Figures, I Gave You Ride Or Die And You Gave Me Games/Love Figures I Gave You All And You Gave Me Shit

I've never felt so outright disrespected probably ever, at least that I can remember. W? He was killed. E? Never knew what he was doing. But this? This is K actively being… well just awful.

So the mess with K? Well I've been working behind the scene trying to get word to him. Making sure he knew that he needed to add people to his contact list and all that jazz.

Just a refresher though…
K asked me originally to track down his final check from work and send him the money. So I'm thinking he's expecting something from me in the mail to be delivered to the prison, and therefore will want my name added to his list of approved contacts. Sounds logical right?

Well not only was the money order I sent returned to me, but when I tried to get word to K about the approved contact list, because in my mind I'm thinking he must not know about it if he hasn't already added my name… he called yesterday to basically piss all over me.

Saying no, don't bother with the money, keep it for him (yeah right) he's known my address the whole time…and he'll call me when he gets out.

Fuck no!

Who does he think he is? Making that choice for me, about when our relationship/friendship/fucked up life goes on hold? On the call yesterday he revealed that he'd been calling everyone EXCEPT me. And all this time, I'm writing him, and trying to do what I can to support him, and now he's throwing it in my face. I don't even know how, but somehow it's my fault for trying to be there for him.

He told me months ago how his ex twisted things for him the first time he went in, messed shit up on the outside and played with some shit that screwed him over, and I was trying instead to do the exact opposite of that. But apparently he's been calling the ex (and everyone else) and she's been twisting my words and making me look like scum and he's just eating it up, without a second thought.

I'm like wow. You just believe everything she said point blank. You haven't even called me. You asked me to do these few things for you and when I try and follow them through, you shit all over me.
Then you say you'll call me when your out, like that should be some gift to me.

No thanks.

A few people have said things along the lines of guys don't like to mix the life inside with out here and try to just do their time, then move on when they get out. People who don't even know K and I and all that's happened. And if that was the case, I MIGHT have been more understanding. But nope. He seems perfectly comfortable mixing the two worlds when he calls his family or friends from back home or his ex, who already messed up prison for him once. So like what the fuck.

It's a damn privilege to have someone like me in your life and you K… just fucked yourself over.

-Jessie Reyez/Figures-

Figures
I gave you ride or die and you gave me games
Love figures
I know I'm crying 'cause you just won't change
Love figures
I gave it all and you gave me shit
Love figures
I wish I could do exactly what you did
I wish I could hurt you back
Love, what would you do if you couldn't get me back
You're the one who's gonna lose
Something so special, something so real
Tell me boy, how in the fuck would you feel?
If you couldn't get me back
That's what I wish that I could do to you, you, hoo, hoo
To you, you, hoo, hoo
Figures
I'm the bad guy 'cause I can't learn to trust
Love figures
You say sorry once and you think it's enough
I got a lineup of girls and a lineup of guys
Begging for me just to give 'em a try
Figures
I'm willing to stay
'Cause I'm sick for your love
I wish I could hurt you back
Love, what would you do if you couldn't get me back
You're the one who's gonna lose
Something so special, something so real
Tell me boy, how in the fuck would you feel?
If you couldn't get me back
That's what I wish that I could do to you, you, hoo, hoo
To you, you, hoo, hoo
Figures

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Mama She Has Taught Me Well Told Me When I Was Young Son Your Life’s An Open Book Don’t Close It ‘Fore It’s Done

So I took the kids to the park yesterday and as Z went off on the slide, little E and I had our “conversation”

The whole “Why doesn’t Dad live with us?” question that he had asked me earlier in the day… I thought I had mentally prepped my answer, thought it through, and I thought I was ready to handle it in a way a 6-year-old would understand, without many follow-up questions.

I thought wrong.

We sat on a park bench and I told him that dad used to live with us and asked him if he remembers living in Kenya with him. He said oh yeah. I went on explaining that something happened between mom and dad, where dads imagination/brain made him think he was in danger a lot and at that time, his mind told him that mom was a bad person, so he hurt mom. So I made the choice that even though at the time I loved dad, I had to make sure you little E and Z, plus myself, were going to be ok. Because I didn’t know if dads mind was going to think up any other silly things that might hurt anyone else. So I took you, little E and Z and we moved out of the house where dad was, and back to Canada to live with Nanna and Nonno.

I wanted to make sure everyone was safe. And now, like I’ve told you before, dad takes medicine to help his voices go away, so he’s not scared anymore. But the medicine also makes him very tired. Which is why when he visits you and Z, he just likes to sit there and doesn’t talk much or have the energy to play with you.

This whole time little E was taking it all in and asking a few questions here and there, but then he asked this ‘how did you disobey?’

