As I work in silence to unbury myself from the ditch I am so deeply in, I realize that it’s hard to let go. I have plenty I can minimize and let go, yet it’s difficult. From clothes to materials it’s hard. For me, with every move whether across state boundaries or homes I lost something, with my car when I sacrificed that I forgot my high school yearbooks I had spent so much money to get after I left. With the moves I lost and gave up pieces and clothes that tied me to the past and memories both good and bad alike. I think that part of the challenge is the fear that if we let items go when our memories fail how will we remember?
You can call me intuitive or assume that I guessed but I am witnessing a situation that I called out over 8 years ago. I called it what it would be in the future. You see I had often told my daughters father that his failure to interact with his children and bond would lead to them later on making the decision of not having to deal with him. Why should they contact you? Obligation? They feel no loyalty or tie to you.
The thing is that parenting doesn’t stop even after your kids become assholes and/or outgrow being assholes. It’s endless. Until you die, regardless of decisions and choices or distance it doesn’t stop. Unless you drop dead.
The thing is that I can see and understand both scenarios. He is a toxic person by all regards. He’ll give you the world and then take a complete shit on your world. So in truth who the fuck wants to deal with that? No one, that’s who. So the irony in what I’m seeing and in the fact that I have predicted that this would come is sort of crazy. The only semblance of bad that I feel are for the kids. They have a manipulative childish mother and an equal but crazy father. The only people ready to pay are them. This is exactly why in part I haven’t parted ways. I’ve wanted to make sure that I could take care of my daughter on her own. Because I already knew it would be non-stop tit for tat. So for me, I wanted to make a clean break for it.
At the end of the day, my job isn’t finishing. It’s just beginning.
I get it, people get freaked out by terms like psycho, sociopath, etc. To me, the devils are in the details. October marks domestic violence month. You would be shocked how many people are affected by this, your colleagues, teachers, bus lady, it could be anyone. The thing is my toxic situation is reaching epic proportions and is getting to the point of insanity. In fact, this morning, I arrived at the conclusion that he’s actually mad that he can’t get to me. He cannot drive me insane nor mentally affect me with his words. That his insults fall flat, they have no effect on me. Nor the words or the criticism, they really don’t move me. Unless he hits for one of my weak angles, my daughter or my father. Last night was pure unfiltered hell. If it wasn’t for my father and his health scouts honor, I would be sitting in a homeless shelter because it beats no pun intended being with this lunatic. The shit is, not to toot my own horn, but I’m too sharp for his games and too well read to not know what we’re doing. I know the moves before he makes them, but the problem is he’s becoming far more unstable.
I literally haven’t slept and as I was typing letters at the office, I was falling asleep at my desk. I skipped dinner so now I was completely out of energy. I had so much anxiety, I can’t even stress it. I’m still wound up like a damned yarn ball. The shit is I am trying to get out. People and I will include myself in this, don’t understand how hard it is to get out. Whether its guilt over your children and your fucked up decision to be with this lunatic, or the guilt at staying, or the financial reasons its a motherfucker to get out even though you want to. Especially financially. I am having the damnedest time trying to find a place that doesn’t perfect credit plus 6k down or that isn’t renting rooms for 1k. So I am knee deep in shit playing along. After the crazy town ride yesterday which I said I want off btw forever. He proceeded the martyr act. You know, the oh this is what I get, for opening my doors woe is me. So in true fashion I pointed out that this is why he has no friends, no one likes him because he is always the victim in his story. In every relationship he has been the one unable to make it work because well hes fucking nuts. Then begins the yes keep on fueling me make me angrier threats. He tries to manipulate which once again to me has -0 effect. I know what he’s doing. With someone more emotional, he would’ve already had them well on their way to Bellevue. That’s his kick. Its a power struggle. One he can’t ever fully grasp his hands with me. Its a cycle. In fact, to further illustrate my point, he randomly messages me at 10 this morning to say good morning. So starts the cycle again. He’s going to play nice to get my guard “down” to go back to crazy town. Except, I don’t want a ride there… go there by your god damned self.
