lesbianspaghetti

Posts Tagged ‘Marriage’

My Big Fat Life – Surviving David

In Uncategorized on September 30, 2015 at 7:06 pm

Recently I read something that reminded me that I need to be a little more open on my blog. I tend to filter a lot of things, because .. well… I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to hurt people, and at times I don’t want to hurt myself. But today I decided to start writing this blog entry that will pull back the curtains for a view into a part of me that I tend to keep tucked away.

Years ago I was married to a man who was really abusive. It was because of this marriage, that I was able to find my strength to walk away much quicker from the relationship that birthed this blog. For the sake of this blog, I will call him David.

When I met David I was seeing someone. I immediately marked him off as a friend since I was very loyal to my relationship despite the fact my significant other lived in New Zealand at the time. David and I talked over the phone a few times, and I was really taken in by his charisma, humor and charm. When Mike and I broke up, this new friend and I had already lost touch and I really had no intention of ever contacting him again. Mostly because I really put off by how he liked to say incredibly hurtful things in the name of “teasing” or joking around. I’m not an easy person to offend, but I am human, and I don’t like being made fun of. I don’t think anyone really does.

Some time had passed before I got a phone message on my machine. David had called to apologize for the things he said to me months earlier. He said he didn’t expect me to talk to him again, but really wanted to reach out and let me know he was sorry. I was touched that he thought enough about me to realize that what he did was pretty hurtful, so I called him and immediately we started talking almost every day. Eventually we started going on dates and hanging out together. For the most part I was a bit smitten, but I was still pretty apprehensive in some ways. From time to time he would say hurtful things in the name of joking around, and often I was the brunt of his jokes in public so he could generate laughs from others. It felt less like a team, and more like I was the last chosen team-mate for a game of verbal dodge ball.

Looking back, I don’t know why I let it roll off of me. I guess I internalized it all and put it on myself. Instead of feeling safe to say something about it, I wrote it off as me being too sensitive about shit. I am not going to go on some rant about being female, but it’s a true thing to say that many women are taught to just smile and be accepting, even when it hurts.

I was raised primarily by my Grandmother so being outspoken isn’t something we were encouraged to do. She was pretty old school and we were taught to that women had a role to recognize as being under the head of the household. Men will be men, and women should always expect that. I know my Grandmother didn’t mean harm; she really wanted to teach us the best she could. But that lesson served me terribly growing up. Finding my voice for myself took years to do, but I learned to hear myself in being a voice for others. Through my advocacy for others, I could hear myself telling myself to stand up and rise above as well.

I remember the first time David hit me. I was pregnant with our first child together. He hit me across the face and the force backed by his strength behind that one blow, sent me to the floor. I remember being numb, unable to feel my face and really scared that falling had somehow hurt the baby. Looking back, I should have run. I should have run as fast as I could after I was able to stand up. I should have changed my number, moved away and never looked back. But I didn’t. Instead I did what I knew how to do best, and what so many of us do.. I blamed myself. I thought it was my fault. That maybe I spoke to sharply, maybe I if I had been more patient with him and more understanding of how scared he was to find out he was gong to be a father.. all those lame ass excuses that sound so weak to me today, were so damn powerful then.

I wasn’t in love with David. Even if I had been, thoughts of love were supressed by my hurt from being hit, and my sense of duty and guilt to make things work for the sake of our unborn child. At first he seemed like he wanted to work things out and seemed to take a holiday from his abrasive nature. At one point, he found God and wanted to try to be a Christian man. I thought I could at least live through it in some sort of quiet way despite my increasing unhappiness and depression taking hold. I stopped talking to people, family and friends. I spent a lot of time standing behind him in public and over time started becoming the brunt of his jokes again. Over time I slowly started to just “be”. The quick witted sharp remarks that served as stabs to my self worth were only increasing with time, and before too long I was often the subject of his verbal attacks. By the end of it all I had been called a bitch more times than he ever used my name, and it was an unusual day if he didn’t insult me in someway. You could hear a pin drop when he walked through the door after work, and I would wonder what part of me would be under his scrutiny that day. It was a shitty way to live, even though I had started to believe I deserved it all.