It occurred to me that little E STILL remembers what happened to me (he was unfortunately in the room) and also still views it as a spanking. I do spank my kids, but I don’t beat them like E did me. I think because I closely monitor what my kids watch on TV or see online etc, this was the only ‘violence’ he’d really known. So the only word he had to describe one person hitting another in any fashion, was spanking. And therefore, since I obviously don’t spank my kids for fun, he associated it with the fact that I must’ve been being disciplined for something I’d done wrong in the eyes of E. Totally reasonable though process for a 6 year old.

So I explained that (please bear with my very basic explanation, he’s 6 not 16, I had to make sure I was on his level) husbands and wives don’t have to obey each other like kids should obey their parents. Parents have to teach kids because you’re still learning and we are there to guide you. But moms and dads should be a team. Not one the boss of the other. I’m still on your team little E, but I’m coach. There’s a difference. Ok? He kinda nodded but I think he still wanted to know what I did wrong to warrant such a ‘spanking’. Probably so he could avoid that behaviour in the future and not get in such “trouble” himself.

But I reassured him that dads meds made sure that when he’s with little E and Z, he’s ok. Meanwhile my mind is screaming out a million ‘what if’s’ ¬†And reminded him that we’re doing great and having fun living in our house with just the 3 of us.

That’s when he pulled out “Maybe I’ll have another dad one day, that would live with us!” And I said yep. (and then of course the tears welled up, seriously what is wrong with me these days) One day mommy will maybe start dating a man and then get married and you and him can talk about him being your dad. Because little E, E will always be your dad, but… and then he interrupted and said ‘but then I could have two dads!’ With a big smile on his face. I said ‘one day, maybe.’

And in my head simply thought how much I wanted that for him as he joined his sister in the park.


-Metallica/Mama Said-

By Now You Should’ve Somehow Realized What You Gotta Do I Don’t Believe that Anybody Feels The Way I Do About You Now

This post is just some odds and ends about everything that’s been happening lately. I just don’t feel like going to deep into anything because life has been really handing it to me this week, but have I have a lot of quick updates I’d like to share.

My Grandma apparently specified that all the grandkids were to split the money from a piece of land she just recently sold, with everything else going to my grandpa. So I can expect an amazing check from her estate within the next two weeks and I have decided that I’m going to use a portion of it to take my kids and I on a cruise on (or near) my 30th birthday this fall (well that and some backyard renos… among other house fixes. I have to tear up my deck$$$ and so, fake grass here we come). I’ve never been on a cruise or on a relaxing holiday as an adult. Yes I’ve traveled a lot, but never on holiday. So I’ve decided it’s about time. I’ll get back to you in a month or so once I’ve booked it with more details.

Speaking of timelines, the divorce SHOULD be nearing the end. I feel like I’ve been saying this for about 1.5 years, but for real now, everything is agreed on and unless E pulls some random move, we should be signing within a month or two and I’ll officially be a single woman.

Next, work has asked me to start working an extra day per week. So starting in July I’ll move from 3 to 4 days a week and still have a long weekend every week. The extra remuneration is totally worth it, and I’m planning within 6-8 months to get a new car with the additional cash. Cause I still hate my junk bucket.

Plus on top of all that, Eli asked me this morning out of the blue why we don’t live with dad anymore. We were on our way into my parents house and so I told him I would talk to him about it when we had a chance to sit down and discuss it fully later today. I know he knows what happened, because he’s brought it up in the past, he used to refer to it as the time daddy gave mommy a spanking, since that’s the only way his young mind could explain it. Although its been a while since he’s talked like that. I’m not sure if he’s forgotten about the incident or if he just doesn’t get why E doesn’t live with us. I really have to think through how I’m going to deal with this.

I have to really think through how I’m going to handle a lot of stuff in my life right now.

I’m just hoping I get a redo in some areas. Wouldn’t that be nice? A rewind button on life. And yes, I do realize I have a lot of money coming my way in the next while, between my grandma dying, E’s unpaid support, and work upping my pay. Maybe Karma does exist lol? I went for a long time with very little. I sacrificed a lot for both E and the kids. I moved to the middle of nowhere with no electricity or running water for years. No makeup or new clothes or food I didn’t grow. No internet or phone…I kinda feel like I’ve earned everything that’s coming to me. Now I just have to try not to spend it before it’s in my pocket ūüėŹ


-Oasis/Wonderwall-

B*tch Better Have My Money, Pay Me What You Owe Me

$36,408.00 That’s how much E currently owes me in back pay for child support.

I’ve been trying to sort this thing out with my lawyer for what feels like forever now, and I feel like (hopefully) we’re nearing the finish line with this whole divorce. To be honest, it could’ve been much worse than how it’s gone though.

