At the Airport and Anxiety

I had to travel for work this week and felt a lot better about the anxiety. But it’s waning. I still needed some help now and then and I don’t quite know what all the triggers are, or how to control them. I found myself in the mall looking for a sports bra and suddenly feeling my chest aching and overwhelmmed. The odd thing is if it’s not in my head and I’m feeling calm up there, it’s in my chest. Like a sharp, electrical shock, or gas bubble wanting to come out and it can’t get through.  I always thought people were kidding when they said their nerves were frayed. But I think that’s actually what’s going on. I envision split ends along these synaptic patterns of short circuited nerve endings trying to repair themselves. I think that’s what’s happening with me. I can almost hear the welding torches at work. I am relieved because even the worst episode is fairly tame compared to that first week. I thought I was absolutely losing my mind for good. And it was the beginning of the end.  I thank the Lord that it happened over the holiday break, so I had a chance to hole up in a corner and not lose my job. I was doing better and then he bulldozed into the house and I was back again.


Right now I’m feeling very jittery and ruminating like a worry wart on what should be and is a good thing. Something that only yesterday I was deliriously excited about. I think I got a shot of adrenaline in the airport that threw me off and into this. I went to my gate and saw that it was delayed. I went down the hall to a sushi place, ordered my sushi, saw on my app that the plane was now delayed an hour. I went back to the gate and everyone was gone. Nothing on the sign. I started to panic that I somehow read the sign wrong and it took off without me. This is what I get for trying to relax when I think everything is under control. There goes my trip to LV, and my ski trip to Seattle with a friend. How was I going to explain this to my boss? Flights were sold out for weeks now because of this show. I know that because I couldn’t change my ticket to anything


As I stared at the empty seats a worker came up to me and said, what are you looking for? I said where’s my flight? He said Las Vegas? I said yes. It was moved to gate 74 (we were standing at 135) so I had to hightail it over there. The whole time I was eating sushi I thought good, I’m close to the gate, I’ll hop over in a few. But these are the normal things that happen at a busy airport. I need to roll with these things. What would have happened? I would have gone home. Or gotten car service, or gotten on stand by and maybe got out later that day or the next day. I would have found an attendant that might have helped me. I’d call my company travel service and tell them what happened. I’d tell my boss what happened and she’d say oh well, get the next flight out that you can. Maybe she’d think I was a dolt, maybe not. But she’d forgive me. I need to stop letting these things work me up into a lather.


I’d had a few other bumps that day that didn’t help. I was being proactive and called my realtor asking her when the showing was on my house. She said they’d already been there and didn’t like the yard. She didn’t mention a second one. My driver was making me a little nuts. He called me very early in the morning and I couldn’t understand a word he said, but it sounded like he was there waiting for me. But he was supposed to be there at 1 pm. I finally got it straight with him that he was to come at 1. He was just calling to confirm before he drove up to Podunk. Then I squeezed in a pedicure and raced back home to pack. I knew I had until 1. He called me at 12;30 to tell me he was outside the house. Thanks for stressing me out, knowing that the man was waiting there. What he didn’t tell me is he took off and went touring the neighborhood and went for a slice of pizza. That would have made me feel better and not so rushed. Then I got a ring at the doorbell at 12:45. I said, what is with this driver? I told him I wouldn’t be ready until 1. I get there and there’s a boat load of people and the realtor is handing me his card. We have an apt to see the place? I said, you do? I called and they said you came already. Nope we didn’t. OK, well please excuse me while I race around the house and try to stuff my underwear in my suitcase. So I had people roaming my house, which I really probably can’t handle right now. It’s just another reminder of the divorce and the mess that is my life. Yes, don’t mind me packing my snazzy suitcase while the walls are coming down because of the leak in the roof thanks to a once in a lifetime hurricane that had to hit when I was trying to keep the house in one piece.


So I raced around and tried not to invade these’s strangers privacy and let them pick apart what was once my home, in their minds.  Put the fishfeeder in the fish tank that M. wanted so bad and now I take care of. Make sure the cats have food and the black one doesn’t get outside. Then of course I raced outside to discover my driver missing. I panicked that he was somewhere on the other side of the world somehow thinking he was sitting in my driveway. Then of course the house hunters came out and said hi and asked me what the deal was with the great wall of P. Ah, well that’s what started my divorce I wanted to say. But I didn’t. Told them the elevator pitch, how much it would cost to fix, how it got a bit out of control but can be fixed. I stood there in my driveway with these strangers apologizing to them for the state of my home, even though I didn’t know they existed a hour before. I felt I needed to apologize to them now. I wanted to apologize for having no make up on, for not having my driver there so I could get away, for not having known they were coming, for not having my bags packed, equioment charged, files downloaded and ready to roll. I had planned on downloading the stuff I needed and then the phone rang and the doorbell rang and the world came crashing in.


But in the end my driver came, who I still couldn’t understand but was certainly a chatty Cathy. The strangers left and will melt back into the black pool of home buyers never to be heard from again.


I’m sitting on the plane now. I  stressed over my gate moving, the car at security repeating relentlessly to take out even the lint from your pocket, I stressed over where to sit at the sushi place, where my fellow flyers went, why there was a guy sitting in my seat (he was in 25A not 26A). Stressed that they charged me extra because my bag was seven pounds over but I couldn’t schlep anymore on board, my back was already breaking from my bag with my laptop, stressed over the power in my phone and the files only half downloaded on my ipad that I should have done days ago. But in the end. I’m in the air, my stuff is here.  I’m on my way, I’ll get through the evening. If there’s one thing I change this year it’s getting better at rolling with things. Sometimes I’m really good at it and I’m cool under pressure. Sometimes I’m a wreck. Lately my mind seems to choose to be the wreck version of me. Have to figure out why that is. But if I can stop myself mid spiral and say—so what, you might have missed your flight. There’s no war going on. There’s no meteor hurtling toward earth, everyone’s fairly healthy. Chill for God’s sake.

If I can do that I’ll be half in the bag.




The Rock Under The Deck


P informed me that we’d have to build the deck around this big rock under the old deck as it couldn’t be moved. It was really an iceberg, a small part of glacial rock that was attached to a huge piece under the house. I said, no it’s just a big rock. It can be moved. He insisted I didn’t know what I was talking about. And brought his father over to concur. I said, this earth has all been moved around by the builder. Its not bedrock. It’s just a rock. He stomped his feet and insisted. And said we’d have to either can the whole deck project or make this elaborate thing where we would frame out the rock and move around it. As if it were a big oak tree. I looked at him, picked up his iron bar, went to the rock, put another rock in front of it, wedged the bar under it, flipped the fucking rock over and it rolled down the hill.

