Post Script

Post Script

Anger is a really nice welcome change from crushing nihilistic emptiness.

Strike One.

In the first year we were together, he cheated on me with his sister’s girlfriend.

Yes, you read that correctly.

The Twelfth

For about three years we lived on a county road.  Our home was a detached “mother-in-law” suite on the property of a woman who really didn’t know how to maintain property.  

We had countless issues that never got resolved: the hot water heater purged itself onto the floor semi-regularly, the heat would suddenly and unexpectedly cease causing our pipes to freeze, the ceiling had holes in it that were supposed to be fixed before we moved in (hah) and we had a mouse problem like you’ve never seen.

He got me in the habit of romanticizing living in the middle of no where.  Parts of it I really did enjoy; I used to love running out there at night.  It was also quiet at night and dark, plus I could lay out on the back porch naked and no one was the wiser. 

But some of the very worst moments of my life are out there.

All those issues I listed above became the list of grievances he had against me.  We had to deal with these problems because I still wasn’t making enough money, and that was because I was a lazy stupid cunt with no ambition and no respect for him and how hard he had to work.

He screamed at me so hard some times that he gave himself a nose bleed.  I didn’t even know that was possible. The physical abuse really gained a foothold here, too.  

Which made sense.  There were fewer neighbours to hear me crying.

A Big Event

I was going to try to wait until closer to the actual anniversary to release a series of posts about being cut off. But then I realized it’s been all consuming for a few days and I need it out of my brain. 

In the evening of October 20, 2017, I performed my daily duty of driving from home after deciding on a healthy meal option to a restaurant to pick up take out.  From there I drove to the outskirts of town to the new shop he worked at to bring him lunch.  I’d have to meet him in the parking lot of a coffee shop down the road, though, because he didn’t want any of his coworkers to see me.

I was still an embarrassment to him.

I got into his car, greeted him warmly and cautiously handed him his lunch .  He glared at me, opened the bag, saw his food and then screamed “Stay the fuck away from me!!!”

I promptly got out of his car.  Stunned.  He kept the food of course.

Yep, I'm a Potter fan. Guilty as charged.

Carving this pumpkin was a monumental moment last year. For all his lamenting that I did not observe and facilitate "traditions", he was absolutely against me taking time for anything that was not "essential."

So on October 30, I was carving this guy up feeling morose as it had been days since he spoke to me. Then I had an epiphany.

I was getting satisfaction. My crafting skills are basically on par with a German Sheppard's, so the fact that this thing turned out alright was really encouraging. I was proud of it.

I remember thinking:

"I wouldn't have been allowed to do this if he was still talking to me ...."

And there it was. Something so small, so simple made me think that maybe this separation thing wasn't so bad after all.