Yes, E is extremely difficult to work with and I have a love/hate relationship with leaving the kids with him, since while technically I get a break from them, I spend the whole time worrying about how he’s probably not caring for them properly.

But to be truthful, we’ve had a fairly amicable divorce. There’s none of that “trying to get the kids against the other parent” stuff happening. One, because E just lives in his own little world in his head and that’s too much thinking on his part to try and manipulate little brains against their mother, and two, I don’t waste effort on bringing him into our¬†conversation in my house when he’s not around. If the kids ask to call him, I let them for sure, although it’s only Z who does and maybe only once every 2-3 months. Also, to avoid conflict,¬†my family and I have come up with a code name for E so if we want to discuss the divorce or anything about him and the kids are around (although we try to avoid that) we can use his alias and then talk freely without worrying about tainting the kids view of him.

We also didn’t have that unspoken “competition” to see who would find a successful¬†new relationship first. Basically because I feel like E would most likely never be in a relationship again. Now don’t get it twisted, I totally think people with severe mental health issues can be in long lasting healthy relationships, but I just unfortunately don’t see that happening for E. He’s just not capable of it. As for me? I really wish him the best, and if he does find someone to marry…. I would wish them all the best like literally because they would need it, but I wouldn’t feel pressured to race to find someone myself if E was “first”. To each their own you know.

But now after 3 years and 2 months since filing for divorce, 2 lawyers, and one psych ward lock up later, we’re nearing the end (again fingers crossed).¬†Plus it looks like it will be worth it. $36,000+ worth it.

When I think of that amount… I get frustrated. I think of the standard of life my kids and I have been living for the past 3 years, while we could have been enjoying 12 grand more a year? It pisses me off. My kids could’ve had those lessons they wanted instead of chilling at home every night. Or the newest toy for Christmas that everyone was talking about instead of new pyjamas and underwear. We wouldn’t have had to live with my parents until a year ago. Their college funds could’ve been jacked by now! It just would’ve, and apparently should’ve been much better in the past if E had paid up like he was supposed to. But since he’s a cheapskate, my kids missed out on some things that should’ve been theirs.¬†Although in the past little while, since I finished school and got a job, I’ve been able to provide all those things on my own. And yes, the support E sends each month, although not as much as he’s supposed to send, is welcome, it’s just nice to know the kids and I would still be alright without it.

Now… I just have to plan a nice $36,000 vacation! Suggestions?


-Rihanna/BBHMM-

There’s Such a Difference Between us, and a Million Miles¬†

This morning I remembered about a time I was “in love” before W. Do I think you can love more than one person in your life? Yes, we are human and feel emotions for people. But, what I felt for J should probably be classified more as an infatuation or a fling, and because I was so young, I didn’t know any better so I definitely thought I was in love. Although I definitely doodled my name with his last name for a solid month… ah young “love”

After I graduated high school, I decided it was time to get away from life here and start exploring the world. Travel is a big deal to me. Expanding my mind and discovering other cultures and just having new experiences was important. I never wanted to be someone who stayed in the province I grew up in, never giving myself a chance to learn about the world. I had chosen that I would not be an ignorant person. So straight after I bought my car I started saving up for my “trip”.

I had decided I was going to go, by myself, to Africa for three months. I found an organization who needed support and would host me, and after saving another 6-7 grand (flights/shopping/safari/souvenirs) I set off to Namibia in January of 2006 to volunteer in an AIDS orphanage.

It changed my life. It was my first glimpse of poverty and people in real need. This was the true definition of Ghetto. We commuted into the small community of Katatura in the capital of Windhoek daily and it was terrible and beautiful at the same time. But the children…. the children were captivating. They loved life despite what they were going through, yes they didn’t know any different, but they found joy in the day-to-day regardless. My first tattoo was a line from a poem I wrote when I got home to commemorate my time there and the children I fell in love with. It’s written in Afrikaans and translated says “who my love dares”… and to me it means if you love something or someone you should do whatever it takes to boldly show it.

Anyways, J was one of the long term workers at the organization that hosted me. He had grown up in the community and had overcome all that life had thrown at him, only to return and help those in similar situations. Hot right? Right.

We didn’t really connect until a month into my trip, but then it was like a whirlwind. He was writing me love notes and throwing rocks at my window late at night so we could talk. Then sometimes at night we would sneak out to the field and spend hours talking¬† under the stars. It was actually really romantic thinking back. He was older then me and very convincing, and even though I wasn’t technically on vacation, I wasn’t at home in my regular environment either, so I figured I should let loose and went with it.

