Confession #18

Do you remember the scene in "Indiana Jones, Temple of Doom" where the little boy accidentally triggers a mechanism and the ceiling in the small room that he and Indiana are in starts to lower? Spears come through the floor and ceiling and Indiana is beginning to slouch and crouch lower as he yells at Willie Scott to pull the lever to stop it? That's how I'm feeling right now except I don't know who to yell at to pull "the lever" to stop this horrific time in my life.
Now, I don't mean to sound dramatic but right now, my life is one drama after another and as mediation and the court date loom nearer, I'm ready to bolt. I want to bolt. But bolting isn't an option when you have children.
To add to this climatic month - it'll be one year on April 29th since Ex strangled my son. One year ago that I became homeless with four children. One year ago that I really began to realize that I knew nothing of the depths that Ex could sink.
Tie into that, finals for college that involves a section of the last three weeks of school called, "the affliction."
My itenerary:

• One month anniversary of Ex strangling my son
• Motherly duties
• College
• Mediation
• Finals
• The Affliction

Holy hell, I think I'm ripe for a heart-attack, stroke and/or a visit to a padded room. I feel better already realizing that maybe, just maybe, I have a reason to be stressed.

Confession #17

My day in court cannot come soon enough. I'm ready to "spit fire" and "damn the torpedos."
More catty emails from Ex and Ratface. How they can call themselves "Christian" is beyond me.
This last week was my babies spring concert at school. I kindly shared the information with Ex and he and Ratface showed! Imagine that.
Afterwards I went into the hallway to lather my daughter with praise and kisses only to be cut off by Ratface as Ex looked on. I wanted to grab her fat round body and kick her to the curb but love of my daughter curbed my desire and I stood by until "she" finished playing "mommy."
It's funny. They don't want to be there for any of the day in, day out requirements of parenting but they'll be there with bells on if it means they get to be in the spotlight and garner some good-time memories.
Now Ex, in his email, accuses me of undermining him and urges me to not punish our daughters.
I'm so tired of being under-estimated and treated like a low-life criminal.
I will never have my ending like the movies. The judge will not wave his gavel at Ex and shame him, ordering him to make restituion in full, plus 20 percent and give me all I asked for. He won't order Ratface to wear a sign for a month of every year that says, "BEWARE! I'm an abusive, jealous Bitch dressed in church clothing, and I'm a menace to society." And my children will not run up to me knowing all I've sacrificed for them.
My children will never know the pain I suffer keeping my mouth shut to protect them and the strength and courage it takes to say nice things about their father.
No, I won't have it. Honestly, I'm not sure what I'll have. The day of "mediation" looms near and court will follow, I'm sure.
What I do have seems insignificant but who can place a price on integrity, self-respect and virtue? Those are my traits, my gifts, my tools. They help me go another day hoping one day...One day maybe my children will realize in some part all I've endured for them.
Until then...Easter is coming. I believe resurrection is in the air. Maybe even mine.

Confession #16

I'm depressed.
I don't want to do anything.
It feels like things just keep getting worse for me.
I keep holding out for justice, karma, even the tides to turn and... nothing.
It just keeps getting worse.
At school I'm experiencing moderate success.
Moderate.
At home...
At home I'm experiencing defeat.
Or at least it feels like defeat.
I'm afraid and tired.
Tired.
Afraid that the seeds of my labor are not taking root.
Tired because I stand alone.
Sometimes I think, "Disappear."
Other times I just want to kill myself.
I think, "Then maybe,
then maybe Ex will be sorry for how horrid he is to me.
Maybe then he'll feel guilt."
But he wouldn't.
He would chalk my suicide up to leaving the church and being a heathen.
Of course she'd kill herself. 
He'd say to himself.
She no longer had the "gospel" in her life.
Gospel...
Ha!
More like brainwashing and foolery.
I asked a professor how I could do better.
He told me that I seem to always ask for permission.
That I need to be more confident in my work.
Confident.
How am I suppose to be confident?
And how do I explain myself without sounding like a whiney baby?
A pathetic, self-pitying woman?
I don't.
I can't.
So...
I keep moving forward.
Put one foot in front of the other.
Depressed I may be,
but even depression can't define me.
I'm more than this moment in time.
I'm more than anything Ex could tell himself about me.
I'm more than the need to have society tell me they're sorry.
I am more than even I believe.
And I know this for sure.
I know this because every time I push past the pain,
that I step outside of my comfort-zone,
that I dare to reach for more and reject old dialogue,
I see the reflection of a woman I've not seen before.
I feel courage that didn't exist before.
I no longer have to endure the pain that plagued me before
because it no longer confounds me.
So I continue to wander the Sahara of my today.
Put one foot in front of the other,
praying that the oasis ahead
is not a mirage.
And that soon I'll be drinking
cool, crisp water
from a jeweled goblet
amongst those who took this journey
and won.
Those who earned the title,
"Captain of my ship, Master of my soul."
Those who cheer me from beyond my sight
and that I will someday call, "friend."
Until that time...
I will not quit.

