Being Single, Breakups, Cheaters, Dating, Dysfunctional, Life, Marriage, Red Flags, Relationships

“I’m sorry” Goes a Long Way

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The dumbest thing I never did was get involved with someone from work. I know the rule, yet for some reason I blanked out, bypassing that rule and a major red flag on the first date. A year later, after catching him in a tremendous lie, I’m forced to see him in the halls, catch him looking at me and turning away. It’s heartbreaking, and I have to relive it every day. It’s like God’s punishing me for ignoring a red flag. I failed the test.

What’s worse is the fact that I see him looking at me and yet he can’t bring himself to say, “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” You’d be surprised how these words can help and heal, and yet he doesn’t say them. But at the same time, he didn’t have the strength to divorce an abusive wife, so how would he possibly find the strength to apologize?

Right now I’m in a constant cycle of healing and hurting. It’s like as soon as I start healing he’s suddenly in the halls, passing me 400 times a day and the wound becomes fresh again.

I’m tired of it. I want to heal. I was healing, yet I have no idea what happened. Like a scab picked open and bleeding again. And every time my focus goes back to, “What kind of a man destroys someone else, and never says, ‘I’m sorry?’ “

Relationships

Everyone Should Desire to Be Single

Everyone Should Desire to Be Single

Check out Jay’s post and see what you think…(Check the Comments section for mine, then add your own!)
Happy Saturday, all! 

-1YOS

Alcoholics, Breakups, Dysfunctional, Life, Marriage, Memories, Relationships, The Evacuation

The Pre-Thanksgiving Alcoholic

I can smell an alcoholic from a mile away. Unfortunately – in this case – there’s one right next to me on my commuter train home.

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Alcoholics think that no one knows they’re alcoholics. I know this guy’s an alcoholic. There’s a way alcoholics process alcohol – the smell of it hovers near their skin with a stale, sweet, fermenting, rotting essence. It permeates the area like old tobacco does after seeping into walls for years.

Whenever an alcoholic sits next to me, my skin crawls. My senses go on high alert because my ex-husband was an alcoholic.

I was home making stuffed mushrooms on Thanksgiving Eve, 2006, when my husband [at the time] came home after drinking all day. He was so inebriated it was like a stranger had entered the apartment. It was a violating feeling, having my husband’s body – with a stranger’s personality – enter my home, and the worst part about it is that I couldn’t do anything about it like I could if it really was a stranger. When he harassed me or dumped an entire container of spice into my recipe, all I could do was gently plead for him to stop, hoping by some miracle something I said would snap him out of it.

Nothing ever did.

There were times when he’d come home at 3am after being unreachable all day. One night I used my laptop as a shield as I ran through the apartment with my husband throwing things at me. Another night I shut myself in the closet, but he opened it, smashed it closed, opened it and smashed it again – all the while screaming, “What did I do wrong!? What did I do wrong?!”

I was terrified. He was a hunter and although still new at the sport, he had knives, bows and a rifle. There were times while I waited for him to come home at night that I considered sleeping on the floor beside the bed just so I wasn’t vulnerable when sleeping.

Those times made me realize that I had to make a choice: I could fall into the dramatic cinematic B.S. that a lot of women fall into and potentially have people pitying me for the rest of my life like a piece of worthless trash, or i could do something about it.

Neither of my parents were alcoholics, but they were both physically abusive and emotionally abandoned me. And no one had ever saved me from them. So I thought about my baby boy, “I have to save his life like no one saved mine.” I had to save his life like no one saved mine.

My ex-husband still tries to get me into fights even to this day. But it’s completely different now because I have my own safe haven. My home is an oasis because it’s just my son and me who live there. I no longer have to peep around the door when I come home at night to see if my ex is drunk, passed out or dead. I know my son is safe and happy in our home. And my stuffed mushrooms on Thanksgiving are perfect.

I hate alcoholics. I’m sorry, I do. And I hate when they sit next to me on my commuter train home.

But I love myself for being brave enough to save myself and my son. Its made all the difference.

Alcoholics, Breakups, Dysfunctional, Dysfunctional Mother, Life, Marriage, OMG WTF? (Aka: Crazy Discoveries), Parents, Relationships

What kind of asshole hangs out with child abusers?

I went to my sons swimming lessons today because for the last classes they let the parents watch. My ex-husband was there obviously because he has my son this weekend. We exchanged some small talk about my son’s swimming efforts when I added, “Oh by the way, I heard more information about my sisters abuse by my parents.” My ex-husband then flipped out saying, “why you got to talk about that?” I replied, “because you’re hanging out with child molesters!”

Apparently also among the years of being physically abused by my parents my mother also had my sister sexually abused by a doctor. My sister had left the family years ago without telling anybody why and my mother spread the rumor that my sister was crazy and angry. Until recently. I had called my sister last year to complain about my parents and she revealed every reason why she left the family and horrid detail. Needless to say I was floored because of the years of manipulation that my mother had putting in, telling everyone my sister was crazy, meanwhile it was my mother who was the one who was crazy – bringing my sister to a doctor repeatedly to have her sexually abused.

Now my husband, who has no parents because he threatened to kill his own mother for her abusing him, doesn’t have any of his parents so he hangs out with my parents. And in the meantime I discovered that his mother was angry because she too was sexually abused by her grandfather and her mother who is my ex-husband’s grandmother knew about it.

Are you keeping up with this?

So basically my ex-husband hangs out with abusive parents but refuses to believe that my sister was sexually abused because he’s desperate to have parents of his own that he’s will ing to go so far as to hang out with sexual abusers in order to have a relationship with any parents at all.