By the time April rolled around, J had convinced me that we were meant to be together, and that he would find a way to join me in Canada. My innocent 18 year old self totally hung on to each word he said. This man wrote me poems and songs for me which he serenaded me with on the front porch while strumming a guitar (dreamy hey) How could I possibly think any else?

Well, after I returned home, the emails and even a few international phone calls went back and forth for probably 6-8 months… pretty good for a long distance “relationship” at 18. But then…. things just petered out I guess? I’m not even sure what happened to be honest. Over 10 years has past and well… J never made it here. I never went back, although I never said I would. But we both moved on with our lives. At least I did, I never found out what happened to J. And I’m realizing that although I’m sure I was heartbroken at the time, possibly even cried once or twice, it’s basically been inconsequential in the long-term of my life.

I barely even remember that it happened let alone how it ended.

And maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll be at a point in my life one day where I look back and see E that way. Where I barely remember that he happened. And hopefully I’ll also forget how it ended.


-Adele/Hello-

I’ll Choose To Survive, Whatever It Takes¬†

Yesterday I took my kids to the zoo, where I got my first mosquito bite of the year. I’m sure no one’s a fan of mosquitoes, but I have a particular hatred towards them. When I lived in Kenya they took an extreme liking to me. I could stand in a group ¬†of people, didn’t matter how many, and the stupid insects would choose me to bite, and ultimately infect me with Malaria. I’ve officially been diagnosed with the deadly disease on 5 different occasions, and I can tell you first hand, it is not fun, but one time in particular was much worse than the rest.

It was the first time we had moved to Kenya, and we were living in Nakuru when I began to feel ill. I’d never had Malaria before so I wasn’t sure what the symptoms were or what to do about it. Yes, I had all my immunization before I traveled, but there are many different strains of the virus and the shots cannot protect from them all. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Anyways, I became weak. So weak, because I couldn’t keep anything down (or in or up or however you want to put it). I lived in the bathroom with a bucket because for the first 4-5 days it was coming out everywhere, all the time. I tried my best to stay hydrated, knowing how important that was, for myself and because I was nursing little E, but it got to the point that I couldn’t even keep water down. I tried drinking pineapple Fanta (in place of ginger ale) one tiny capful at a time to settle my stomach every six hours or so, and I couldn’t even keep half a grape down. I easily lost¬†15-20 pounds over the course of the maybe 10 days total that¬†I was sick.

Finally, about a week into me lying in bed/sitting on the toilet, E suggested we go for a walk, and that all I needed was some “fresh air”. What I didn’t know at the time was that we were out of groceries and he wanted me to help him do the shopping. And, in his romantic fashion, he offered to carry little E, ohhh thanks ūüėí. So after about a week of being literally the sickest I’ve ever been, I got dressed (barely) and started out on what was normally a 45 minute walk to the Tusky’s Supermarket. Well this time… it took almost 2 hours. I had to stop every 5 steps or so to prevent myself from passing out or throwing up (throwing up what, I don’t know since I hadn’t eaten in days, but my stomach was churning). When we finally got to the store I made E go inside and do the shopping alone, because I didn’t want to throw up inside.

Then, because I was so exhausted, I insisted E find us a tuktuk to drive us home because there was no way I would make it back without dropping dead¬†plus¬†E had¬†also expected me to carry half the groceries?!?! Seriously? Nope I wasn’t moving. I literally sat down in the middle of the parking lot until he found a tuktuk to take us home. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, and for me that was staging a “sit in’ in the parking lot.

Once home, it took me two days to “recover” from the walk before I finally told E I needed a Doctor. I realized this wasn’t just your standard Kenyan food poisoning and it wasn’t getting better on its own. So instead of calling a piki piki for me to ride on to the hospital, E suggested we start walking and we would just hail one on the way. Again, I’m past sick. Past exhausted, or the point of arguing. I’m just wanting to get better. So, I struggled to get dressed, puke up nothing a couple more times, and we start off on the very slow walk to the clinic.

Of course, with my luck, not one piki piki drives past us the entire time. And E just watches me struggle for an hour trying to get to the clinic instead of call any of the drivers he knows. But finally, we arrive.

The nurse or doctor or whomever takes my blood to go figure out what’s wrong and as I’m waiting I have to go. Like GO. NOW! So I rush across the hall to the “bathroom” which is a literal hole in the floor. Ok, fine. Since living in Kenya I’ve gotten used to the whole squatting thing, but as I frantically look around I noticed there’s no toilet paper. That’s where I draw the line. I’ll squat fine. But I have to wipe! Especially in a “hospital”? How unsanitary! So I run back to the Dr’s office where I remember seeing some Kleenex on the counter and the tech is in there so I quickly ask if I can use the tissue and grab it without even¬†waiting for a response. I RUN back to the “toilet” and barely make it in time.

