Raining In The Fuckin' Bathroom

Because, after pulling myself together after a major breakdown on the 12th, there is nothing like walking past your bathroom and wondering who is in the shower when you saw everyone elsewhere in the apartment.

It wasn't the shower. It is barely 24 hours after I had to pull myself together and face the world, and now it is raining in the bathroom.

Water was, the only way to describe it, raining into the bathtub.  I called the landlord, it is after 9pm or so. He turns the main valve off and says he will look deeper into it the next morning. 

We do some cleaning up anticipating someone to come in, but the landlord checks it from outside and told us to keep an eye out if it happens again.

Everything is fine until several hours later the upstairs tenant comes home. Beanie sees her go upstairs, and then came and told me it was raining in the bathroom again.

The landlord goes inside upstairs and is on the phone with me troubleshooting. By this time, water is now pouring out of the seam of the partition near our toilet. Fabulous.

He figures out the problem and everything stops. The plumber can handle the issue up there and he will have to find the guy to basically come redo our bathroom ceiling. Great.

The Tipping Point

I packed my shit on the night of the 12th March and after wrestling past the room door and hallway door, stormed out of the back door with my suitcase in one hand and a ball of clothes in the other. 

With not a soul to call to come pick me the fuck up. Not one place I could show up on the doorstep. We moved to this island going on ten years ago, and I have no physical village. Just haven't been able to curate one.

It was a day that I had worked half day on my childcare gig, then came home and worked online for a bit. I greeted Beanie when she came home and then her father when he arrived a bit later.

There was nothing to cook for dinner. I didn't get to get anything. L was washing the car of the lady next door. MiniMe was in her room chilling with her bestie. FavritSon was not yet home.

I sat on my bed and eventually, I found myself curled up with my head on my pillow just feeling supremely overstimulated and bogged down..

FavritSon came home. The hours rolled by. No one moved to wash the dishes, no one reminded Beanie that it was bath time. 9pm came. L came inside from finishing the car. 

Tears are streaming down my face as MiniMe asks me if there was nothing to cook. She walks off and goes to ask L. I don't hear the conversation after that. L walks in with my water bottle he has filled up. I look at him handing me the water bottle, "Seriously?" His response was, "Yeah, seriously." 

I got up and everything belonging to me in the closet found itself on the bed. Hangers snapped as I viciously stripped them. I swept the rest of my clothes off of our shelf in the corner and leaned into the vehement rage that engulfed me. 

L tried to hold me, hug me, calm me and stop me from leaving the room. Fuck that.  I screamed at him to leave me alone, to get out of my way and, "No, I will not calm the fuck down!"

He fell to the side enough for me to get into the kids' room and grab a suitcase out of their closet. I pushed whatever could fit and L blocked my exit. I kept at it and MiniMe kept asking where I was going. Then she retreated. 

The back door was forgotten about and I made my way through with my suitcase and loose clothes under my arm. Barefoot and unable to make out the back yard properly, I walked around our apartment building over rocks and wet grass to sit on our front porch.

FavritSon cracked the front door open, preventing the dog from coming out, to ask me if I wanted money or needed to go somewhere just for the night. "I don't want shit from you."

Holding my phone I left all of my stuff on the porch and walked toward the street. The helplessness that encompassed me...do the people in this house really not get it?

L came out of the house intending to go find a store open to get something to cook. It was 945pm. "Who the fuck you ga find open?" I stormed off and my feet found the cold dark road. 

Crying inconsolably, "I just walked out of my house, I don't know where I am going, but I can't do this no more." My niece on the other end asked me if I needed to hop a flight in the morning. I declined. Why?

Because in the middle of being an overwhelmed and deeply burnt out mother and partner -  I had to worry about if L would spiral out in reaction and oh look. As I am on the phone, I turn around and can see two people come out of my apartment and are tussling in the road.

So, now I worry that it is L being held back from breaking down or what the hell.

It is my two older children. One stopping the other from going behind me to check on me. I went and sat in my car.

