middle of my house. I was so happy, swimming by myself. Then vileman came home from work and stood alongside the pool. The temperature in the pool got colder and any joy I felt quickly turned to anxiety. Worse of all, vileman jumped into the pool and tried to swim with me. I refused to turn my back on him, because I didn't trust him and was afraid he was going to try and drown me.
Okay, settle down and quit laughing.
I know what you are thinking and the Healer told me it wasn't a s*xual or m*sterbation dream. Instead it was a very illuminating summary of my life with vileman.
It has been very hard for me to want to post lately. Yet, I have so many thoughts that need to be put out here and then let go of. So here goes . . .
I had no tangible proof.
Gut instinct and a few hints of odd behavior told me something wasn't right.
My first suspicions occurred around late August 2004. We were in the process of moving to another city and were a few days away from closing on the house we had sold. There were men in and out of the house: repair men and inspectors.
I got the call from a woman who said someone from our phone number (a land line) had called her daughter's cell phone. I told her it couldn't have been anyone here because my son was only seven and didn't use the phone. Vileman was standing next to me and it is so clear now how sheepish he looked. The woman on the phone seemed very concerned about her daughter receiving a call from our number and I explained that we were moving and had many people in and out of the house, and that perhaps maybe one of them had used our phone and accidentally called her daughter's cell phone number. She wasn't buying that.
After she hung up and the vileman left the room, something told me to call her back and ask how old her daughter was. The lady refused to answer any of my questions and was uncooperative. She probably was just as scared as I was to know the truth.
I knew at that moment that I might be married to a vile person and would have to wait it out and be on guard until I had enough evidence to leave him.
Over the last six months, I have acknowledged and understand that the kids and I provided a family-man cover for him. We were, in Hollywood terms, his beard.
Grooming.
People like vileman are expert groomers.
At one of my son's ballgames, I watched from the bleachers as vileman went into the dugout and one by one touched each player on the shoulder, bent low to their ears and said something to them. It gave me the creeps. He wasn't their coach nor the assistant coach and really had no business being the in the dugout.
When we got home I told him I thought it was very inappropriate for him to do that. The verbal abuse was spewed at me "you are so paranoid!" "How could you think those awful thoughts about me!?!" "You are the sick one to think those things!" "You need to get a life because you are going crazy!" and so on and so on.
A couple of years later, I found out from the Healer that what I had witnessed was vileman practicing his grooming techniques.
*Grooming is the gradual process of invading a person's physical space, emotional space and intelligence. The groomer uses a selection process and desensitises the victim with more and more intrusive behavior. (*The Healer's definition - I was taking notes that day.)
My suspicions went into hyper-alert with my own children (they are fine by the way - my son swears he was never touched. I may never know the truth . . . did he or didn't he . . . but they both are in good mental and physical shape right now) and I hated to have kids play over because I had to be watchful. Remember, I had no proof that he was vile . . . but I couldn't let my guard down.
The first few weeks after I had a noticeable weight loss, vileman paid a little more attention to me, which made me, want to gain my weight back. The attention didn't last long and by December of 2006, he had lost all interest in me. Vileman never touched me again.
The last few months, he was spiraling out of control, he would call me with weird stories about why he wouldn't be home from work on time. I knew he was cheating on me and per the discovery from my lawyer, I was right. Vileman had begun to participate in dangerous and anonymous s*xual encounters. He admitted to having several hook-ups with couples but did not know their real names or remember where they lived.
My assumption is that he semi-told the truth to avoid perjuring himself, had our divorce went to trial. I know that there had to be a lot more "hook-ups" than he admitted. But I digress back to the true vileness.
I knew he was lying to me and I just couldn't stand sleeping next to him at night. I once had a nightmare of him rolling the area rug in the family room around my bludgeoned body.
I found myself sleeping in the family room on the couch or on the futon in the spare bedroom. (I took neither of these items with me during my move.)
Over the last few years, I doubt I ever got more than six hours of sleep and that would have been a good nights rest. My average was probably less than four hours.
Vileman had a bad habit of calling people that I knew (I usually found out later) and I would have to hold back on telling him about any new friends or people I had met. For example years ago when I worked, I found out that my boss was having a fling with another co-worker at work and mentioned it to vileman. He called both of them (I found out months and months later). And there is no telling how many of my friends he called over the years behind my back. It dawned on me recently that he did that to keep me from developing any outside friendships, which would make me depend on him more and make it harder for me to want to leave him . . . there's that fog lifting thing again.
I survived. My children survived.
You might read this and think why did you stay married to him? I had to. It assured me that the children were safe with me in the house. Had we divorced before he got caught, he would have gotten joint custody of the kids. I am at peace that I made the right decision to stay in that marriage and wait it out.
It is sad for my children that he may go to prison, but they don't need a man like him in their life. Nor does the public need another vile person on the streets.
I have more to write about vileman: his psychopath attributes and seeing him for (I hope) the last time. I promise they will not be novella length.
Anyway, the dream had me swimming in a huge pool, which happened to be in the middle of my house. I was so happy, swimming by myself. Then vileman came home from work and stood alongside the pool. The temperature in the pool got colder and any joy I felt quickly turned to anxiety. Worse of all, vileman jumped into the pool and tried to swim with me. I refused to turn my back on him, because I didn't trust him and was afraid he was going to try and drown me.
Okay, settle down and quit laughing.
I know what you are thinking and the Healer told me it wasn't a s*xual or m*sterbation dream. Instead it was a very illuminating summary of my life with vileman.
***
It has been very hard for me to want to post lately. Yet, I have so many thoughts that need to be put out here and then let go of. So here goes . . .
I had no tangible proof.
Gut instinct and a few hints of odd behavior told me something wasn't right.