I started to sleep on the couch a lot and we stopped sharing a room. Sexual contact was rare, and when we did have it I seemed to get pregnant. I was pregnant with our second child together before too long, and in spirit of keeping this blog focused, you can read about the pregnancy with the twins here: https://lesbianspaghetti.wordpress.com/2013/07/21/3537/

The stress of carrying both a live child and a deceased one took me down to an even lower place in my life, and the less strong I became the more powerful his words seemed to be. By this time many arguments had taken their place in my mind. I had zero self-worth. The blame I carried around with myself for the first hit, the last argument, the death of my child were all burying me in a grave for those who were physically alive but emotionally dying.

Within 8 weeks of the birth of the twins we had a 10 minute excursion that led to the pregnancy of our youngest child together. Looking back I can’t even begin to wonder what the hell was going through my mind to still have any physical contact with him. My only thought is I was so deprived of any positive attention, even to myself, that any crumb of sexuality was someway to feed my need for something that made me feel alive.

We decided to marry during my pregnancy with our youngest. We married on the front lawn of our rental with a couple of witnesses who were his friends and I barely knew. I was 9 months pregnant, and the only thing missing to keep it from being a complete white trash wedding was the mullet and barefeet. I know.. I can hear it. “What the hell were you thinking, woman?” I have a shit load of reasons, and not a one of them make good sense now. The biggest being I needed medical insurance. The one clear memory of that day wasn’t what most brides look back on as one of the happiest days of their lives. Instead it was my witness finding me in the crying shortly after our three-minute ceremony. She thought it was pregnancy hormones, or being overcome with joy. When she asked me why I was crying, she was the first person I admitted to that I didn’t want to marry David. She just looked at me bewildered and asked me why I married him just moments before. I told her and I felt trapped in a bad situation, but I didn’t know what else to do. I felt I had no options. I didn’t tell her the level of emotional and physical abuse I had been living under. Instead I dismissed it as a case of jitters when I saw she had no response to me, and tried not to talk about it with her agian. Our youngest child together was born three days later.

It wasn’t long after the birth when another moment of physical abuse took place. By that time I was I unable to recognize the woman looking back at me in the mirror. I had dark circles under my eyes, and I was my heaviest at 290. I avoided the bathroom mirror as much as I could and was thankful for the forgiving steam that clouded the reflections after I stepped out of the shower. When I wasn’t trying to avoid the reflection in the mirror, I spent a lot of time hiding in the bathroom just to cry and just be alone.  There were times I thought my only out was to take my life, but the thought of leaving my children alone to defend themselves against him kept me from ever thinking this was the best option I had. Instead I resided myself to living a life I had come to believe I deserved. I believed made my bed, so I needed to sleep in it.

The  disagreement we had was over a scripture in the bible. He asked me if I believed “once saved always saved” and I disagreed with his interpretation of what that meant. I can’t tell you exactly how the conversation went, but when we started talking it was in the hallway. The argument somehow led me being cornered into my daughters room. I was crying and he stood in the doorway, daring me to pass. I am sure the argument had something to do with him accusing me of disagreeing with him because I wanted to argue. The idea that I could have a vaid opinion about anything escaped him, and to be honest by that time it escaped me as well. I just recall standing there terrified to pass him, as he stoof there staring me in the eyes with the look of anger and disgust on his face. It seemed like 30 minutes or more had passed until my fear turned into the reality of the situation. I believed if I didn’t somehow get past him to get to a phone, I was going to die right there in my daughters room. My fear gave me the courage to rush past him as quick as I could, and I immediately ran to the phone and grabbed it to call the police. As he struggled with me, he pinned me to the floor while trying to grab the phone away from my hands. Somehow I was able to dial 911 before he could, and I screamed for help. I will not forget the feeling of his hands forcibly pushing my shoulders down to the ground, and how helpless I felt in that moment. I don’t recall the exact series of events in that moment, just small flashes of how I felt. I remember the police coming to the house, I remember the marks on my chest, and I remember being so scared that I was going to die that day. Something inside me was shaken enough to dig through the numb, and make me realize that if I didn’t somehow get out, my physical self would eventually catch up with my emotional self and I would become another statistic. I was starting to wake up enough to feel and the feeling was fear that led to my primal need to survive.

I started to secretly look for a new rental for the children and I. I finally found a place after a month of looking and one day as he was walking through the front door, I was about to carry the last box out to the UHAUL. He sat on the hearth of the fireplace and just watched before he asked me if he would be allowed to come over and do laundry at my new place. My oldest son called him a bitch as we walked out of the house that had become nothing more than a shell of a home that was covered in holes he had punched into the walls that held residual sounds of all the arguments, the anguish and nothing but pain.

