Today, Will requested to come by at 3pm to pick up some of his things. The time wasn’t good for me, so I suggested a different time in the morning. I didn’t hear from him and he didn’t show, but that’s not what’s bugging me.

This morning, I waited. I didn’t do any writing or anything that I would consider “productive” because I was waiting for his interruption. Anticipating it. Instead of going on about my routine, I put it all aside so I would be emotionally “ready” for his arrival.

What did I do? I played a video game on the computer. Bored out of my skull, and waiting.

By noon, the deadline I’d given for him to come out here, I was angry at myself for wasting the morning.

I got to thinking about how I’d spent this morning, anxiously anticipating his arrival. I was nervous, borderline panicky; the match-three game numbed my mind and made it tolerable. Then I considered how many other times I’d played that stupid game and under what circumstances.

I played that game in the hour before I expected him home from work. I played it while he was working outside expecting me to be at his beck and call for food that he could prepare himself. I played it when he stalked around the house, pulling up couch cushions and bitching about the dirty socks and candy wrappers he found there (but didn’t throw away). I played that game a LOT, not because it is fun or engaging, but because it allowed me to jump up from it at a moment’s notice and TEND TO HIM.

And that’s what I was doing this morning. Sublimating what I consider important in anticipation of his arrival and whatever unknown emotions would accompany him.

You know, I think I did a video about this. Yep. It’s called Interruptions Caused by Verbal Abuse. In that video, I said, “I’ve been trained to receive permission to be myself, and then to have it taken away from me in an instant.”

I would now add that I’ve been trained to ANTICIPATE having that permission taken away. That’s what I did not only today, but last night, too.

Last night, I cleaned up the house some while telling myself “If he notices, I don’t care” (and not really believing it). Holy cow, the house wasn’t even a MESS!

This morning, I agonized for long seconds over whether I should make the bed or not. He’s been telling people I cheated on him; part of me wanted the bed to look like two people had slept in it and part of me wanted to make the bed but didn’t because then he’d suspect someone else slept in it because I NEVER make the bed…?! I decided to leave the bed looking as it did when I rolled out of it.

I brushed my teeth and put on some make-up because I didn’t want to look like I was a mess. I’m not a mess, not as much of a mess as I sometimes think I “should” be, and I worried about finding the right balance between OKAY and OVERWHELMED. What do you think of this: Mascara so he’d know I hadn’t been crying but no blush because I didn’t want to look too healthy. That’s what I went with. (UGH! craziness.)

Then I sat down at the computer, opened yWriter to work on my book, and then shut it down because he would be here right as I got going with it and I didn’t want him to interrupt the process.

So I let my anxiety over his upcoming arrival preempt the process entirely.

And then he didn’t even show.

Despite the past 24 hours of self-induced craziness, I’m ready to do something else I said in that video:

“…[when] I hit that invisible wall where everything falls to pieces, I feel like I can’t handle anything, that I can’t do anything, then I’m just gonna tell myself, ‘We’re changing the training. My ideas are important. What’s going on in my head is important.’ And even if what I’m doing has gotten a little harder or hasn’t turned out exactly as I’d planned, that doesn’t mean that it’s never gonna be [the way I planned]! It just means that it’s time to learn something new. It’s time to figure out another way to get around an obstacle, and from this point forward, I am NOT going to NOT recognize when I am falling into the pattern of denying who I am.”

So here’s the good news. I did recognize the pattern this time. Next time I see it, I’m going to press on and do what I want to do, accomplish something instead of anticipate disaster.

Right now, I’m resisting the urge to calculate how much time I’ve spent in the past 18 years NOT doing something I wanted to do because I was anxious about something that he might do.

This morning, I sat down with my hot sweet coffee and my daily planner. I’ve got a lot going on. Fortunately, the time demanded of me by others is (finally) organized. I’ve got therapy sessions, domestic violence group meetings, a meeting with Mrs. Earl to hear the results from the military investigation, a court date on Monday concerning custody, a class from 9-1 next week called “Career Makeover” in which I hope to practice and relearn some networking skills, and of course, taking Marc to that stupid school that runs from mid-afternoon until way past dinner. Of course, that isn’t all there is to do…it’s just a sample of what’s happening next week.