Then, I have to casually walk back to the office and discreetly place the tissue box back on the counter like no one knew what was happening, while totally worn out by the sheer effort of the running. Meanwhile the tech is politely pretending he didn’t notice anything, how kind right?

About half hour later, my blood work had been analyzed and the results were in.

Turns out, I had BOTH Malaria AND Typhoid! WTF! Not one but TWO deadly diseases at the same time! No wonder a walk for some fresh air didn’t do¬†anything lol. I was actually dying. Literally DYING!

Anyways, the Doctor said he’d never seen anything like it before (story of my life) and gave me a whole bunch of different medications for the various diseases and dehydration. Then sent me on my way. I refused to leave (again) until E called me a ride, for which he obliged right away. Saying things like “Oh C, you’re so strong” and “Wow, you actually were sick”. He’s lucky I was sick and tired, because I just didn’t have the energy to tell him how I felt.

Needless to say, I’ve obviously recovered, just don’t ask me to donate blood ūüėŹ.


-Muse/Survival-

I Tear Myself Open I Sew Myself Shut / Our Scars Remind Us That the Past is Real. 

My biggest physical scar is from E. We had been apart for about 9 months due to immigration issues. So he was stuck in Kenya and I had had to come back to Canada to support us and little E. I sent E money every week for his rent and groceries and whatever else he needed. But finally, in the new year of 2012, it had just been too long apart. Too long with just long distance calls or Skyping. Too long where we had only been texting. Too long since little E had seen and felt his dad. So in a last minute move I got two weeks off work in January and little E and I were on our way back to Kenya for a visit.

I’m sure you can imagine that travel with small children is not the most pleasant experience. You’d be right, it’s not. But imagine traveling with a boy who’s 18 months old, on a trip that will take at least 45 hours one way. AND… throw an 18 hour straight flight from Dubai to Toronto on the way back in there. It is draining. You don’t sleep. The food you eat upsets your stomach, but even worse your kid’s stomach. You are constantly making sure your child is ok, and not bothering anyone else. On top of the regular stressors travel brings… finding gates, catching planes, maintaining passports and other documents, carrying luggage, navigating new cities, attempting to communicate in foreign languages, sleeping in new beds/airport seats. All of that, plus a kid or two. Not my definition of glamorous to say the least.

Either way, I set out with little E tucked in a sling and my trusty bag in tow. Thankfully this trip wasn’t as eventful as my last trip with little E. He behaved exceptionally well, and the stewardesses even found me a great spot on all my flights with an extra spot for little E.¬†Bonus!

E bussed to Nairobi to meet us there. I had asked him to find us a hotel there for us to spend the night before we had to bus back to his sisters house the next day. This turned out to be a Herculean task for E, which in hindsight, I should have anticipated and just took care of myself. The hotel he found was two towns over. So he had arranged for us to take a taxi for almost two hours to the bed and breakfast place he had found. It was a cute little place, but to be honest, after being stuck on a plane, in a chair for the past two days, the last thing I wanted to do was sit in a car for another 2 hours. All I could think about were the zillion hotels we were driving past as we inched into the night.

Either way, we finally got to this secluded place. We were the only guests staying there, and because of the drive, we didn’t arrive until close to 3 am. It took about 15-20 minutes to rouse the guard at the gate, and then get someone awake to ¬†get us into our room.

As we were shown into our room, E was holding little E, which was great, I wanted them to bond. But it left me with the luggage, not as great. I had packed a huge hockey bag¬†of things for E that he had asked me to bring that he needed/wanted from Canada and that thing weighed a ton. Also, at some point during one of the flights, part of it has torn, exposing some metal wiring on the bottom, which I didn’t realize as I dragged it in.

I asked E to help me get the bag out of the way of the door, and as he lifted it up to throw it on the bed, the exposed wires cut a huge gash on my leg. The cut was so long and deep I learned more about the inside of my body that day than anything the Magic School Bus ever taught me.

It also wouldn’t stop bleeding.

At first I headed to the bathroom and just tried rinsing it off, but it kept bleeding, so I grabbed a shirt and tied a makeshift tourniquet around my leg. I ended up going through 4 of E’s shirts in 6 hours during the night before the bleeding showed any signs of slowing.

I asked E to find a Dr. or somewhere we could go so I could get stitches, something that seems like I obviously needed to anyone. But nope. E said he was too tired. What? You? I’M the one who just flew around the world with our 18 month old kid on her own. I’m the one who’s been working her¬†butt off to support our kid and E. I’m the one who’s loosing mass amounts of blood from a cut you caused. But you’re too tired?

