Good Enough

As any of you that have read this blog since the beginning (THANK YOU!) know, my divorce was rough.

You know the marriage was rougher.

Ward and June Cleaver we weren’t, that’s for damn sure.

Who cleans house in high heels and pearls??

Who cleans house in high heels and pearls??

I wasn’t spectacular to him. I’ll take responsibility for my share of blame in the collapse of our marriage. To be sure, he wasn’t spectacular to me. The only honest thing he did before he left with that other woman (I’m working hard at reining in my Bitter Bitch) was to admit that he had spent 16 years emotionally and mentally abusing me.

Yes, he admitted it. Shocking, no?

And, here we are, over two years since the separation and almost two years from the divorce and I’m still dealing with that crap.

hand tiedHow frustrating is that? I know that I can’t expect to be over it immediately. I know that I will feel the effects for years. But I have made so much progress in coming back to life that it is so defeating sometimes to know that I am still trying to untie myself from his definition of who I was.

It is so very hard to recover your self-esteem, your sense of self, when you spent 16 years with the person that you pledged to love and who pledged to love you, trying to do the best you could and it was never enough.

You were never smart enough.

You were never skinny enough.

You were never pretty enough.not good enough

You were never sexy enough.

You were never a good enough mother.

You were never a good enough housekeeper.

You were never…..

Nothing I ever did was good enough for him.

When the man that you have married tells you that you are subpar at every level on a daily basis, you don’t just get over that in a snap.

So, here we are, two years later, and I’ve met this guy. He’s pretty terrific. OK, he’s more than pretty terrific, but we’re not going to go into massive details. Let’s just say that he’s very sexy, very smart, extremely witty, a talented storyteller and so much more *nudge, nudge, wink, wink*.

He’ll tell me that I’m beautiful and sexy and smart. He does so with regularity and ease. You can tell that he means it, that he’s not lying to just get into my pants. I can tell he means it. Truly means these things that he says.

And I want to believe him. I do. I want to see what he sees. I want to feel that I’m beautiful, sexy and smart.

Sometimes, when we talk or when I’m with him, I feel it. I feel like I’m all of those things and more. I feel like Superwoman having a man as great as him think those things about me.

But, when our conversation is done, or I go home, or even sometimes when we are chatting, I wonder what it is that he sees.

I know he can’t be seeing the same woman I see. That woman isn’t smart, nor sexy, nor beautiful. She doesn’t have anything to offer to a great man like him. Why does he still talk to me?

For 16 years I was told that I wasn’t beautiful, sexy or smart. For 16 years I was told that I wasn’t enough. So, how can I be enough for this man who has everything in the world to offer a woman?

And therein, my friends, lies the issue.

I have to stop wondering what I should do to “be enough” for a man in my life and just be me. Be myself in all things.

Good enoughI have to stop trying to be anything for anyone and just be the person that I am.

I have to just be me.

I have to be that woman whose eyebrows are never plucked quite right, whose roots constantly need touching up, whose house is never clean enough, who feeds too many stray cats because she’s a sucker for them. I have to be that dorky lady who laughs too loudly at lousy puns, who thinks science jokes, Doctor Who and Cosmos are pretty awesome. I have to embrace my almost bottomless pit of trivia about nothing that anyone in the world cares about. I have to appreciate my love of all things J.D. Robb, Patricia Briggs, Laurell K. Hamilton, and J.K. Rowling. I have to be political and care about what is going on in the world. I have to be all of those things.

Because all of those things make up the person I want to be.

If somewhere along the way I happen to be lucky enough to find someone who is willing to accept me with all of my quirks and my dorkiness and my lame jokes and my obscure passions, and also finds me sexy and beautiful and smart, then that will make me a pretty lucky lady.

It doesn’t mean that I will not ever have periods of self-doubt. Bouncing back from a bad relationship isn’t easy and it takes time.

But I have to stop wondering what he sees in me, why he likes to spend time with me, what the attraction is. Instead of questioning it, I need to just accept it.

It doesn’t matter why. It doesn’t matter what.

All that matters is: He does.

That’s good enough for me.

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Divorce and taxes

So, back in February, the asshole contacted me and asked me to file taxes.  See, according to the Court, we had to file a joint return this year.  Because the asshole asked for the whole return to pay for his credit card bill (the same credit card that he payed his lawyer with and took the bitch to dinner on), the Court decided that we would have to put the return in a trust held by my lawyer.  From this money, my lawyer would get any court ordered payments.

Right now, the amount paid is $1000 out of our $4000 return.

So, I told him I would file the taxes.  At least then I’d be sure to have a copy of them.  The asshole sent me all of his tax paperwork in February and I sat on it.

