One man’s truth…

He was supposed to be my lover; my partner.  He was supposed to be my best friend.  It doesn’t feel like that anymore.  It hasn’t for a while.  I see now that I’ve lost all three; lover, partner and best friend.  I also see that it isn’t a huge loss; given the way he has treated me over the last year.

Still, I didn’t realise until today how important keeping the friendship was to me.  But it would seem it was only important to me, for he made it impossible to exist in my world on any level.  And no one does “dead to me” like I do.  I will forgive just about anything; but I can’t forgive liars or cheats. 

The Squeeze came over today to collect his hard drive and set up my surround sound.  Truth tell, I was still living in the delusional world of “I dumped your ass mo fo!” because he was weak.  I was sick of that lesbian bitch telling him what he should and shouldn’t want.  And trust me; it was all about her; he is the weakest man I ever met.  I love my kids; but I don’t believe them outright over someone else.  I investigate and get to the truth, because kids have been known to lie.  Well all except for his of course.  And his have every reason to be liars.  I took their wallet and baby sitter after all and mummy dearest didn’t like it.  She didn’t like it one little bit.  She has manipulated life and truth since and they have folded like the sycophants they are.

I have mentioned several times; that he kicked me to the kerb for the toad on the very first weekend I moved, which kind of felt like he forced my hand.  I asked him about it.  Several times; each time was met with denial.  Until today.  Today I learned that he pushed the envelope that ended our relationship because:

   1: I didn’t like listening to jazz.  (wtf – who that is sane does???)

   2: I made his kid feel unwanted when he came.  (Probably because he is an ugly, lying, pimple faced toad – that basically has mummy’s hand up his arse dictating his reality)

   3: He wanted to have said toad whenever he was ‘told’ he wanted to.  Ummm what about my kids..?  My family...?  Yes; I know. They don't count.  When the toad wants over here; that's all that counts.

Well.  Can’t argue with that.  Power to them. 

It doesn’t matter that I moved house to give it a shot.  Doesn’t matter that every “proviso” I put in place that would allow for a shared environment to work, didn’t eventuate; didn’t matter that this filthy toad couldn’t seem to wash his hands after holding his dick before going in my fridge – the argument for that was “I didn’t get sick”.  Lucky Squeeze; frankly, looking at the toad makes me sick.  Thinking of eating anything in my fridge after the toad’s penis juice was spread around, made me gag.  Worse, made my daughter gag.  And shit, call me a weirdo, but I actually have responsibilities too!

So; let's examine those comments a little more closely.  I don’t like jazz.   Who does?  Really..?  We are talking Miles Davis mind of “every instrument vying for attention kind of shit”

I made the poor little toad feel unwelcome...  I mean more than he pushed unwelcome down my throat by wiping his snot on my wall…???  He had being rude to me face down to an art form!  Never when his idiot father was there of course.  Living like a serial killer upstairs; that freaked everyone out.  Not one person liked him; not even my father who likes everyone.  He thought he was a Martin Bryant in the making.  Which is exactly what I thought.

On a final note, the Squeeze said to me that he shared a relationship with his kids that was the same as mine.  Delusional; thy name is Squeeze.  Last birthday, on his birthday, the only present he got was from mine.  Up until I came along, they made certain to buy the lesbian something, but never the Squeeze.

Good luck with sitting around your bedside while you die; as I am doing this month with my father.  

Giving up on you…

It’s always the same for me…   Relationship wise.  I hang in there until I just don’t anymore.   A switch flicks in my head and I’m no longer emotionally there.  I’m empty.  Done.   It is as though the memo finally caught up with me.  It’s never going to work. There is no point waiting any longer.  This person isn’t going to love me more; or stop their cheating ways; or grow a spine.

At that point, I exit stage left.   And no one does ‘dead to me’ like I do.   It isn’t always easy.  I have my share of upset…  crying into my glass of red; friends coming to dispense tissues and wine.  But they don't hear from me.  I don't do the "get drunk and text..."  I don't do the anything really.  They just cease to exist.