Ok. Thanks. I just arrived in the country. I have no phone to use, it’s about¬†4¬†in the morning, and I don’t even know what town I’m in. So I really didn’t have much choice but to wait until the morning when he wasn’t “as tired” to get help.

Well, by the morning, the bleeding had slowed and so by this point I didn’t care about getting stitches as much as I cared about getting to E’s sisters place and attempting to get a decent sleep.

We grabbed a matatu and after another 8 hour ride arrived at our final destination. And his sisters were PISSED that¬†he hadn’t taken me for stitches. They spent the evening disinfecting and bandaging my leg like I was a wounded solider. Well that and berating E for not taking me to the doctor that I had so obviously required.

And yep. I’ll admit I was petty and revelled in the fact that they felt the same way I did. And that they were making him feel bad about not helping me. Because it’s not like I expected him to magically heal me. Or sew me up himself. But I would’ve appreciated if he had acknowledged my body was broken and needed to be fixed. And at the very least wanted to see me whole.

But no. E was always only about E. No matter whose blood was spilled in the process.


-Papa Roach/Scars-

I’m Friends With the Monster That’s Under My Bed. Get Along With the Voices Inside of My Head

Once E was served with divorce papers, he called me freaking out. It took over two months for my lawyer and I to get everything straightened out on paper and all the proper documents filled out, before he was actually notified on April 29, 2014. All the time between my flying back from Kenya and him being served, I think he thought I was joking, or just playing a game, hoping he would change or something. I honestly don’t know why he was so surprised that I actually filed for divorce. When I say I’m going to do something, I do it…

But, those papers¬†started a whole myriad of amazing lies on his part.¬† Time after time I was left speechless at the items he put in his “sworn statements.” Things he “promised” were the truth, and it just confirmed to me how much of a liar I’d been married too.

First and foremost, he claimed that he had caught me IN BED with our farm boy that Sunday morning back in January, but no violence occurred,¬†and so he wanted to divorce me because of that. Seriously? At this point E, I don’t even care as long as I get out of this marriage to you. But then it went on to say that I had beat up his mother when I was trying to leave Kenya (claiming she had¬†suffered a concussion) and that the incident with his father and the van never occurred. Oh common.¬†¬†Next, he said that I owed him some $21,000.00 for some reason. Haha for real? Dude, you haven’t held a long-term¬†steady job our entire relationship! I’ve paid for¬†practically everything in our lives, meaning houses/land, cars, and multiples cross-continental trips every time you had a whim that you wanted to move back and forth between Kenya & Canada. If anything you owe me a ridiculous sum of money. But¬†I wasn’t asking for money. All I wanted was a life free from E. As soon as possible.

Life never works out like that though. Because after I left E, his mental health deteriorated quickly. He slowly stopped answering phone calls, and even texts became too much for him. He started missing meetings with his lawyer which delayed everything even more than necessary. I was on the phone with him one day after not hearing from him for a while. I asked him how he was doing, knowing his past problems with anxiety. He shared with me then, that he was too scared to leave his house to even get groceries. I tried my best to convince him to get help, to find a Dr., or someone he felt comfortable confiding in to talk to, but nothing ever came of it.

Then, a couple of weeks later, he went missing. Not answering calls, or texts. He even missed showing up to a prearranged visit with the kids. So I got worried.¬†Just because¬†I no longer wanted to be the man’s wife, didn’t mean I wanted anything bad to happen to him (or anyone). So the search was on. He had been staying with a guy from work, who said he hadn’t seen him in a couple of days (also mentioned that E owed him rent money if I felt like paying, haha no thanks). I called his work, who said E didn’t show up to the plane to head up to camp for his latest shift. I called some of his family in Kenya, as well as his one brother living in the States… No one had heard from him.

So I ended up calling¬†the police to file¬†a missing person report. I explained that he might be dangerous, and that he didn’t have all his faculties at the moment. They,¬†again, weren’t helpful. They explained that even if they did find him, they couldn’t do anything. E was a grown ass man. If he didn’t want anyone to know where he was, then the police couldn’t inform me of his whereabouts even if they did locate him. Fine. I was just trying to be helpful. It’s the middle of January and I’m thinking he’s out on the streets somewhere, afraid of life and no ones around to help. And I felt bad. During this time, I felt bad for leaving him. I felt like I had been the stability in his life, and maybe if I had stayed with E, then his illness would’ve never progressed to this point. I felt like my leaving him had “pushed him over the edge” so to speak.

But then a phone call came. It was E, and he was on his way across the country. He told me he had sold everything he owed except what fit in one suitcase, and had bought a bus ticket to Ottawa. What??? WHY??? Oh, C. Don’t ask a mentally ill person to explain their actions… because then you get answers like the following.