I looked at him and said, you and your father are a couple of morons. I don’t trust, or believe a word that comes out of your mouths. Never speak to me again about building a deck here. Don’t ever plan a single project in this house again because you’re both bat shit crazy and you make everything so elaborate and undoable. I handed him his iron bar and walked away.

And funny enough, he thought I was kidding.


Thank you legal system for making me less safe than before

Thank you legal system for making me less safe. No one believes me when I tell them how this crazy divorce has transpired. The summer before last I decided I wanted a divorce from my husband, as is my legal right in this country. I was honest and open with him and told him. He wasn’t happy about it and we both knew neither could afford to move out. And of course, all the books and experts tell you to never leave the house because of custody issues.

So we remained in the house together and I helped him move into the spare bedroom. We tried to get along. He then started following me around the house constantly questioning me and wanting to talk about it. I responded for awhile. But it got to be too much. It continued, the verbal assaults got ugly and every day he was accusing me of sleeping with other people, calling me a slut, coming in the door and screaming FU at me in front of my daughter. He then came to me one day, called me out of the shower and said you need to leave. I can’t look at you anymore. I said, no 1) I can’t. And 2) this is my home and I have nowhere to go and 3) I pay the mortgage here too.

He then got nasty and said, you are fucking getting out of this house you bitch. Things escalated and he ended up pinning me to the doorframe and clenching his teeth and shaking get out of this house you bitch. So I ran for my room. Locked myself inside with my daughter, my dogs and my cell phone. I texted my mother and friends all night about what to do. My mother said this is abuse. If you don’t go to the police I will. So the next morning I got dressed as quickly as I could. He was calm and I skirted around him. I did tell him he terrified me the night before and he simply said, no I didn’t you are overreacting. It was nothing. So I went to the police and asked them am I insane or am I being abused and told them the story. The police said where is he now. I said on his way to work. They were ready to pick him up. It would mean him getting arrested, going in front of the judge and possibly getting a stay away order right then and there. But that meant a missed day of work, a mark on his record. Stupid me, I should have let them. But I was soft. I knew we needed his paycheck. The police told me I could go to family court and request an order of protection and that wouldn’t be considered a crime the way it would if it went through them. So I did. I wrote down with the person they connected me with at court and wrote out exactly what happened. I had answered all the questions. They asked me to put down everything I could think of. I also put down that a few years back I had stopped him from choking our baby in a fit of rage. Even though it happened right in front of me he denied it and said I didn’t understand what I was seeing.

So I went in front of the judge and he gave me a temporary restraining order to refrain from, not a stay away. All that does is tell the other person don’t do the things you are not supposed to do or it will be a felony instead of a misdemeanor. This includes verbal or physical assault, sexual assault, choking etc. I had him served. He was pissed to say the least. But he was free to walk right in the house and do whatever he wanted and it was for me to prove that he did it.

The very next day he went up to court in the evening and got an order of protection against me, the same refrain from. Thank you court system. His complaint was that I called him a man child, used my kickboxing skills (5 classes he claimed made me a martial arts expert), had stabbed him with a knife, I did not. Told him he had a vagina and broke his finger five years earlier (no proof and I did not). ANd that I stood in the doorway of his bedroom and blocked the college football player from leaving when he wanted to. (He was acting erratic and I didn’t want to leave until I saw that he was calm as I’d done a hundred times before). No one seemed to notice that this was requested right after I filed for one on very serious complaints.

So he got it, and we had to actually go through a trial to see if they’d stick. All day long we had the most rediculous trial where he blubbered like a baby on the stand. His attorney used my father in law as a witness who was not even there. They claimed I was just as strong as the ex-body builder, college football player because I was close to the same weight as him. Someone never bothered to check that fat and muscle have a lot to do with weight and strength. It was the most ludicrous argument. Then he lied and said he was naked when I blocked him in the doorway, which it was. I said but he just lied under oath, that’s perjury. Guess what, he must have perjured himself 50 times and nobody blinked. I think actually getting in trouble for perjury is only for the movies.

At the end of weighing all the evidence, and seeing the clear difference between the two sides, the judge decided to give us his and hers two year refrain from orders to try and keep us quiet. But that works when both parties are rational.

So what did that result in? Unbridled violations and harassment of him to me. Why have I not violated him as I have a clear right to? Because he’s told me that he has every intention of making anything up he needs to to the police the minute I violate him. If he’s going to jail I will too. So according to the police, all he has to do is be willing to sign a statement that I did any number of things. He doesn’t need to prove any of it. He can make it up and as we’ve seen from how easy it was for him to get a restraining order, lying goes a long way. So I’m pretty much guaranteed if I violate him, and he gets arrested, then I will too and it’s a felony. More legal costs, time off work, I think it goes on my record, the chance of being convicted. Not to mention my daughter would have both her parents sitting in jail.

So he spent the next few months after that threatening to move back into the house (to share a home with a person in private and we both have restraining orders against each other), I can’t prove it but I believe he scratched my car, he’s come and gone in the house and taken things, he has left used condoms pinned to the garbage can for me to see (he told me how he did that to his other ex in his 20s to prove to her that he could bag another bimbo), continues to curse me out. Came in the house and followed me around with a camera and asked me about all the cock I’m sucking and said, make that pretty mouth you used to make for me and opened his mouth in an O shape. He claimed he knew I’d been on dates because the dating site I signed up with his company had just bought and he had access to the data. He continues to make sexual comments to me. Said “don’t you have some cock to go suck somewhere you whore,” when I wouldn’t leave him along to take more things from the basement. Then stood there while I was watching and said, “owww, don’t hit me. No I don’t want to have sex with you, stop assaulting me, I am afraid for my life.” And said go ahead call the cops and that’s what I’ll tell them you did.  I call the police, tell them what he’s saying and doing and there’s nothing they can do unless I’m willing to get arrested too.

So now he’s free to do whatever he wants, all he has to do is say the word and I’ll get hauled in. He doesn’t care if he gets brought in, he’s already lost his job and can’t seem to find another one. I on the other hand, can’t lose this one. It’s paying all the bills he stopped paying.

At every hearing at supreme court we asked for a 250 foot, 50 ft, 25 ft stay away just so he couldn’t torture me. The judge refused to make any decision until trial. She also refused to give me exclusive use of the property. So even though he’s stopped maintaining or paying any bills on the house, he can come in to what is now my space, whenever he wants, as often as he wants and just has to give four hours notice if he texts. Then he just claims he sent a text and I didn’t get it.