My first suspicions occurred around late August 2004. We were in the process of moving to another city and were a few days away from closing on the house we had sold. There were men in and out of the house: repair men and inspectors.
I got the call from a woman who said someone from our phone number (a land line) had called her daughter's cell phone. I told her it couldn't have been anyone here because my son was only seven and didn't use the phone. Vileman was standing next to me and it is so clear now how sheepish he looked. The woman on the phone seemed very concerned about her daughter receiving a call from our number and I explained that we were moving and had many people in and out of the house, and that perhaps maybe one of them had used our phone and accidentally called her daughter's cell phone number. She wasn't buying that.
After she hung up and the vileman left the room, something told me to call her back and ask how old her daughter was. The lady refused to answer any of my questions and was uncooperative. She probably was just as scared as I was to know the truth.
I knew at that moment that I might be married to a vile person and would have to wait it out and be on guard until I had enough evidence to leave him.
Over the last six months, I have acknowledged and understand that the kids and I provided a family-man cover for him. We were, in Hollywood terms, his beard.
Grooming.
People like vileman are expert groomers.
At one of my son's ballgames, I watched from the bleachers as vileman went into the dugout and one by one touched each player on the shoulder, bent low to their ears and said something to them. It gave me the creeps. He wasn't their coach nor the assistant coach and really had no business being the in the dugout.
When we got home I told him I thought it was very inappropriate for him to do that. The verbal abuse was spewed at me "you are so paranoid!" "How could you think those awful thoughts about me!?!" "You are the sick one to think those things!" "You need to get a life because you are going crazy!" and so on and so on.
A couple of years later, I found out from the Healer that what I had witnessed was vileman practicing his grooming techniques.
*Grooming is the gradual process of invading a person's physical space, emotional space and intelligence. The groomer uses a selection process and desensitises the victim with more and more intrusive behavior. (*The Healer's definition - I was taking notes that day.)
My suspicions went into hyper-alert with my own children (they are fine by the way - my son swears he was never touched. I may never know the truth . . . did he or didn't he . . . but they both are in good mental and physical shape right now) and I hated to have kids play over because I had to be watchful. Remember, I had no proof that he was vile . . . but I couldn't let my guard down.
The first few weeks after I had a noticeable weight loss, vileman paid a little more attention to me, which made me, want to gain my weight back. The attention didn't last long and by December of 2006, he had lost all interest in me. Vileman never touched me again.
The last few months, he was spiraling out of control, he would call me with weird stories about why he wouldn't be home from work on time. I knew he was cheating on me and per the discovery from my lawyer, I was right. Vileman had begun to participate in dangerous and anonymous s*xual encounters. He admitted to having several hook-ups with couples but did not know their real names or remember where they lived.
My assumption is that he semi-told the truth to avoid perjuring himself, had our divorce went to trial. I know that there had to be a lot more "hook-ups" than he admitted. But I digress back to the true vileness.
I knew he was lying to me and I just couldn't stand sleeping next to him at night. I once had a nightmare of him rolling the area rug in the family room around my bludgeoned body.
I found myself sleeping in the family room on the couch or on the futon in the spare bedroom. (I took neither of these items with me during my move.)
Over the last few years, I doubt I ever got more than six hours of sleep and that would have been a good nights rest. My average was probably less than four hours.
Vileman had a bad habit of calling people that I knew (I usually found out later) and I would have to hold back on telling him about any new friends or people I had met. For example years ago when I worked, I found out that my boss was having a fling with another co-worker at work and mentioned it to vileman. He called both of them (I found out months and months later). And there is no telling how many of my friends he called over the years behind my back. It dawned on me recently that he did that to keep me from developing any outside friendships, which would make me depend on him more and make it harder for me to want to leave him . . . there's that fog lifting thing again.
I survived. My children survived.
You might read this and think why did you stay married to him? I had to. It assured me that the children were safe with me in the house. Had we divorced before he got caught, he would have gotten joint custody of the kids. I am at peace that I made the right decision to stay in that marriage and wait it out.
It is sad for my children that he may go to prison, but they don't need a man like him in their life. Nor does the public need another vile person on the streets.
I have more to write about vileman: his psychopath attributes and seeing him for (I hope) the last time. I promise they will not be novella length.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Saying Goodbye to all the Old Hiding and Numbing Places
On Sunday night, I sat in my hotel room, located between two places where I ran up credit card debt of several thousand dollars over the time frame beginning around the fall of 2006 and abruptly ending mid June, 2008. Super Target is a hop, skip and a jump north and the mall is several hundred feet south of me.
Good bye old, destructive friends.
Actually, I said a semi-goodbye to "non-necessity" spending last June. For old times sake, I stopped at the Super Target before checking into my hotel room. I splurged on Method household cleaning products and picked up some Italian soda to bring back for the kids. (We don't have a Super Target at home.)
I was back in town (from the previous life) to close on my house Monday morning. Eight months after being on the market, it finally found a buyer. I am so relieved that I will not be saddled with a mortgage if and when the vileman goes to prison.
His portion of the equity will not fully pay off the $$$$ owed me for back child support and lawyer fees, but it is about a 40% start. My very good lawyer put a lien on the house payable to me since vileman's payments for legal reimbursement would not start until August 2009 . . . and I knew I would never see any money.
As I tried to watch Celebrity Apprentice (my guilty pleasure) I thought about all the ways I coped while living with vileman and how I have managed to say goodbye to both the destructive and non-destructive habits.
The mommie juice.
It was on its way to becoming a problem. I wrote one of you saying, that my tolerance was getting higher and higher of the cheap red wine and two glasses a night was not enough to give me that numb feeling. My solution to the problem was to get bigger red wine glasses. One glass probably held 16 ounces! When vileman walked through that door every day at 5:15 pm, I headed straight for the wine box. It was my unhealthy coping mechanism.
