~Thursday, January 28, 2010

Kangaroo Court

It's been a week and a day, and I still have not heard from his lawyer. It didn't occur to me that he might be lying about the subpoena until a friend suggested it. Even though he is a well-documented liar and I know that and I announce it to everyone, I still can't recognize a lie.

I know he has a lawyer because I was in the apartment when the lawyer came over well over a year ago and he signed the papers with him. And I verified it last week through public court records. So this whole situation had enough truth surrounding it that I fell for it yet again. What the lawyer probably said was Call her and see if she will cooperate, otherwise there is nothing we can do. Because, really, this is a civil case and he has to be a dirtbag lawyer to take the sham suit to begin with.

But I did call Little Lizard Insurance company. I just dialed its 1-800 number and they transferred me and transferred me until I was speaking with the actual lawyer on its end of the case. Everyone that I spoke with was delighted to hear from me and I wish everyone spoke to me like that.

Little Lizard's lawyer is located down the street from me. The advantage S has on the lawsuit is that no one really knows a lot about small-engine motorbikes and the laws applicable to them. That's how he was able to lie and get away with it. I explained the information on the police report and decoded the make and model of the bike to him with the actual engine size. I told him where he bought the bike and gave him the address and phone number. I told him who his loan was with and provided their address and phone number. Furthermore, I disclosed that the bike was abandoned and gave him the address where it was located. The bottom line is that S was driving without a license, without insurance and without registration. He shouldn't have been out on the road at all. I provided enough information for the lawyer to make his case without tracing it back to me; I just helped him connect the dots.

I never would have made the phone call had S not drug me back into this with his threats. He brought it upon himself. And if by chance I do ever get served with papers, I have decided I'll bring the letter he hand wrote me from rehab that states he was drinking a case a beer a day.

I did call his step-mom immediately after I listened to the messages. She has no interaction with S, but she told me that his father went to visit him and while he was in the bathroom, he heard S scream at his girlfriend through the phone. It comforted me to know that I didn't cause the screaming or the spitting or the verbal and physical abuse. I often tell myself that I egged him on or that I would stand up for myself or I would fight back and that was why he got so angry. If had been able to be meek, none of it would have happened.

There was a time when I found out he had cheated early on in our relationship and hid it from me for a year. While I was out of town burying my grandfather, he watched my dog. He also brought a 19-year-old girl to my apartment and made out with her on my couch. And I overheard all of this a year later when he was telling his friend on the phone. I got upset. I told him I never would have moved in with him if I knew that. And he spit in my face and told me he hated me and that I was the devil. That's how he acted. He never said he was sorry. I kept thinking Why are you angry with me? You're the one who cheated. I'm reacting to your betrayal in a normal way. Why do you have to continue to hurt me? He never showed any remorse or humbleness for what he did, only anger because I didn't immediately say it was okay.

God, now that I read that, who knows that he just made out with her? He probably slept with her in my bed. And that realization still hurts.

And now he is screaming at Convict Rehab Girlfriend over the phone while she is at work in a bagel shop downtown. It makes me feel a little bit sorry for her. From there, his dad was supposed to drive him over to S's sister's for dinner, but the father told him he was too upset to go and he's not going to bring that chaos to the sister's house.

I don't know, S's storyline doesn't seem that funny to me anymore. He told me I was the cause of all of his problems and the cause of his ruin, but here he is, without me, living in welfare housing with Convict Rehab Girlfriend, and he still sounds equally unhappy to be screaming at yet another girl. It's all a little bit sad and a lot more pathetic.

~Tuesday, January 26, 2010

It wasn't even brand-name beer

So Friday night I went out for happy hour with friends and I didn't invite Christopher because I was kinda pissed at him. Over a few beers and some tator tots I watched these perfect girls with their perfect employed boyfriends that don't sleep too much and love their girlfriends. And after a few more beers, I leaned over to the girls and flat out stated that Christopher was not The One. And they said that was okay and as long as I'm having fun, I don't have to end it. One day I'll be over it and then I'll know. And I had that last beer and decided that maybe I was over it. Then my friends lean back to me and tell me they didn't really like him anyway. Katie said she thought he was hitting on her on Thanksgiving and Harvey said he got a little too drunk on New Years. Then I got protective because he is my boyfriend and I do like him, albeit not very much at the moment. When I sobered up, I realized that maybe it was just the $2 draft beers and frustration talking and I should just shelve The One debate for now. But now I know my friends don't like my boyfriend and their opinions hold great water with me and now I don't know what I have done.

~Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Combating Crazy

I didn't even get to click "Publish" until the next wave of assault began.