I’ve been staying in the house trying to keep it in order and maintained until we can do a short sale instead of a foreclosure. And since I’m paying all of his debit, I really can’t afford to go anywhere else. I also don’t know where the judge will allow me to live so I don’t want to move twice. I’ll be the one responsible for clearing things out of the house, and I know the minute I leave he will just come here and go shopping. There are a few things left here that we could put on ebay to make up for some of our lost costs but he just wants to take them for the new place. The gentleman that he is, he even told me he was coming to take the generator for himself right before Hurricane Sandy, and he also wanted the snowblower, which has been blowing out our driveway since we moved here.I figure sooner or later he’s just going to take it and put it in his garage. And since I can’t go over to his house and take it back I’m just an open market for him.

My nerves are shot because I know this man can do this to me ten times a day if he wants. And there’s nothing the courts have done to change that and the police can’t do anything about it other than give him a good talking to.

On top of it I had to take time off work, pay a lawyer several thousand dollars for nothing. So exactly why did I bother exercising my rights? What I fear the most is that this clearly unstable man, who has access to my home, my private space, my things, who has no job and is home all day, will simply come and take all of my things (oh yes, all our property is communal, even my underwear, so he can take it), terrorize me in the middle of the night. Or maybe he’ll just lose it, get himself a gun or the machete from the garage and let himself in the house with the key, walk in on me while i’m in the shower and just cut me down. Then they can run a few articles in the paper monday morning quarterbacking about how maybe the court should have given the 250 foot stay away, and exclusive use. Maybe he should have been violated the few hundred times he should have been. Everyone will debate and make statements and then it will go away. And my daughter will be left without a mother and my mother and father, long standing, tax paying local residents, will no longer have a daughter. And they’ll have to work out custody with my murderer’s family. Lucky for my daughter, or she’d just end up in foster care. And that will be the talk of the town for a few weeks, and isn’t it terrible. Such a shame. She was a pretty girl. Maybe people will start pinning notes and putting teddy bears on some tree near my house.

And I’ll be just another statistic. Oops.

How will I ever trust a man again?

I know I will but I don’t know exactly how yet. So for the last two weeks I’ve apparently had way too much cortisol and adrenaline racing through my veins. I think it’s a bit of post traumatic stress disorder, which the idea of having a disorder gives me anxiety in itself. I’ve learned something about myself through this. I’m high strung. Yes, here I thought I was low key pretty down to Earth. And I am but I’m also the kind of person that plans for every scenario, points out problems ten steps ahead and I’m great in an emergency. And that’s what makes me good at what I do for work. I’ve been accused of being neurotics sometimes, but sometimes that’s what it takes to make things happen. So I’ve been trying for the last few weeks to calm the fuck down. I can’t believe this is happening to me. But apparently I’m not the first. I think I had come back down to normal levels yesterday, and just felt a little gun shy, checking myself every few minutes to see if I was still normal (OK maybe I am neurotic). But I still think it’s understandable.

I was good until my husband burst through the door, starting running through the house, even though he knows the judge is so not going to like this when she hears it, opened doors, cabinets, letting me know he’s still in charge and he can do what he wants and I have only an illusion of privacy and peace. He even cursed at me, called me a fucking whore in front of my daughter, and got his ugly, beet red face and yellow teeth (yeah guess he’s been downing the coffee extra hard), and growled in my face within an inch of it, shaking. For a split second I thought he was going to kill me, but it was him barely controlling his rage. He would have liked to have killed me. That I’m sure of, he just likes the idea of jail less than he likes the idea of killing me. So I was good for a few hours and then this morning I was back to being a wreck again. Damnit.

So I’ve taken a few hot baths, showers, got another massage, listened to serene music, downloaded some audio self help books and even a hypnosis audio thing. I don’t know if it worked but hey. The St John’s Wort tea I’m finally getting used to the taste of.

But then I found a picture of me sitting on the side of a big, steep trail that I had come up, it was Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park in Utah. He had taken the picture. That’s when we were friends. We had been friends once. Good friends. We were frick and frack. We traveled all over together. Hiking, climbing, biking. We went to Utah, Moab, Colorado, we had fun. We were in our late twenties. We went rafting together, went in ultralights. Did all the things that should bond people together. Long car rides and road trips where we talked for hours. We were buddies, real buddies. he didn’t make it easy. He was not very social and relied on me to do the talking, but stupid me, I took that as a compliment. he was very different and chatty with me. We kayaked in Maine, and really had fun together. When we were dating and got serious about getting married we talked about doing all these fun things with our children. We thought we’d be the big adventure family. I don’t know exactly when his personality began to shift and grow darker but I know it happened.  He got moodier, and more obsessive, going on trips was a nightmare with him. Not that we could afford it anyway because he couldn’t control his spending. I felt like I was never able to get going with the things I wanted to do with my little girl. I started to really sour on the idea of going places and doing things with him. They were much too difficult. He’d take everything over. Couldn’t pack light. Everything was a chore. He’d make packing the car such an intense drama and then would want to get on the road before daylight no matter what to avoid the traffic. It was like if you hit traffic they released a toxic poison on you. I’d say so what, we hit traffic, we hit traffic. We have our music, we’ll talk, stop to get something to eat. No he’d rather get up at 4 am and scream at everyone until we got in the car. He made it so I never wanted to go anywhere with him.

Back to the trust part. But we started out as friends. We really got to know each other. I thought I knew him. Even when I finally admitted to myself I just didn’t love him anymore, which was a long and painful process, I still valued our friendship. We had such a great history together. I hated the idea of what started out like a great love story crashing and burning in divorce. but I thought it could still work. We’ll still be friends. We’ll get passed this and be good parents and be the friends we always were. Maybe well get remarried and if we can get along even take a few vacations together. So Morgan would feel like she still had her parents together. I really had this vision. We were such good friends for so long, and had so many good memories. How could we not do otherwise.

