abuse, abusive relationships, adult child, brain damage, breaking up, captain's log, confrontation, dais, depression, leaving, midwife, not learning from mistakes, ptsd, self-destructive, survival, unattended birth, video games
Captain’s Log…August 6, 2014
He did come home eventually. I talked to him. He played his video game and resented me. I told him I thought we should work on this together—stay close—so we could both be there for the kids….
“I have to work every day for the rest of my life,” the Dad has taken to saying now. It’s not that he wants me to stay. He just doesn’t want to have to pay me child support.
And, of course, you know—I don’t work. I just stay at home and enjoy myself.
I hit the Dad with my car yesterday. He does this thing where he sees the kids off to the car with me when we are leaving—then, as I am pulling out, he walks in front of or behind the car as it is moving. I have stopped myself from accidentally hitting him a few times now. This last time, I was too tired…too distracted…too convinced that an adult knows to stay clear of a moving car. I looked in my rear view mirror & the limber fucker had just managed to leap clear as I tapped the bumper of the car behind me while backing up to pull out of my parking spot.
The weird thing is—is that I got really mad at him for almost making me hit him.
He probably thinks I did it on purpose.
If it was on purpose, I wouldn’t have missed.
The Dad is angry at me for planning on leaving him. This morning he told me I had to give him notice. That I had to find someone to sublet. “Is that what you want?” I asked. He said, “no.” Later that day I realized that I don’t have to give notice—I just am responsible for my bills until he finds a roommate. I can leave anytime I want. I just can’t shirk my responsibilities to the apartment until someone has taken over for me.
Today I saw him walking home with one of the girls he wanted to have a polygamous relationship with when he & I were still fucking. We weren’t in a “relationship.” He made sure that I knew we were not in a “relationship.” But he still wanted to be a family with me. And to fuck me. As long as he could fuck other people too. He is dishonest to me about this girl. I don’t know if they have a “relationship” or if they are fucking. I just know he is dishonest to me about it. I know because I let him borrow my phone when he didn’t have a phone & then I got a frantic voicemail from her, thinking that my number was his number—calling him to come to her.
I do not like dishonesty.
I do not like him. I do not like her.
Captain’s Log…August 7, 2014
The baby claps now. I thought he was a genius, but I guess they start clapping at about 7 months, according to “What to Expect.” The baby is 9 months. I still think he is a genius.
Thing Two used the expression, “I stand corrected,” the other day—in context—I believe him to be a genius as well.
Shrieking pee-bot kills at physical humor. Genius.
And Thing One is just perfectly brilliant with Legos and everything science & art.
Meanwhile, I look around me at other people being successful with art, writing, food, etc. thinking, “I could do that.” But why aren’t I? What is stopping me? I was in a local art store the other day, realizing that everything on sale for big prices—I could make easily. But why am I not doing that?
Focus, love. Focus. (I am in a bit of a British accent today, which might be reflected in my word choice even though you cannot hear my accent.)
Start of a story:
Stella came home to the ghost of David sitting on her front step playing his harmonica with a focused, knit-brow, expression. David is not dead. At least, Stella believes he is still alive. But this ghost is of the David she knew, over twenty years ago. Young, curly headed, and annoying.
Up the stairs was no better. Stella found the ghost of Steven digging around in her refrigerator, complaining that her greens were wilted and her plums had lost their spunk.
“Well, it has been nearly 17 years,” Stella muttered to herself. “One’s plums can’t stay spunky forever.”
Captain’s Log…August 9, 2014
Tomorrow the shrieking pee-bot turns three. Three years ago tomorrow I had an accidental unattended birth because I could not find a Madison midwife who would support my HBA2C choice. I am a bit bitter. I knew I could do it. They were not willing to risk lawsuit, insurance, reputation, whatever. They were willing to leave me stranded. One did come to the rescue when my baby girl was having seizures and not breathing correctly. I am thankful for that. I believe her quick recovery didn’t have as much to do with the anti-seizure meds as it did with my attachment parenting. I wore her (still do), breastfed her (still do), slept with her (still do)—even though the NICU nurse wouldn’t let me snooze with her in the cozy chair at the hospital, saying to me, “You people can do that at home, but you can’t do that here.” Three years ago tomorrow was a wonderful and powerful day and a scary-ass day that left me questioning my own instincts, thinking I had permanently damaged my baby girl.
She’s fine. She just leapt from an armchair to my lap, grinning. “Best case scenario, she will have learning delays and be uncoordinated. Worst case scenario, she will have epilepsy or cerebral palsy,” the neurologist told us on August 11, 2011 after an MRI showed a branch of her brain was dead from lack of oxygen.
Today, I wonder how many of us have extensive brain damage and just don’t realize it because our brains knew well enough to compensate and re-direct.
Speaking of brain damage, the Dad’s brother who a few weeks back approached the Dad about their abusive childhood and all his memories of it, is now obsessed with what would be classified as conspiracy theories. I will not say that our government is not out to get us, but the stuff the Dad is reporting to me seems a bit…well…crazy. And tonight, as I was thinking about how I was going to ask/convince the Dad to move out of this apartment, the Dad started spewing these theories as if they were absolute truth. And he included his paranoia about how members of my family are involved. He said, “I am not paranoid,” and “I am not crazy,” without my having said anything. His saying those two statements made me suspect that he is. Well, I know he is paranoid. He is one of the most paranoid people I know. But now I am pretty sure he is also crazy.
Here’s the thing: I’m scared.
Captain’s Log…August 12, 2014
Last night I asked the Dad to move out. I survived it. Am I paranoid? Or is the Dad capable of dark things? Negligent things? Dangerous things. Wait, he is capable. But would he?
I made an appointment to talk to a DAIS person tomorrow. I also have therapy tonight. I am expecting more fallout from the Dad. I am exhausted and listless and unable to function. I can’t even make it to the library with my kids. The baby won’t sleep and that seems so little but feels so big.
Captain’s Log…August 15, 2014
My therapist seemed really unenthusiastic our last session. I found myself worrying that she had grown as tired of my problems as I have. I find myself telling people, “I need new problems.” Seriously. The Dad sits about 15 feet away from me playing his video game—pretty much where I can find him if he is in the house. I want to say, “So, about your moving out….” But I am afraid to. What am I afraid of? I don’t know. Terrified of confrontation in general, I guess. When I was a kid, I learned not to rock the boat. But I do it. I do. It just scares the ever-loving crap out of me, but I do it.
I’m not sure what I expected from DAIS…a fast-paced helicopter rescue jetting me to that happily ever after? I always feel like I am over-reacting when what I experience is labelled as “abuse.” But then I get shown that “Power & Control Wheel” and there is the Dad, taking up a big chunk of it, over half of it. I think if the Dad found out I went to DAIS—or if I start hitting the support groups and he finds out—I think his biggest concern will be that someone else will find out and what will they think of him? He doesn’t seem terribly concerned about my happiness or mental health. I would think it would carry some weight. I am extremely concerned about his depression, self-destructiveness, and paranoia.
Tomorrow I am going to go check out an eco-village that is forming about an hour or more from here. Maybe it will turn out to be the fast-paced helicopter rescue that will jet me away to my happily ever after.