After letting my niece know I was ok and that her uncle asked me to go with him to pick up food. Of course he found no where open to buy something to cook. Our favourite lounge was open and serving food, so he had placed an order there. We went and I sat in the car while he went inside.

Back at home, MiniMe had cooked rice to go with the chicken wings and got everyone's plate sorted. 

After eating mainly the wings, I played games on my phone. L took every piece of clothing and put them back where they were. Around 2am I turned on my side, L curled around me and I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I showered and went to work for 830am.

Attachment

I fell in love with her on my job interview.  Sweet little baby, the smell, the cuddling.

And I find it amazing that, as miserable as I had become, and counting the days to a different kind of freedom, all contact has been just about obliterated.

I am of no consideration.  Empty words of thanks, no words of thanks on my last day...it bugs me.

I loved that little girl like my own child.  Took care of her like she was mine, gave her parents enough comfort to come home late without my permission.  They never worried.  At times they didn't answer calls or texts, completely assured she was okay.

And I find myself missing her and wondering what she's like and how she's enjoying school.  One cheesy picture put up, no contact to say how she is.

That pisses me off more than it hurts because, maybe I fear that she'll forget me.  Two years of her little life, the foundation and I am cast away like garbage.  smt

Variety?

I am not cut-out for a  8am-5pm set-up. I realized that holding it down jobwise us what I've done in order to make it through.

There's a cycle my soul cries to break. And my mind sings with hope.  I value the thoughts of my close circle.  Yet, there are moments that give me pause.

I am job hunting.  Money is a required evil. With commitments and life's revolution around it - yeah...

Faced with three possibilities,  I started opinion collecting and was surprised by two major things. One, a near & dear friend has appeared to have made her life one of a dreamless existence focused on a paycheck-consumer circle.  She doesn't get dreamers completely. I was stunned.  I politely pointed out the company she works for was once someone's dream.  And secondly, a newly made friend has turned out to be a 'rebel'. She's quit numerous jobs including a gubmnt one and one at a major company.  All because she couldn't stick out the 9 - 5. The one she is on now, she started to quit but the boss gave her the flexibility she craved and now they're both happy. She told me with no reservations to follow my dream.

She's older with an adult son she raised on her own. And she comforted me in a way. I am not crazy or irresponsible or immature.  My spirit is wild. What do I do with it?

My mother gave up dreams to take care of us. But pushed us toward our dreams.  However,  I now face that same issue.  Giving up a dream. How does that make me an example to my kids? My friend says it's teaching them compromise and that you can't always get or do what you want. I sat amazed.  I must continue the cycle.  I love my friend dearly - I just disagree severely. She says she supports me but is wanting  me to understand the need for stability.

It disappointed me somehow because she seems to no longer have hopes of other things.

Another recent friend told me to maybe give it a go.  He stepped out on his own with no money in his pocket or bank account. Two kids, a mortgage,  schoolfees and just his wife's income to cover them until his business took off.

This wild spirit isn't going anywhere.  It kicked up in my mother year after year.  And I want to deal with it as best as I can.

Solution...

So I have discovered the problem.  It's my eyes.  They are directly hooked up to my heart and soul.  So when I view someone, I have a homing device that instantly picks up on warmth, and caring, and big hearts, and the good in humanity.

And this constantly lands me in hot spots.  Things that take me off guard because I keep giving the benefit of the stupid doubt.  When will I learn?  Well, I have a thirty year jump on my mother.

I have found letters.  Painful letters, expressing the need to be heard.  To be understood.  To be respected.  And from these I hear myself, and I learn.  Foot down now, less shit later.

My mother never remarried after my dad.  And I don't think it was because there was never another man she couldn't love.  I think it was just all the drama and hubbub that kept coming across her path, and even the drama and hubbub daddy gave her.  With all his infidelity and such.

There was a man, who for over ten years she "waited" on to be ready.  Ready to love her the way she needed.  The way she was ready to love him.  But because of a failed marriage that hurt him so deeply, he refused to heal himself and remained somewhat of a "player" even now at his sixty odd years.  Funny how that doesn't get old somehow.  Eventually, she told him to talk a long walk off a short cliff.  She stopped taking his calls, stopped doing the odd favours around his house for him.  Just basically kept it as flat and blank as possible.