As I stood there in the basement with him calling me a fucking whore, telling me that he’s impregnanted his new live in girlfriend of only a few months, me telling him that if his side still wants to settle this is not how one negotiates, the police on their way, me shaking and terrified but afraid to leave because i’m thinking he might cut the cable for the internet and phone or damage something, or start carting out what little was left that we might be able to put on ebay to offset some costs, I thought we were a billion and a half miles away from that couple who climbed to the top of Angel’s landing in Zion Mt. Where there was a chipmunk who was as friendly as my cat, and the ledge where everyone say thousands of feet up was only maybe 30 feet wide. The couple who rode their bikes around Monument valley, Tsali North Carolina, who honeymooned in Belize and went snorkeling, who went to Maine on my birthday to take me out for lobster. Where did my friend go? What did this maniac in his Pajamas and wild hair do with him?  Why was he so horrid that he reduced me to being the proverbial shrew in the divorce case. He walked away from his bills, the joint credit cards that a lot of those trips were funded on, the lawn care, house maintenance. He had sent me a text. credit cards are in your name. Fuck you I’m not paying them. Enjoy. He had also told me he was going to assasinate my character so that I couldn’t get another job anywhere.He told me he was going to file separately in the taxes so that I’d be stuck with a bif tax bill, ha ha. And refused to pay his share of anything, including his life insurance policy. He tried to change the life insurance payee when I had been paying the policy for the last five years. When someone does that, you have to do what you have to do. He left me drowning in debt while he walked off and got himself a new girlfriend and huge house. Why couldn’t he be a gentleman? We could have shared the house until it was sold. Gone through a mediator. Or he could have taken the hit and moved in with his dad, which he ended up doing after he pinned me up against the wall and I called the police. He could have been there I could have stayed here. We could have worked the bills out. Co-parented. But he turned into this raging maniac who made a sport out of torturing me wherever he could. This was my friend.

I even found a note I wrote to him in the back of our guest book that said no matter what we’ll always be friends first. I was so, so wrong. So then, after all that investment in him, I still got it wrong. So how in the world am I ever going to trust the next guy that comes along? And do I have to trust him? I won’t have the time to invest in this new guy the way I did with him when I was 27. I have a career and a child now. And a divorce to mop up, and a lot of debt from it.

There is one guy that I am friends with. There’s some chemistry there but who knows. He seems great and we hit it off. But if it were to turn into more, could I trust him? Would it be fair to him? I’m the head case not him. How do I go from some a collasal blunder, and miscalculation, to go right back in and try again? How can you trust anyone as a matter of fact? There was a time when I would have trusted him with my life. Now I have nightmares that hes going to come into the house in the middle of the night and stand over my bed and scare the crap out of me or worse, just to show me he can. Every noise in this big house where Im all alone (I used to at least have the dogs but he took them too), I think is him trying to get in. And once he gets in I don’t expect him to sit down and have a cup of tea. Am I blowing this out of proportion I don’t know. but it’s how I feel. And why would I ever invite this in with a potential new person? yes I miss the closeness of male contact, I am a snuggler, I am a people person and warm and loving and think I’d make a good partner to some deserving guy. but how do i walk into that with eyes open again. This friend of mine, I’m glad he’s there. he’s like a guage to remind me that this is how grown men act. They can be mature and reasonable and still be your friend. He’s resetting my clock in a way. And if he’s OK with that, I am too. And I try to be a good friend to him. He’s helping me rebuild my trust in men, slowly. I have other male friends, but he’s just a little different. Knows me a little better. I hope I can get to the point where I can really trust a man again. I know it’s the right way to be. I just have to get that face in my basement out of my head and stop playing it over and over again, that’s the first step I guess.


The bogeyman was here again yesterday, and just like he planned I’m a wreck again

So i’ve been having some high anxiety moments lately, more than I’ve experienced in a long while. I can’t get my mind to a peaceful, restful state. However, I’ve been told that journaling, or blogging helps. And indeed it seems to. The day before yesterday I got a text from my wasband (that term cracks me up). He told me his live in girlfriend was now pregnant. Lovely I thought, now it will be even harder to get him to help with child support and college. How this guy gets by I don’t know.

But anyway, I think he was looking to stick it to me that he was having a kid with another woman. his arrow missed the mark and in a way it released me. He wasn’t my problem anymore. He chose this. And whomever she is, she chose it as well. He was so proud of himself. I said congrats I’m sure your father (the ex catholic priest) must be so proud. I was being sarcastic but I think he thought I was serious. So He just answered thanks,

Then I did the most cathartic thing I’d done in awhile. I texted him, no need to thank me. You are so not a part of my life now. All your decisions are your own. You are the captain of your own ship and I am no longer your rudder. You do as you please for the rest of your life and so will I. Whether you succeed or fail or get in a jam, it’s no longer my concerns Who is upsetting you, or what’s going on at your job, not my concern anymore. He didn’t like this and told me I was a fat cold hearted pig and who would ever want to have sex with me. I told him his silly response is like pebbles against a wall. He didn’t respond and I thought that was it. I was feeling great and my mind had returned to normal.

What I didn’t expect was what happened the next morning. He was supposed to come pick up our daughter as it was his week. I asked my brother to walk her to the car as I didn’t want to see him. We had a nice morning. I got her dressed, made her eggs, we talked, I brushed her hair. Then she went downstairs and I started to get dressed. Next thing I hear is my brother yelling for me.
My ex had walked in the door unannounced, in his pajamas, hair a mess and started frenetically walking all through the house, throwing open doors, turning on lights, opening cabinets. I said can I help you and he mumbled something like I can do what I want and kept racing around the house.

He went up the stairs to my the bedrooms and tried to shut the upstairs door behind him in my face. He would have been able to lock it if he was able to get it closed. Then he went into his old bedroom, turned on the lights, opened the door, then went to my office where my computer was. He started looking at the shelves and pulling things down and said, yep, yep there’s plenty here that’s mine as well and I’m going to take it. He picked up a box of cables I had put aside and I said, here you want that take it. He said, oh gee can I? Then he walked in my daughters room, looked around, then my bedroom. I came up behind him and told him he had to leave. He then headed down the stairs.

He started to go to the basement where my cable hookup and other things are. When he opened the door I touched his arm. He started shrieking that I assaulted him “that’s assault” over and over. My daughter could hear all this. Then he went down the basement and started pocketing tools. I said what are you doing? Our lawyers are in negotiation and we’re talking about the tools. This is not the way to settle or negotiate, you need to get out. The judge ordered you to give me 4 hours notice and he said you knew I was coming. Yes to pick up morgan not run around inside the house. I said you need to leave and he turned to me red faced and ran his chest into mine and with his head shaking and teeth clenched he said this is my stuff, you don’t own everything you get out. I said what the hell am I doing talking to you and I ran up the stairs and told my brother to call the police. He threw something out again at me as I was leaving about his new kid and I made some flippant comment about his “bastard” as he’s such a church goer. Maybe it was mean and not the kid’s fault. His eyes filled with rage and said don’t you call my child a bastard and I said, well technically, that’s what it is, since you’re still married to someone else. He turned even redder and screamed, “fuck you you fucking whore” over and over at the top of his lungs. My brother was on the phone with the police already and he didn’t know what to do. He told me my daughter heard it all and he saw his face. She asked him why was daddy saying that to mommy? And was confused and upset.