S called me yesterday for the first time in around 4 months. All of a sudden I was grateful for his menacing text last week because I now knew the number and knew to avoid it.

It didn't stop my stomach from dropping at the realization it was him.

I felt nauseated.

I felt dizzy.

He left a long message and I stared at my phone like it was diseased. Then my phone rang again and it was him again. He left another message again.

I didn't want to listen to them, but I knew I had to. It's the same reason I haven't blocked his e-mail. I have to know if he's threatening me so I can protect myself.

I don't know what I expected. They could either be cussing me out for not allowing his last text to have a response, or they could be manipulative and apologetic to try to get me to contact him. I did not think it was going to be this:

He called me as if nothing happened. As if he didn't threaten me and my family. As if he didn't harass me via text. His lawsuit against the car that hit him way back when is going to court and he wanted more copies of the pictures I took and for me to testify on his behalf. Then he demanded I call him back to confirm I received his message.


I laughed it off. I was in a blind rage over his entitlement, but I still laughed it off.

And then I listened to the second message. He said he just called his lawyers and I can expect to hear from them. And if I don't cooperate, they are going to find me and subpoena me.

The blind rage mixed with intense fear.

I felt my skin flush.

I felt my chest tighten.

I felt myself begin to sweat.

I have taken very deliberate steps so that he could not find out where I live and where I work. My driver's license and car registration still uses an old address. My bills are sent to my mother's house with the exception of my power bill, which is under a different name. The only people who have been to my apartment are my mom, my dad, and my boyfriend. You need to get by three security access points to get to my apartment door. My apartment is my safe haven. And now all he has to do is get his lawyer to subpoena me and my information will be a part of his case file.

These are my options:

  • Ignore it. Ignore him and the lawyers and maybe they'll decide I'm not worthwhile.

  • Call up Little Lizard Insurance company, who he is suing, and give them the proper information they need to make this sham suit go away. (He lied on his police report and I know all the information that they can connect the dots with). If the suit is dropped, then no need to involve me.

That's about all I got.

Also, I'm thinking about dropping by the police station and starting a paper trail. Maybe file domestic violence report from last March. I have the pictures from when he choked me. My mother has her own set of pictures too.

I felt shame.

With every nutty thing he does, I layer guilt on myself for ever being with him when he is so obviously insane.

I went home last night and mechanically poured a large glass of red wine and mechanically watched The Biggest Loser. It's so exhausting living this way. Combating crazy when it isn't even my crazy. Struggling to keep me of sound mind and body.

I no longer felt anxious or angry or fearful.

I felt nothing.

I sat on the couch and tried to feel. I thought of the two friends I frantically sought advice from and tried to feel comfort. I thought of Christopher and tried to feel love. But I couldn't stir up anything, which, frankly, is a little frightening.

I feel hollow.

I feel dead inside.

~Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Cashing In

I was at Christopher's apartment recently. (That feels like a duh statement, but bear with me here.) I was at his apartment and noticed that he had all of his cash stacked on the side table adjacent to his spot on the couch. I sucked in my breath when I saw it; I couldn't believe he would just leave it out like that.

I panicked a bit as I stared at the bills. Maybe I should tell him to put it away or to hide it, I thought. Maybe I should conveniently go in the bathroom while he does it so he knows that I don't know where it is. It took me cognitive thought to realize that Christopher left it out because he trusts me. He isn't going to call me up and accuse me of stealing his money like the ex constantly did. (It's funny how the things he accused me of doing are the exact same things he did to me. It's the fucked-up version of placing your values onto other people.) Now he's gone and I'm left standing in Christopher's apartment panicking and not trusting myself for the sole reason that my ex didn't trust me because he knew he wasn't trustworthy. I've never stolen a dollar in my life and yet I'm still allowing him to place his values on me like I'm some kind of bad person. I need to learn to trust myself again in so many ways.

I also realized that Christopher isn't going to take my money either, and that maybe it would be okay for me to start carrying cash again. I exhaled and felt the panic melt away.

Then it made me sad that I've been through so much that this is the way I think, versus the millions of other people out in the world that would have never thought twice about cash on the table. Like Christopher.

~Monday, January 18, 2010


Saturday morning I woke up to an elbow jab in the breast. It's hard to fall back asleep after pain like that. I rolled out of Christopher's bed and got dressed.

"You hate me?" he murmured.

"No, you're just a lousy bedmate," I joked as I kissed him and ran out the door. I don't like to stay long at Christopher's because of the Femme Fatale who likes to do things in the morning like eat and poo. She's a very punishing dog too, so if she doesn't get to eat and poo, she actively seeks revenge on the apartment.

