Secrets, lies, and interpretation

I am so tired.  I don't remember another period of time where I have gotten less sleep for such a long time.  I've had maybe a dozen hours of sleep over the past five days... this morning I slept from 1:30 to 3:30, then from 5:00-6:00.  I ended up taking two naps today... one at Paul's and one at home.

This morning I got up at 6 (having spent the night at Christopher's) and drove C to Le Claire to meet up with his other partner.  The drive up... was a time of hard conversations.  C had told me last weekend that if I let Jodie back into my life, he couldn't be around.  "I love you too much to stand by and watch... he'll kill you next time," he'd said.  And he wanted me to tell him what was going on.

So I told him what's been going on in my head... that I feel like Jodie cannot come home right now as she left.  That I want to know how Jodie is feeling, what she's thinking, right now.  Is she sitting in a jail cell thinking about what she did, or thinking about what I did to her by calling the police?  Is she thinking about revenge?  Missing me?

If she is thinking about what she did... there is hope.  Hope that she can recognize her own problems and learn to fix them.

If she is thinking about what I did to her... there's very little hope.

clever phrasing here

It's October.

I really don't think I can take an October after the September I've had.

And the October ahead of me has the potential to be very, very rough.

Testing...

We shall see if post-by-email works from Blackberry to Blogger, since it doesn't from Blackberry to LJ...
Sent from my BlackBerry®

Things unspoken

I had a lot of things on my mind this morning. I woke up and started reading about race and racism in Seattle; an article in The Stranger entitled, aptly enough, “Deeply Embarrassed White People Talking Awkwardly About Race.” It made me think about how so many of us avoid so many topics because we don't know HOW to talk about them. Obviously, race is a major one. But there are others, and I was reminded of how much unintentional damage we can do when we don't know how to talk about things.

Case in point: Pam. Now, Pam is my next door neighbor to the west (I think). Yesterday when I got home from the county attorney's office, Pam was standing outside her trailer. I went to chat with her. See, when the police took Jodie away a week ago, Jodie left with the ignition key for the truck... and with the truck parked in front of Pam's trailer. This blocks Pam's access a bit to her cute little plantings right out front, so I had been proactive in telling Pam the day after the Incident that I would try to get the truck moved ASAP, but that I didn't have the keys. I wanted to apologize to her again, and tell her a bit of an update on a timeline.

What followed was a conversation that hit a few hot buttons for me.

First of all... I have known her since May as “Pat,” because that's the name Jodie gave me. That's the name Jodie had called her since she (J) had moved in. As it turned out... that isn't her name. It's PaM. But she had never figured out how to tell Jodie that. Now, to me... especially because I am NOTORIOUS for forgetting people's names, or having them mis-interpreted, or what not... knowing someone's name is a really big deal. I want people to correct me when I call them the wrong name. I've called people the wrong name for two weeks at a stretch, and been utterly mortified when someone finally told me. It's like walking around for two weeks with lipstick on one's teeth and toilet paper hanging out of your asscrack (which shouldn't be showing, but I digress). And more mortifying than that is the thought of the little bit of deflation people must feel when being called the wrong thing. I am probably overly sensitive to worrying about such things; but I have a real issue with causing people hurt unintentionally. (Conversely or perversely, I don't give a shit about causing people discomfort because of who I am or how I choose to live my life.) So I was glad to know her real name. I just wondered... why on earth did she never correct Jodie? What is the fear there?

She was asking what was up with Jodie, and I was giving her some bare bones... sensing she really didn't want to know much. And she said at some point... “it's just a domestic dispute... it's not like Jodie robbed a bank or something!”

sigh. Just, sigh.

I didn't call her out on that, but it really hit me just how much people still minimize domestic violence. And I admit it gave me a twinge of something... some minimizing of my experiences, of my life, of the work I had dedicated my life to.  I realized, though, that people just often don't know how to talk about it...and so they take whatever perspective they can find.

It's funny, though. The actual Incident caused me less damage and less grief than the aftermath has. The confusion and loneliness and wondering... the not-knowing has been the worst. Not knowing when Jodie will get out. Not knowing how Jodie is feeling or thinking about this mess. Not knowing whether this will be enough to make her realize she has a problem... that she is an addict.

One of the big things that has come out of this for me is that I started attending Al-Anon meetings. Respecting the confidentiality of a 12-step program, I will just say this for now: it is utterly mind-bending to hear your own life coming out of someone else's mouth, unbidden. Humbling, in a way, to know that we really are not alone, none of us. That we really are not as unique as we think.  I admit to remaining deeply skeptical about 12-step programs in general, and the higher power stuff in particular (as someone who is sometimes atheist and sometimes agnostic, there's really no other way I could be).  But... I am not kidding.  The two meetings I have attended thus far have given me so much food for thought, and so many tools to deal with the confusion I'm feeling.  I'm going to keep going.