Then he walked up the stairs and started putting my daughters coat on. I was now on the phone with the dispatch. She asked me if drugs were involved or alcohol. I honestly had no idea. she asked if I was in danger. I said I don’t know. But I want him gone. I really didn’t know if I was in danger or not but it felt like I was. my adrenaline was off the charts. I really just wanted to grab my daughter and run away from the situation. But I knew I couldn’t panic.

So then the police came. He was now out in his car and had my daughter in his car. He didn’t get away in time. So he got out of the car and started gesticulating at one police officer, and a second one pulled up. I put my coat on and went out to meet the police. I could hear and see him yelling at the policeman. The PD asked me a few questions and then told me to go inside. I told him what had happened.

Then the policeman came in and he said you have to get the court to ask for a designated drop off point like the lobby of the station house. he said you can’t keep going like this. I cried and said I know. he’d been better. But I guess he came in after that text to remind me who is boss. he said I hate it when they give both the spouses his and hers restraining orders. Refrain from. He said it just makes it harder on them. Because my husband has told me flat out that he will lie and accuse me of something to violate me if I violate him. So he gets to do whatever he wants. Cop said as long as he’s willing to put down on paper that you did something he has to take me in and arrest me. And I know if I violate him he most certainly will. He’s stood in the garage and said to me “what stop hitting me, stop sexually assaulting me. No I dont want to have sex with you Christine.” While I just stood there looking at him. He said go ahead call the cops, that’s what I’ll tell them. It’s such a fucking nightmare!

I thought he’d be happy now with his new house, the dogs, the new girlfriend, now a baby on the way, and he’s job hunting so he should be focusing on that. But no he had to come in and invade my privacy and space. I may not be paying the mortgage anymore as I can’t afford it, but I’m paying all the utilities, the phone, the lawncare, I shoveled the walk not him, I did the snowblower thing, I worry about the roof tiles that got exposed after Sandy and now water is running into the attic and down the walls behind the paint in the hallway (very weird, like the wall melted).

I paid the second mortgage, kept the house in order, kept it a home for our daughter. Paid $400 to get the bees nest out. I don’t want to rattle around in this big old house either. It holds too many memories. It’s a mess outside thanks to his unfinished wall project, I’m ashamed and don’t want to face my neighbors. It takes up all my time. It’s far away from my job. There are some things I still like about it and I am familiar with it, and now that he’s not in it its starting to get peaceful. But knowing that he can do this walk in scary thing at any point and he ignored the court, and flouts the law, and does it on weekends when the attornies are not around, I am on constant defense and I think that’s made my nerves shot. He has shown that he can come at any time and invade my privacy.

but what I have to remind myself is he’s a big bully, a big bag of wind. he may be raging and his eyes wild and he bumps up against me, but next time I just have to leave the space, The house, the things, what we can salvage and put on ebay, it’s not worth it. they are just things. It’s just a house. What is he going to see. I am a very open person in some ways and very private in others. I need a hiding place. And when he infiltrates it like he did, I feel like there’s no hiding place, no respect for what’s my space. Maybe growing up as a new yorker, I was always very respectful of other people’s things. I remember as a child. If I saw a pencil on the ground. I wouldn’t just pick it up and start using it. I’d ask if it was someone’s pencil as if they put it there on purpose. Maybe I was neurotic about it. I didn’t mind people playing with my stuff, and if I saw something I wanted to play with that was someone elses’ I wouldn’t be afraid to ask. But if they said no, they said no. I understood boundaries. Was very concious of them. I think thats why this hits me extra hard. I don’t know if it’s just me or this is how everyone else would take it. but I know that’s the part that bothers me the most. I have no privacy, and there are no boundaries. He can come and go as he pleases, take something and take it back to his place where I can’t enter. Yet he can come in here. It’s so not fair but he doesn’t see it that way. He thinks I kicked him out. But he forgets how he was behaving and constantly in my face, calling me names, saying disgusting things to me.

He calls me a whore, slut, bitch, always verbal abuse based on female sexuality and it worries me because we are raising a little girl. It’s been a while since he called me that since I haven’t seen him. But he was here last night calling me that and I was right back where I was a year ago, trying to get ready for work and him calling me a whore and asking me who I was sleeping with at the office. I hadn’t slept or kissed anyone, maybe flirted, and there were men I had emotional connections with only because I needed a friend, a male friend that was balanced, that I could bounce things off of. But in his caveman mind I was sleeping with them all. I guess that’s what he’d do in the reverse.

Anyway, I’m now desperately trying to regain the ground I made yesterday. So upset that he put me back in this tailspin. He shouldn’t have that much power. Its not just a matter of telling myself that. I now have to let the neurotransmitters run their course I suppose. I know I did get back to normal and get a peaceful mind yesterday before this happened so I can get it again. I tried very hard to stay calm, and relax, and focus. I did acupuncture even after this happened. But it hit me. I was sure I had kicked it, so I’m disappointed, but I’m hopeful that I can get back there again. Off to my reflexology session before the snow really hits.




Sharing Finances With An Angry Man in A Divorce

He drove me crazy the whole time we were married. He had a problem with spending. Again I had fair warning before we got married. When I was a college grad student and we met, he’d ask me to pay for things, dinner, bike parts on my credit card and then he’d pay me back later. Then he’d take me out to dinner. When the bill was due I’d ask him for the money he owed me and he’d say, “well I bought dinner.” First off, it wasn’t enough. Second, you asked me to dinner. I didn’t ask you to barter dinner for my credit card bill. What am I supposed to tell the credit card company, “he bought dinner?” Then he decided he didn’t want to see me anymore and left me with a $1000 bill. To a grad student living off freelance work and student loans, that’s a lot of cash. I called and called, he’d hang up on me. Finally I got his mother and she said to stop calling him that he didn’t want to see me anymore. I said, wait a second. Did you know your son owes me $1000? She had no idea. Oh well that’s a different story. So she told me to come over and she wrote me a check. She was obviously embarrassed and assumed I was just some crazy stalker.