On the elevator ride down, I grabbed my phone to see if my mom had called like she normally does Saturday mornings. Instead there was a text message from a number I didn't recognize:

U lost and u know it

I don't really pay attention to text messages from numbers I don't know, because it happens every month or so. The texts are usually worded in a way to get me to respond, or sexual in nature. The numbers are local and I just assume that S is pissed and gave mine out to guys at rehab.

This one stuck with me though. It seemed a little more personal and a little more menacing. And S is the only person I know that actually texts with u instead of you.

I found it even odder that his step-mom just happened to call me that afternoon.

"What's S's area code?" I asked her. I didn't want to look crazy and paranoid if I didn't have to. My city uses three different area codes, so it's a quick way to get an answer to my question without actually having to ask it.

"You don't know his number?" she asked back.

"Nope. I deleted it out of my phone last summer and I never wrote it down. I don't even know if he has the same number or not."

"Hold on, I just wrote it down." She read me the area code. It matched. Damn.

"What's the rest of the number? I've been getting these strange text messages..." I trailed off.

"And you think it's him? It probably is." She read off the first three digits and I replied with the last four.

"Yep, that's it."

So it was S. S, who vowed to never contact me again after his explosive e-mail. And here he was at 9:30 on Saturday morning, texting me and telling me I lost. I've never known him to be awake at 9:30 before.

I learned during the phone call from the step-mother that he's living with Rehab Girlfriend. When he got kicked out of rehab, he never went back to the first one like he told his parents. He and Rehab Girlfriend got an apartment together in low-income government housing.

Which is also my new favorite phrase. Let's say it all together: low-income government housing. It feels good in your mouth, doesn't it? I try to say it as often as I can. As in, my ex-boyfriend lives in low-income government housing and thinks I lost. Lost what, I'm not exactly sure. I guess who turned out better after the relationship was over.

But after the joy in my newest finding, anger settled in. How dare he. He was living with Convict Rehab Girlfriend and texting me? Isn't he supposed to have moved on if he is living with her? AND HE'S LIVING IN LOW-INCOME GOVERNMENT HOUSING AND TELLING ME I LOST? ME? WHO IS MAKING MORE MONEY THAN EVER AND IS LIVING IN A LUXURY APARTMENT? SERIOUSLY?!

And before you tell me that he's lashing out at me because he knows he lost, that is what my therapist calls trying to rationalize a crazy person's behavior. You can't make sane the insane. I believe the truth is that he really believes he's doing better than me. He's that arrogant. He always comes from a place of arrogance. He thinks because he found another sucker to live with, especially so quickly (well done on his end, now he'll never learn to support himself), that I am the one with the problems, not him.

I was angry. I wanted him to know it wasn't okay to contact me. You teach people how to treat you and I didn't want to be treated this way. I wanted to throw in his face his crack addiction and his low-income government housing and make him really think about who is the loser. But I also have to constantly think about my safety in regards to him too. He doesn't need to know where I work, where I live, and that I moved on without him.

So I texted a friend and asked her to confirm that not responding at all is not only the healthiest thing for me to do, but is also the most painful thing I can inflict upon him. She agreed. Win-win scenario. Then she told me to send her all the messages I wanted to send him to get it out of my system. So I sent her a text message saying you look ugly naked and I felt a lot better.

Low-income government housing.

~Monday, January 11, 2010


I had a positive breakthrough in therapy last week. I spend a lot of time talking to my therapist about my relationships with other people: my coworkers, my father, my friends and my boyfriend. And if I ever air a grievance about any of them, it essentially boils down to this: he/she is not responding in the exact same way I would respond.

I have a really difficult time with placing my values on other people. I assume people are being 100% honest with me because I don't lie. I think people should revere me in the exact same manner I hold them in esteem. They should feel more because I'm sensitive. They should care because I care.

This leads to a lot of disappointment. My therapist gave me several suggestions, including don't do that and lowering my expectations. She says it may be a maturity thing, but she tries to value people for what they have to offer. And just stop and leave it at that.

So that's my New Year's resolution: to value people for who they are.

I'm going to think of my father as a good human being who loved me as much as he is capable of loving me. He can't do any more than that, and I shouldn't resent him for not giving more of himself.

I'm going to love my friends because they are kind and funny and I have a good time 100% of the time I am with them. I am not going to long for more time together or more confiding in each other.

I am going to give Christopher a break. He's a boy and just not wired the same. His brain does not function on the same chemical level mine does. It's really as simple as that. And he seems to like me more when I just let go and am not so anxious.

I think it's a good positive step to take in life.