Once I was out of that environment, I noticed I didn't think about the mommie juice nor did I need the mommie juice any longer. In fact, it should have been renamed "vileman elixir".
The super-sized wine goblets went to one of the day-laborers who I hired to help me load my u-haul moving truck.
The Treadmill
When I was in a get fit mood, I would avoid vileman by walking on the treadmill after he got home from work. I made sure dinner was on the table for my family and instead of eating with them, I would disappear into the spare bedroom with my iPod and walk and walk and walk. Never walking anywhere, just walking in the same place. Stuck. I chose not to take the treadmill with me and vileman either kept it or gave it away. Either way, I don't care.
The Shopping
November of 2006 showed a weight-loss of 32 pounds. I had cut out salty foods, alcohol, snacking and sweets, adhering to the Dash diet. I was moving my body and not sitting in front of the television. As the numbers on the scale and blood pressure machine lowered, my credit card balance went up. The girl and I went went shopping twice a month. The stuff I bought wasn't hoarded and left in shopping bags. It was almost all used (except for most of my stuff) and everyone in the family benefited. A little too much.
Two weeks ago, I went through all my workout clothes, many still had tags on them (hey, at least they were out of the bags!). It was crazy going through all the yoga pants and tops! I was able to give my older sister some of the tanks but I still had way too many. Too many tee's that are too tight. Too many shorts. Too many workout bras. Too many.
A big portion went to Goodwill.
***
Monday morning, before heading to the title company, I walked through the empty house for the last time and said goodbye to that fancy faux prison and all my old hiding places.
The Pantry
Though I worked out at the Y several times a week and walked on the treadmill at night, I still managed to stand in the pantry and consume hundreds of calories during the day; it usually started around 1:30 with a little handful of this or that and lasted until 4:30 in the afternoon. I can visualize me eating a handful of something then closing the pantry door, returning quickly for another dose of numbing. A revolving door would have made it perfect.
The Master Bathroom.
That house had an awesome master bath! Huge bathtub where I spent many hours soaking in that tub at night, avoiding vileman. On the nights that I walked on the treadmill, I would retreat to my bedroom afterwards and close the door, turn on the TV and put a facial mask on for 20 minutes before showering. I could easily spend an additional hour in there, putting off any face time with vileman.
When I walked down the hallway to the back bedrooms to say goodbye to the small fourth bedroom that had housed my treadmill, a stench reminiscent of an overflowing port-o-potty on a hot August day permeated the air. Seems someone had taken a poop in the half bath several days earlier and failed to flush the commode.
It reeked.
It stunk.
It couldn't have been a more perfect ending in closing this chapter of my life.
Good bye old, destructive friends.
Actually, I said a semi-goodbye to "non-necessity" spending last June. For old times sake, I stopped at the Super Target before checking into my hotel room. I splurged on Method household cleaning products and picked up some Italian soda to bring back for the kids. (We don't have a Super Target at home.)
I was back in town (from the previous life) to close on my house Monday morning. Eight months after being on the market, it finally found a buyer. I am so relieved that I will not be saddled with a mortgage if and when the vileman goes to prison.
His portion of the equity will not fully pay off the $$$$ owed me for back child support and lawyer fees, but it is about a 40% start. My very good lawyer put a lien on the house payable to me since vileman's payments for legal reimbursement would not start until August 2009 . . . and I knew I would never see any money.
As I tried to watch Celebrity Apprentice (my guilty pleasure) I thought about all the ways I coped while living with vileman and how I have managed to say goodbye to both the destructive and non-destructive habits.
The mommie juice.
It was on its way to becoming a problem. I wrote one of you saying, that my tolerance was getting higher and higher of the cheap red wine and two glasses a night was not enough to give me that numb feeling. My solution to the problem was to get bigger red wine glasses. One glass probably held 16 ounces! When vileman walked through that door every day at 5:15 pm, I headed straight for the wine box. It was my unhealthy coping mechanism.
Once I was out of that environment, I noticed I didn't think about the mommie juice nor did I need the mommie juice any longer. In fact, it should have been renamed "vileman elixir".
The super-sized wine goblets went to one of the day-laborers who I hired to help me load my u-haul moving truck.
The Treadmill
When I was in a get fit mood, I would avoid vileman by walking on the treadmill after he got home from work. I made sure dinner was on the table for my family and instead of eating with them, I would disappear into the spare bedroom with my iPod and walk and walk and walk. Never walking anywhere, just walking in the same place. Stuck. I chose not to take the treadmill with me and vileman either kept it or gave it away. Either way, I don't care.
The Shopping
November of 2006 showed a weight-loss of 32 pounds. I had cut out salty foods, alcohol, snacking and sweets, adhering to the Dash diet. I was moving my body and not sitting in front of the television. As the numbers on the scale and blood pressure machine lowered, my credit card balance went up. The girl and I went went shopping twice a month. The stuff I bought wasn't hoarded and left in shopping bags. It was almost all used (except for most of my stuff) and everyone in the family benefited. A little too much.
Two weeks ago, I went through all my workout clothes, many still had tags on them (hey, at least they were out of the bags!). It was crazy going through all the yoga pants and tops! I was able to give my older sister some of the tanks but I still had way too many. Too many tee's that are too tight. Too many shorts. Too many workout bras. Too many.
A big portion went to Goodwill.
***
Monday morning, before heading to the title company, I walked through the empty house for the last time and said goodbye to that fancy faux prison and all my old hiding places.