Months later we started talking again. He never mentioned the money but he started that pattern again and I said no. If you want it, you can pay for it. I should have run for the hills after that. As the relationship progressed we did a lot of traveling. I put it on my cards because he didn’t have any credit to his name. All his cards were in his mother’s name and his mom controlled his bank account. Clearly she knew more about him than I did.

Fool that I was, but I liked him and he was cute and was a bodybuilder and had killer muscles. It really started when we moved in together. He refused to really sit down and go over bills with me so it was all left to me. I merged our bank accounts. Then I sat down and did the math and realized we were spending more than we were taking in. Neither of us made much money. He sat and listened and nodded and agreed to do better with money. A few weeks later he told me he was getting a 5K bonus from work. I was so excited. That will pay off a credit card I thought. Then he came home with a 5k road bike and told me he deserved it because he worked hard. I was broken hearted. But was it really OK for me to tell him how to spend his money? Was I already becoming a nag. I wish I could smack some sense into 27 year old me right now.

When we got married his parents offered nothing in way of payment for the wedding but gave me a big long list of invitees from new orleans. I asked him to talk to his parents and tell them that we couldn’t afford to pay for all these guests and if they wanted to invite them they’d have to pay for them. He promised he’d speak to them. Weeks and weeks and weeks I’d ask the same question but he’d never get around to it. So I asked his dad, and told him the situation. He mumbled, well I have to see what’s going on with me, I might be getting another job or something and then walked away. I said, what the hell does that mean. I need to make the guest list. I finally went to his mother and she mechanically agreed to pay for them. I couldn’t tell if she was pissed at me or them. But really, it was his family, why was I doing this?

When we bought our first town house we moved in with them to save money and they charged us over $400 a month. We were hardly ever there and we bought lots of groceries. For $400 we got a room and a draw in the shared bathroom. And a few things stored in the basement. It didn’t cost them anything to have is there, but to really charge your only son $400 a month when he’s trying to save for a new house? They gave us nothing for the down payment. A suitcase and a vacumm machine as a wedding gift. Was it too much to ask to let us put away $4000? toward our house at their inconvenience? They used to tell me all the time they made so much money off the sale of the house that he helped them build. But they never as far as I know gave him a dime. I think actually they put it away for him and hid it from me, but that’s another post.

Oh and as soon as my mom helped us pick out a townhouse, they had to go move up the street, but that’s another post. They’d stop by our townhouse and tell us every day what the progress was. Forget the idea of us ever getting to see it for ourselves. They’d have all our info for us. They totally took over what should have been an exciting time for us. Smothering Aholes.

So when we first moved in, he immediately started buying tools, and tools and supplies to do projects, and electrical crap and filling up the basement and garage with everything he bought the weekend before. It was costing us far more than we needed. We didn’t need crown moulding. Then we decided ot put in a patio. We did it ourselves and saved money. But then he had to do it differently and got in a fight with the condo board. To the point where I was having anxiety attacks over going to the mailbox because I always knew there’s be a nastygram from the condo board waiting for us.

We eventually moved because I thought a bigger house with real land might keep him from fighting with the neighbors so we moved much further away from my job in order to hopefully keep the peace. He immediately started his road trips to Lowes and Home Depot. Wood, lots of wood, 2x4s, paint, saws, tools, big spools of electrical cable. He started knocking down holes in walls and making an octopus in the basement of wires.

Problem was this was costing money. We were making it but barely and had nothing saved. And our child was due only a few months after we moved in. So we spent lots of money on the baby, more than we should. And I was to blame as well. But I decided to stay home with her and got my reali estate license while 9 months pregnant. Right after the baby was born he was on me about freelance work, going back to work, getting going on the real estate. She was born in the dead of winter. I remember in the hospital room I had to listed to his anxiety ridden diatribe about how he has to leave and get to work and can’t get fired because he’s the only source of income for our family and it’s all on him, and it’s not fair. I was laying there cut in half from a C-section and really could have used a real man who would have told me, “it’s OK honey, everything will be alright.” Instead he was full of gloom and doom if I didn’t figure out a way to bring in my share of the income.

It wasn’t too long before I started selling real estate. But it takes time to build a business. And freelance wasn’t a lot. But I made  a few bucks in real estate. He was on me every day telling me I wasn’t doing it right, and calling on the wrong people, and wasting my time. I wasn’t smart enough to see the difference between someone just playing with the idea of selling and someone who wanted. He knew everything I should do yet he did none of it. I’d ask him to help me and fix my computer. If he did he’d just reformat it and lose all my email. He was constantly telling me I was doing it wrong. I was getting fat and depressed but still worked hard.

He would ask me every morning if it was bon bon day for me again. And would make fun of me. He’d tell me I should take out the garbage because he brings home the bacon. I then took a job at the local library and brought a little more money in. Then I got a call from a friend to come back to the city and work. So I did. It was a great job and I started bringing much better money in. He quickly spent it as soon as I had it.

Then he lost his job and had to take a job at a much smaller salary and longer commute. Right away he suggested we move closer to Albany where he was working, even though my better paying job was in NYC. I supposed I should just live on the train because a two hour commute wasn’t long enough for me. His was now 2 hours and he didn’t like it so felt I should move further north so that his would be less.

Over the years the spending got worse and worse. While he was unemployed I was doing the bills and the anxiety was getting to me and I couldn’t do it any more. I asked him to take it over. A few months of that and $2000 in overdraft fees and I was back doing the bills.  The all time best though was when he was unemployed, it was christmas and the mortgage was due. Right before Christmas all the checks started bouncing and I didn’t know why. Then on Christmas day he pulled out his $3500 new mac that he hadn’t mentioned to me. There was only about $4000 in the account and he took it out of the bank account without even telling me. To buy himself a computer. I put down the sausages I was grilling, his father standing next to me like the clueless putz that he always was, and packed a bag christmas morning. I was leaving and taking Morgan with me. He begged me to stay and promised he’d get therapy to control his spending. He didn’t do it right away but I agreed to stay if he did. But the spending continued. And when I got better paying jobs he was already spending my cash before I had it.

He ran up the cards at Lowes and Home Depot. He bought a 4k TV when he got a 28k bonus. So what could I say? When we bought furniture it had to be leather and solid oak. I gave up after awhile and figured when they come get it they’ll come get it.