Meeting yesterday with the county attorney was an eye-opening experience, too. While there are all kinds of interesting little bits that sparked my curiosity and my intellectual thirst, I just want to note one big one.

Kristin (the CA) said to me that I needed to be aware that defense attorneys will often try to use any and all information about the victim as a smear tactic. Later, she asked me what I would do if Jodie tried to manipulate me somehow into recanting my report. I laughed really hard at that... manipulation and blackmail really only work on people who have secrets. I try very hard to live a transparent life (probably a little TOO transparent for some people), and have very few secrets. Very, very few. Without secrets, no one else has much power over me.

I mean, really... think about it. How much time, energy, effort are wasted every day by people working frantically to keep their secrets intact, hidden? How many different parts of one person's life are affected by one secret? It's mind-boggling, when you start to think about it.

And yet... I found myself keeping a secret this past week. I wanted to keep the domestic violence incident under wraps, shared with only a select group of people. I didn't intend to tell my family (other than my sister, who is privy to my Twitter as well as LJ and FB). It wasn't because I was ashamed. It wasn't because I was afraid of how people would look at me differently. It was mostly... I didn't want people to know this about Jodie. I didn't want people to judge Jodie without knowing all the facts, without knowing HER. And, to be honest, I didn't want people telling me what to do. People have told me what to do countless times since last Thursday. “Leave him, kick the bum out, don't ever speak to him again, make him do this or that or something else... what is WRONG with you that you are even CONSIDERING continuing a relationship with someone who hit and kicked you?!”

I've heard all of those, and a whole bunch more. I've probably said some of them in the past. Goddess forgive me, because boy howdy... I have sinned. The sin of pride and of thinking I know better, that I am more evolved than thou. The sin of believing that if only people were a little more AWARE of themselves, a little more with-it...

I really am just insufferable sometimes. I can see that now.

One of the readings at the Al-Anon meeting tonight was about remembering that none of us know what is in another person's mind and heart... none of us know what lessons that person's higher power is teaching them. None of us CAN know. And thus, we cannot know the “best” way for them to conduct themselves.  We can only seek the best way for ourselves. 

The other reading was about remembering that the only business that is ours is... our own. Learning to stop trying to control other people through advice and edicts, and focusing instead on our own shit, is one of the hardest lessons for a would-be world-saver to learn. But it's a lesson I HAVE to learn. I have to.

I'm coming to be almost thankful that this happened... that Jodie erupted, that I erupted in response, that the police were called, that my whole life has been turned upside down yet AGAIN. I am learning so much about myself... and a lot of it isn't pretty. But it's all stuff that I can and will work on, and I can only become a better person for it.

I am off to shower and drive to Burlington. Tomorrow morning, I drive to Le Claire, then into Davenport to meet with Jodie's parole officer. I was scared to death earlier about this. Now I have peace.

It's amazing how that Serenity Prayer takes on so much power when it's echoed by five, ten, a dozen voices... and when you are desperately trying to figure out whether or not you can change something.

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change

The courage to change the things I can

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Ball of misery

You know... this is going to be hard for some people to believe, but for the most part I'm not actively grieving over the loss of my relationship.  I DO love Michael; I DO miss him, and miss things about him when I don't see him.  But more and more I realize that he's right: this is the right thing for both of us.

Last night we were eating dinner at a completely nondescript steakhouse in W'loo, and I turned to him and said, "Perhaps we just make better friends with benefits than partners."  He smiled sort of shyly and said, "Perhaps."  And the more I think about it, the more I think...he just cannot handle the realities of a relationship.  Any relationship.  Notjust with me.  Not just with a potential partner.  With his children, his family, his "friends."  And while I'd like to think that I'm a little more able to relate to other people, I'm not sure I'm capable of maintaining a healthy relationship, either.  That's probably just my pain, exhaustion, and all the rest talking, though.

I have been back in Cedar Falls this weekend... got here Friday night, and am going home today.  "Home."  Who am I kidding?  I HAVE no home.  I have a spare room in Kelly's tiny, adorable house.  A house where I can't take ANY of my stuff, my "housy" stuff, because it not only doesn't fit spatially, it doesn't fit decoratively.  (Were there enough fucking commas in that sentence?)