I wish I could say that day was the last of it all, but like so many women who went before me it wasn’t. There was a short period where we though counseling might be able to help, but it didn’t. I knew it was happening, but I was still seeing it through the eyes of a woman so torn down that I saw it with a weakened state of mind.  It was shortly after a counselor spoke to me and told me that the abuse she witnessed from him during our counseling sessions led her to decide to stop counseling us as a couple, that I filed for divorce.

Our story doesn’t end there. During the course of our divorce his abuse turned to our children during visitations. I spent nearly 2 years trying to protect my children against a system that gave him more of a voice than our children ever had. The short end of the story is after voluntarily submitting to a polygraph that he failed, he confessed his crimes agaisnt our children. He is currently serving almost 13 years in prison for these crimes.

I have spent years trying to hide the reality of the abuse I went through in that relationship. It’s not something I am proud of, and it’s not something I really enjoy talking about. I still struggle with the embarassment I feel when I share my story. I can’t get past the feeling I am being judged as a weak person as I share our story, and often it scares me to share with anyone who even considers being a part of our lives. It’s a very vulnerable and hard room to open, but it’s something I know I need to do. Not just because there is power in being open, but because there is also healing.

You might wonder why I am sharing all of this now after years of just talking about my life as it’s happening, rather than reflecting back on the past. Recently I realized that in hiding something that took place, I was in fact giving this part of my past power to keep me shamed. It’s something I have hidden away, dealing with in private. I went to counseling to deal with it, I made friends who never knew about it, and I resumed my life the best I could having changed because of it. I’ve been afraid of people judging me as a weak character, and a push over. I didn’t want people to see what I saw as a failure, for fear they would never be able to see the woman who emerged. I guess I never wanted people to truly know how bad it was, and how I had allowed someone to pull me down so far in the name of them gaining power.

It’s because of my time with David that I was able to find my voice and strength to walk away from the relationship I had with the woman who inspired this blog. I had walked that road before, and I knew that I couldn’t.. wouldn’t… allow it to happen again. My life long dream had been to find someone who made me feel safe, put their arm around me and I knew I could count on to be there. Once I realized she wasn’t it, and the hands I had hoped would hold me had became the very weapons her words had, I knew I needed to leave.

There is a level of embarrassment that comes with talking openly about all of this. Somewhere deep inside of me I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. I don’t know if the shame I connect with it will ever truly wash away the more I share openly about that time in my life. Hopefully it will, but I hope a part of me never forgets what it felt like to sit in the bathroom while I cried in fear and pain after being told I had no value to live because it keeps me so thankful for the kind touches, the soft spoken words and the reassuring hugs. It brings a deep appreciation for the hands and words that catch me, rather than pushing me over. It might seem like a pretty small victory to some, but I can say I haven’t walked into a bathroom to hide my hurt in years. Instead I have found the power in talking things over and while it still takes me a fair amount of courage to, it is something that I stand proud about being able to do. Maybe no one else will appreciate that empowering moment as much as I do, but it’s something that reminds me how far I have come in learning to stand still when it’s so much easier to hide.

I don’t expect everyone to understand, sympathize or even empathize. That isn’t what this blog entry is about. I guess my hope is that the more I speak, the less shame will have a chance to thrive. My hope is that through being open and transparent, I will find the ability to be as kind to myself as I long for others to be. Sometimes we have to love ourselves unconditionally in order to open it up so that others might have the chance to as well.

Lyrics:
Oh no, did I get too close?
Oh, did I almost see what’s really on the inside?
All your insecurities
All the dirty laundry
Never made me blink one time

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
There is no fear now
Let go and just be free
I will love you unconditionally

Come just as you are to me
Don’t need apologies
Know that you are worthy
I’ll take your bad days with your good
Walk through the storm I would
I do it all because I love you, I love you

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
There is no fear now
Let go and just be free
I will love you unconditionally

So open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart

Acceptance is the key to be
To be truly free
Will you do the same for me?