Confession #15

"Uncle!" I give.
I can't think of a time that my children have personally hurt me more than my two little girls do now. And if not my girls alone, then my boys along with them.
When I took my baby to school this week she asked me when I was going to get a new car. My car isn't even three years old but her father, who leased his car, traded it in for a new one. So DisneyDad gets to have new cars, new carpet, new furniture, new wife, new, new, new...he is also taking them to Disneyland for the second time this coming summer. I've not been able to take them once. I live in an apartment with used furniture that is torn, can't afford a trip to the movies for all of us let alone a vacation to Disneyland.
The big blow; my baby referred to Warthog as "mom" when she was talking to me. You would think my girls to be expert swords-women what with the accuracy of their "strikes." Straight into the heart every time. Ev-ver-ry time.
You know, if Warthog was a decent woman who treated me with respect it wouldn't hurt so much. But she isn't and doesn't. She is an evil and spiteful subhuman form that has charmed my daughters. The same daughters that I suffered greatly to bring into this world and would die for want to be like her.
Then my #3 son, who said he no longer had a father, decided to invite Ex to his surgery this week. Fortunately he asked him to come alone and while I'm glad he is reaching out to his father, I'd rather not deal with him.
Our oldest daughter has had some health problems requiring physical therapy and Ex refused to help pay. I got an email telling me to read paragraph 15, section 3. I wanted to reply with, "Read the contract you signed and had notorized promising to pay for the medical needs of the children," or "You prove, on an increasing basis, that your word, spoken or written, holds as little value to you as it does to everyone else," and then my last response which was deleted with the others was, "Shame on you."
Instead I wrote to my attorney. "I need for this to be over. I've no tongue left to bite and my soul dies a little bit every time I have to deal with him."

Confession #14

"Valour and Cowardice" -Alfred Stevens
1817-1876

Over the weekend I got a call from Ex, (He used my daughters phone as I had blocked his). He proceeded to tell me that "something" told him to look at our daughters phone history and low and behold, he finds a number from across the country. He reports that he's been up all night, finally went for a walk at 6 a.m. for an hour and a half because he was so upset.
He and Warthog researched the phone number and have ID'd the owner of the phone who is a registered sex-offender and the wife is incarcerated. He has spoken to our daughter several times and she's denied it every time. He proceeds to give me a long list of misbehavior on her part and informs me that if she wants to continue coming to his home she can't behave this way. As if her behavior determines the level of father-hood he will commit to.
"What if I were dead?" I ask him.
"Well, you're not." he replies.
"Ex, this is your daughter and she is a teenager. Yes, she's going to push against you and disappoint you but that is when you need to be there for her the most," I plead.
"Well she is not the sweet little girl she was and she has to know she can't behave this way," he insists.
I'm frustrated and can't believe my ears. He has no loyalty to his children if they don't fall in step with his ideology and expectations.
"No Ex, she isn't," I confirm. "But that is when she needs you the most. She needs to know you are her rock. That no matter how she behaves you are there for her. She needs to know that in your eyes, she is and always will be your little girl,"
He goes on, cutting me off and insisting he knows what I'm going to say so I needn't say it.
I get all the information he has found on the number he gave me and end the call.
I get onto the internet and can't find anything. Not the names he's given me, nothing he claimed. I search the state for the registered sex-offender and can't find what he said he found.
I call Ex back and ask him to repeat the number. He gives me a slightly different number. I repeat it back to him. He gives me excuses as to why he made the mistake and I let it go.
Again I research the names, locations and nothing is matching up. On a whim, I ask my boys if they've used their sisters phone and son #2 say's he did when he ran an errand for me earlier in the week because his phone was dead. I tell him the number and he confirms that it's his friends but his last name is not the one Ex gave me.
Long story short, Ex and Ratface researched the wrong number that happened to be that of a female sex-offender who is incarcerated.
I call Ex and he's not answering my ten attempts to contact him. He finally calls me back and I inform him of his error. That our daughter didn't even make the calls and was telling the truth. He was relieved, made excuses for his error and admitted that he had, in his words, "some crow to eat."
Mind you, my Sunday was shot to hell but I rested easy knowing that my daughter was "safe" and that I took the higher road. If the tables were reversed, Ex and Ratface would have raked me through the coals but I took the higher road and didn't add to the drama of the day.
I hate what he said about our daughter and the conditions he placed on whether she'd be able to go to his home. What decent parent does that? Children, no matter how ill behaved, are not disposable.
I will never tell my daughter of his words. I will not be the one to break her heart. I wish, as a mother, I could instill in her how valuable she is but unfortunately a girl needs her father for that. Even if he's a craven knight.

Confession #13

Know thyself.

