tales from the surviving straight spouse

Archive for the ‘What the Freak?’ Category

Sound of Silence

This told me much about where we were and how I ranked.

When I heard this song: Sound of Silence  I immediately brought it to him to share.  He is (at that time) my number one – anything I love I want to share with my number one.  We lived together.  We were planning on being together for the rest of our lives.  I want the space between us to be the first thing I focus on, don’t you, as much as possible?

“This is amazing!”  I said.

“I know!!! Isn’t it?  I love it.  So powerful.  I first heard it six months ago and shared it right away with my Facebook friends.”  he said.

That would make me #3789.

Then I started to move even farther away.

Run Away! Run Away!

Nanowrimo…You Shall Not Pass!

any way…I digress.

So, around 8 or 9, I started to get a bit curious.  As the youngest of a large brood, I didn’t have much baby action.  I loved them, cute, tiny, unpredictable.  I never wondered where they came from.  That bugs me.  I don’t know why – it is such a common question.  My best friend at the time, Hippo (you’ll get it in another chapter) had a gazillion babies at her house, adopted babies, babies with red hair, babies with freckles.  It was a baby extravaganza!  She knew where they came from, but she wouldn’t tell me.

I had to think on this.  Who could tell me where they come from?  How do people come from anywhere?  I was quite confused.  “I come from Philadelphia” sure, you took the high-speed line, but babies don’t do that.  They just appear.  Weird.  Of course I knew that they were in a woman’s tummy.  Are they growing in there?  Just bizarre.

Ah-ha.  My parents had seven babies, I bet they knew how they got them.  So into THE STUDY again.  Ugh how I love/hate THE STUDY.  My father’s sanctuary.  He was a very busy, very stressed man.  I never remember him with anything but gray hair.  I blame my older sister.

Entering THE STUDY meant you had to be quiet until commercial.  (Reminds me of my marriage)  It meant that if I commented on something or leaned over to tell my mom something, a harsh “Shhhh LISTEN” was thrown over me like a cloak of shame.  Damn, that cloak is sticky.

So, I waited until commercial.  I stood before my dad, my mom was sitting behind me.  I took a deep breath and began to do the side step, rocking back and forth.  “So, Dad, (rock), I was (rock) thinking (rock rock) and I wanted to know (roooock) where babies (rock rock rock) come from.”  The room froze.  My mother lowered the newspaper and looked at me over her glasses.  Her face was blushing fiercely.  My father looked at me over his glasses.  I couldn’t believe it.  Babies make my father speechless.  Boy, where they come from must be really complicated and slightly embarrassing.

He cleared his throat, uncrossed his legs and nudged his foot into my crotch and said, “They come from there”

Oh My fucking God.  Babies get peed out.  That’s why it’s called a wee wee!

I could have one tonight!  Yay!

But wait.  My dad just put his foot in my crotch.  Suddenly I was mortified.  I turned around and ran upstairs.  I heard my mother sigh and tsk.

I laid on my bed bewildered.  That answer didn’t seem to give me what I was looking for.

My mother came in my room and sat on the bed next to me.  She was much gentler that I had ever remembered.

“Honey, sometimes your father does things he shouldn’t.  Are you okay?  Do you have any questions?”

“Yes I’m fine”  Questions…well, that seems a bit dangerous.  I know who to go to for a kick in the crotch, now.  “No, no questions.”  I get it.  The origins of babies is not something to be discussed.  My mom has stated proudly over the years that she taught her daughters about babies and their bodies.  Jeez, I hope that thought process isn’t hereditary.

I finally got the logistics of baby creating in health class, 5 years later.  I was excited, but really, sometimes riding the high-speed line can be just as much fun.

Almost 8 months

I post from my phone today.  I am very empty.  The weekend was a whirlwind of disappointment and happiness. 

I find that I want to get off the carousel. BF had a gig and the chaosquad came to see him.  I have many good things in my life.

When I had my children, my only wish was for them to know who they are, be good citizens (resistent to the masses, but respectful of differences and laws that made sense), love themselves and then love those present to them. 