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
And there is no fear now
Let go and just be free
‘Cause I will love you unconditionally (oh yeah)
I will love you (unconditionally)
I will love you
I will love you unconditionally

Advertisements

My Big Fat Lesbian Life -The Divine Comedy AKA The Marriage Bed

In Uncategorized on April 27, 2013 at 5:51 pm

This past April, marked 2 years since I got rid of the ex. I was able to just recently get rid of her bed. If I had replaced it already, I would be jumping up and down on it, but I haven’t yet. When I do, I will. A lot.

If you’ve read along, you know that the bed has been a source of contention for me. It’s not like any great sex took place between her and I on the thing. Had she not been there, I am sure the sex would have been perfect. However, she was and coupled with the fact I spent more than my share of nights falling asleep crying, it came to represent all things awful.

It feels so good to not have to share space with her anymore. So very, very good.

I haven’t had the ability to tear the bed down again, so it stayed in the room I used to not get laid in share, with my ex wife. I tried to sleep in it, only to have horrible nightmares. Which just solidified my belief that it was the fabric equivalent to The Divine Comedy.

Before the bed was taken apart, I snapped some pics and planned to sell the bed frame. I quickly made the listing on Craigslist and waited. It wasn’t long before I actually got a serious offer, and decided to meet the woman who was so graciously offering me money to remove something so ghastly, from my home. We loaded the frame into the van, met her at a store, loaded the bed into her truck, and in all honesty I just couldn’t take her money. I don’t believe in talking about giving, I think it is nothing more than showing how awesome you want everyone to think you are, but there is a story here. I gave it to her. I just felt moved by the spirit that she needed the bed frame, and in all honesty, she was doing me a favor by taking it.

The mattress was set outside the dumpster area. I didn’t even bother trying to list it, because most people wouldn’t take a used mattress. So it was set out there, and then it was gone within hours. As we were walking across the parking lot, one of the neighbors made mention that she just found the most awesome mattress outside, and swapped it out for her worn out one.

What was a horrible ghost to me, was let go at the perfect time for someone else. I love it when things like that happen.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – Short

In Uncategorized on September 23, 2012 at 9:54 am

My son is back state side!

FINALLY!

He is currently undergoing the medical discharge process, and that takes awhile (I don’t fully understand it) but he’s that much closer to being home for good. But…

I’ll get to see him before his discharge because he’s coming home for Christmas!!!

Yay!

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – Bullshit.

In Uncategorized on August 23, 2012 at 4:50 pm

This past week I realized something about myself. I have a high tolerance for bullshit.

I was talking with my pal Nancy, who’s known me longer than anyone else I know, and she said something that unleashed knowledge I’d been seeking for ages. The answer is “bullshit”. Not literal shit from a bull, but the kind of shit that leads people like Adele and most country artists to write and/or sing songs.

The answer came to me like light breaking through clouds, to the chorus of a thousand angels and white doves flying in slow motion while a light bulb flickered over my head. I just have an insanely high tolerance for bullshit.

Well, a little more than that.

See, while Nancy talked about how chaos has just kinda found its way to me, I realized I’d been around chaos my whole life. My Mother set the standard, long before anyone else did. I grew up around dysfunction, knowing it wasn’t good, but developing a tolerance for it. I learned to adapt, so that I could live. As the years passed, instead of identifying dysfunction as it came at me, I’d just shrug my shoulders and find a way to adapt again. And that’s what I’ve done in my relationships with people. Romantic or not. I’ve adapted to their dysfunction. Always wondering why I’d end up in the same place over and over, wanting different but wondering if maybe I just wasn’t deserving or able to have it.

Once it finally hit me, I got it. I do deserve better, but it’s me who’s going to say it. It’s me who’s going to advocate for it.

Unfortunately, my high tolerance for bullshit has created places where I’ve allowed people to treat me with incredible disrespect (wash, rinse, repeat) while pretty much ignoring my own need for what would make me happy. I was too afraid to speak up for myself.

But I get it. I get it now. I’m finding my voice here, and it feels good. Like, it’s OK to say “I would like” or even “I need” and not feel like the self absorbed princess of the country named entitlement, because I have my boundaries.

It’s been a life altering awakening, and perhaps it’s going to take some strong steps towards finding out exactly what it is I need to do to filer out the bullshit.

But I’m ready for the challenge. And I’m ready for the change.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – Amazing What A Towel Can Do

In Uncategorized on May 8, 2012 at 11:04 pm

This might seem a bit crazy, but if you’ve ever endured the separation of property during a break up, you’ll completely understand my excitement.