I'm enrolled in a class, writing persuasively, that I was really looking forward to. That is until it became a tool for my "nemesis."
The semester started out easy enough, I loved what I was learning. The professor wanted us to keep a daily journal and write about what angers us. Easy enough for me, I have Ex and Warthog to write about. Easy enough until three weeks ago. We had turned in our first essay which was based on our journal entries. She then "flipped the coin" and instructed us that we are now to write from the other perspective. In short, I was to argue Ex's side. Thus began the unraveling.
Anxiety, stress, emotion on the cusp of spilling over...I quickly felt the emotional turmoil this assignment was causing. I don't want to be weak, I want to face my dragons and make them impotent. But how many battles do I take on at the same time? I deal daily with Ex, even if only through my children. I am in the process of going to court with Ex. I've no one in my corner, literally, who will pick up my "sword" and let me rest. I've stress 24/7 regarding my children, school and group assignments with partners that want to benefit/coast on my efforts, figuring out how I'll pay my bills, billing departments calling and demanding payment for what Ex is supposed to be paying for, children's doctor appointments, children's other appointments, having to report appointments to Ex, children who'd rather be with their father or brother (father and brother who don't really want them) and no one who wants to be with me. Add to that, family members who don't know what "loyalty" means, a mother who doesn't check on me, sisters who don't connect with me, (is it because I left the church?). I'm a woman in a community that doesn't protect me, without a church that never protected me and I am without a father who would have chuckled before reminding me not to sweat the small stuff and that it's all small stuff. Only, however, after he reminded me that people don't care so take care of yourself.
Add to the fact that I have to write from Ex's perspective that I intuitively don't trust the professor, that I don't feel "safe" in their class, I've decided this weekend to drop it and take a "W."
Now my battle is internal. Have I let myself down? Did I chicken out? Am I a coward?
I tell myself that the answer to all of those questions is, "No." Part of being a strong woman is knowing which battles to fight and how to take care of yourself. This class is not the battle that I'm fighting. It is, however, a potential source of self-mutilation, to which I don't subscribe, and a weapon to benefit Ex. This class was elective and not part of my degree. I'd rather take the three credit setback than to weaken my emotional health to prove I'm strong. Sometimes being strong means walking away. And in the words of an unknown person, "You don't have to attend every argument you're invited to."

Confession #12

My son gave my "baby" his old smart phone a month ago since he'd gotten a new one. He turned off the
internet connectivity but forgot, however, to turn off wifi and disconnect his skydrive. The other night he came to me and reminded me of all of this and then shows me pictures my daughter had taken of Ex and Warthog, without her makeup. The kind of pictures that are so close, the face is the only thing you see.
We laughed our heads off and I fantasized about printing off a hundred and placing them all over her community with some funny caption. Oh how I'd love to do that but...that's not taking me in the direction I want to go so I joke some more with my friend about it and move on, longingly.
I got the response from Ex's attorney yesterday regarding the suit I filed against him. He denied everything including the paragraph that states he has a DCFS case that found him guilty of the charges mentioned. My attorney assures this is normal and frankly I wouldn't expect anything else from him. He's a coward.
So why tell you about this? Because I'm freaking out. My experience in this community that we live in has taught me that women, especially mothers who've devoted their lives to staying at home to raise the children, are not valued and any claims of "protection/respect" are false. Women are not protected. Neither are the children for that matter and the police and protective agencies like DCFS have their hands tied.
So, I've tried to get help from the church, tried to get the district attorney to throw the book at him (he didn't), rejected by small claims court because it's a family court matter, and my last frontier...family court. I have no other recourse after this. I've waited for a year and the process has begun and I almost wished it hadn't because then I could still dream about justice and someone finally standing up and protecting my children and myself. Someone finally making him accountable and force him to do right by his children and the time I spent trying to be kind and generous to him. Being flexible so that our children could at least have divorced parents who could co-parent peacefully.
Honestly, I'm preparing myself to walk away with nothing. The flip side of that coin? If he "wins" in this as well, I don't know what I'll do. Just this process beginning has me so stressed and filled with anxiety it's affecting me in my studies, as a mother and I find myself silently seeking peoples eyes for reassurance. Trying to buoy myself with telepathic questions and searching for the answers in their eyes and finding none.
I miss my father. No one except for my therapist will ever know how horrifyingly exquisite the pain has been for me over the last year and I will never be able to describe it in words. Even these posts lack the ability to accurately share/describe the intensity of this past year.
One by one, on their own, these events, most of them, are no big deal. But pile them, one on top of the other, without rest, without sustenance, and they quickly become unbearable. Add to that trying to protect my children by not complaining about their father or his new wife. My crown of thorns and cross to bear, if you will. And to do it...I find I can relate to Christ, if he truly exists. I know the desire to bear the burdens of others and suffer their arrows in order to protect them. I don't claim to be perfect but I do claim to know the love that a mother has for her children and the willingness, even desire, to throw herself in front of a bullet, a train, arrows, and torture if it means protecting them. Even torture at their unknowing hands. Unfortunately my mother didn't have that for me. But being a child who wasn't protected and knowing how much that affected me, makes me even more committed to protect mine.
Why? Because it has to stop somewhere with someone. If we all act according to what was/wasn't provided for us we'll never make anything better. But if we can do that which we know would have made a difference in our lives, forgetting ourselves, then we can make a change for the better. And maybe in giving to someone what wasn't provided for us...maybe that can be a salve that will move our own healing along.
So...how will I survive this time? How will I not fall apart? One breath at a time. One moment at a time. With love and forgiveness for myself, and knowing that even if I don't win... I'm not down for the count. The judgement of a court will not define who I am or what I do next. It will only make me stronger and more resolved to try and make the way easier for the next person in line.