I often see him, and wonder how her death affected him.  If he ever had the gall to think, "Good thing I didn't settle down with her because now I'd be a widower, and alone.  Again."  Her letters were, not pleading, or sappy.  They were never sent.  They were more like affirmations to herself that she was worth more than having her chain yanked.

And here I sit, crying for those same affirmations to myself, that this shit and that shit ain ga fly.  She was quiet and fearful, but as she got older, she learned her foot could stomp just as loud as anybody else's and her voice was just as strong.

Her last child was born with a big mouth and heart on her sleeve.  But, it's the same emotional process.  Giving people a long rope to hang themselves before eventually telling them to kiss off. 

And I have the solution.  The solution is to continually not give a flying fart.  To lock all vulnerability down out of sight and become numb.  That is the only way to avoid the treachery that seeing the goodness in people brings you.

This covers much, familial relationships, spousal relationships, even pet/owner relationships...

Avoid, Duck, Repeat - Crash...

So, here I am, eight months later.

And life has continued kicking the shit out of me.

What has gone on, I cannot exactly pull words together to say.

Feelings.  Thoughts.  Fears.  Hopes.  So much.

I got a call on Friday.  Out of left field.  Slapped hard.  Knocked in the gut.  Pure raw emotion set free.  And I begin to wonder if I will ever be untangled and let go.

The chaplain is go between, so the conversation could not get that personal.  And yet, with innuendos and such, it did get deeper than surface chat.

I would be the happiest person in the world if he changes.  Mainly because my kids need him.  I would shout from the mountain tops, scream my throat raw, if he's pulling month after month, year after year, sober.  Because, at least my time wouldn't have been wasted.

However, I cannot live with the fear.  Cannot deal with the possibilities of  "what ifs" and "could we".  My heart of hearts leapt and tugged, and spoke out, "This could be it."  And my mind and the scarred corner of  my heart said "Are you stupid?"  It's crazy.

The tugging is there because this man I gave eleven years to.  I also birthed three children.  This is an entire life built.  Despite the whole terrible situation, it consumed most of my twenties and my mind...  No, you don't just get over it.

Neither should you, like I did - push it away to deal with later.  Or, convince yourself that you are okay, when you know full well you aren't.

Truthfully, all cover up aside, I am fed up.  Fed up with dealing with hurt, drama, emotions, thoughts, on top of daily life's activities.  My normal seems to consistently consist of a dash of extreme.

And last year, I took a stand, or thought I was, and threw myself into something that was probably "needed"?  Who knows.  I wanted to be selfish, and indulge and engage in something that was all about me.  Something that was like a balm that soothed and helped in the avoidance of reality.  Something that I have had mixed thoughts about from day one, but solidly pushed it aside.

Undone...

So here I sit, six months later, house is still not done.  Another friendship is coming undone.  And I dip in and out of a severe depression.

I dragged myself to work this week.  Literally, my feet barely got up off the ground to take the million steps from the busstop to work's doorstep.

In other better news, I handed in my resume and job application today.  On a wing and a prayer.  It is my biggest prayer so far this year that I get this job.  It's longer hours, and what not, and I hope to go to school to finish my degree.  I watch as March rolls in and April looms.  It's making me nervous.

My son is calming down a bit better and life has fallen into a routine.  I found out he's being teased at school about our house, but surprisingly, his grades are good and his attitude about it is one that never lead me to believe he was being teased.

My darling daughter's mid-term progress report came home.  Awesome as usual.  But what makes me overly nervous about her is her possibly getting sidetracked when she is older.  The teacher came out and said that she hopes that Chaela makes something of herself and that I never lose her and she wastes her intelligence and what she has to offer to the world.

I know she's in the right place academically, and I am fighting to get my son in so that he can get exposure to the same opportunities so that he can also tap into his potential.

However, as time goes on, a financial hole is widening as this apartment sits here unrented because it's unfinished.  Money losing...but I know that before the end of March it will be completed and ready to go!