Friday, April 26, 2013

Lighten up, it's just a joke...

I know that most of my blogs are rants, but this is a huge one today. I've been trying to be calm about the storm that my soon-to-be ex husband has caused in my life, but when I see a man tell me to lighten up about a joke he chose to make about "crazy women" (how men lose lives, freedom, etc...)...

I go off. And he got cursed out.

Lighten up, it's Friday.

You're goddamn right it is. It's Friday. My husband was supposed to report for jail today. A measly 7-day sentence, which he couldn't handle because his parents taught him it was bad to be gay, so he's afraid that communal shower time will get him found out. And you know what? Me, being the saint that I am, I went to him and tried to gently tell him that my son and I would still love him. I don't care if my son has three dads and a mom, let everyone be happy and sane! Too much to ask, I guess.

Yes, it's Friday. And he sits getting pampered in the damned hospital, with no charges against him now. He appealed, due to illness. Illness he's known about for months, while I was eating one meal a day to pay for his insulin. His lawyer is treating me like I'm Manti Te'o, and that this man's written threats to me were all a lie. I am supposed to give a violent, sociopathic drunk access to my special needs child.

Yes, it's all a joke.

It's a joke that it took me 2.5 years to get my local authorities to listen. It's a joke when I see my husband, and every new ally he has (because no one who truly knows him is on his side, not even his family...he's too ashamed to tell them), glares at me indignantly in their white male privilege. How dare I ever speak up, speak out? It's a joke that the police insulted me as a mother, put me and my son out of our house repeatedly (because they couldn't make him leave, he was on the lease). It's a joke that the magistrate didn't even grant me the preliminary protective order when I sent the incriminating email to the precinct in February. It's a joke that one magistrate told me that it wasn't illegal to drink or argue. It's a joke that this idiot doesn't see what the combination of those two things can do in an already violent household. It's a joke that the officer I spoke to in February said he needed to call my husband (how do you have his number?) and "see if it's his email or not." That "we can't do these things in a few hours."

But you can cover your ass in a few hours if it's ascertained that you failed to protect a victim (who is now dead), and the media get a hold of it....I'm laughing out loud. In my head.

It's a joke that I may not be able to recover what things my son and I have left in that apartment. It's a joke that the $3400 I put down on this place has been eaten up, and he might get what little is left of it, after the sheriff locks the place, and the rental company chooses to claim it cost a thousand dollars to steal my furniture....that I can't put in storage because I live off of $300 a month (I'm disabled). It's a joke that this is the second time he has abandoned an apartment full of our things, because without me, his worthless wife (worthless=no income), he cannot pay a single bill.

It's a joke that he was on probation already, under threat of JAIL TIME if he didn't complete the terms. It's a joke that he didn't complete the terms, and ultimately just got charged. It was felt that him pissing his way through a batterer class that doesn't even begin to address violence against women, not to mention drug and alcohol treatment was punishment enough. He saw women in his class who were there for defending themselves, and told me I needed to go with him, that I could learn from it. How funny. He bragged about how he could drink through his alcohol treatment class. It's HILARIOUS that he now has what I call his "handler," his AA sponsor who looks at me like I'm the devil. Well guess what, more funnies to come. I'm in Al-anon, trying to piece my life back together.

It's a joke that this man will probably get disability faster than me. I have been sick for six years; he has imbibed his liver and kidneys to ruin, and will probably lose a foot. So he'll get all this help for being a complete and utter tool. While I am still waiting for the hearing I deserve. I hope all his limbs fall off, I seriously do. Then I can bring my son to see him (after the protective order expires, if he's still breathing in two years) and tell him, "this is what addiction does to you, son."

It's a joke that if my husband were any race other than CAUCASIAN, he'd be under the jail by now, but through theft of federal property, through repeated appearances of the cops to our house, through pinning me to the floor and threatening to kill me, through putting it in writing that he was going to steal my kid and make his face "the last thing" I should see, he has managed to avoid jail time. And yes, that was a long sentence. Deal with it. The fact that appearances have been even on the table each time he has gone off is a joke.The fact that he can even exploit this is a joke. It's a joke that each judge, each lawyer he has looks like him, and because he can at least iron his clothes and shed a tear, they identify with him, and vilify me. It's a joke when both he and his lawyers correct my use of pronouns, when it has been me and me alone who has cared for this child since he was two months old...even with dear old dad (drunk) in the house.

It's a joke that I cannot leave this state with my child without his permission, and that of the court. Even though I have sole custody for now. If I do, I get slapped with criminal charges, and I lose my child. My baby goes back to him, addiction or not. It's a joke that I have to wait until November to file for divorce; even though our marriage ended on the 3rd of December, 2011, when the cops punished me for having a nervous breakdown (they took me to a mental health cuffs with no shoes and half clothed). They gave my frightened child to a clearly drunk man. In their half apology to me later, they admitted that he was drunk.

It's a joke that CPS holds me equally as responsible as my husband for any domestic violence incident, because we have a child in common. essence, I need to just shut up and take it. I should have been psychic and seen who he was, but since I didn't achieve that, I need to just cower in a corner and hope that he doesn't kill me.

It's a joke that there are people stupid enough to say, "why don't you just leave?" Do you have room at your house? Because I could not get into any shelter (I wasn't battered ENOUGH), my family has no clue, and homeless shelters have waiting lists here. So I'm with someone who is abusive in a completely different way. So funny....haha.

What the hell?

This is funny? I need to lighten up? No, you need to get real.

But here's what's funny. Here's what truly puts a smile on my face: Karma.

Dear Husband,

Your health is failing. Your family has abandoned you. Your colleagues are embarrassed to have known you (but not me). You have three criminal charges on your record in less than six months. Your autistic, non-verbal son started talking, counting, saying his letters and proving his genius when he got away from you. He hugs EVERYONE now, instead of stimming and running away. All of this, the opposite of what he did when you were kicking dishes across the house and hiding beer bottles in the bushes.

And I will move on. Taking out at the knees every male (and female) I see who just doesn't get that this is an issue. One day at a time I will completely re-build my life. I see that now. For several months I have only been thinking of escaping the other personality disorder in my life, but I have since learned how to draw boundaries, and they're surprised. You are surprised that you can't come near your child but for two hours a month for the next two years.

Domestic violence is not funny. And YES women abuse men. But given the gender inequality that has been in place ever since settled farming, it's a fact that women have it far worse. We are told to call numbers, to speak up for ourselves...yet when we do, we hit walls. In court, in front of the police. At our jobs. In society.

So if you want to joke about this, don't do it around me. And the person who did this just told me that "it's not about you and your problems." You are right. It's not about me. It's about me and every PERSON like me, man, woman and child who have literally lost everything because of the true crazy people in this country. Not bitchass whiny men who got their paint jobs keyed for sleeping around on their women.

So lighten up. I've simply corrected your stupidity. You don't have to whine about it. It's not about you, it's about the collective idiocy of you and every fool like you.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

A New Hobby

I've been looking for ways to make the time pass, while I'm in limbo. Here's what I've come up with.

I painted this tonight. I haven't put a brush to paper since kindergarten. It looks better in the photo, but I'm still proud of it. It's a start.

The pink ones are supposed to be cherry blossom trees. I'm in a cherry blossom mood right now, with all fo them blooming. Yay spring.

The teal ones are cherry blossoms as well, overlaying what are supposed to be fans. Shoot, I may try painting fans. Who knows.

I started experimenting with these things as a way to supplement my as of yet non-existent disability income. If I can make a new career path out of this, it would be wonderful.

But at least it's something to take my mind off my demons. I'm capable of something.