~Thursday, January 07, 2010


I still go to therapy. I go once a month "for maintenance purposes" as Christopher put it the one time I talked to him about it.

I had my appointment this week and I came out with my heart full of happiness. I skipped to the car and called my mom just like I would on a really awesome first date. That kind of brimming, bubbling happiness.

Anyway, that is not the point of this story. I'll get to that later.

The point of the story is that I had handed my therapist my check and told her how excited I was about 2010 and basically claimed the new year as my bitch. I said that last year was so bad, this one just had to be mine.

She nods her head and tells me this story about her cousins and how their father died unexpectantly in September and their mother died two days before Christmas. "This year just has to be good," she repeats to me in their story.

And then their youngest brother died unexpectantly on New Year's morning. Heart attack, just like the father. The sun wasn't even up yet.

I swallowed. "Can't we just chalk that one up to the Rule of Threes?" I squeaked.

But inside I was kicking and screaming WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TELL ME THIS STORY, YOU EVIL WOMAN?

~Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Baby are you down down down down down

I indulge in a certain amount of schadenfreude. I'm not sure how healthy this is, but it's how I cope.

I refer to Monday as Feel Good TV. I watch Intervention, Hoarders and an episode or two of Cops if I can find it. (Also? Teen Mom on MTV? Loooove it.) I watch these shows with a hilarity and amusement because no matter what's going on with my life, I will never:

  • Live on top of 75 dead cats
  • Have the floor of my bathroom eaten through by 3 tons of used adult diapers
  • Sound like the girl who was inhaling computer duster
  • Be arrested in a trailer park wearing a cut-off t-shirt

There are certain givens in life, and these are just a few of mine.

I also still keep up with S's step-mother. Not purely for schadenfreude purposes; she's a nice woman who genuinely cares about me and how I am doing. But the schadenfreude is definitely present in our conversations.

I have been forwarding all of S's communications to his father and step-mother since I left him. He lies are so constant and expanding that no one in his life knows what the truth is, but they can get a better idea of it when everyone compares notes. So they know he had been trying to get back together with me most of his time in rehab. They know he threatened me and my family when I rejected him. They know I contacted his rehab facility and informed them of the threat I received from one of their patients and that I forwarded the e-mail to them as well.

Three days after this happened, S called his father. He was leaving the rehab facility and transferring back to the first one he attended this summer. The one for homeless people. He said it was cheaper and he would be able to save more money. But my therapist has worked closely with those rehab facilities and they are both free. Not to mention he has never saved a penny in his life.

"The rehab place must have taken me seriously," I told his step-mom after she informed me of all this.

"Yes, it's too coincidental. Him leaving this place so quickly after you contacted them," she agreed.

And I felt great. For my entire life, everyone around me has been telling me that my feelings are wrong. That I should be feeling this instead of that. The result is that I have never learned to trust myself. When I contacted my therapist immediately after receiving the threat, she was the only one in my life who acknowledged my scared feelings and helped me work through them. "Do what you need to do to feel safe," she told me. "Contact the rehab facility. They'll keep him accountable for his actions. If anything he'll be embarrassed to be called on his behavior."

The rehab facility did keep him accountable, presumably by kicking him out for his behavior. My feelings were validated by complete strangers. And this is wholesome good feelings, not even the schadenfreude.

"Wait, I didn't even tell you the best part," his step-mom interrupted my warm fuzzies. "He all of a sudden has a girlfriend, telling his father they've been together for 6 months already."

I laughed. But I was also relieved. If he had someone else to focus on, then maybe he's going to leave me alone for good.

"But we both know he's been trying to get back with you until last week," she continued.

"Maybe he's been working two girls at once. You know he went out with Erica after he and I fought because he was lining up the next girl in case we didn't work out. He's probably doing the same thing again," I said thoughtfully.

She shushed me. "If she even exists!" she claimed.

It turns out the new girlfriend does exist. Subsequent phone calls from the step-mom informed me that his real mom is over the moon with the match because this girl is some local, dead politician's granddaughter. Apparently this has status.

"Yeah, she sounds great, being in rehab and all. I guess being a drug addict doesn't matter," I snipped. In truth my feelings were a little hurt. Not by the new girlfriend, but because being a college graduate with a good job and living a good life didn't make me good enough for S's mom. It's become quite public how she dislikes me.

Smugly, I told my mom about the rehab girlfriend. "God, I don't know how he survived as long as he did being with someone as good as you," she cracked.

I got another phone call from S's step-mother last week. "If I tell you something, you promise you won't tell anyone?" she began.


"The rehab girlfriend just got arrested for shoplifting."


Better than any Cops or Intervention episode. But Hoarders is just too damn good.


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