PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

i need therapy???

Sunday, Sept. 01, 2002
So this morning I slept about 3 hours from about 7 a.m. to about 11 a.m., in a cold sweat still dressed rolling all over my bed in the middle of a constant nightmare that was eerily like visions of the past mixed up with the streetlight outside growing arms and legs and strangling me while shining bright light all over me. All because I wanted to keep the window open so I wouldn’t miss a car pulling in the driveway. One time he drove back to the house we were living in just to steal away with socks and t-shirts and leave again.

You’d think I’d be smart enough to not let this happen twice. But here we are, happening twice. My whole world feels like that color grid that you get on your TV for those tests, all I hear is that one drone sound constant.

I have no phone number to call. I have no address to drive to. I have a city full of nothing and somewhere my little blue-eyed face is probably playing with some new little boy or girl that Daddy says he can be a friend with while Daddy kisses said child’s mommy. These are the visions I get. When I close my eyes to sleep. So right now I’m brewing this huge pot of coffee and intend to modify my veins with caffeine thick like a chocolate shake full of toxins.

The hate that is running all over my flesh is indescribable. I want to destroy everything around me, but instead I know it won’t change anything. It won’t make him come back. I know these things because I have been there before.

Someone will inevitable come tell me that I should get an attorney and file for divorce and custody and blah blah blah and that somebody won’t tell me how to afford the attorney either. And then they’ll say there’s legal assistance but they don’t know that I have a job and make too much money for legal assistance and that social services doesn’t give a fuck about you until you’re homeless. I have been right here before. I made thousands of calls, looked for help, begged for help and was told, “quit your job..”

The fact of the matter is this is a waiting game and he doesn’t care how it hurts me, how it destroys another piece of me. The thing is, I don’t give two shits who he fucks, what he does, or where he is. But when he does this, he always takes my son with him. And that part of it all is like needles in my eyes, its like being raped by a thousand men while god himself instructs them how to take full advantage of the human body.

And guess what, in typical fashion the police say, “It doesn’t matter what he did before, it doesn’t matter that he’s on probation, it doesn’t matter that you don’t know where your son is because he’s the legal father and has every right to do this.” And then the few people I have talked to just say, “they’ll be back, don’t sweat it..”

Problem is, you’d think I could tell myself that because it happened before. I just know that this time I don’t know how many days will go by that I am strong enough to not want to just end this nightmare that my life has become in the last 3 years. I will sit in my bathtub with suicide notes and then pull myself out and dry myself off and then get all wet again while hot tears roll down my naked flesh. I’ll curl up all fetal on the bathroom floor and shiver just to feel the extent of the pain so that something feels real.

I am not perfect…never said that I was. I spent Friday night away from this house until 4 a.m. But here’s the difference, he could have called me and I didn’t take my son away without explanation. And let us not forget that last weekend he claimed a business trip and never returned and never went on any trip. These things frighten me because 2 years ago another woman was in possession of my child for almost a month. She brushed his hair, watched him brush his teeth, read him Harry Potter books and bought him fuzzy slippers that I had to later look at for a year straight because he didn’t forget that he had them and I couldn’t destroy something he liked just because they visually ripped me apart.

Fuck..I have been right here before. Before and again and this is a nightmare that ebbs and flows like a river. It washes over me, and then there were days that I thought I could tread that water and be ok.

I spent an hour this morning looking all through the house for birth certificates, and I cant’ find them. But all of my son’s clothes are in his room. This time is different only in the fact that I know how fucked up it all is, I know what the police say. I know how to make thousands of phone calls to hospitals and prisons. I know what to do before you can file a missing persons report. Try 48 hours. This time I can file on my son first. This is so pathetic.

This time I’m not calling his parents, all they do is fucking lie anyways. Why bother? This time I’m not standing by idly when my son walks back in. I’m slamming doors in faces and destroying everything that matters to him. I’ll quit my job, drive North, I’ll go anywhere with my so in tow. This will not be his ballgame or his turn up at bat. I’m so fucking sick of this.

~~~

Ok I just called father in law to see if he knew anything. He dropped all his viewpoints all over me. Of course I’m the one that’s wrong in all of this. I didn’t take my son away from his dad but I’m the wrong one. And then he has the nerve to say , “I think you need to go to therapy, you both do.” To which I replied, “ya know what, fuck you! Yeah FUCK YOU I went to therapy for a year and a half over all of this shit that your son did. How about I grab your grandson and disappear and you don’t know where he is. Therapy won't make husband stop lying. It won't erase the events of the past and it won't make me deal with my son being gone any better. Afterall I sat quietly in a chair most of the time. You can't behave much better than that.

Then husband called my cell phone saying his phone got wet and he spent the night at the church sleepover with “Bucky” and of course I go off on him saying ‘fuck but you know what all of this does to me…” He just says, “I’m sorry, how about I go get some sushi and we have lunch and stuff….I’ll have “Bucky” call you right now from inside the church where he is. So ten minutes later “Bucky’s” sweet voice comes over the phone. ‘Hi Mommy!’ And through silent tears of relief, “hi baby boy” He says, “I’m not a baby anymore Mom”.

While talking to father in law husband called I hung up on father in law. No explanation, just click. Fuck him. And I told husband "I will never ever sit in the same room as those fucksticks again!" Fuck them. My father in law said 'we'd love to come see Bucky but..things...well we don't know" I said, "yeah well forget it".

If I have anything to do with it, they'll never be in my house again and if they are I won't be. I’ll leave for a week or whatever they decide to come for. I will NOT cook meals for them and paste a fake happy plastic smile on my face. It was them that 2 years ago couldn’t even tell me my son was alive and now I need therapy because husband disappears with my son and I react with fears from the past. Fuck them. Fuck everyone.

Oddly when I told husband that I did this and how I felt, he said, “I don’t blame you. I’m sorry you know.”

Phhhft… what does sorry mean to him?

Father in law is still harboring anger at me for telling him to get his camera out of my face one day up in PA. This event happened two days after my father passed away. I was grieving, crying. And father in law was shoving his camera in my face. I told him not to do that. Geezus…if that’s the worst thing I ever did to him….. I hate people.

All I know right now is that “Bucky” is on his way home and “Bucky” said they spent the night at the church and more importantly to me, he had fun. And most of all he’s ok.

-PoeticaL

P.S. Thanks Booby...Paula....thanks guys.
12:54 p.m. ::
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