For two and half months.

Why?  Because he wanted to have the taxes filed so he could apply for a Pell Grant, furthering his college education while I couldn’t because my tuition money is tied up in the divorce.

Dick.

I filed on 5 April.

I just sent him the tax return today.

And I sent it to him at his personal email address knowing full well that he does not have internet access at his house.

Yes, because sometimes the Bitter Bitch doesn’t just take over my blog.  Sometimes she takes over my life.

It can be emminently satisfying when she does. 🙂

The Bitter Bitch is riding today!

That’s right! I’m back!!!

I know, two posts in one day, but I couldn’t let this slip by.  The Whiny Wife hasn’t let me play in sooooo long!

My mother-in-law (if you want to know more about her, read these posts here and here to get a sample) has never made any bones about not liking me.  She has never shown an iota of interest in me or my children.  When she would come to visit, she made sure that everyone knew that she was only there to see the asshole.

This last New Year’s Eve, she hosted the asshole’s bitch.  She knew that the asshole and I were still married, but she allowed that bitch to stay in her house so that the asshole could spend New Year’s with her.

On top of this, she came down when the asshole was moving and brought the bitch with her.  She lied, repeatedly, as did the asshole and the bitch about who the bitch was.  They all said that she was their “nanny’s nurse,” and she was there to help out. 

Lie after lie after lie.

Lie to me, talk about me, treat me like shit – that’s fine.

Lie to my children, talk about my children, treat my children like shit – now we have a problem.

I told the asshole that his mother was not to come around me at all while she was down in January. When she mentioned that she wanted to come for a visit in November/December, I told him abso-f’n-lutely NOT.  He had asked for a divorce and I didn’t have to pretend to be nice to her anymore.

The last time I saw her was in January when she was in her car in my old driveway looking panicked because she knew that I would see the bitch was there, too.

With any luck, and a lot of maneuvering on my part, that will be the last time I lay eyes on her or any of the asshole’s family.

So, for 15 years she has never bothered to call me and inquire about the kids.  In the 6 years that we have lived here, two hours from her house, she has only been to visit like 5 times.  And the first visit didn’t come till we had been here for over 3 years.  She has never, not once, invited me and the boys to come visit her at her house.

Since I moved out in January, I have gotten more texts from her than in the entire 16 years of my marriage to her son.  Little texts like, “How are the boys?” 

Now, while this may seem innocuous, I can’t help but wonder where this grandmotherly love has been for the last decade and a half. 

I normally answer her with a, “Fine,” and nothing more.

While the oldest was sick this past week, I got a couple of texts from her asking after his health.  I answered nicely and tactfully, letting her know if he is still home sick or whatnot.

But, and this is the kicker, this morning she started out asking me how the boys were and if the oldest was feeling better.  I texted back that he was back in school today (he missed Tuesday-Friday last week).   The following is the rest of our text conversation:

Her:  “Am glad he is better how are you doing”

Her:  “Maybe you and the kids can come visit this summer or i can visit you guys.”

My jaw hung open for a good 3 minutes.  What in the hell was going on here?  Why in the heck would she want me to come visit her (or vice versa)?  She never liked me, she never wanted anything to do with me, she always treated my children badly.  Why in the hell would I go, willingly, to visit her?

I wanted to answer something snarky, like, “Wait….did you get a personality change?” Or, “Who are you and what did you do with Sue?” Or, “So, the Alzheimer’s has progessed that far already, has it?”

OK, I really like the last one! LOL

But I didn’t.  I told her that she would have to talk to the asshole because he had the bulk of summer vacation.

Before she got that message, she texted me, “Are you still doing school work?”

What, we’re buddies now??? 

WHO THE HELL IS THIS WOMAN????????

After I told her to talk to the asshole, she sent one text (“OK”) and then I haven’t heard back from her.

Does she think that I want a relationship with her?  I tried to have a relationship with her, one built on mutual respect and friendship. She didn’t want that.  She much preferred to talk nasty about me behind my back, level accusations against me to the asshole (and anyone else that would listen).  She was nasty to my children and treated them like afterthoughts.  She repeatedly lied to my children and facilitated the asshole’s affair.

Why in the hell would I want her to be a part of my life now?

I flat told the asshole that one of the best things about the divorce was that I would never have to talk to his mother again, and I meant it.

I meant every word.

I will not go to her house and I will not allow her nasty energy in my house. 

I will keep my conversations polite, but I will not talk to her more than I need to.  I have kept answers to a minimum and will continue to do so.