I bought a paring knife.

It’s dawned on me that I no longer really have the small essentials that I used to have, before the marriage. I had some credit at The Kitchen Collection, and decided it was time to use it up. I’ve been doing a lot more cooking and trying out new recipes, and keep finding that the things I go to use, simply aren’t there anymore. I still need to get more pans, but that is going to be a month by month thing when the finances will allow. I have my eye on a set, but at 500.00 it’s not likely I will be able to purchase them anytime soon. Besides, storage space is pretty limited in my apartment. However, I do have room for a paring knife, so I picked one up while I was out.

I left the store feeling somewhat complete with my new paring knife and cutting board in tow. It almost felt a little like Christmas in May.

One thing I haven’t replaced by intention, is the microwave. I personally never used one much before I met her, so it wasn’t a deep loss to me when she took it. I guess thinking back I did replace it, but only for about a week or so. It sat on my counter virtually unused and I didn’t see a need to keep it sitting on the counter, so I took it back. But since then, I haven’t missed it and I have no intent to purchase another one anytime soon. I think I heated water a couple of times. I don’t need a 60.00 cup of heated water that bad.

It’s taken a year to rebuild some of the things that disappeared, but it’s the small things that have been the most exciting to me to gain. I think I literally smiled all the way home the day I bought new towels, handtowels and a lamp.

One thing I would love to get is a new bed. That stupid bed still sits in the room and I really just don’t like it. I want something that is my own. Something that is more my style and more my comfort. When that day comes, I am sure I will be smiling for weeks. Perhaps even sleeping in a bed again.

But for now, I will have perfectly peeled apples. That’s something to celebrate.

My Big Fat Lesbian Life – Demi Moore and Orange Leisure Suits

In Uncategorized on March 8, 2012 at 2:33 pm

I’m going to be blunt, I’m PMSing.

TMI … I know.

My body can’t decide if it’s on, or off.

I get pretty out of sync with things when my body argues with me. I’m that girl that’s dancing to a song, always moving two beats behind while wearing a neon orange leisure suit on the dance floor.

Of course my emotions get all mushy sensitive and I cry over puppy food commercials while devouring chocolate at the speed not quite determined by scientists. Toss in the neon orange leisure suit and I’m a cycle away from a one woman stand up comedy just waiting to self combust.

I’ve been feeling deep about some things. I guess it all started when I read a quote by Demi Moore. Having been recently separated she gave an interview and goes on to say..

“What scares me is that I’m going to ultimately find out at the end of my life that I’m really not lovable, that I’m not worthy of being loved. That there’s something fundamentally wrong with me.” – Demi Moore

What a big thing to say, but what an honest thing to say.

Demi said something I am sure many of us have thought about before and felt from time to time. It’s something we tend to ask ourselves at the tail end of a break-up or a drought in our personal lives as we move from place to place in our hearts, seeking that soft place to fall. However, it’s something that I have been struggling with for quite some time.

I’m sure it all goes back to my childhood, but I’ll spare the long detailed accounts. The result has been that which Demi speaks of, I get it. I completely relate. Yes, I am scared that maybe I am unlovable.

I haven’t had horrible relationships in my life, save for two notable experiences where I’ve allowed the wrong person into my world. Other than that, I’ve been pretty lucky. The recurring theme in all of my past relationship experiences, is that I’m always three sprints short of the finish line and those relationships were not going to go anywhere other than exactly where they went… nowhere.

I could blame Hollywood for the years of movies I grew up watching, conditioning me to believe that someday someone would find me moving enough to stand outside my window with a boom box or a full orchestra to win my heart (though it still is a romantic thought).

In part I’m sure it’s because I’ve always been afraid to step out of the fear of rejection that’s been my shield. It’s saved me from a lot of hurt, I’m sure. Though obviously it didn’t keep me from feeling the pangs of the remnant of a failed marriage that never should have happened in the first place. The fear of exposing my heart and it being rejected is a paralyzing thought, though I’ve been taking that risk hoping it will be different. At my age I am finding risks are sometimes better taken than not. I don’t want to be that woman that is 80 years old, thinking about all the chances I had in front of me and didn’t chose to take them because I was afraid. Though at the same time my fear echoes the words that Demi shared, and perhaps I will find myself an 80 year old woman having graduated from the orange leisure suit to wearing purple (please note reference to the poem When I Am Old, I Shall Wear Purple). I really hope not.