So all my animal print stuff?  Is either going to have to be sold, donated, or go into storage.  Most of my kitchen stuff, ditto.  Although, SOME of my kitchen stuff is going to have to go back with me, because Kelly has nothing.  I'm more than happy to cook, but I cannot cook without pots, pans, etc.  (Kel doesn't cook; she bakes, but doesn't cook)

I had a moment of just misery the other day when I looked at a "floating" bookshelf thingEE I had bought in Galena and realized I had no home to use it in.  And I'm 40 years old, unemployed for over a year, and homeless
  
I just.

On top of all this, I'm going through withdrawal from an antidepressant that sort of sounds like the lion in The Lion King.  Symptoms thus far:

*brain zaps (electrical storms in the brain, where your brain briefly shorts out/goes offline)
*insomnia (I was up until 4am on Wednesday night-Thursday morning)
*INCREDIBLY vivid dreams - I've always had fairly vivid dreams, I thought.  I was wrong.
*knocking inside my head (I suspect this is more from my hormones - I am pms-ing and this is something that happens often when my hormones fluctuate)
*brainfog to the Nth degree - cannot find words.  Common words.  Typing this has been an exercise in high comedy.
*OMFG incredible knee/leg pain - I thought perhaps this was just an acting-up of my existing arthritis/kneecap askew pain.  And then last night happened.  I didn't think I wanted to survive the night.  This morning I took some Aleve and used some Bio-Freeze, and that took the pain down from a 9 to an 8.
*clumsiness that is exponentially worse than my usual lack of coordination
*everything I hear through my processor sounds funny.
*excessive urination (aren't you glad I told you?)- I was up 5 times last night to pee.  Which, given how much my knees hurt, was no fucking joke, let me tell you.

As the post says... I'm a big fucking ball of misery.

I need a nap.

Dad's perfidy (XP from LJ)

So. The reason Dad lost his shit and was screaming at me last week was because I had backed up their "my documents" folder on my HDD before I started fiddling wtih their computer (which was so full of crapware, bloatware, shitware, malware, filth - it was the most disgustingly filthy computer I have ever in my life seen, and I've cleaned a lot of them - that I probably could have spent four days just cleaning it up). First Lois got upset and wanted to know what made me think I had the right to have their documents on my hard drive. I kind of shook my head in confusion, and explained I'd just put them there so if anything happened while I was working on the computer their documents and pictures would be safe. She kept pushing at me about it, and finally got up and walked out of the living room, clearly upset. She didn't TELL me she was upset, mind you. It was just clear. She yelled something to Dad from the kitchen. At that point I was just shaking my head and going, "wtf just happened?" But I took my laptop over to Dad and attempted to explain the difference between a user profile on the computer and a user profile on MSN.

He stared at me and glared at me, and said, "which one of those files is our stuff?" "None," I said. "It's on my external hard drive over here."

"Delete it. Delete it NOW."

I stared at him. I said, "Dad, you don't UNDERSTAND. I just backed them up so I could put them back on your computer if anything happened."

His anger became more palpable. "I don't give a FUCK. You delete them NOW. You do what I said."

I said, "I won't delete them until I put them back on your computer. Your pictures and everything are in there."

Now he was screaming, five inches from my face. "DELETE IT NOW!!!! YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO GO IN AND READ OUR STUFF!!!" I said, "I didn't read a fucking thing... I just backed it up!"

"DELETE THE WHOLE GODDAMN PROGRAM!!!"

I was starting to shake.

I said, "Don't speak to me like that. Ever. You don't have a clue what you're talking about."

He screamed at me again. "DON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!!! I KNOW WHAT I AM TELLING YOU TO DO, NOW DELETE THE GODDAMN THING BEFORE I..." His hand was raised.

I was really shaking now. Shaking inside. Not because I was afraid, exactly. But because I was once again that little girl, the one who was crumpled in the corner, crying, broken. Not because HE hit me, but because Mom did. The players didn't matter. The feeling did.

I silently ejected my HDD, silently shut down my computer. He started to say something. I didn't look at him. I just said, "Don't speak to me. At all." And I kept packing my things. Just MY things, just the things that belonged to me, which Lois had (of course) tossed in a box. Not the things Lois had just given me the week before. Just my things.

I shouldered all my bags and carried my box out to the car, started it, backed out, and left without looking back. I wasn't even out of the driveway when the sobs hit... the sobs, then the shaking came bubbling up through my limbs and I tried to call Tim and couldn't get through and oh my god driving out of that town felt like driving out of hell.

****************************************

****************

I was angry. I was hurt. I was completely incredulous. Did that really happen? Because I did the responsible thing? Really?

This can't be real.

Part of my anger was because... I am not a fucking SNOOP. I was doing what any responsible IT person would: backing up irreplaceable files. To be accused of doing something nefarious, when I was doing something that took literally fourteen hours just to get started?