This separation is overwhelming. There are so many things that must be done NOW, and that leaves little time to do what is also important and must be in place before the end of this year. Namely, I’ve got to financially support myself and my boys DESPITE the demands on my time requiring otherwise.

So, anyway, I was sitting there with my sweet coffee and daily planner, and decided to write in my journal pretty much what I just wrote. You know, “get it out” so I could move on to what I must do today. Taking one day at a time and all that happy horse shit.

But when I start to write, all that comes out is:

LIAR!
You damn liar. You promised that you would love me, take care of me, for the rest of my life. You said that if I agreed to stay at home and raise our children so you could go out into the world and provide for us, then you would provide for me always. You told me that if I waited to make a career for myself that you would support my dreams as soon as you retired – we were down to 5 short years! You said to wait, to trust you, to be a good wife and my turn was coming. Liar.

You said that you knew we had problems and you were willing to work on them. You said that when you got home things would be different. You said that it would be hard, but you were willing to put in the work. You said you loved me and keeping our family together was what you wanted too. When I told you back in July of ’09 that I had decided to stay, to trust that what you said was true, you had relief in your voice. You said you were so glad to hear those words, that you were happy for the first time in months. Liar.

You said that you wouldn’t be where you are in the military today without me, and now you’re doing your best to get rid of me, one rank from the top. You fucking suck, you abusive, sneaky, foul-mouthed, manipulative, lousy husband. You fucking lied to me about all of it. Liar.

And then you have the nerve to call me a traitor. Liar.

I am angry from my bowels up. I don’t know how long this will last. I don’t know how long until I am a “good enough” person to let it go. I don’t know when I will be free of you, of thoughts of you, of love for you. Back in July I decided to keep loving you. You had given me every reason not to love you, some reasons you gave more than once. I was willing to look past it, to look deeper into you for the guy I married.

I was willing to live with rough around the edges – you’re a self-proclaimed asshole and chauvinist, you stereotype people, you drink, you party, you work before you love me, … all of it. I was willing to look beyond who you are, who you are proud to be, in hope that ONE DAY you would treat me well, love me like you promised. Liar.

I only wanted you to be nice to me. Treat me and our children with respect and civility. You can be who you are and still learn to be nice. You could have even looked at it as if you were playing a game with me, fooling me, manipulating me to believe good things about you – that may have been fun for you. But you wouldn’t try. You wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t tell the truth.
LIAR!

RandomlyK (as she is known around here) posted a list of rules she must live by if she wants to keep the peace in her home. This life sucks. Read her blog at Randomly Kassiopeia.

I also posted 10 Rules to Live By awhile back.

What rules are you expected to follow?

My therapist helped me understand more about  my frigging compulsion to “make things right” (codependency) during our session yesterday. It feels wonderful to know that I am on the path out of codependency, but sometimes my path doubles back and forms a loop that I must travel a second time. That’s okay. I’m learning.

A day or two ago, I wrote a post called In the Way. It described how I hoped that by talking to Will and setting up a midweek visitation, our son’s would be able to visit their friends (during dad’s time) on the weekends and feel less guilt about doing so. Honestly, looking back, I think I hoped to smooth some of Will’s ruffled feathers by showing my willingness to work toward equitable visitations.

So, what was I trying to do? I was trying to make my sons and Will feel better. It didn’t matter that I don’t WANT to have midweek visitation because my weeknight schedule is already jacked up (until the end of this semester). It was more important to me to make two people (Marc and Will specifically) feel better after the actions I took a month ago. (And why, I ask you, am I feeling guilty for leaving the man who did not keep his hands off of me because he was pissed?! – That sounds like a separate post.)

In effect, when I spoke to Will about Marc’s wishes, I opened myself up to Will’s habitual attacks. I truly thought that Will would say, “That sounds good – how about Wednesdays?” or something similar. I didn’t expect a 20 minute argument against an extra hour or two with the boys.

And why didn’t I expect an argument? Because I was doing a good thing, a self-sacrificing thing that may (or may not!) benefit our boys and I expected Will to see that and maybe not be so mad at me.

And then, I wrapped myself up in knots wondering why Will behaved as HE did, assigning motives I cannot know to Will, and berating him for his decision.

In short, I created a situation in which I had no business and then amplified the negative result it in my own mind to punish myself.