Either way, I refuse to be the crazy cat lady.

http://youtu.be/-j379JbL-xM

My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce – Thank You

In 2011, AP News, attorneys, Blog, Blue Like Jazz, Break-up, C.S. Lewis, cancer, children, Choose Joy, christian, Christmas, civil unions, clothing, coat hangers, Come Here Go Away, communication, cookies, court, Crying, Current events, dating, desert, Divorce, domestic, equality, Facebook, failure, family, fashion, fast car, feelings, finances, Fleetwood Mac, Flowers, Foolish Hearts, Friend, gardening, gay marriage, get a life, God, grief, health, Henry Miller, homosexuality, Jell-O, Kiss, Laughing stars, Law, law enforcement, Lesbian, Lesbian Relationships, lgbt, Love, Marriage, minivan, Musician, Natasha Bedingfield, Netflix, New York, news, NYE, Oregon, Pain, parenting, Pears, people, pictures, Politics, Portland, portland oregon, promises, Questions, Rain, Regret, relationships, religion, same sex, school, September, single, sleep, Steve Perry, Steve Taylor, stress, Uncategorized, vehicle, vows, wedding, women, Writing on January 17, 2012 at 12:32 am

After much thought, I decided this letter belongs as the last entry under My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce heading. It’s really more of a morph (non Power Rangers style, though I’d like to be the Pink Power Ranger if I had to choose).

In saying that, I’m struggling for the words to open a good-bye letter. Saying “good-bye” has never been my strong suit. I’ve led a life of good-byes while I’ve longed for a life of “Hello”.

But you didn’t say good-bye to me or the boys, and in retrospect, neither did we to you. Rather, we’ve lived our good-bye through each day we’ve discovered our laughter and ourselves once again.

So, let me start by saying Thank You.

I didn’t know where this journey of uprooting myself and the children to move up here would lead us. Of course I had hoped it would lead us to a better level of a new chapter in our lives, and it has. Just….without you. At first I felt that was more of an ending, but in reality it’s become a beginning.

I know I cried a lot after moving up here. I had left behind open skies, the sound of crickets at night, and the quiet streets. But despite the reasons we married, I had left it all behind because I made a commitment and I wanted to see where that journey could lead us all as a family. It wasn’t easy but that was the level I believed in my keeping my word. It wasn’t what we agreed on when we decided to marry that day we went to the courthouse, but still….

I thought despite things hadn’t come into my life as I had hoped, that it could somehow grow into what I dreamed of once I moved and in time.

Maybe I didn’t see you as my partner the way I should have when we decided to marry, but I gave it my all to grow into love with you and to be your wife. Eventually I did, but by that time I had also realized that our union was in reality a business arrangement between two people for your job, and would never really be the loving relationship of two hearts discovering each other in the natural progression I had longed for. By that time though, emotions were involved so walking away became a tangled mess. I should have walked away much sooner, but I can’t question or second guess myself anymore, because things turned out exactly as they should.

Since I’ve lived here on my own, I’ve discovered my own heart, my own voice, and my own open skies once again. Perhaps meeting you was exactly what I needed to move me to this new level of my life that’s opened up new and different opportunities for the boys and I.

B is flourishing in his new school, C is mainstreamed without an aide, G is reaching new milestones and D is excelling academically. Who knows if any of that would be the case had we not moved.

I’ve made new friends, explored new opportunities, found that I’m much stronger than I’ve ever given myself credit for, and learned to trust myself once again.

I’ve also found that I know exactly what I’m longing to feel with another person and a liberty to allow myself the freedom to feel it without reserve when it comes. I’ve had opportunities to do just that, but I haven’t settled. Because I’ve heard my voice when I filed for our divorce, and I liked the sound of my own strength.

So Thank You.

I say that without malice, sarcasm or for any other reason than to simply thank you.

You were the train ride here, that held a work shop of lessons that I needed to learn, for whatever reasons I needed. I appreciate that and I’ll always thank you for that.

But now, I need to tell you Good-Bye openly with my words instead of just living it as I have. The boys have said good-bye in their own ways, so I’m not just saying this as your ex wife, but also as your ex family.

We’re good.

