Wow. I just typed that out loud in a public forum. Somewhere outside of texts in my safe bubble.
Would I ever say it where someone could read those words that I didn’t directly tell. Now it’s out for the entire world to judge. To share with others. Possibly snicker. Possibly hearing about this blog. Possibly seeking to understand. Possibly blindsided by these words. It’s embarrassing. I’m 42 and my once fiancé, partner, boyfriend, lifelong friend evicted me.
Whatever the circumstances are that you brought to this site to follow along in my journey, I think it’s important to say directly in this second blog. I honestly have no idea what will be shared over time on this site.
I’ve lived A LOT of life. I thought it was normal. It’s always felt normal. Recently when visiting a dear friend in SC this past summer, I remember her husband distinctly acknowledging that sentiment. I’ve lived a lot. And it’s the first time in awhile that I didn’t feel judged by that. So kudos to Mike who genuinely said and observed it in passing. It gave me some sort of courage to possibly share. Even sharing with their son some things and him looking at his Mom like who is this eccentric woman for real or is she bat shit crazy. I secretly post trip kind of loved it and kind of felt like my crazy aunt bird. If she ever reads this she can possibly relate. And I can very much relate to Caleb. I felt the same way hearing stories from my best friend from high school. You really can get a perspective of how vastly different even your own parents were raised from others in their generation. Something I fascinated by the older I get. Generational trauma, sagas, baggage, cycle of abuse, cycles of mom/daughter hardships, maybe having a daddy issue and not even realizing it.
Well here I go again off course. The point is that trip to SC, really gave me a lot of first in many ways and maybe I’ll share that trip in itself in the future as it gave me some peace and hard things to look at in the mirror. I really contemplated this blog a lot during my time there. I vowed to myself if I actually did this. This whole blog thing I’ve thought about for at least 15 years at various stages of pre mom life and Mama life. That if I allowed the words to come out, I would be authentically unashamed and raw. There would be no holding back. There will be times that I expect I might find myself in a sentiment or raw mind fucked day and say things that are truthful, they might make some readers uncomfortable if you know me personally to hear. If you are here to judge, gossip, or have ill will, I hope that maybe you find something out of this when you leave that made you think you know parts of me that I’ve learned to keep very hidden from the world. With that said. I hate that phrase by the way. Thank you for being here. Thanks for taking the time to walk in my grief.
September 3rd was the last day I spoke to the love of my life. Today is September 30th. All this month this has been my survival mode. The man that I was supposed to marry this year 12/28/2024. The man that I’ve lived with for over 5 years and by the time I left closer to 6. The man who proposed 13 months prior.
This is also the same man who heard, supported and encouraged me to leave my 19 year career when I was feeling super lost about myself as an individual. I left and 8 weeks later you decided to have the previous bomb dropped on me.
I started my new job on Wednesday August 28th. That same day the world lost my soon to be sister n law tragically. That was a very sudden unexpected loss. He’s so close to his brother. I know the closeness. The same bond with my sister. It’s indescribable. It’s own of those bonds we each had proudly and would go to the ends of the earth for our sibling and their child/children. His brother lost his wife. His nephew lost him Mom. His parents lost their only daughter in law. My bonus daughter’s only Aunt. It was an awful day.
The first day of my new job, the second and third day were all a blur. I didn’t even cry at work. I was in complete shock. I’m a crier. I cry over everything. I’ve been told I wear my emotions on my sleeve. I’m not able to control my emotions. I’m too much. Here I am, another core shocking gut punch. What is life doing to our family. Our children. Our loved ones. A wise friend that day told me you didn’t cry because you are a tough bitch now. Basically that life is a bitch and I’m learning it the hard way possibly. I knew it wasn’t because I was a cold hearted bitch and knew she didn’t mean that. It was the laugh I needed. To me it was a moment of how do I navigate this. This man who told me the night before out of the blue that he didn’t want to snuggle me anymore to give me false hope. I assured him that it goes both ways and he’s not fulfilling me either. I mean I’m here waiting for you to wake up and save our family and you are just staring at me blindly with nothing. No remorse. No emotion. Nothing. I finally started standing up for myself that day. That night, the night before my new job I went and hid on the couch when he went to take a shower. I had just told him hours earlier via text that he likes to claim he wants to snuggle me to make “me feel better” and whatever lame excuse he justified in his head. Finally my heart and mind were catching up. You are hurting me. Dismissing me. Pushing anything that feels good away. You have sucked my soul dry. I no longer need to have you fill that pain with physical touch and intimacy. You don’t get to claim on NYE I’m a dark cloud in your life and then stick your dick in me. Yes, that’s vulgar but that’s what it is. It’s this delusion of some man thinking that these actions don’t fuck with me. The whole notion of what his mother said to blow the lid off every bit of this. He thought if he proposed your insecurities would go away. My insecurities are in the inconsistencies in your son. One day he wants it. Then he feels it and he pulls away. Stopping himself from allowing any shred of love to exist. You might have verbally told me that over and over but your actions spoke another language. A language of love and safety. Of understanding me to my core. Of loving my imperfections and all. Seeing the sun in my soul and the way excitement used to dance in my eyes. That woman no longer exists.