Listen, I’ve had enough. I just feel trapped. This is not something I share or talk about. If i could leave with my dad and my daughter I would. In fact, I’m selling off all my shit that I can. Because I have reached the point where fuck it all. I’m tired literally and figuratively. This is a volatile relationship by all means and it always has been. He is a disgusting person that truly only cares about himself and what the end game has for him. I tolerate and teeter around as long as I can or have to. But seeing my daughter so sad this morning, means I can’t continue to do this anymore. It has to stop. I need peace, she needs peace and normality. All the things that this bipolar lunatic are not. He is quite frankly unfuckingstable. I am not a professional, but I don’t have to be. Every time, I set aside cash, I wound up miraculously paying some other obscene bullshit. It was like a cycle, take 2 steps forward, 11 back. For me, I’m tired, I don’t know what to do but I can tell you what I don’t want to do. For now, he’s bordering nice to passive aggressive. I am going to keep on trucking to see how in the fuck we all get out like the movie. Domestic Violence isn’t just black eyes and beatings. Its the verbal and intimidation. Its the walking on egg shells because this crazy person is going to lose their shit because you cut their cheese in the wrong number of slices. I think that we should try to be somewhat kinder to each other because you have no idea what someone is dealing with.
I am currently working on a case that is anything short of a miracle. However, I just conjured an angle to argue. I am going to argue and am paving the way to structure the danger to women in Latin American countries where the countries have machista beliefs that they still hold today. It started with an article I found about a 22 year old beautiful Peruvian girl that was burned by a man that she rejected on a bus. It reminded me that in a lot of Latin America the idea of machisma, or machista still exists. It took me no time to run with my theory and find an article from recently that talked about a poll amongst youth.
The poll discovered that approximately 80% of the youth saw violence against women as sort of par for the course. They would not interfere if their friend was beating a woman. The idea that a man has more rights than a women to define sex, when and who to have it with whether you even want it, or that they can put their hands on you seems improbable but its true. Even as we sit in 2018. What did strike me is the fact that I found an article by a girl from Mexico talking about her experience with Machismo and her experience now that she is here in the U.S. The anxiety she felt walking around campus but the relief to be safe from catcalling and harassment. What I found interesting was the part of the article that discussed money. Why was this funny, because we had just talked about this yesterday.
I was looking at a situation in where the wife was a professional, and the husband worked but he didn’t even reach or come close to her salary. To me, I have always wanted a power couple. If I made 1 mil, you brought in 1 mil. You know a Jay and Beyonce relationship. I never felt like the scales should be tipped. They should balance each other. Yesterday we were having that discussion. I made a blunt point that my significant other could not earn less money than me. For me, my position would be what is the point of even dealing with you? I mean to have you play house daddy, I will just hire someone and ditch you. Lets clarify that my attitude on money might be very distinct to many degrees. However, when I read part of the article where the author cited:
¿Y te pagó las palomitas?
One of the things I’ve learned at Yale is the differentiation between sexual or romantic relationships. Back home in Mexico, if you are in a heterosexual relationship, the man must be responsible for payments, transportation and even deciding on what to do. “I remember asking my mom for money because I had already run out. She didn’t give me any because she insisted that my boyfriend had to be responsible for paying everything that evening. In my mum’s eyes, a woman should never take out her wallet while dating a guy,” said Alejandra Sánchez, a 23 year old Mexican student. Having everything in the palm of your hand may not seem like a problem, but it cements the narrative of male dependency for economic security; men are the only ones able to access resources and use them at their convenience, while women have to wait to be taken care of. If a woman pays for something or makes more money than her partner, the man will be seen as a mantenido, colloquially interpreted as a lazy and irresponsible bastard who depends on his female partner. The concept of “stay at home dads” is not very popular amongst Mexicans and that, in midst of 2017, is still perceived as ridiculous.
I found this interesting because for a minute I had to stop and ask myself, wait was my position stemming from ingrained machismo cultural belief? Is a man really un mantenido (a lazy ass, etc.) because he doesn’t earn as much? To me, the problem doesn’t come at earnings. Its a matter of ambition. I just feel that your ambitions should match. I could never want to do corporate law and be highly ambitious ready to sell my mother lawyer and then be with an ambiguous unambitious man content with making 10k a year. It just doesn’t work. I work tirelessly and endlessly. So for me, I am driven by drive. I would like to say that I don’t judge those unbalanced relationships but the funny thing is I judge them both. I don’t hold the position that the man can pay everything, in fact I think in either role it should be equal.
This article and this research gave me much pause. The only conclusion that I did come up with is that we have to make a change on the views of men and women and specifically the responsibilities. Examples that had me thinking and is very true is teaching women to cook, clean, etc while telling the boys they don’t have to do any of that, they don’t know about that or condoning that they just schlep through life because it should be done for them. The fact that most of the youth thinks its normal that a man puts his hands on a women is the continuation of perpetuating the same cycle that has killed countless women. So maybe, we should have more open dialogue on the “roles”
that society has placed on men and women and the responsibilities that we have together not one more dominant than the other. There is something incredibly warped that men think that women mean yes when they say no to sex or that women feel like they have to. Domestic violence is not okay in any connotation. Women or men are not your property, they are not your emotional punching bags literally, no one should put their hands on you or cars (a-la Ronnie from Jersey Shore).