The Pantry
Though I worked out at the Y several times a week and walked on the treadmill at night, I still managed to stand in the pantry and consume hundreds of calories during the day; it usually started around 1:30 with a little handful of this or that and lasted until 4:30 in the afternoon. I can visualize me eating a handful of something then closing the pantry door, returning quickly for another dose of numbing. A revolving door would have made it perfect.
The Master Bathroom.
That house had an awesome master bath! Huge bathtub where I spent many hours soaking in that tub at night, avoiding vileman. On the nights that I walked on the treadmill, I would retreat to my bedroom afterwards and close the door, turn on the TV and put a facial mask on for 20 minutes before showering. I could easily spend an additional hour in there, putting off any face time with vileman.
When I walked down the hallway to the back bedrooms to say goodbye to the small fourth bedroom that had housed my treadmill, a stench reminiscent of an overflowing port-o-potty on a hot August day permeated the air. Seems someone had taken a poop in the half bath several days earlier and failed to flush the commode.
It reeked.
It stunk.
It couldn't have been a more perfect ending in closing this chapter of my life.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Battered and Bruised
But in a good way.
My dad and I headed south to my old house Thursday morning; rented a U-Haul truck and moved all my furniture back here on Friday afternoon. I put all of it in a storage unit.
I got rid of another van load of give-away stuff. I figured if I hadn't needed it over the past nine months, I could live without it.
Yippie!
I have one more milestone to pass and that date will occur hopefully on April 6th.
Yippie!
A busy Monday awaits and will have to write more later.
Have a super great day!
My dad and I headed south to my old house Thursday morning; rented a U-Haul truck and moved all my furniture back here on Friday afternoon. I put all of it in a storage unit.
I got rid of another van load of give-away stuff. I figured if I hadn't needed it over the past nine months, I could live without it.
Yippie!
I have one more milestone to pass and that date will occur hopefully on April 6th.
Yippie!
A busy Monday awaits and will have to write more later.
Have a super great day!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
Been very active around here with no relief in sight as this week starts the really,really busy season of after-school sports. Friday is the only day off with no activities other than their school. I can't wait to finally say T.G.I.F!
Early last week, I sunk to a new low when I sparred with vileman via email. You can not reason with a psychopath.
For nine months I would ignore all the emails he would send; gaining strength each time I opened one, read it and walked away without replying. Ignoring his emails and not letting the contents of the email upset me was the true test of control.
Unfortunately, I lost that control and hit the send button on a snarky reply. Though I regret my email, it isn't because I felt guilty about telling vileman what I think of him; I regret that he knows he finally got to me. Aarrgh!
I'm stronger than that! So, I am back to reading, letting it roll off my back and duck waddling away from the computer.
Early last week, I sunk to a new low when I sparred with vileman via email. You can not reason with a psychopath.
For nine months I would ignore all the emails he would send; gaining strength each time I opened one, read it and walked away without replying. Ignoring his emails and not letting the contents of the email upset me was the true test of control.
Unfortunately, I lost that control and hit the send button on a snarky reply. Though I regret my email, it isn't because I felt guilty about telling vileman what I think of him; I regret that he knows he finally got to me. Aarrgh!
I'm stronger than that! So, I am back to reading, letting it roll off my back and duck waddling away from the computer.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Summer/Winter Break with Steak
This is spring break week but you would never guess it. No spring like weather here. The first half of the week was in the mid 80's and yesterday a cold front came through bringing rain, rain and more rain.
After taking 5 year old to the after-hours clinic on Sunday afternoon (she has a cold with cough), the 12 year old and I headed to the old house. Vileman was working out-of-town until Wednesday, so the 12 year old and I stayed until Tuesday afternoon packing up all our items for storage.
We arrived Sunday night at 8:30 and I immediately went to work while the boy watched television. I was so pumped about packing, that I didn't stop until 4:00 am.
By Tuesday, almost everything was boxed and labeled. I didn't have time to get to the stuff in the garage, nor go through all the Christmas decorations, but it will just have to wait until the next opportunity, probably when I go back at the end of the month with a U-haul truck to pick up everything for storage.
Tuesday before lunch, 12 and I loaded up the mini-van (thank goodness for stow and go seats) with all the donated stuff to drop off at Purple Heart. We had a van full and it felt so good to just donate that stuff and not try to have a garage sale.
After our lunch, we loaded up the van with a few items to take home with us. When packing up the cooler with some water, I peeked in vileman's freezer (technically my refrigerator/freezer) and saw he had two, thick T-bone steaks. Mmmm. 12 year old loves steak.
I threw them in the cooler and left a note in the freezer for vileman saying "thanks for the steaks".
The 12 year old and I thought that was so funny.
After taking 5 year old to the after-hours clinic on Sunday afternoon (she has a cold with cough), the 12 year old and I headed to the old house. Vileman was working out-of-town until Wednesday, so the 12 year old and I stayed until Tuesday afternoon packing up all our items for storage.
We arrived Sunday night at 8:30 and I immediately went to work while the boy watched television. I was so pumped about packing, that I didn't stop until 4:00 am.
By Tuesday, almost everything was boxed and labeled. I didn't have time to get to the stuff in the garage, nor go through all the Christmas decorations, but it will just have to wait until the next opportunity, probably when I go back at the end of the month with a U-haul truck to pick up everything for storage.
Tuesday before lunch, 12 and I loaded up the mini-van (thank goodness for stow and go seats) with all the donated stuff to drop off at Purple Heart. We had a van full and it felt so good to just donate that stuff and not try to have a garage sale.
After our lunch, we loaded up the van with a few items to take home with us. When packing up the cooler with some water, I peeked in vileman's freezer (technically my refrigerator/freezer) and saw he had two, thick T-bone steaks. Mmmm. 12 year old loves steak.