Now that we’ve split he’s told me to F off and enjoy my credit card bills because they are all in my name. And he’s not paying anything on the house anymore. Not the utilities, not the cable (although he ordered a huge package and ran off with a box and enjoyed the porn channel from his dad’s house), the student loans, the credit cards, the taxes (now he has to), homeowner’s insurance, personal life insurance. He also cashed out I believe, his IRA, which he definitely should not have done as half of it is mine. I’m still in the house because it has to be sold and taken care of until then. It’s much too much for me.

On top of it, he feels the house is still his even though he hasn’t paid a dime of what the court ordered him to. So he comes and goes as he pleases and takes things. He took my camera, all the files in my desk, a TV, the Wii, the Ipad, the $1000 trailer, all the camping gear, and then he informed me that he was going to come by and pick up the generator right before Sandy hit. What a guy. And he wanted the snow blower as well. Jerk.

If he comes over all I can do is call the police. He’s told me that he’d just lie to the police and accuse me of doing all kinds of things to violate me on (yes we have his and her orders of protection).

Now he’s set up a new house as if this one never happened. Found himself a schmuck to play the wife role and has set up his palace over there. He expects to be amicable and friendly and ask me work related questions but not pay his bills. Then he had the nerve to tell me “we” had too much debt to go on vacation. So he’s a deadbeat and doesn’t pay his bills.







The Paramour is apparently pregnant

So the ex, or not even ex yet just told me he’s gotten his live in paramour, concubine, whatever you want to call her, pregnant. He owes me serious cash for unpaid bills. Told me the credit cards are mine and to F off and enjoy them. Even though we ran them up when he couldn’t hold a decent job. He will eventually have to pay child support. He has walked away from all his existing financial responsibilities and is out of a job now. He’s even texting me asking me for job advice.

He moved in with this woman over the summer and she’s been up his ass every step of the way. She shows up to court dates, comes to school functions as if she belongs there, is there at every drop off and every pick up. The one time it got to me was when she had the audacity to walk up my parents steps to pick up M. with him. You see they were on their way to go on a vacation to Cape May and stay in the same place, in the same cabin and retrace the steps of the vacation that we had had there as a family only a few years before. Even the same cabin! And they were taking my daughter with them. I didn’t want to deny the poor kid a vacation so I let her go. And he grinned about it the whole way and made sure to rearrange everything in the trailer so I could get a good look that he’d set up it up the same way. I was happy to see someone else would be putting up with the turtle traveling. he packs everything in creation, like tetris, uses ten percent of it ten dumps it in the garage when he gets back. That wasn’t going to be my problem any more. But when she walked up those steps I lost it. My mom made me go in the basement so no one could hear me. How dare she set foot on my mom’s steps. Would she like to come in for tea? I wanted to rip off my underwear and hand them to her and ask if she’d like anything else of mine?

I get that I was the one that ended it. And I can’t control him. But this weird ass woman, who simply walked right in and was happy to pick up where I left off, what the hell is wrong with her? I was hoping he’d had to make his way on his own for awhile and he’d learn how to do it. The man has never been alone in his life. Went straight from girlfriend to girlfriend, then mommy’s house then me then daddy’s house. Never had to do a thing on his own. And of course he finds a needy schmuck who is happy to do it for him. Fine, they can crank out all the puppies they want, but they won’t be using my daughter as a babysitting service, and he can forget getting out of paying for her education. He has no brain. He only thinks with his pants. He can’t even afford to pay his bills now and he’s gotta go procreate because he’s a caveman.

What’s Up with the Title of This Blog?

OK it sounds totally weird but when I heard it I had to get the URL. Here’s the story. I was sitting at work dealing with this man child that I was married to and having his scream at me on the phone that he’s broken into my email and read everything and knows everything–which was horse crap because there wasn’t anything going on. He was dreaming that I was sleeping with everyone.

How to Cook a frog: How a Smart person gets sucked into a bad relationshipHow to Cook a Frog

There was a nice guy at work who was waiting to meet with me and had to overhear the whole drama on the phone. I didn’t know him super-well but we got along well. I said, “X, I’m sure you heard that. I have to say. I have no idea how an intelligent, educated woman like me got stuck in a situation like this? How I let this happen to me I have no idea. He is Indian and he answered in his very calm, way. “In my country they have a saying… How do you cook a frog?” Huh? I asked. Simple. If you have a pot of hot water and you put a frog in it, he knows it’s hot and he jumps right out. He knows you are trying to cook him. But if you have a pot of cool water, and you put the frog in it, he doesn’t think anything wrong. Then you turn the heat up slowly, and the frog never knows that he’s being cooked.

I had a terrible sympathy and bonding moment for every poor frog on the continent of India in a pot of water. But it was so true. “I am the frog!” I said to my friend. “You are indeed, the frog,” he answered.

How Was I Stupid Enough to Get in The Pot in the First Place?

I started out in a nice, cool pot of water. He was fun, smart, handsome. His mom liked me. I was flattered because he wanted to spend all his free time with me. I didn’t get that I was being smothered because I liked the attention. He lived at home with his parents so his life was pretty stress-free. So he was fun and liked to have fun. I did see the warning signs but they were mild so I ignored them. He made me feel special because he told me about all his ex psycho girlfriends–which should have been a tip off. And how I was so different. He never connected with anyone like he did with me. Maybe those girls were psychos, or maybe they weren’t, but I was being put on a pedestal and I didn’t know it. But when you are on a pedestal, it doesn’t seem like a bad thing.

Life in the Pot

Over the years he was very needy. I’d take him to social events and he’d hide behind my coat tails and let me do all the talking. I was OK with that at first because I’m pretty social. But I did find it tiring that people would always ask me if he’s OK, if he was upset, did they upset him etc. I remember going on a trip for Canoe and Kayak magazine where I was supposed to cover the event. That meant staying near the other people in the group and talking to them. We were in a two man kayak and he’d do everything he could to either be way ahead or way behind no matter how many times I asked him to even up with the group. He just ignored me. I should have known then but I decided to marry him anyway.

Over the years, the wedding planning, the house buying, he was more trouble than he was worth but I could handle it. He was useless when it came to asking him to do the simplest things if he didn’t want to. My mom nicknamed him Fern when we were buying our house because in every meeting, and every negotiation he just sat there like a plant and let me handle everything.

His parents were also always looming and I didn’t realize that they were keeping a close eye on him for a reason. Wherever we moved they would follow. We bought a new townhouse and they moved up the street. It was awful. They’d call every day ten minutes after I got home to “check in.” here were were a newly married professional couple in our thirties and I had my father in law calling me to tell me to roll my windows up because it was going to rain. My favorite was when they called to tell me they like the paint color I had picked for the hallway because they poked their head in the window to see it on their walk by. I got blinds after that.