She is not worth my time, she is not worth a thought.  This is one of the last times that I will ever talk about her (although, I have to leave myself an out because I’m sure she’ll do something outrageous) because she is so beneath me.

She is part of my past.  And I’ve left her behind.

Bitter Bitch, out.

 

The Bitter B*tch

There is a portion of me that, because of this pending divorce, I call the Bitter B*tch.  She has no desire to be nice to the soon-to-be-ex-husband.  She wants to yell and scream at the top of her lungs and tell him what she really thinks.  She wants to be totally selfish and not worry about anyone or anything other than herself.  I have kept her in check for the last few weeks, but today I think I’ll let her have the floor.

So, without further ado, I introduce all of you to the Bitter B*tch.

Yeah, I’m bitter.  And I’m a b*tch.  Do y’all have something to say about that?  Too bad!  I don’t particularly care about what you think about what I have to say.

Sixteen years I gave to that man.  Sixteen freaking years.  Helped him to get promoted to where he is now.  Took care of his house and kids while he tripped around the world for “the mission.”  Saw my parents only 3 times in those 16 years and haven’t been back to their house since 1993.  “We can’t afford it,” he says. “We’re broke,” he says.  Sure, we’re broke cause we’re military, but he can certainly find ways to afford his stupid little video games and gaming systems.  My children have never even been to my parents house.  Oh, but we have to move 2 hours from his parents so that he can be close to home.  What about my home?  What about my parents?

Put all my dreams on hold, have  no career, no resume, because of his job and “the mission.”  Gotta support the military way of life.  Just sit down, shut up and do what you’re told so that you don’t make waves for him and his career.  And then he’s gonna go and leave me high and dry?  What the hell is that all about?

All because he’s not happy?  NOT HAPPY?  Are you freaking kidding me?  Oh, and he wanted sex more often than I wanted to give it

This is what I imagine the Bitter B*tch looks like.

up.  Well, let me tell you buster….if the sex was better, I’d give it up more often.  And, honestly, what housewife has the energy to give it up four freaking days a week?  Especially when the kids are younger???  Who is in the right frame of mind for that?

Then, he tells me he wants a divorce and all of the sudden he’s happy house husband?  Cooking and cleaning?  I’ve been asking him for 16 damn years to help out around the house and he hasn’t done it.  What the hell is that all about?

The Forgotten Wife (I call her TFW – understandable, right, cause her name is so damn long!) here keeps me pretty well boxed up because she is trying to be all nicey-nice with the asshat so that the divorce isn’t acrimonious and harms the kids.  Well, I say that kids are resilient and they’ll figure it out as they go.  But she tells me to get back in my box (ok, it’s a nice mental mansion, but you know what I mean) and shut the hell up.  But I’m always here.  In the back of her mind.  Yeah, I can even produce that bile that she has to swallow every so often.  Wonder how she likes that?

And don’t even get me started on that little chippie he has on the side.  Oh, she has nothing to do with me wanting a divorce, he says.  Bullshit, I say.  He hooks up with her on FB, just old college friends catching up, and then all of the sudden he’s getting drunk at softball games and driving home (effectively putting his career in danger).  I know exactly what happened – he started talking to her and playing “what if” – what if they had stayed together, what if they had gotten married.  Oh, look, isn’t she nice and sexy and…..well, f*ck him, I say.  Want to play “what if?”  How about this “what if” for you:  what if I hire a private investigator to catch the two of you in the act?  Then where will your precious career be?  Or, even better, what if I Lorena Bobbit your stupid ass?  Bet you won’t want sex all that often anymore!

I think I have every right to be a little bitter about this entire situation.  He used me like a damn nag and then put me up wet.  What the hell is that all about?  Get a couple of kids out of me, have me raise them to an age where they can kinda take care of themselves, giving us a little more freedom, and then kick me out the door?  And what the hell is with him constantly touching me?  Little rubs here and there.  Never before in our marriage did he do that.  What is up with that?  Like I want to be touched by his stupid ass?  Yeah, I don’t like him.  I think he’s done us wrong.  Won’t even let me finish up my master’s degree so that I can go out and teach.  I’ve been sucking up my issues for the last 11 or so years and he can’t suck them up for two more?  Dick.

Alright, that’s enough of her.  I can only handle so much of her vitriol before I have to put her away.  Sorry if any of you were offended.  She’s that little devil that sits like a monkey on my back on my shoulder and tells it like it is.  She won’t make an appearance very often, but when she does,  you can be sure that she will tell it like she sees it.

I don’t like the Bitter B*tch, but I sure need her.  One day, I won’t need her as much, but for now – she’s here to stay.

Because, who wouldn’t be bitter about being forgotten?