I threw them in the cooler and left a note in the freezer for vileman saying "thanks for the steaks".
The 12 year old and I thought that was so funny.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Darn You Big Red!
When vileman travels out of state, I always see it as an opportunity to get some of our belongings. This weekend he was traveling, so on Sunday morning, the 12 year old and I drove back to the Bastille to pick up some items we will be needing in the near future and to pack up 12 year old's room. We headed out at 5:45 am and arrived around 9:30. The boy immediately headed back to his old room and started gathering up his trophies, books and posters.
The last time he went back to the old digs was in late July and he refused to go into the house. My heart ached, as I watched him get out of the car and run through the yard, to visit the next door neighbors. He never once glanced toward the house.
I suppose time really does heal.
About an hour after we had arrived, my swimming buddy, her hubby and the Irish twins showed up and with in a few minutes the next door neighbors (the former model and her very tall husband) knocked on the door.
The grown-ups sat in the family room talking "grown-up" talk while the 12 year old, the Irish twins, and the next door neighbor boy all played in the front yard.
We talked a bit about vileman and his troubles, keeping it light with gallows humor.
It felt so good to laugh.
After loading up my minivan, the 12 year old and I headed over to swimming buddy's house to eat sandwiches. For a beverage, I chose a can of Big Red . . . not thinking it would have any caffeine in it. I wanted the sugar for a quick pick-me up before we got back in the car for the almost four hour drive. After slurping it down, I looked at the can and noticed it did, indeed contain caffeine.
Arrgh!
Had I known I was going to accidentally "cheat" on my caffeine freedom, I would have preferred to accidentally pull into a Starbucks and accidentally order a venti of caffeine goodness.
The last time he went back to the old digs was in late July and he refused to go into the house. My heart ached, as I watched him get out of the car and run through the yard, to visit the next door neighbors. He never once glanced toward the house.
I suppose time really does heal.
About an hour after we had arrived, my swimming buddy, her hubby and the Irish twins showed up and with in a few minutes the next door neighbors (the former model and her very tall husband) knocked on the door.
The grown-ups sat in the family room talking "grown-up" talk while the 12 year old, the Irish twins, and the next door neighbor boy all played in the front yard.
We talked a bit about vileman and his troubles, keeping it light with gallows humor.
It felt so good to laugh.
After loading up my minivan, the 12 year old and I headed over to swimming buddy's house to eat sandwiches. For a beverage, I chose a can of Big Red . . . not thinking it would have any caffeine in it. I wanted the sugar for a quick pick-me up before we got back in the car for the almost four hour drive. After slurping it down, I looked at the can and noticed it did, indeed contain caffeine.
Arrgh!
Had I known I was going to accidentally "cheat" on my caffeine freedom, I would have preferred to accidentally pull into a Starbucks and accidentally order a venti of caffeine goodness.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Give the Best Years of Your Life to You
"I gave that bastard the best years of my life!" cries the over-weight, middle aged lady's reflection, while she is examining her facial creases. She puckers her lips and shakes her head at the amount of lines framing her upper lip. She had (erroneously) assumed only smokers would have that problem. She holds up her eyebrows for a makeshift eyebrow lift but that just produces deeper wrinkles on her forward. She stops and stares, then reaches both hands toward her hair line, pushing the forehead back and sees that the eyes get a bit of a lift. She thinks, "Oooh. That's nice. I may look like I'm startled but at least my forehead is much smoother."
As I walked away from the mirror wondering when this new found 'vainness' showed up, I asked myself, did I really give that bastard the best years of my life? Or were my roaring twenties the best years?
Was my life so perfect in my 20's?
Sure, I weighed around 110 pounds but my diet consisted of margaritas, tequila shots, and tequila slammers. Dinner would have been a wedge of lime.
I worked full-time during the day and attended college part-time at night. I lived paycheck to paycheck and lived to P.A.R.T.Y! My schedule looked like this: Monday night: (college classes) Tuesday night (nothing), Wednesday night (college classes), Thursday night (happy hour), Friday night (happy hour), Saturday night (club hopping) and Sunday (hangover recoop day . . . which always meant a little "hair of the dog"). This schedule would be repeated every week.
So I'm gonna say my early 20's to mid 20's were not my best years. Fun maybe, but not the best.
My late 20's had me moving to another state to attend college full-time. Looking back, I don't think those three years would be considered my best either. Mainly because I was waiting for my life to happen instead of making my life happen.
I met the vileman around 30 and though we spent a little more than a year apart from late 2001 to early 2003, during that time, he was always "present" (if that makes sense). In other words, I was unable to get rid of him back then.
I think my self-esteem took a dive off a cliff in 1995 and sunk like the Titanic.
My 30's and early 40's had me caring for others, yet ignoring my own needs. I worked but it was a job, not a 'career' and I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I thought if I became a stay-at-home mom, I would have time to lose all the weight . . . I only gained more. My wardrobe as a stay-at-home-mom wasn't cute like I had envisioned. It consisted of shorts, tee shirts from Walmart and flipflops. Instead of getting more sleep, I got less. But biggest mistake of all, I quit living and experiencing things, using the excuse "I'm too fat" to meet new people, go to church, go to office parties, and so on.
The truth is, I haven't given anyone or myself the best years of my life.
The best years of my life are happening now. I'm happier, older, wiser . . . ahem; my drowned self-esteem has been resuscitated. I'm in rebuilding mode.
When you rebuild, you make it stronger and better.
And what about those wrinkles?
For now, I'm going to call them life lessons . . . I may have lost my way over the past 25 years but I know I'm now on the right path.
As I walked away from the mirror wondering when this new found 'vainness' showed up, I asked myself, did I really give that bastard the best years of my life? Or were my roaring twenties the best years?