I was being consumed by this clan and I didn’t know it. Every weekend there’d be some reason to go there or see them, or talk to them on the phone. When I rebelled and said I wanted to spend more time as a couple not constantly doubledating with his parents, he went crazy and screached at me that I was trying to separate him from his parents. God forbid.

He would fight with the neighbors and do things to start arguments. I thought he needed more space. So I moved further from my job in order to get him two acres of land to live on. What did he do? Fight with the neighbors there too. Not all his fault, they were wrong. But he made it worse.

And of course, the parents pulled up stakes and moved by us again. Then his mom got sick with Cancer. After she passed he started getting worse. Between 911 and his mom dying he started getting really weird. I had given birth to a baby girl and he did little to take away my stress. I’ll deal with that in another post.

But between having a child, his mother dying, 911, and having homeowner responsibilities, and job problems, he started to get really weird and useless. He was depressed I can understand that. But he didn’t do anything about it. He would say he’s going to help me with the weeding and he’d be out there a half hour and disappear into the house. He’d do obnoxious things and say passive aggressive things. I put on weight because I was taking care of a baby and trying to bring money in with multiple jobs (he would never take on freelance and would haunt me that I needed to find a way to earn my keep). He insisted I go to his cousin’s pool party. Just as we were leaving to go to a pool party where you have to wear a bathing suit, he tells me that I’m now the fattest I’ve ever been and he’s very concerned about me. He may have been right, but how much do you think I wanted to go to that pool party after that? He’d sit and watch the same space alien shows over and over and insist that he might have been abducted at some point.

He started projects all over the house and never finished them. He started spending on whatever he wanted, no matter how many times we’d talk about the finances. He’d wait until I got the air conditioning in the bedroom nice and comfortable and then he’d get in bed and cut one one so loud and smelly and then giggle and throw the sheets around until I could have thrown him out the window.

He started getting compulsive and would race home to check on my that I hadn’t left any windows open or water running or touched the thermostat while I was gone. And if I did I’d get the same screeching lecture I’d get day after day.

Um, What’s Cooking?

Somewhere along the line I had enough. Maybe it was a mid-life crisis or whatever. But I went back to work and started working with other men who didn’t act this way. I found myself not wanting to go home and enjoying their company. I never had affairs with any of them, but developed good friendships and realized, this is what I’m missing. It built up and built up and one day I blurted out over sushi that I wanted a divorce. And I realized I really meant it.

What went on after that is another story, but it got to the point where it got physical. And once he realized there was no going back I became a target of hatred. And he made it a sport to scare me, harass me and say the most foul things to me a man can say to a woman. He stuck me with all the credit card bills, refused to pay any of his shared debt, told me he was going to try to get me arrested and at one point told me I was a terrible mother and he was going to do everything to take her away. He also told me that his lawyer told him that her whole job was about assasinating my character. He told me he’d ruin my reputation and make it so I could never find a job anywhere ever again. This was a man who supposedly loved me and wanted to stay married.

He was pure horror at every corner and I think I suffer some real anxiety over it now. I’ve been going through a solid year of this.

But when that first started and I looked at my friend I’d realized over the last ten years that water had been boiling very slowly, very subtly, and I didn’t realize it. I could see it in other people’s marriages but not my own. I was that frog blankly looking at the metal walls of the pot wondering what was that smell?

So of course, it’s a perfect name for my blog and if I ever decide to write a book after all this, you better believe that will be the title. :)







It’s the writers that make it out: How I got here and my divorce

As I sat in the court appointed psychological evaluation that I was spending $2500 more than I had, I realized I wasn’t crazy to want to leave him. He’d been a pain in the ass from before we were married. The reason I married him I can get into another day, and a few sessions of therapy at least, but he really wasn’t that bad then. He got worse. I swear he got worse over the years. My marriage had gotten to the point where it was no longer, to say the least, fun. He was moody, manipulative, would say all kinds of passive aggressive compliments, would do nothing I asked of him. I did all the bills, made all the plans, did all the organizing, but then the laundry, dinner, child care, pet care, landscaping, finances as well. he was in charge of making messes apparently. We used to enjoy biking together and it turned into an OCD affair of dragging everything out of the messy garage into the driveway to clean them. So that became more trouble than it was worth. I looked around and said, exactly what is he contributing to this marriage? There were other things, but the point I am getting to is after hours of talking with the therapist he told me he sees so many women in my situation. Women who married beneath them and were stuck in an unfulfilling, uninspiring relationship. One where he clearly did not match up with her and she had to lift him and herself up. He said be glad you realized it when you did and you got out. Others don’t realize it and before they know it they are just past the point of no return. They are older and my job is to just help them cope and stay sane. I said, what is it that makes some women realize they are not in a good relationship and others just go through life dealing. He said, you know you gets out? The writers. The writers get out. They have a way of making sense of the big picture, of seeing it in outline form. They can be impartial and apply fair and balanced journalism skills. I started to bawl. I had been a writer and editor for years. I worked as a women’s magazine editor for many years and have a bunch of unfinished books lurking about thanks to this drama. I welled up and almost felt the bullet whiz by my cheek.

I thanked God for my ability to write and to break down a story. He was right. And it had been the hardest thing for me to swallow. That I had married the wrong man. That my marriage was wrong and I had made a big fat mistake marrying him. I also felt so guilty for my daughter. I cheated her out of a full time mom and dad. I wanted it to work but I couldn’t keep going.

But little did I know that this was only the beginning. His behavior would get worse and he’d make a sport out of psychologically screwing with me and borderlines as known to do (oh yeah, he told me he was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder and yes I still married him). He’s been wicked for the last year accusing me of being a prostitute, sleeping with everyone in the office, money laundering, being a drunk, being mentally unstable (no thanks to him), being a pedaphile, an animal abuser, lying to the emergency room about an event that happened and swearing he was there when he wasn’t. I’ve been doing great up to now. So excited about my new life and then bam, it caught up with me and I suddenly wanted to curl up under the dining room table and not come out. So I’m doing the positive thing and finally getting going with my blog. I can’t be completely free and open here because of the current ligitation going on. But I’ll say whatever I can  without getting into trouble. I will tell you I’m sick of living in a fishbowl, which is what happens to you in a contested divorce. You feel like everyone is watching your behavior and judging you, and they are. But I’ll write what I can. And hopefully, if there’s anyone else going through this we can commiserate together because my friends are totally sick of hearing about it.