Every time I try to talk to him about any kind of abuse he sides with the abuser. It’s infuriating! What kind of moron hangs out with someone whose abused them for so long or abused other people? It infuriates me that this world is based upon fear. Any it infuriates me that hes stupid and naïve enough to believe that my mother, with a passive aggressive sweetheart low voice, is not an abuser!

Wake up and smell the coffee you moron!

* This entire post was made through Siri, and will be edited so if it doesn’t make sense check back in a day or two and it’ll be updated ha ha 🙂 xo

Marriage, Relationships

Psychic Comments

I was chatting with two women inside my car’s service station waiting room when a gentle-looking Latino man looked at me – and while rubbing his three money fingers together – said with a thick accent, “You’re going to marry a rich man. Soon. Very soon.”

I laughed and said, “Right! What are you, psychic?”

He smiled. His three teens nodded.

Bitches, Dating Tips, Dysfunctional, Marriage, Parents, Quotes, Relationships

Who’s got your balls?

On the way to missing the train today I passed a large family with rolling suitcases. They had exited a van and were climbing stairs to the platform. I knew the next trains departed from the opposite side of the station, so as I passed I told the father that they should use the elevator. His reply? He stammered for a second, and with a defeated hand gesture toward his departing group said, “This is what my wife wants.”

Oh Lord. Men, who’ve got your balls? This is not a matter of doing someone else, its a matter of saving the 80-year-old grandma in your group from having a heart attack.

As I walked away I thought about how my father is a flag. Do all men get like that when they’re older? Is it a pipe dream to think that dating/marriage should be a partnership? To go as far as not taking an elevator or even suggesting it just because you think your wife will get angry – are you kidding?

Do men think they have to hand over their balls? Do they think it’s an all-ball-or-nothing situation when they marry? It would actually explain a lot since most of my observations of men have been either all-balls or ball-free.

Guys – there can be a happy medium. In fact, there should be a happy medium. Strive to retain your man-ness. How do you do this? Well, first you’ve got to honestly ask yourself, “Who’s got your balls?”

Being Single, Bitches, Dating Tips, Marriage, Quotes, Relationships

I dont think marriage is worth the price of divorce

Being Single, Dating Tips, Dysfunctional, Marriage, Quotes, Relationships

Women may not realize it’s a stable partner that they want more than a marriage certificate.

Alcoholics, Being Single, Bitches, Breakups, Dysfunctional, Dysfunctional Mother, Marriage, Parents, Relationships, The Evacuation

How My Mother Made Me Desperate

We often wonder why some girls are desperate and needy. You would think it’s an inherent need, but sometimes it comes from the folks who are supposed to protect them the most. Case in point:

“We’re going to marry you off to the old widower down the road,” my parents would joke, adding, “Except, we’ll have to throw in some chickens as well” – a clear sign that they didn’t think I was worth anything; they had to “sweeten the pot” with a farm animal. So essentially I was worth less than a farm animal.

This was just one of the many not-so-subtle ways that my parents expressed their view of my value. I had to be married to be worth something, and that no one would want me as I was. I wasn’t good enough.

Eventually all my sisters “found someone,” and I was “left.” I dated here and there, but as nothing panned out, my mother would ask in horrified voice if I was a lesbian, and would introduce me as “the last one left.” Imagine how I felt when – in social circles – she would say, “Oh, and here’s my daughter, Kate. She’s the last one left.”

The last one left? It indicated that I was – in her eyes – the last one of her daughters to do the right thing: obtain the golden ticket and get married. So to my mother, all my other achievements – Deans List, MVP, Captain, Who’s Who of Junior Colleges – twice, Editor In Chief of the college newspaper and Student of the Year – all paled in comparison to being someone’s wife. It was another statement that pissed me off – but being a dutiful daughter, I let it slide. Why? Because my other sisters had issues with my mother! My mother also very artfully manipulated me by saying, “It doesn’t matter what we do to you, Kate, you’ll always come back to us. You’re the good one.” She was a master manipulator.

So those statements, along with dozens of other similar messages, created a need for me to find a husband – even before carrying out my own dreams. But ironically I didn’t radiate desperateness. I wasn’t a slut. I wasn’t “with” every guy I met, and I didn’t want every guy to marry me. I actually had some discrimination. Some.

Sadly, when my dysfunctional mother introduced me to her friend’s equally dysfunctional son, I went for it – hook line and sinker – because of a few things: 1.) I was tired of waiting for a quality guy that I actually wanted to spend the rest of my life with 2.) I was completely intimidated by quality guys 3.) It was a preordained match made by my dysfunctional mother 4.) I was taught my entire life to think that my parents had all the correct answers, and wasn’t ever allowed to question them. So if this guy was my perfect match, I wasn’t about to question it.

Thankfully, the story gets better.

A foundation of years of therapy enabled me to eventually leave my alcoholic husband in a somewhat “Sleeping With the Enemy” style. I call it “The Evacuation.” After my husband left for a long weekend with the boys, I gathered friends at my home to pack my things. Did I tell my mother? No way in hell – I was a clam in the months leading to the evacuation. Twice prior she had convinced me to stay with the alcoholic, so I knew that it was a turning point in my life – she wouldn’t be making any more decisions for me, and I didn’t tell her anything about the evacuation. Needless to say, when I did inform her of the move, she was shocked and tried to convince me to return to him.

I feel like 1 Year of Single is my final phase of the evacuation. Since leaving my ex-husband, I’ve had to completely sever ties with my mother – and I want to rip the control completely out of her hands by not dating for one year. I want to do it on my own terms. And I want to take everything back from the Mother who made me desperate.