I wish you love, happiness and I truly hope you find the peace you’re so desperately seeking. I hope you find healing, hope and joy. I hope many good things for you. I’m pretty sure neither of us had planned for it to end as badly as it did. That’s OK.

Because I’m exactly where God has planned all along.

If you listen to this song, you’ll hear exactly where my heart is in writing this. It starts when Chris Colfer sings, and ends with my

Good-Bye.

My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce – The Birth Control Mobile Rides Again

In blog, Cancer Sucks, Choose Joy, christian, Christmas, civil unions, coat hangers, communication, court, Crying, Current events, current events, dating, Divorce, divorce, Edgefield McMenamins, equality, Facebook, family, fast car, feelings, finances, Friend, friendship, gay, God, grief, healing, health, homosexuality, KVAL TV, Law, lesbian, lgbt, LGBTQ, love, minivan, New York, news, Pain, parenting, people, Politics, portland oregon, promises, Questions, Relationships, religion, same sex, single, sleep, stress, vehicle, vows, wedding, Wedding Ring, women, Writing on January 7, 2012 at 12:09 pm

If you’ve been reading along the past month or so, you know my ex wanted the van back because of a payment arriving one day late.

Here’s the blog link that explains what happened to the van – http://mybigfatlesbiandivorce.com/2011/10/19/my-big-fat-lesbian-divorce-the-van/

We’ve been without a vehicle (which I have always tenderly refered to as “The Birth Control Mobile”. I think with some government funding that I could be hired to do high school drive bys, with my all van windows down and all 6 children arguing over the Game Boy. I could give a reality check to some of the teens and possibly single handedly reduce teen pregnancy… OK so I doubt the government will fund this and the idea of enduring another sibling argument over a video game is a bit exhausting).

Honestly though, giving the van back worked to my advantage. She has the vehicle and I no longer have to make monthly payments on something that is breaking down. It just  makes the most financial sense for my family in the long run to be free from that previous obligation.

However, I was left without a vehicle and I was pretty scared. I was really happy to be rid of the financial obligation of that stupid van, but I was really worried about how I was going to go about the daily things I need to do, to take care of my family.

After looking around and asking people I knew about any possibile vehicles for sale, I had found a place that fixes vehicles donated and then sells them for the cost of repairs. They had one van that had extensive work done, and they were selling for 1,600.00. Clean, great condition, and an 8 seater. I haven’t been able to save up much, let alone 1,600.00, because I am still playing catch up on some bills since I asked the ex to leave, but this van seemed so perfect for my family. I’m almost on track with the finances, but not quite. I need that money tree to sprout about 2,000.00 for that to happen, but so far it’s been more of a pocket change twig.

I looked into some loans and other possibilities, but things kept falling through. I sighed a breath of relief in a way, because I really didn’t want to create more debt while I was working on getting caught up, but I was still trying to figure out how I was going to come up with the money for the van. This was/is a need. It’s not like I was out there trying to find something that was above and beyond what we need. Something to get us safely from point to point is all I was looking for, and this can fit the bill perfectly.

The garage selling the vehicle  had decided to reduce the price for me to 1,000.00 because they were really trying to help me out. 1,000.00 was still more than I had, in fact all I had was 400.00. At 1,000.00 I knew they were reducing the price to below the amount of money and time they had put into fixing the vehicle, but without the money, I still felt pretty hopless.

As things started to feel as though they were crumbling, I can’t even begin to described what happened other than love and human connection stood in the gap.

I received a message from a friend on Facebook, who wanted to know where she could send money towards the vehicle. She sent in a majority of the money I needed to purchase the vehicle, and with the 400.00 I had, I had the van paid for.

Then another friend put money towards the van, which helped pay for fuel.

Then another friend sent in money  to cover registration, and title transfer.

Then another sent in money to have both back tires and windsheild wipers replaced.

These calls jut kept coming in from the garage to tell me that my friends were calling in and putting towards the cost of the van. The woman on the other end of the phone was just so amazed and excited for us, that my friends were not only touching my life, but hers in the process as well.

The van is completely mine.

Knowing the people I have around my life, it doesn’t completely surprise me that they would step in and extend love and human connection and kindness the way they have. I simply know the most beautiful people. But it still moved me beyond belief. I was, and I still am, in complete awe of the kindness. I still look out my window just to look at the van and say a “thank you”. Even though I know it can’t be heard, I hope those who extended the kindness know it is still very much felt.