Was my life so perfect in my 20's?
Sure, I weighed around 110 pounds but my diet consisted of margaritas, tequila shots, and tequila slammers. Dinner would have been a wedge of lime.
I worked full-time during the day and attended college part-time at night. I lived paycheck to paycheck and lived to P.A.R.T.Y! My schedule looked like this: Monday night: (college classes) Tuesday night (nothing), Wednesday night (college classes), Thursday night (happy hour), Friday night (happy hour), Saturday night (club hopping) and Sunday (hangover recoop day . . . which always meant a little "hair of the dog"). This schedule would be repeated every week.
So I'm gonna say my early 20's to mid 20's were not my best years. Fun maybe, but not the best.
My late 20's had me moving to another state to attend college full-time. Looking back, I don't think those three years would be considered my best either. Mainly because I was waiting for my life to happen instead of making my life happen.
I met the vileman around 30 and though we spent a little more than a year apart from late 2001 to early 2003, during that time, he was always "present" (if that makes sense). In other words, I was unable to get rid of him back then.
I think my self-esteem took a dive off a cliff in 1995 and sunk like the Titanic.
My 30's and early 40's had me caring for others, yet ignoring my own needs. I worked but it was a job, not a 'career' and I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I thought if I became a stay-at-home mom, I would have time to lose all the weight . . . I only gained more. My wardrobe as a stay-at-home-mom wasn't cute like I had envisioned. It consisted of shorts, tee shirts from Walmart and flipflops. Instead of getting more sleep, I got less. But biggest mistake of all, I quit living and experiencing things, using the excuse "I'm too fat" to meet new people, go to church, go to office parties, and so on.
The truth is, I haven't given anyone or myself the best years of my life.
The best years of my life are happening now. I'm happier, older, wiser . . . ahem; my drowned self-esteem has been resuscitated. I'm in rebuilding mode.
When you rebuild, you make it stronger and better.
And what about those wrinkles?
For now, I'm going to call them life lessons . . . I may have lost my way over the past 25 years but I know I'm now on the right path.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
I'll Be Clogging on Valentine's Day 2022
A few weeks after my divorce was final, my older sister said something to me about being single again. I scoffed at that and told her I planned on staying single and wouldn't even think about dating until the 5 year old is in college. Should I survive that long, I will be 58 years old. I told the sister I would then take up clogging, since that seemed to be a great way to meet the old geezers.
Not to mention the cute little short dresses you get to wear.
But on a serious note, I have been told by 12 year old that I am "hyper-vigilant".
Well, duh.
His major complaint is that I watch his karate class because I don't trust the instructor.
He's right, I don't know or trust the instructor at this time, plus something about him gave me the creepy vibes. From now on I will trust my instincts and not suppress them.
During karate class, the parents sit on a bench in the studio where we are able to watch. So I'm not the only parent watching.
I'm just the only parent sending silent "don't touch my kid" vibes toward the Sensi. Ha.
I guess it's going to take some time . . . possibly until 2022.
Not to mention the cute little short dresses you get to wear.
But on a serious note, I have been told by 12 year old that I am "hyper-vigilant".
Well, duh.
His major complaint is that I watch his karate class because I don't trust the instructor.
He's right, I don't know or trust the instructor at this time, plus something about him gave me the creepy vibes. From now on I will trust my instincts and not suppress them.
During karate class, the parents sit on a bench in the studio where we are able to watch. So I'm not the only parent watching.
I'm just the only parent sending silent "don't touch my kid" vibes toward the Sensi. Ha.
I guess it's going to take some time . . . possibly until 2022.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Foreshadow and Irony
***I know I wrote about going forward and not dwelling on the past, but I need the closure of putting those unhappy events in writing. I wanted to do it over at the other blog but I was warned a few months back by a relative to not write about it, because it would give me . . . cancer. (That person was not my parents.) Well, I disagree. I think writing it down is part of the healing process. Also, the vile man kept his family away from the filth. Unknowingly, we were his beard. The children and I provided him the cover-up of a family man. It was like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
I had no idea that he was doing what he was doing, though I did get the creeps sometimes. I thought he was cheating on me with other women (turns out he was doing that too).
I didn't tell any relatives about this new blog, that way I don't have to censor myself and should I end up with cancer, someone will not be able to tell me "I told you so".
Please bear with me on occasion, when I feel like writing about the past. Sorry, this is very long . . .***
I was sitting at the dinning room table with three strange men staring at me. They wanted to sit in the breakfast room, but I told them my children ate at that table and I just could not sit there and be told about the filth.
My mouth was dry and my head was pounding. I had already been on the road for 45 minutes, headed north, when the call came on my cell phone from the detective who arrested the vile man. I didn't take the call because I thought it was going to be the lawyer that the vile man had asked me to call, which I refused to do. When I checked my voicemail, it was the detective, informing me he was at my house and wanted to talk to me.
Visions of SWAT vans and police cars surrounding my house immediately flashed before my eyes. I think I saw several local news stations and maybe even Geraldo Rivera at my door. Instead of calling him back, I did what any normal, 44 year old woman whose husband had been arrested does. . . I called my daddy.
"Dad, there is a detective calling me and he wants to talk to me! Will you call him back and tell him I'm too afraid to go back because the weasel is going to kill me for not bailing him out of jail!!!"
I was still headed north.
I kept thinking of me having to drive down my street with throngs of reporters sticking their microphones toward my car window. I could not be on television looking like I did. Earlier that morning, I took an aerobics class at the Y and it kicked my butt. When I got home, instead of showering, I made coffee, blogged and decided to lie down for my sinus headache. I also took sinus meds, hence the dry mouth. On top of that, I had sweated buckets after getting off the phone with a weasel and ran around the house gathering things to throw into the mini van. So, I basically looked and smelled like shit.