My therapist presented an alternative solution, one that actually makes sense and would have cut out all the drama. She said that Marc’s feelings of guilt were HIS to deal with. It sounded harsh to me at first…didn’t I CAUSE Marc’s bad feelings? Wasn’t I responsible for this whole mess anyway? Shouldn’t I do everything I could to FIX IT for Marc?

Well, no, no, and no.

1. Marc’s bad feelings are a result of a conflict between spending time with his dad and spending time with his friends. Do you see my name in that statement? No. I’m not involved in Marc’s bad feelings. When he told me he felt like he had to choose, I could have said, “Well, maybe a weeknight visitation with your dad would help. Talk to him and let me know what you decide and I’ll work with you.”
2. I am not responsible for “this whole mess”. Will and I are separated because of his act of violence.
3. I cannot fix anything for Marc. When I decided to insert myself into the conflict, I took away Marc’s power to solve his problem on his own. I so wanted to eliminate Marc’s bad feelings! I don’t want my child to feel bad, ever. But if Marc is to grow into a fine man, he’s going to have to learn to deal with his unpleasant feelings on his own. I mean, will I be there when he has a conflict with his co-worker? His boss? His girlfriend? Nope. He’s gotta learn to deal.

So, my assignment for this week is detachment. Specifically when it comes to allowing the ones I love to own their own problems. I’m here for them if they need suggestions or if I can do something that will help them sleep easier at night so long as I am a component of their own solution and not attempting to fix it for them.

The weekend is over, the boys are home. I started putting together my first book this weekend. I have a publisher and an idea, and I’m hoping for the best.

I didn’t start to feel anxious until about two hours before picking up our boys. I guess that I successfully preoccupied my brain for the rest of the time. I don’t feel void or “nothing” and I don’t feel overly paranoid or extremely sad. I don’t feel happy or entirely empowered, either. I feel…strange.

Marc got mad at me on the phone about an hour before it was time to pick him up. He yelled and used a word I don’t like, told me my reasons for telling him he couldn’t go to his friend’s house were “bullshit.” He said it was unfair that he had to choose between seeing friends on the weekend and seeing his father, and I agreed with that. I told him I would talk to Will about weekday visitations.

When I spoke to Will about it, I didn’t get a definite answer. Will implied that by visiting the boys in the middle of the week that I was not keeping their best interests at heart, choosing to disrupt their routine over keeping it stable. I said that these were extraordinary circumstances and that if Marc or Eddie wanted to see him during the week, then we would make the concessions to see that it happened. He also said that the magistrate gave me everything I asked for (I didn’t correct him by saying I didn’t ask for all of what she “gave”) and now I’d have to deal with it.

I don’t know what he was arguing about exactly. He and I are in charge of visitations and we can communicate about the boys (no-contact order amended on January 28). I think that since the boys want to see their father during the week in addition to weekends so that they have less “guilt” over also visiting friends on weekends, then we as parents should try to make it happen. I’m not going to stand in the way.

I left the ball in his court. I asked him to think about it, and if he decided it was something he could do then he could email my attorney and we would start figuring out how to go about it. (Due to the no contact order, he cannot contact me directly although we are allowed to discuss the children and see one another at a public place for visitations.)

There’s much that I cannot comprehend. I do understand that no matter what my opinion of Will or his behavior is, our boys see him as Dad and love him unconditionally. Marc and Eddie both would like to see him during the week if it is possible. Will said that he would like to see the boys, but feels I’m not using good judgment in requesting a midweek visit.

I wonder if, because I asked for a midweek visitation, Will would rather not “give me my way” than agree to see his boys. My other suspicion is that Will is drinking during the week and doesn’t want to interrupt his own routine. I don’t think his reluctance to visit midweek has anything to do with him not loving our children, but I don’t see how his explanation for not agreeing to see them midweek makes sense.

[Sigh.]

Maybe he’s trying to build a case against me and it has nothing to do with my other suspicions at all.

I don’t know what he’s thinking under those arguments that I don’t understand. I feel like there has to be something more to it, but after I publish this post, I’m going to let go of it entirely. I left him in charge of deciding, and now all I can do is wait without trying to figure him out. I have to let him go.

…..

Okay. It’s 15 minutes later. I’m letting it go.