I have had to come to the conclusion that I cannot do that anymore.  On  June 9th, I discovered my youngest son who is 12 watching an adolescent gay porn threesome.  He was unphased when he handed me his iPod while the video was playing.  For 10 minutes he was watching a young man give another man a blow job while receiving anal sex.  He handed me his iPod as if he was watching iCarly. 

I reached out to prosecutor’s office.  They attacked my ability as a mom and asked why I would let this happen.  They told me to call child protective services.  I did, again.  The case worker assured me that he would speak with their father and that all if this would stop.  I reached out to the FBI.  They took some information and told me to keep an eye on my kids.

By August 7th, my son was texting boys and girls and his brothers asking them if they want to have sex.  His older brother revealed to me that his young brother was kissing him in his private parts.  I called the FBI.  They told me to call child protective services.  I did, again.

The supervisor of my county came to my house.  She asked me why I kept calling them.  She told me I needed to communicate better with their father who loves porn and feels there is no issue.  She told me that brothers performing felatio on each other is typical behavior.  Even if one has Down Syndrome and the other has Fragile X Syndrome.  She told me I needed to do a better job as a parent and not to use them to help me. 

It was at this point that I have decided to speed up my plans to leave the area.  This has been crazy making and I am holding on by a thread.

If I am rendered impotent in the lives of my chuldren, I will not be forced to watch the way they are developing.

I am a quitter and I am sorry for that. 

Disillusioned. Dismayed. Downtrodden

I arrived first at the evaluation center. DD came breezing in, happy as a clam.  Son #2 followed him looking anxious and nervous.

I am unable to think at this point – right now – as I write this.  Not then at the doctor’s office. I thought clearly.

Dr. H. asked to speak to DD and I together.  I told the story.  Dr. H. expressed disbelief that nobody felt that CPS should be called.  I felt a glimmer of hope.  DD looked smug and pointedly said to me “Didn’t you believe that it might be someone at his school?”  He leaned forward when he said this with a glowing smirk.  I felt ill.

I explained that I felt it could have come from anywhere – and that Son #2 himself said that he had done it at his father’s house.

His dad stated that he checked son #2 yesterday morning and he was again shaved clean.  He said that son #2 told him that he is doing it at his mother’s house and that he got the razor out of my drawers.  I said that I did not keep razors in my drawer.

The doctor wanted to know why DD was checking son #2’s pubic area.  DD explained that he was very concerned about this and that he was checking every time son #2 came from my house.

I wanted to puke.

The doctor said nothing.

The doctor proceeded to ask some more questions and then he asked DD to get son #2 so that he could speak to Leo alone.

While he spoke to Son #2 alone I went to the bathroom and scribbled a note on the paper towel.  Can I please speak to the doctor without his father present?  I pretended that I could not find my insurance card and spoke to the receptionist and gave her the note.  She looked over my shoulder at DD.  She nodded her head.  I went and sat down.

DD asked if I had given any additional paperwork to the receptionist – I said that I thought I had left my insurance card with her.

When the doctor came to get DD for son #2’s physical exam, he escorted DD back to the room and came and got me.  He didn’t say anything, so I just followed him.

I spoke about the porn, I spoke about the movies.  I spoke about DD’s reaction.  I spoke about what son #2 had learned from him regarding “cocks and balls”

He took notes.  He said to me that these things are complex and complicated.  He said that there wasn’t much they could do, that there is no indication of sexual abuse.  He said that he asked son #2 if he had seen pictures of naked people and son #2 said no.

He said that DD and I obviously have some tension between us.  He said that he will emphasize that son #2 is vulnerable and provide some literature to us.  He said there is nothing that can be done.  There is nothing to indicate that either parent is involved.

I sit quiet and still, my eyes blowing up to my forehead.  I can barely swallow whatever it it that has grown in my throat.  The doctor gets up and leaves.  He examines son #2 with DD present and then invites me back into the exam room and tells son #2 to go to the waiting room.