A few minutes later, my dad called me and tried to talk me into going back home and cooperate with the detective. So, I told my dad to have the detective call me back and I would talk to him.
Me: "Hello."
Detective: "This is Det. Nice."
Me: "I'm not coming back!!! Can't you get a search warrant?! Please! That man is going to kill me for not bailing him out of jail and I'm embarrassed about you being in front of my house! What are the neighbors going to say?!!!"
Detective: I'm not in a police car, I'm in a Ford **fill in some cheap economy sized model***. Your neighbors don't have to know anything unless you tell them." **Insert five minutes of him begging me to turn around and go back.**
I called the detective when I reached my street and told him what I was driving and that I would pull up in my driveway. I also told him that I needed to get my dog out of the car and to please not pull their guns on me.
He thought that was funny, assured me he didn't have his gun with him and that I was a victim.
I was surprised how quiet my street was. No media, no SWAT vans and no police cars.
After getting the kids' small poodle out of the car (he was carsick) I carried him to the front lawn where I greeted Detective Nice.
No fancy designer suit on this guy. (I gotta quit watching Law & Order: Criminal Intent.) He was wearing blue jeans, an untucked button down shirt and a baseball hat. His cohorts (the two other police officers) were also dressed in blue jeans. They all followed me into my house.
We sat down and Det. Nice tried to put me at ease and joked that he thought I was going to be getting a large dog out of my car and was surprised to see a small, hairy poodle in my arms all limp like.
Det. Nice was the good cop.
Sargent Baldy played bad cop. (I say that, because he rolled his eyes at something I said. )
But all three of them were very nice and assured me, that the children and I were victims of the vile man.
I spent three hours with those men, listening to them tell me what a sick man, vile man was. When they were leaving, they all mentioned how relieved I looked and not just because they were leaving.
I was relieved . . . and not just because three police men were leaving my house. The relief came, because I knew we were free of the vile man.
By the way, the vile man's arrest was kept out of the media. No newspaper mention nor was it on the 10:00 news.
On January 6th, I met Detective Nice once again. This time he was sitting in front of me in the courthouse. He was sitting next to the lovely lady he worked with who was the keeper of police records. I had already met Lovely Lady at my temporary order hearing (pre-divorce thing) last August. She was so supportive.
Had I passed Det. Nice on the street, I would have never recognized him. He had on a suit and no baseball cap. He looked exactly like Tony Soprano and/or the actor who portrayed him. I loved the Sopranos.
I wanted to hug this man - a good full frontal hug too! (I never give frontal hugs because of my big ahems, so my hugs are more shoulder hugs with my big ahems not touching the person I'm hugging.) Thankfully I didn't try to hug him because he was standoffish and a little unfriendly. Not because he didn't like me, but because he was having to sit in a courthouse, waiting to testify at my divorce trial and I wasn't supposed to be fraternizing with the witnesses.
The lovely lady turned around and explained that Det. Nice was nervous because the vile man's criminal attorney (who brings their criminal attorney to a divorce trial?!) would have the opportunity to cross examine him and it didn't look good if he was seen talking to me. She said he didn't want to hurt my feelings.
I said oops, I'm sorry and leaned back into the courthouse pew. But Lovely Lady said she could talk to me because all she had to do was hand over the big thick vile file on the vile man to the judge.
After lunch, Det. Nice realized we probably would settle and not go to trial. So he turned around and talked to me. I told him a story called "Foreshadow and Irony" (see, I went through all the above mess just to tell you the following, and it might not even be considered irony, because, I wasn't all that smart in high school.)
The day before the vile man was arrested, I had just seen my parents off with the children. They would be visiting my parents for ten days. Ten days without children! Anyway, it was early afternoon and I turned on the TV and watched an HBO documentary about Roman Polanski (another vile man) and the trouble he got himself into before fleeing the country. Something about his narcissism, reminded me of the vile man. I even googled Roman, after the show ended, to read more about his vile troubles. And I'm not talking about the murder of his wife in the late 60's, I'm talking about what happened a few years later.
The next day, the vile man was arrested for similar troubles.
He spent eight days in jail, before he bailed himself out using credit cards. While in jail, he called my parents' home every night. We never answered the phone. In a weird way, it was soothing to know he was still in jail (thanks to caller ID).
When I finally did talk to vile man, a couple of weeks later, he told me he went to meet Det. Nice (not knowing Det. Nice was a detective) to beat him up and keep our children safe from men like him (Det. Nice's undercover persona). After my hysterical laughter died down, because I had already heard that excuse several times on Dateline's to Catch a Predator, I told him: first, our children were never in danger of internet villains because I monitored their internet usage. And secondly, the man vile man went to beat up, to protect his children from, ended up being the man who would set us free and protect us from vile man. I think that might be called irony.
I had no idea that he was doing what he was doing, though I did get the creeps sometimes. I thought he was cheating on me with other women (turns out he was doing that too).
I didn't tell any relatives about this new blog, that way I don't have to censor myself and should I end up with cancer, someone will not be able to tell me "I told you so".
Please bear with me on occasion, when I feel like writing about the past. Sorry, this is very long . . .***
I was sitting at the dinning room table with three strange men staring at me. They wanted to sit in the breakfast room, but I told them my children ate at that table and I just could not sit there and be told about the filth.
My mouth was dry and my head was pounding. I had already been on the road for 45 minutes, headed north, when the call came on my cell phone from the detective who arrested the vile man. I didn't take the call because I thought it was going to be the lawyer that the vile man had asked me to call, which I refused to do. When I checked my voicemail, it was the detective, informing me he was at my house and wanted to talk to me.