This time, although upset, I seriously haven’t had the energy to cry.  During the day, I am nurse, wise woman, friend, sibling, witch doctor, worrier, nagger, planner, house worker and the chief tissue wrecker.  At night I fall into bed, totally exhausted.

There is only one time I feel my heart tug; when I hear this song: Say Something.

And then I realise it’s too late; because I already gave up on him.  Pity, because I miss him and our friendship.

No Ordinary Bloke...

I have spent so much of my time blogging about the Squeeze; his horrendous kid who needs a back hander across a room; and his hairy arm pitted hillbilly ex-wife who mistakenly believes she is God – so much so that I wonder now that this is no longer a factor of my life, what the hell I am going to write about…

Obviously, life goes on; so maybe I will just document where I am at for a while and see where it takes me.

Perhaps not ideally, I have a great amount of thinking time at present.   I am off work.  My dad is dying and I am struggling to understand how the world can work without him. Hell, I struggled to even type that line.

Part of me knows that I should be content to some degree.  He has had a lifetime of love with a family who adore him and he will go out without this awful pain in the heart that I have… Of losing someone you can’t imagine a life without.

But knowing that… Understanding the words and feeling it are two completely different things…

In some ways, the Dad lottery really is just that.  A lottery.  The Squeeze’s dad had a penchant for marrying and breeding.  Sadly, most of his life it seemed he would marry and breed and then move on; more than likely not pausing to divorce before the next marriage and breeding began.  And he wouldn’t go back.  It was abandon the kids and keep moving.  In some ways, that goes a long way to explain the hook the Harridan uses to gouge the Squeeze’s eyes out, the “you are just like your father” line.   She has the way to rip his soul out down to a fine art.

For me, I come from the opposite end of the spectrum.  You can get the deadbeat Dad that the Squeeze had, or you can get the Dad that I was lucky enough to get.  For my whole life, I knew that no matter what time, what was happening or what I had done – I could call my Dad and he would come get me, fix it or bury it.  He did the same for my kids.  He is one of the good guys.  A true gentleman who loves and protects his family.

And I’m doing it tough at the moment.  I have basically spent the day crying from 7.30am until now, 11.30pm.  I’ve burst into tears at a meeting and left work to drive down the coast and have breakfast with my family; just so that I could spend time and then go see my Dad.  I see glimmers of the person he is inside, but mostly; I see how weary he is. And I feel selfish coming home to cry and wish for him to rally again; stare death down as he has so many other times. 

And part of me feels lost.  An alien in my skin.

I have been abandoned by the person that I believed loved me.  He would say this is about his kid; but considering I was giving up 4 days a week for the kid, I’m not sure what else I had to give.  I’ve only got one heart and liver; after all.

In the end, how could he be anywhere but by my side..? And it is with that thought that I realise that he has always been emotionally absent when I needed him. 

Dumped a Hunchback

I’ve been in the land of zero internet of late, so no blogging; why?  Because I got the groovy art deco house I wanted and the girl and I packed up everything and moved.  In actual fact, we are still in the process of moving so it’s been a really hard few weeks!

There is nothing pleasant about moving – and now I’ve done it twice in a single year.  And this isn’t like shoving a few boxes in the car.  This is full on furniture and boxes of books and clothes and dishes and stuff moving!

Last week, through the bulk of the heavy shift, it was 40C+ days.  There is no escape from that type of heat; just a lot of dust and sweat trickling down your brow and back.   To my great joy, my sister and brother-in-law dragged their carcasses down the highway and helped me drag things from Glen Waverley to Ormond; two weekends in a row.  Frankly, if not for them and their trusty trailer I’d have sat on the bottom stair and cried my eyes out.