Tim evinced some curiosity as to what they were trying to hide. At that point, I didn't care. Not in the least.

This morning, I was trying to find a grant narrative for Jenn, and I saw the file on my HDD: "Dad and Lois Backup."

I saw a letter titled "Letter to Mat and Cori." Matt is my ex-husband. Kori is his second wife. No, neither Dad nor Lois can spell.

Why are they writing letters to my ex-husband and his wife?

I decided I no longer gave a shit about my credibility with them. So I opened it.

This is what I found.
***************************************


Dear Mat and Kori,

Please find enclosed a copy of instructions from our Will that pertains to the boys. We would like you to keep this someplace for future reference.

We took out life insurance policies on both the boys shortly after each were born. This would guarantee them coverage later on in life at a very low premium to them and also cover their families when the time came.

Presently, Morgan and Sam are each covered by a $50,000.00 whole life policy. This policy has the options of being increased by either one of them at any time in the future with no medical exam and no questions asked. They can also expand each policy to cover their future wives and any children, also without any exams and no limitations.

Lois and I will maintain these policies until such time in the future the boys are financially able to take them over ( after they finish their educations and get settled in their careers ). As you can see, I am the first owner and beneficiary of each policy and Lois is the second. Should anything happen to either of the boys, their final expenses will be taken care of and the balance will be used to establish an IRA for the survivor. Should anything happen to both the boys, all final expenses will be taken care of and the balance will be used to establish an IRA held equally by Noah, Charlotte, and any other siblings that my come along in the future.

Please note, Lois’ daughter, Kristin Poole of Muscatine, has been designated as third owner of the policies should anything happen to both Lois and I. The reason for this is Gretchen. She knows these policies exist and is not very happy, to say the least. She has made it very clear she feels she should be the beneficiary and be entitled to “THE MONEY” if anything should happen either Morgan or Sam. We did not start these policies to benefit anyone except the boys themselves. Kristin was named third owner to avoid any problems between the two of you, the boys and Gretchen.

As it states in the instructions, should Kristin feel she can no longer manage this, she will contact you and make arrangements for you to take them over for the boys.

I have given Kristin a copy of these instructions and she understands what is to be done. I have also given a copy to Brian Shepley, State Farm Insurance, Muscatine, to keep on file with the policies.

Morgan is getting close to starting college and Sam will soon follow. When they make their final decision regarding the schools they will attend, we will help with their expenses as much as we are able.

If you ever have any questions, Please call us.

Lois and Marion
*************************

Every time I read this, my stomach hurts a little more.

God knows what other lies they've told other people.

Yesterday

Yesterday was both horrible and, towards the very end, wonderful. 

I spent so much time in a fog yesterday... a fog of exhaustion, mostly, and sadness.  The only time the fog really lifted was when I was angry about DIAA being screwed out of something that is rightfully theirs and when I discovered evidence of Dad's perfidy and wrote about it.  Once I wrote about it.. a fog descended again.  This time a fog of depression, loss, anger, exhaustion... a feeling of worthlessness, even though I know that, logically, it's wrong. 

Janet I messaged me the other day with something that really, for whatever reason, woke me up.  "anything that can help from afar? you're strong, and vibrant and wonderful. small comfort, but please try to hold onto that knowledge..."

And I have.  I have gone back and read and re-read that.  I don't know why it woke me up, but I have found myself saying to myself, at random times in the day, "I am strong and vibrant.  I will survive."

It's just, sometimes... it doesn't quite feel like it.


Later, I'll paste in the post from LJ about Dad.  I need to remember.  I need to, because my own tendency to forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive will just lead me to hurt again, with hm.  


In the morning, I had asked Michael if we could have a discussion that night about timelines and plans.  He had said we could.  I texted him about 6 and asked when he'd be home, because I needed to go get SOMETHING for Norm.  He is just so itchy and miserable right now.  He finally came home about 7; I was making spaghetti for supper, and he came in and said he was going to mow.  I nearly had a breakdown.  I was angry.  "Don't do this, Michael... why are you doing this?"  He said we could talk after he mowed.  I said I wanted more than the 15 minutes before he fell asleep.  He said we could talk while we ate.  


Fine.


We started to talk about timelines; he said he's realized it may take several months to find places to live and get everything squared away.  I said that I didn't think I could live, at least not right now, in the same house under the circumstances we'd created over the past day or so.  It was too hard.  I didn't sleep.  He looked sad.  He said it was hard for him, too.  I said I didn't see it.  He said he didn't show things like I did.  I turned away to hide my tears.

