Here she comes ...

I'm channeling my inner Domino.

Here we go

Well, I'm pursuing a modification. I don't want to make the rules, so I'm engaging the court system ... hoping it will be a stress relief and not an additional source of stress.

A modification is the only way we can require BD have random drug/alcohol screens ... and it will provide him a path to follow in order to earn the right to spend time with my son. If he passes tests, remains sober, he will be rewarded with additional possession.

I think this is fair. Even if I might not like the outcome. Again, I don't want to make the rules, so ... here we go ...

Here again, already, Monday?

So another Monday, but a better Monday than the previous one, at least so far.

So much has happened since I last posted ... I should have posted, as things occurred, but I have been busy at work and just didn't have the energy.

BD has impressed me a bit in that he already managed to find a sober living residence his first week in town. I did some research and was amazed at the number of these houses that are in the community -- and more specifically, in my own suburban area. Also, since he spent 90 days in one of these homes while out of state, and these homes all belong to the same organization, he likely had a bit of inside help. OK, well, good for him (and even better for our mutual friend and his family, with whom BD was staying). Next step? Well, he needs to get a JOB. These residences are not free. Supposedly he has an interview today.

He's been agreeable to all of my boundaries and rules so far. I just wish he'd go away; I haven't had to deal with him much over the past five years, and I simply don't want to. But ...

I had to see him at my son's two soccer matches this weekend. He makes my skin crawl. He stresses me out.

On Friday, he hit me with some sort of amateur "official" email letter, stating he would like to pursue a modification to our existing divorce decree -- said he'd had an initial consultation with an attorney who suggested he is entitled to scheduled, unsupervised visits. If an attorney "suggested" that -- well then that attorney does not know the whole truth. I'm certain BD left out a lot of detail.

So this amateur "official" email letter sent me off and into a tailspin. I forwarded it to the attorney with whom I initially consulted prior to his arrival. I meet with that attorney today.

I know my attorney will also suggest a modification, and the terms of his visits will require drug and alcohol screens. I'm OK with that -- good with that, agree with that, that they should be required and are necessary. But I'm not good with the entire A to Z plan, with Z being he eventually earns standard visitation.

So, I'm going to see if we can demand testing for now, with out diving into the rabbit hole that pursuing a legal modification to the decree will certainly become. If he wants a modification, let him cough up a few thousand dollars for a modification -- and if that ever happens, I will retain representation. I'm not sure how my attorney will feel or advise me regarding this. But I guess I will find out today.

OK

Remember Blue October's "Hate Me?"

Yeah, well, ask and you shall receive ... again. I thought we went through this in 2006-2007 ... and you drove so fucking far away that you never crossed my mind.

And now? You've returned, with a sense of entitlement. It reminds me how I felt six years ago, but you've changed your tune ... maybe I need to see what Blue October's been writing lately for clues to what's ahead.

Even given all this, it's still a good song. And Melrose Place? Was a really good show.

Hold me, Thursday

Great news! The gigantic oral ulcer, perhaps crop of ulcers, that decided to show up in my mouth Friday? Almost gone. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm losing weight. I never bitch about losing weight. It's easy enough to put pounds back on anyway.

Two soccer practices were canceled due to weather this week and one match has been canceled (so far) ... and I've felt I've had to communicate with the baby-daddy (BD) because he had planned to attend these events ... and then I realized, eff this. I sent a note to the rec coach, cc'd BD, and requested he be added to the email distribution list. At least that takes me out of the middle of that. Let him watch his own email account.

I'm dealing with a lot of resentment right now. I'm dealing with a lot of everything; but let me tell you, I do have me some resentment. I know it's not good. I know we're supposed to forgive people and let things go, but until this situation stabilizes, I'm likely to be all over the map emotionally. And I'm pretty sure that means for like, the rest of my life.

I'm not even ready for the weekend. During the weekends I can't hide at work, and I like to hide at work. Maybe it's time I try an old hiding spot -- the yoga studio ... we'll see ... not sure I'm ready yet.

The little things ...

Wednesday has been significantly better than Monday. Monday was pretty horrid, so ... not sure how much that's really saying BUT ...

Three little words in an email made my day at 5:31 p.m. today:

"Thanks! Great work!"

I've been hiding in the office lately, keeping my head down, burying myself in my workload, in an attempt to keep my mind from wandering into spaces it should not go.

That little acknowledgment and praise? I needed it today. Sometimes that's all any of us really need ... a pat on the back, encouragement that one's doing a good job ... at least at something.

I'm feeling stronger. But it waxes and wanes.

Monday meltdown

Well, not only did I survive 23-hours and the overnight, I managed to survive having my son visit with his father for a couple of additional hours Saturday afternoon ... and Sunday was mine. And it was a good Easter Sunday, truly.

But after all the stress of the weekend, I had a bit of a meltdown Monday morning. The school phoned and indicated that my six-year-old divorce decree, which I just recently shared with them, does not prevent my son's father from picking up from school ... but that they would give me a courtesy call if he was to show up, since that's not our regular routine. The only way to prevent him from coming to the school would be to put a temporary restraining order in place ... le sigh.

Also, my son's father phoned me yesterday to inform me that he has secured "transitional living" housing nearby. He hasn't given further details because he wants to wait until he signs the contract ...

Anyway, I crumbled yesterday. I took my son to school, called in sick (and believe me, I was sick), and stayed in bed for most of the day crying ... crying until my eyelids were puffy and swollen. I had a few friends on the text line, in whom I was confiding. Several suggested I get up and shower, that it would make me feel better. But the idea of standing upright very long was too overwhelming, so I ran a bath, and took my phone in the tub and texted some more ...

I was texting a college pal, who knows me well, even though I don't see him too often ... and I asked him, in the midst of my depressive spiral yesterday ... "You have known me a long time. Do you know why I hate myself so much? I don't know why."

"I actually do," he replied.
"OK, tell me!"
"Well, it's complicated," he began. "You are fiercely protective. You want to create a perfect childhood for R, but that's impossible. You are smart, pretty and, most likely, misunderstood ...

Being intelligent creates loathing -- often self loathing. It is hard, when you are dialed into things on a deeper level, to not resent even yourself for being unable to change things that seriously deserve change. You and I are more alike than one would think," he said.

Dude was speaking my language, and I can't tell you how much of a relief it was to hear that I was not alone. Even if I was only reading words on a screen. Words were being sent to me, and I felt that someone else understood.

Later in the conversation, as the water in the tub was cooling, and we were wrapping up, I texted him, "We should write a book."

"Oh god. No one in their right mind could digest it," was his response, which made me laugh out loud, really hard. I promised I would download The Shins record. Even though I've never downloaded a record. Port of Morrow. I'll be looking for the CD because I'm still a CD kind of gal. He knows me well, but he doesn't know that I've never downloaded an album.

The tub water was cold by now, and I shivered, as I released the water. Laying in a ball in the tub, I reached for a towel, and I put my head in it and I sobbed. And screamed. At God. And sobbed some more.