The worst part of weekend moving number 1, was that I went over at the crack of dawn to scrub the place from rooftops to rafters (or whatever that old saying is..) either way, I was going to de germ, de dust, de grime so that it was sparkling prior to any of my things coming through the door.  All good in practise however I arrived only to discover the power hadn’t gone on; the technician said the gate was locked so just left.  My sarcastic shout down the phone of “I don’t suppose he thought about lifting the freaking roller door that I left unlocked!!!!!!” didn’t get me anywhere. 

So we moved into a house and tried to manoeuvre stuff around but each night, I’d look down at my feet that were so utterly disgusting dirty that I prayed for power.  And when power came, the cleaning began.  I finished phase one of cleaning last night; pausing to point out to the girl that now we have to go through again – as the floors were done room by room – so walking into dirty and clean rooms meant we tracked dirt throughout!  What fun!

None of it was easy although some pieces were harder than most.  My piano remains in the new “clean freak Hell” until I organise a piano mover to bring her home.  My sofa’s [image depicting that utter debacle below] were lugged across town.  Dragged off the truck and proceeded up the stairs to the lounge room…  And then it went downhill.

We could have pushed and pulled for days and not got that sucker up the stairs… And that was only the 2 seater!  We stood around for a while, scratching our heads and masterminding.  I even called a removalist who I figured would know exactly how to get it up there!  He wanted $300 to come and look; even if he couldn’t get it up – yeah, whatever!  So down they came again; back on to the truck and out to Glen Waverley again (and ebay!)

Yep.  That's the sofa;
and it isn't going anywhere!

In amongst the festivities of moving, my dad, who isn’t healthy at the best of times, got sick so we halted cleaning/moving and raced down to the coast.  Poor bugger.  I hate seeing how old and frail my parents have gotten.  In truth, in my mind, I see my dad as the larger than life, big burly policeman that was my childhood.   Love you Dad xxx

Then it was back to moving.  The Squeeze even got to stay a night there prior to rushing back to Glen Waverley in time for the little creep to arrive – oh the joy.  School has started.  Truth is that I can’t even feel a glimmer of joy that he will miss my televisions and crockery.  He would live in a cave – all he wants is a room, a television and internet.  That is his world.

It was about then that the “talk” began.  As I had predicted; the Harridan had said things needed to change.  The Squeeze would need to have him week on and week off – cutting off my weekends.

Predictable.  I pointed out that perhaps they needed to address the issue.  IE: why on earth does a kid who is nearly seventeen, want to stay at home 27/7 (other than school) with mummy or daddy instead being out with friends, has been and remains the number one alarm bell!!!!  But the Harridan is too stupid to get that.  The Moodle is too cowardly to face that.  So instead, they ignore it; and the idiot that I did live with arms him with television and internet – “set and forget” style.  Way to go with those parenting skills.

So I remind him…   In our discussions on my moving (and reminders sent or uttered at least once every couple of days… “The first time you dump me on a weekend for the kid, we are done.  I want a relationship.  This is not that.”

All I get is some mumbling about it making sense.

So I catch up with the Squeeze on Friday lunch time and move some stuff and mention something about after work where upon he tells me that he has the kid this weekend…

Seriously; the very first weekend.

It was then that I decided that I just can’t do this anymore and in fact, I deserve better than this. 

When coldly moving the rest of my stuff the next day, the creepy kid hovers with a grin so wide it looks like his face had been slashed (and I know what that looks like since I’ve dreamed about seeing that plenty of times  J).  Right before I leave, when the Squeeze is nowhere to be seen, the mutt looks up to smirk at me.  (In fact my sister saw the smirk and stormed out; in case I ripped his head off lol).  All I said was “you must be positively beside yourself with happiness” to which he smirked wider and said “yes I am!”

Selfish little prick.  I am praying for a life of misery on this ugly toad of a kid.  But at least I no longer have to deal with his dead eye stare, manipulation and lies.  Snot on the wall.  Holding his wiener or wiping his butt prior to touching everything in the fridge. 

And so I turned and walked away, realising what a waste the last five years have been and wondering why I didn’t walk away the first time he put me behind everyone else in the world.

Now I guess my blog will be about moving on!