Someone gave anonymously, so I will never know to who I owe such a big thanks. But you are all truly amazing. These past months have been a journey for sure, but there are those  who have listened, cared, prayed, sent art, cards, phone calls, texts, messages, left comments, asked how we are doing, have taken me to coffee and all those things that friends do for one another. I want you all to know that I feel so loved. Not just because you extend compassion and love, but because you have been woven into my life to begin with.

Thank you soooo much

You are all truly amazing.

My Big Fat Lesbian Divorce – Dear Diary

In Aaron Jamison, AP News, attorneys, Blog, Brother, cancer, Cancer Sucks, children, Choose Joy, christian, civil unions, clothing, coat hangers, communication, court, Crying, Current events, dating, Divorce, equality, Facebook, failure, family, feelings, finances, Flowers, Foolish Hearts, Friend, friendship, gay, gay marriage, God, grief, healing, health, homosexuality, Kiss, Laughing stars, Law, Lesbian, lgbt, LGBTQ, Life, Love, Marriage, military, money, movies, New York, news, Oregon, parenting, people, Politics, Portland, portland oregon, promises, Questions, Regret, relationships, religion, single, stress, The Little Prince, vehicle, vows, wedding, Wedding Ring, women, Writing on December 4, 2011 at 2:32 am

Dear Diary,

I’ve had a lot of things going on lately. It seems like life just keeps moving on, and I get so lost in living. It’s when I lay my head down at night, that I hear the sounds that my thoughts make. Sometimes it sounds like yelling, crying, grief, joy and at times it’s peace.

I had an amazing miracle recently, I want to talk about it so much. But I think I need to just write out the things that are on my mind in the very present.

It’s Christmas season. It’s been almost 8 months since I asked my ex to please leave the apt. There is a lot of healing, though my mind took me back to last year. I don’t miss her anymore, in the intimate way a partner misses their lover. In fact, I rarely miss her at all. If I am really quiet and still, I realize I actually never miss her anymore. But it’s Christmas, and I go back to last year when we were picking out our tree at the nursey up the road. Watching the boys carry it and load it into the back of her truck, so adorable.

I don’t remember if she was even home last year when we decorated the tree. I was so emotionally drained from the relationship, you know that diary. Every day was a moment to awaken, and stand against the wind. At least that is what it felt like. I was so conflicted. I wanted out of the situation, away from her.. but I grieved that I wanted it as much as I did. I wanted to want my wife.. my marriage, more.

But here it is December and we’ve put up our tree and decorated it. It was peaceful. We came across the stocking we made her. I just looked at it for a moment. It ended up in the trash. There was no grieving what I wanted my marraige to be, because now it is nothing more than a memory. It has nowhere to go. There is no reconcilliation, there is no healing the relationship.. there is no wanting to.

It’s been a year now, since my son was home on leave. A year since he showed me the growth on the back of his head. I made him promise to get it checked as soon as he got back to base. A year, so many surgeries and Doctors later……

My son is coming home for good in the early part of next year. After 6 pathologists and so many opinions, they can agree that he has had cancer. They are removing a part of growth in his thyroid in Feburary, as a precaution. He will be medically discharged. He’s been back on his base for a little bit now, as there is really nothing else to be done for him at the military medical hospy. He’s just waiting around now, for his surgery and discharge. Diary, you know how much I love my son. It’s so sad to think he has to deal with all of this.. shit. He’s such a beautiful soul. I want beautiful things to happen to him. Lots of amazing and beautiful things in the whole 130 years I want him to have.

I miss my friend Aaron. I saw him in a dream the other night. For some reason he walked out of the house with my brother, one I haven’t seen in quite some time. I have 2 biological brothers, and I haven’t seen either of them in years. I don’t know why, but my family is so separate. Aaron was a brother when I really had forgotten what it feels like to be a sister, or have someone make me feel like a sister. I wish that I had family around for the holidays, everyday. I have so much to be thankful for, my children and I make a family. Though I wish my siblings and I weren’t so disconnected.

Diary, my head is spinning with so many thoughts.

So many things.. my children, life, finances, the coming year… It’s hard to even know where to end this entry, because life keeps moving.

Perhaps I will just say Good Night.

http://youtu.be/mRnCC-wEYss