I listen to the doctor’s admonishments about what son #2 should and shouldn’t be exposed to.  I listen to him remind me and his father that son #2 is very vulnerable and easily manipulated and therefore needs very healthy and safe information about sex.

DD’s face gets red with anger and he says nothing.  The doctor says thank you and good bye.  DD looks obviously relieved.

We all walk out together.  I give son #2 a hug and a kiss.  He asks me where I am going.  I tell him I am on my way home.

I watch them walk out.  I don’t cry.  I don’t scream even on the inside.  I tried.

Pushing Back

For me the wind is blowing hard and the earth is shaking.

I am making my way, moving forward when possible and standing perfectly still when needed – like the straight staring into the face of manipulation and lies.

Today is son #2’s sexual abuse evaluation.  I had to pick a Thursday because it was the only available appointment with the doctor I wanted.  Unfortunately Thursday is not my day of  visitation.

Child Protective Services sent out a letter to myself and DD stating the date, time, name of doctor, type of evaluation and the location of the office.

I hadn’t heard from DD about the evaluation, so yesterday we had the usual confrontational text messaging:

can I pick up Leo at 1:30 for his dr’s appointment tomorrow?

What appointment is that?  You just took him to DDD(Division of Developmental Disabilities) on Monday.

it is with the CPS doctor for an evaluation.  You met with the CPS worker and she sent out letters.

I haven’t talked to the CPS worker.  I never got a letter. (pants burst in to flames) I thought we were working to get CPS the fuck out of our lives.  Did you make this appointment?  Did you set this up?

CPS made the referral and I made the appointment.  Here is the drs. number, call and find out what it is about.

My thoughts are evil: Hah! yes – go ahead and call.  Call and ask the sex abuse center why your son is going there.  Have them ask you why you haven’t heard from CPS.  Tell them why you don’t think your son needs to be seen.  Show them your lack of concern about this situation – and yes, even your fear that people will ask the right questions.  I am uncomfortable with my thoughts, but I am tired of having my back against the wall and only being able to watch the craziness continue to unfold.

A little while later I get a text message from DD

I rearranged my schedule.  I will take son #2 to this evaluation.

This is important.  I will meet you there.

I will not be bullied and I will not turn back.  Whether I get to speak to the doctor alone or not – I am going to speak up.

I don’t know how much more I can stand, though.  I don’t believe in the ‘system’ and my beliefs are justified.  I can only fight for so long and with so much.  It has been six years – 23 if you count the entire time I’ve known DD.  The first 2 years were defending him to my family because they had a bad feeling about him.  The next 12 years were trying to make a marriage work that couldn’t.  Then there were the 3 years of total heartbreak and chaos during the separation and the divorce.  I am tired, very tired.  DD’s anger is only increasing because I haven’t just gone away and I haven’t fallen apart like he predicted I would.

What is it about Porn?

I wish I could be a guy for a few days.

I’d like to start out at age 12 for the first day and then progress along to puberty.

I want to feel that visual-groin connection of a male to see if it is that same that I feel when I look at someone sexy.

I wonder if a man’s mind wanders like mine does, when I am watching something sexy.

A good friend revealed that sometimes she wonders if the woman is really enjoying the sex when she is watching porn.

I wish to be a male strictly because of porn.

I’ve caught my 13 for the third time watching porn or something close.  I understand his curiosity, I really, really do.    I wanted to know what a “thing” looked like when I was 14.  Of course, we had a male dog – so I had a slight clue – not a very accurate one, but his nickname wasn’t “Dang – er” because he was minuscule.  My brother started to nickname him dangler, but my mom put a stop to that,

There are so many things that bother me about this.

Son#3 and I have had this discussion twice before – pictures are great – photographs, fine…porn movies, no.  I think porn wires the brain and the younger the brain the greater the chance of something  becoming hay-wired.

Am I turning this into a pathology – has a once simple curiosity now become something that is thought to be in secret?