Back to the eviction. On September 3rd our last day we ever spoke, I was according to him a fucking cunt. And you know maybe I was. Am I proud of any of what I said, no. Was the timing wrong, yes. Was it the truth, yes. Was it a woman who has been there for 9 months hoping that this moment would pass by. How could this be happening. How could you propose and we are here now. Surely this isn’t it. He never could talk to me. He shut me out. I even remember the last two weeks saying one night in the dark of the night when I knew he was awake, “before I leave here you need to find a way to acknowledge your role in what you’ve done in all this.” I could feel the quick head snap and stare. He couldn’t even do that. I reminded him that he’s not acknowledged or apologized for anything. And his response to that in another fleeting moment was a look of “and I’m not going too”. Nothing verbal. Nothing. Shut off. So in that moment on September 3rd (Labor Day) I threw out a very hard thing to hear about some family dynamics but most of all I told him he was a coward. Over and over. You are a coward. I told you that I will not have a relationship with you. The one topic he started almost smirking and taunting me with when any talk of our future came up “I feel like you fucking with me” and “you are testing me”… per the usual, I’m fucking with you by sharing my emotional limits. I’m the one in therapy monthly if not weekly. I’m the healer in our family. I’m the safe spot for the girls. I’m the safe spot for my own family. You want to tell me I’m a dark cloud, that your soul feels like it’s dying, 5 months after sliding a ring on my finger in front of our daughters. So here we are on Labor day screaming over the phone. I never yelled so loud in my life. I let all that pain, fear and disappointment but most of all heartbreak come spilling out. On August 28th, the day of my new job and losing his sister n law, we were hanging up from a call after being at the hospital and I slipped and said in the moment, “I love you” and then quickly apologized and he said “I love you too”. It was the first time he had said it in maybe almost a year. The last time I told him face to face he rolled his eyes at me. Those moments always took my breath away. Like a physical slap across the face and the heat of the sting blazing on your cheeks. That night I decided it was officially over. You are killing my spirit and I’m devoted, fighting for all 5 of us and you meet with an eye roll.
Here I go again, off topic and skipping around.
We yelled for probably 25 mins on the phone. I knew he wasn’t going to be home that night. I felt so liberated. I finally told him, he’s a coward. He’d rather walk away. Walk go. I hope he didn’t on planning to look back. I won’t be there. Within 30 mins of hanging up he emailed me my eviction notice. Told me it would be officially served by a sheriff and that a pod would be delivered.
The next day came home after looking at two condos to possibly purchase. I was on the phone with my circle. It was only day four at my new job and only the SECOND day in office. There was a newly worded letter that he altered his wording on thanks to a lame ass friend or google, either way, it told me I had 30 days to get out. He offered me $2600 after he saw a lease agreement and then he would release the funds to me. Again, you aren’t fucking my life up any longer. I’m trying to buy a house and you knew that. My response to all those that told me to take it. I’m not that girl. He fell in love with me for my independence and for being able to hold my own. I will never be any different. Did that make you feel better to throw your man card out. To feel powerful. To remind me of what you always kept in your back pocket. This was your house. Not mine. Now maybe it makes sense to me why we never moved into a home together that we found. No easy exit plan for him. Possibly. Who knows.
Go fuck yourself. Hope you got a hard on throwing out that douche card. Keep your 26 days and $2600. I trump you and move us out in FOUR DAYS without a single cent from you. I packed up 6 years of our lives since we practically lived there for 6 months prior to moving in and left. My girls never said goodbye to their rooms, house or one another. They spent that day earlier at the pool with me and planned to see one another in a few days.
I have a great tribe. We did it all. Saturday my dearest most loving mentor and older sister of a friend paid for my U-Haul. We rented it, loaded it, even the really heavy shit on the dolly, we unloaded it and I drove it by myself. I said I was all in until the truck drove away. I knew all along this truck would drive away. I knew all this year as I tortured myself with all the ways that I could have been better, all the ways I failed myself, failed our daughters, failed him, that love was still there, by giving him pleasure until the last two weeks. For letting him know almost every day I was all in. With no hope, no words, no verbal acknowledgement. Nothing. I knew in all those moments that it would end like this. I was awake every night visualizing my future and it was always me driving a truck away with hope until the end. Hoping he would wake me up from this nightmare. That his hand would reach for me like he was physically saving me from drowning in darkness. That he would help us by shedding a flashlight in to the darkness. He didn’t. I drowned.
I drove away that day. I have blocked, deleted and removed any presence of him in my life. I was not fucking with you. I was madly in love with you.
It’s been four weeks exactly today. This past weekend I was not well. I cried, laughed, yelled, threw a tantrum, sobbed, stayed up all hours, almost losing it for reals in target and lying down in fetal position. I even ended up with my underwear on inside out unintentionally which gave us girls a good chuckle.
A