He felt like people were out to get him, and so he didn’t feel safe where he was. Umm Ok? Why Ottawa though? Two reasons, he has one friend from Kenya who lived there, and the Kenyan Embassy was located there. What the heck is¬†the Embassy going to do? You need a Doctor! I couldn’t hear much else over the phone so our call was ended abruptly since the bus was going through a¬†tunnel of sorts, but I knew he was at least alive. I called his family to let them know where he was and to let the friend in Ottawa know to expect E. I had to then call the police and cancel my missing person report, even though I knew they had been putting zero effort into finding him.

Another month or so went by with no word from E. Until finally one day I receive an email from his email address, but I knew right away it wasn’t him who had written it. “He” asked how the kids were doing and also needed some paperwork from me. I emailed back asking where he had been for the last month, and who was writing his emails and then they whole story came out. Kinda… Well as good as it gets with this man.

After he got to Ottawa, he somehow found his old rugby buddy and stayed with him for a bit. But the “voices” became too much for him. And the paranoia was so bad, that his friend found him one morning sleeping UNDER the bed. So at that point, his friend took him to the hospital. Where he’d been officially diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia, depression and extreme anxiety. He was locked up in the pysch ward, fed a¬†concoction of medication, and hadn’t had access to his phone or email¬†until that day, since he had earned access outside the ward.¬†His therapist had helped him write the email to me.

In some ways I felt relieved that he was finally getting help. I felt like it validated my feelings of frustration. Trying for years to make a marriage work. A relationship work. But constantly feeling like I wasn’t getting through. Feeling like he was never listening to me. In a way, he never was. He was listening to the voices in his head. The voices telling him everyone was against him. That I was against him. It explained a lot, and although¬†it didn’t forgive his behaviour, it made me feel like less of a failure. Like I had done all that I could, but he was legitimately ill.¬†I could’ve tried ’til I was blue in the face, but nothing would’ve helped our marriage. Not until he received the proper care he needed, and I and others had continually suggested. And now he was getting it.

E was held in the psychiatric ward for¬†about 4-5¬†months. The doctors called me a few times asking for a little background information, and informing me of his treatment plan. I had to explain many times that we were no longer a couple and that no, I wouldn’t be helping him once he was released. E ended up staying with his friend in Ottawa for about 3 months once he was released from the ward. The Doctors wanted to make sure he was following up on his medication and counselling, letting me know that there is no cure for his condition, and that he would be on medication for life. Also letting me know that¬†a relapse is likely, and that if there was a history of violence, there was a strong possibility of more violence.

E’s friend was fine with having him stay there, but after a while, I could tell that he was getting a little frustrated with E’s extended stay, and I had to break it down to E. He couldn’t live with his friend forever. His friend was married with two kids, and although I’m sure they’d enjoyed this catch up time,¬†he and his wife¬†probably wanted to get back to their own life. E was able to call his old job and get his previous position back for himself, even though his hours/duties had to be modified. I was probably¬†just as glad as his friend was for him to start back at work, because I’d been missing out on child support payments for the last 8-9 months.

Now that E is on medication, he is a little more reliable as far as payments for the kids go, but the meds have changed him. He is constantly tired and has gained a solid 50 lbs. His thinking¬†has slowed dramatically and it’s like talking to a kid. When he does get to see¬†our kids (about once a month) he takes them to the same place and sits there while he watches them play. Actually, now that I think about it… that’s pretty much how he was before minus the weight gain. So not much has changed.


-Eminem/Monster-

Flaws On the Table, I Don’t Feel Insecure

Today I have to write just to get out of my head. Last night K called again, and somewhere during folding laundry and watching the hockey game, he threw out this… “offer” or “suggestion” shall we call it.

To paraphrase, he brought up how I was considering a boob job among other things, and said if he were to pay for it, would I get like a fat transfer deal thing. Basically where they take the fat from my stomach and stick it in my ass.

…Ummm… Why? Why do you want me to do it? What would you pay for it? It took me so long to drag the answer out of him, but in the end the answer was reasonable and made me both¬†smile, and feel¬†incredibly¬†hurt all at once.

He explained that how a body looks is very important to him (obviously, he’s of the male species I expect nothing less), but he knows it’s not as important to me. Also that he understands¬†I don’t have the time/energy/money to invest into my body like that. So he’s willing to do it for me… so that we could be together. Then there was a comment about mind, soul, and body… I have mind and soul…and he would help with my body.