My conversations, discussions and concerns have no weight because, as he so succinctly stated,

we watch whatever we want at Dad’s house

I feel like all of the prophecies of DD are coming true:

“you are breaking up our family and it will destroy our children”

I currently carry around a lot of guilt.  Those words echo in my ear.  If I was with our kids full time this would not be happening – there would be no two household competition, I also would have completely lost my mind.

I thought if I would be healthier if I divorced.  Either way I feel lost.  Either way, my life seems like it is murky swirl of deceit and vileness.

I am left to being the bad parent – the one who sets limits, the one who has expectations, the one who prefers to be with the kids instead of hiring a sitter.

I think of this book I am reading and am grateful that it was recommended to me.

I was and am the perfect stooge to DD’s behaviors.  I bend over backwards to help others and to avoid confrontation.  I trust.  I trust every single time because I want to believe that the world is full of good people.

It isn’t.

I’d like to send a strong message to son #3 – but we’ve already had conversations, I’ve already revoked privileges.  Last time he was caught in this same lie, his father took him out for a new suit the following morning and they went to an amazing formal party together a few days later.

I love son #3 so much.  Everyone who meets him thinks he is amazing.  He is a peer leader at his middle school.  He has been selected 2 times for the highest honor at summer camp for personal character.  And yet, he sneaks porn after being asked not to and he lies about it.  I am deeply concerned that his behaviors are beginning to mirror his father.  Lying to me has apparently become no big deal for son #3, just like it was no big deal for his father.

Exhaling for Now

I lost my ability to trust.  It began when I realized that I could not count on the reality around me.

I am still at a loss trying to make sense of the past few weeks.  I was calm, concise and honest about what had happened to son #2 – though I have been burning up inside over it.  I never once made a horrible accusation about his father – I repeated over and over again – this is not possible, I just want answers. Though I had tried to wait for CPS to do something, I just couldn’t and I reached out to the police and the child sex abuse clinic.  I know this really gets CPS angry – but you know what causes more anger? – people who look the other way, pass the buck , squirm out of responsibility for a variety of never-sufficient-enough reasons.

I am furious that CPS tried to portray me to the Child Abuse Clinic as a vindictive ex wife.

I am grateful that the Child Sex Abuse Clinic portrayed me as a concerned parent who did NOT make any specific accusations against anyone – but clearly expressed her concerns that it would be unequivocal that son #2 could have performed this act without prompting.

I am sad for all the parents who didn’t get answers.

I am grateful for the friends who pushed (gently) me to carry on and not give up.

I am sad for all the kids and adults who are vulnerable and have no one to advocate for them.

I am grateful for the one person who listened to me – who could make a difference in the life of our sons.

Tonight I think of “D” – a non verbal adult who was admitted to inpatient psychiatric at the hospital where I did an internship.  He was brought in for treatment because he reportedly had become violent and out of control at his group home.

We would never get the full story.  The only story we could see were old scars and bruises and cauliflower ears.  “D” had been hurt by someone and he didn’t have the language to point out his accuser.  His parents, I imagined were long dead.  He was a ward of the state, relying on strangers for his care.    I watched him walking through the unit, a sweet smile on his face.  When given his treatment plan he would sign his name with a shaky hand.  He couldn’t read and he never spoke a word.  With all the comings and goings of the unit, “D” didn’t have a single violent incident while he was in the hospital.  I wondered what had happened at his group home to make him become so angry that he would be violent.  We called the institutional abuse hotline and reported our concerns, but that was it – we relied on the system to take care of him.  I can still see his pure, earnest brown eyes and I wonder where and how he is tonight.

I almost backed off trying to get answers for son #2.  I thought of the women I knew who have lost custody of their children when they pushed CPS.  I KNOW of families broken up by CPS because they ticked off the worker and I was so scared of that happening to me.  I still am petrified of the thought of losing the boys.

What scares me most though, is the strange, unhealthy behavior that they have been exposed to and I am going to do my best to get some answers and more importantly some resolution.

Tonight is bittersweet, because I know the games will continue and this is just one small victory for me – at the cost of son being exposed to something he should not have been.  Yes, it is very bittersweet.