So next time, you think about roles, or money, or anything that pertains to the balance of power between men and women.. pause. I urge you to pause and explore this just a little bit more deeply as I am doing at this very moment..
I realized when I got on the train that I looked like the god damned grim reaper sans the damn scythe. My sweater, pants, pea coat, hell my Henri Bendel backpack are all black. Maybe that was just as well I mean given my research this morning on apartments, I might as well been in mourning. Although, black is the staple color of New Yorkers..
I have been looking at apartments in NYC and right now I’m wondering where is the news. Why is no one talking about how you have to become a stripper hoe to pay rent? I mean seriously. Its kind of crazy that you have to either border live in a box and make scraps or you have to be uber rich right now. New York was always expensive but not like this expensive. I’m talking 2,000 + for a one bedroom, but that’s not the kicker. The real kick in the ass is that not only must you make 40 X the rent even if you can live off air and water to make that rent payment, they want or I’m sorry they are demanding that your credit score be 650 or higher. If you’re poor or have student loans or debt up to your ass, this might not be plausible. Hell you can have money and still be scraping by on your credit or your fucked on the 40 times requisite. So how the hell are you supposed to rent?
The best part was that my search this morning was based off of affordable income housing lotteries.. I mean I know I’m not hitting the meth pipe, so I can tell you this is not affordable. If I was making 90k a year would I really need affordable housing? Could I truly just not afford to pay the $1,800 rent that has requisites up the ass? I attached some of the posters so that you can see what I mean. The affordable housing is based not only on income but also your household size. The additional kicker is that its not like you can smuggle your child in a barrel into the apartment after getting it. These buildings are checking on you like the NSA. So what do people do? My theory was always well you just have to make more money. This is fine and well, but what about those that cannot generate that kind of money, or better yet, are not in a position to be able to make that lateral move? (Actual Brochures for apartment lotteries in NY: 591 , 606 , 608 ) I can tell you where I don’t want to be and that’s the south of anywhere. Unless we’re talking at worst the south side bronx, I have no desire to hit Pennsylvania, Florida, or anywhere else outside of the tristate area. So I guess I better either start pimping hoes like Heidi Fleiss or figuring out what the fuck I’m going to do next year, because this is not cutting it.
I can’t lie, my anxiety is on 1000. Walking on egg shells around someone is not just challenging it’s taxing. Ironically today I was thinking earlier in the day how much more simpler my situation would be to walk away from if I didn’t have my daughter. All the weight I’ve felt and guilt to stick around wouldn’t be there. I would just have to worry about me no repercussions. However that’s not the case.
I’ve talked a lot about toxic relationships. This can be friendships, love relationship, business any relationship really can be toxic. For me it’s my current living situation. It’s unbearable. Fuck the fibromyalgia, just the stress of wondering what today’s complaint will be what issue will be is enough to trigger sheer anxiety. Right now I can’t eat and I feel like my heart/chest is tense. I’ve had my dad living with us for the past 3 years. A difficult situation but for me something I don’t mind. Even if it was a friend that’s not who I am. I believe that if you do anything sincerely it’s not a burden. My s/o wants my father gone. Something I haven’t been able to do quite frankly. The stress of paying bills at two houses, my daughters expenses I feel like atlas with the weight of the world on my shoulders.
More so I see why it’s so hard with kids to get the fuck out. I’m trapped. I used to try to console myself with nice shit. Now that does nothing for me. Zero. In fact I’ve been selling off my bags and shit because I get no pleasure from them anymore when I feel like I live in hell. I am in hell. Maybe I’ll apply for the scholarship my school is offering. Something has to give. Today was a perfect example of living with a bipolar narcissist. I cooked it was 8 pm I still hadn’t rested and he got bent out of shape over water. Because I moved it and god forbid he had to stretch for it. But it solidified my theory. The fact is I still haven’t eaten. Has anyone given two shits? No. That’s okay I can’t eat with the current stress I feel. I want to run sometimes and never stop. I mask this, like everything else and simply turn off all emotions. The truth is if I allowed myself to truly feel everything I felt, I would absolutely broken. I think I would be a broken shell of a person.