HOLD UP, wait a minute. I am sooo conflicted right now. Do I want all that he’s offering? Sure! I’d love to have a few things done here and there.. and to not have to pay? Bonus! But as a condition for getting together with¬†a guy? Hell no! Who do you think you are! This is my body. Plus, how do you think it makes me feel now, KNOWING that every time we’ve fucked you have been thinking about my stomach or ass, or lack thereof. Shit. It makes me feel like shit.

He did explain it so beautifully though. He said he would do his best to keep himself looking good and would do this for me, so that I could feel good. Although for some reason he felt the¬†need to throw in the fact that¬†“back home” the¬†girls (strippers)¬†all have amazing bodies.¬†And it just makes me feel less then. Like what happens if I do this, and we get together for what I think is long term, and then one day my body changes again? Is that when we’re done? Or he wants another nip/tuck here/there?¬†Plus for the record, I am never going to be a stripper, so what does my body matter, if I don’t plan on making a living off of it!

And what is he willing to change for me? Not much by the sounds of it. We talked a little, him about how body image is very important, and me about how security, stability and safety is important for myself and my kids. He just said in the simplest of terms that he is who is, and doesn’t plan on changing how he lives, at least not any time soon.

So on one hand, I do understand where he is coming from, and he said it as kindly as could be said and I am considering it, because I do have such strong feelings for him. But on the other (feminist/logical) hand, I feel like it was something that never needed to be said. If he wanted to be with me, he would accept my mind body and soul as is. And if I wanted to change, I would change.

Ahhhhh, life.

 

-Kevin Gates/Excuse Me-

 

I Got a Notion to Say What Doesn’t Feel Right

As it stands now, I hate Mother’s Day.

This will be my 7th Mother’s Day, and I’ve yet to enjoy a single one. Yes, I’ve been a single parent for 3 of them already, coming up on my forth this Sunday, and I’m actually dreading it.

When married to E, he never understood the whole concept of celebrating the woman who gave birth to his children. The woman who brought life into the world. It never occurred to him to actually do anything special for me, whether it be something as simple as a card or flowers or something more extravagant (Ha, yea right). But nope, nothing. Ever.

So I learned to keep my expectations super low.

But now, as a single mom, for some reason people feel the need to bring up “How hard it must be” or “How do you do it alone”¬†and all that crap on Mother’s Day. But then they have no follow up to it. No offers to help or anything. It’s like, I don’t need your pity. I don’t need a holiday to acknowledge my status of pushing a human out of my vagina. I have my¬†life everyday to show me the reality of that.

What I need is a vacation. Or a night away from my kids. Or a simple massage.

So, no. I don’t need your words saying “I’m doing great” or “you could only imagine how hard it must be” Because first off, I know I’m doing a fantastic job of raising my kids. Your two cents makes no difference in how I choose to parent. But also, yeah, it’s beyond difficult. And I do struggle every day. Not just one stupid Sunday in May when Hallmark decided they wanted to make a huge profit. This is my life. 24/7. So keep your¬†moronic comments to yourself. Don’t try to appease your guilt by talking to me on this one day a year. If you truly cared, or wanted to imagine what it must be like for me, why don’t you try it for a night. Why don’t you take my kids for a night?

I have my kids ALL THE TIME. Which I am SOOOO grateful for because I don’t want them to have to spend a single¬†night with E. So yeah, after 3 years I do have sole custody. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish for a break sometimes. After 3 years I’ve had¬†a couple¬†nights where my kids have slept at my parents house. Maybe¬†4 or 5¬†nights in over¬†3 years. A handful of nights in more than 1175 nights where I didn’t have to do the bedtime routine alone.¬†I can count on one hand the number of¬†nights where I could relax and sleep in as late as I wanted and not have to worry about what are my kids going to eat for breakfast.¬†A few¬†nights where I could walk around my house naked and not have to worry about scarring my son for life ;0 .

But the other thousand and change… was me and my kids… and no one else.

So I don’t wanna hear you saying “Happy Mother’s Day C” with a fake smile this Sunday. Cause no. It’s gonna be a Sunday like every other Sunday. Where I’m going to wake up in bed, with no breakfast on my nightstand. I’m going to go down to my kitchen. I’m going to make my kids breakfast. I’m going to wash the dishes. I’m going to help Z get dressed for the day. I’m going to open the handmade cards from my kids that have been sitting there since Friday, that they made at school/daycare. I’m going to appreciate them like nothing else.

And I truly want that to be it.

I don’t want those dumb e-cards. Or generic emails. Or annoying voicemails, because you know I’m not answering your call this weekend. Or ridiculous Facebook posts. Or obtuse comments from hypocritical people.

Just please leave me and my kids alone.

Like you do the other 364 days of the year.


-Kings Of Leon/Notion-