He asked if I was going to try to go back to school this fall.  I said I didn't know.  He asked what I needed to do in order to be able to do so.  "Have a place to live up here," I said.  He sighed and said, "I'm sorry."


I said that I would have to sell my furniture.  "Why?" he asked.  Because there's too much of it... I won't have anywhere to put it.  "I can keep it until you're ready for it," he said.  "I'll probably have to put my tools in storage."


I told him this was just too hard, and I didn't understand WHY it was so hard.  Why, when I know he's right, that our relationship isn't going to last.  WHY did it have to be so hard?  I got angry at myself because I couldn't stop crying.  Not sobbing... not the heart-wrenched gasping for breath sobs that issued from me on Saturday evening when he said "no, Gretchen.  This is how it has to be," in response to my pleading.  Just the constant leaking from my eyes, my nose stopped up, uncontrollable.  I tried to stop it, and succeeded only in slowing it.


I told him I needed touch.  I needed to touch him, that it would be easier for me.


"What do you want to do?" he asked.


There was a long moment of silence.  I couldn't look at him.  Finally I met his eyes.  Let me sleep with you tonight, I said, and I'll go away tomorrow.


He fell apart.


"I don't want you to just go away... I want to know you're all right.  It's too hard, it's too hard, it hurts too much."  His hands were in his hair.  He had tears in his eyes.  He got up to go in the living room and get tissues.  I followed, and I patted the couch next to me.  Sit down with me, I said.  He sat.  I said, come here and cuddle me.  He burst into sobs.  "It's too HARD!"


But he came and he held on to me and rested his head on my breast while he cried quietly.  While my tears slowed and dried.  While I stroked his head and hand and back, and felt my own breathing slow.  We sat like that for a few minutes.  "I need to go mow," he said.  No you don't, I said.  I will take care of it.  "I need to go do something, SOMETHING.  Sitting here hurts too much," he said.  He was crying.


I pushed him back to sit upright.  I looked him in the eye, and I made him look at me.  


You need to stop pushing everything down, I said.  You need to let yourself feel.  


"It hurts too much!"


So does running, I pointed out.


"I can't sit here. Everything goes around and around and it HURTS."


What goes around and around?


"My mind."


I looked him in the eye again.  You have spent your whole life pushing everything down, running away from feeling, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally.  You need to stop.  


"But if I push it down it won't hurt."


Not now, I said.  But it hurts eventually.  You know it does.  


He is sobbing again.  "Let's go get ice cream.  Get some cream for Norm and get ice cream."


I had to laugh just a little bit at that.  Ice cream, your solution to everything, I said.


"Let's go.  Let's go get ice cream."


So we did.  We got cream for Norm, and Icy Hot for him.  He held my hand.  We went to Four Queens, and I rubbed the Icy Hot on his thigh where his muscles are spasming while we sat in the drive through line.  It didn't do anything, and the line wasn't moving, so I suggested we just go in.  "Do you want to wash your hands first," he asked.  Where?  There's no restroom here.  "We can go to Walgreens and look for BioFreeze and you can wash your hands," he said.


So we did.  They told us Hy-Vee is the only place in town to get Bio-Freeze, so we went back to Four Queens and got ice cream.  A chocolate marshmallow sundae for him, a butter pecan hot fudge with malt powder for me.  I gave Norm some of mine.  We went to Hy-Vee.  His hand reached for mine as we walked in.  We came home, and I rubbed cream on Norm while Michael "went to the library."  Then I told him I would rub the Bio-Freeze on his thighs, so I did.  When I was done, I went and sat in my chair and resumed folding my clothes.  "What are you doing?" he asked.  Packing, I said.  


He looked sad, so sad.  "You're tired.  Let's go to bed.  You can pack tomorrow."


I kept folding.


He got off the bed and repeated himself.  


I said that I'd go to bed in a little while.  "Come to bed," he said.  You don't want me to, I replied.  "I want you to.  I want you to come and cuddle."


He came and pulled me up from the chair.  I stood for  a long minute.  


And then I went and brushed my teeth and went to bed with him.


I woke up very early this morning.  Right about dawn.  I lay and watched him sleep, knowing this will probably be the last time I do so.  I cuddled back up to him and went back to sleep.  He was up early for an eye doctor appointment.  He came in after he was dressed and woke me.  "I'll be home for lunch," he said.  "I'll see you at lunch...?" There was an unspoken question.


I said, I'll see you at lunch.


He signed ILY as he walked out.  Out of habit, I'm sure.  But it nearly broke me again.


I'm going to go mow now, and pack.  I'm going to Kelly's tonight.  I told him I would go away. I meant it.