Visions of SWAT vans and police cars surrounding my house immediately flashed before my eyes. I think I saw several local news stations and maybe even Geraldo Rivera at my door. Instead of calling him back, I did what any normal, 44 year old woman whose husband had been arrested does. . . I called my daddy.
"Dad, there is a detective calling me and he wants to talk to me! Will you call him back and tell him I'm too afraid to go back because the weasel is going to kill me for not bailing him out of jail!!!"
I was still headed north.
I kept thinking of me having to drive down my street with throngs of reporters sticking their microphones toward my car window. I could not be on television looking like I did. Earlier that morning, I took an aerobics class at the Y and it kicked my butt. When I got home, instead of showering, I made coffee, blogged and decided to lie down for my sinus headache. I also took sinus meds, hence the dry mouth. On top of that, I had sweated buckets after getting off the phone with a weasel and ran around the house gathering things to throw into the mini van. So, I basically looked and smelled like shit.
A few minutes later, my dad called me and tried to talk me into going back home and cooperate with the detective. So, I told my dad to have the detective call me back and I would talk to him.
Me: "Hello."
Detective: "This is Det. Nice."
Me: "I'm not coming back!!! Can't you get a search warrant?! Please! That man is going to kill me for not bailing him out of jail and I'm embarrassed about you being in front of my house! What are the neighbors going to say?!!!"
Detective: I'm not in a police car, I'm in a Ford **fill in some cheap economy sized model***. Your neighbors don't have to know anything unless you tell them." **Insert five minutes of him begging me to turn around and go back.**
I called the detective when I reached my street and told him what I was driving and that I would pull up in my driveway. I also told him that I needed to get my dog out of the car and to please not pull their guns on me.
He thought that was funny, assured me he didn't have his gun with him and that I was a victim.
I was surprised how quiet my street was. No media, no SWAT vans and no police cars.
After getting the kids' small poodle out of the car (he was carsick) I carried him to the front lawn where I greeted Detective Nice.
No fancy designer suit on this guy. (I gotta quit watching Law & Order: Criminal Intent.) He was wearing blue jeans, an untucked button down shirt and a baseball hat. His cohorts (the two other police officers) were also dressed in blue jeans. They all followed me into my house.
We sat down and Det. Nice tried to put me at ease and joked that he thought I was going to be getting a large dog out of my car and was surprised to see a small, hairy poodle in my arms all limp like.
Det. Nice was the good cop.
Sargent Baldy played bad cop. (I say that, because he rolled his eyes at something I said. )
But all three of them were very nice and assured me, that the children and I were victims of the vile man.
I spent three hours with those men, listening to them tell me what a sick man, vile man was. When they were leaving, they all mentioned how relieved I looked and not just because they were leaving.
I was relieved . . . and not just because three police men were leaving my house. The relief came, because I knew we were free of the vile man.
By the way, the vile man's arrest was kept out of the media. No newspaper mention nor was it on the 10:00 news.
On January 6th, I met Detective Nice once again. This time he was sitting in front of me in the courthouse. He was sitting next to the lovely lady he worked with who was the keeper of police records. I had already met Lovely Lady at my temporary order hearing (pre-divorce thing) last August. She was so supportive.
Had I passed Det. Nice on the street, I would have never recognized him. He had on a suit and no baseball cap. He looked exactly like Tony Soprano and/or the actor who portrayed him. I loved the Sopranos.
I wanted to hug this man - a good full frontal hug too! (I never give frontal hugs because of my big ahems, so my hugs are more shoulder hugs with my big ahems not touching the person I'm hugging.) Thankfully I didn't try to hug him because he was standoffish and a little unfriendly. Not because he didn't like me, but because he was having to sit in a courthouse, waiting to testify at my divorce trial and I wasn't supposed to be fraternizing with the witnesses.
The lovely lady turned around and explained that Det. Nice was nervous because the vile man's criminal attorney (who brings their criminal attorney to a divorce trial?!) would have the opportunity to cross examine him and it didn't look good if he was seen talking to me. She said he didn't want to hurt my feelings.
I said oops, I'm sorry and leaned back into the courthouse pew. But Lovely Lady said she could talk to me because all she had to do was hand over the big thick vile file on the vile man to the judge.
After lunch, Det. Nice realized we probably would settle and not go to trial. So he turned around and talked to me. I told him a story called "Foreshadow and Irony" (see, I went through all the above mess just to tell you the following, and it might not even be considered irony, because, I wasn't all that smart in high school.)
The day before the vile man was arrested, I had just seen my parents off with the children. They would be visiting my parents for ten days. Ten days without children! Anyway, it was early afternoon and I turned on the TV and watched an HBO documentary about Roman Polanski (another vile man) and the trouble he got himself into before fleeing the country. Something about his narcissism, reminded me of the vile man. I even googled Roman, after the show ended, to read more about his vile troubles. And I'm not talking about the murder of his wife in the late 60's, I'm talking about what happened a few years later.
The next day, the vile man was arrested for similar troubles.
He spent eight days in jail, before he bailed himself out using credit cards. While in jail, he called my parents' home every night. We never answered the phone. In a weird way, it was soothing to know he was still in jail (thanks to caller ID).
When I finally did talk to vile man, a couple of weeks later, he told me he went to meet Det. Nice (not knowing Det. Nice was a detective) to beat him up and keep our children safe from men like him (Det. Nice's undercover persona). After my hysterical laughter died down, because I had already heard that excuse several times on Dateline's to Catch a Predator, I told him: first, our children were never in danger of internet villains because I monitored their internet usage. And secondly, the man vile man went to beat up, to protect his children from, ended up being the man who would set us free and protect us from vile man. I think that might be called irony.
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