So with people all around me getting pregnant and having babies lately, I think about the time when I was pregnant and when Steven was young. What should have been a really joyous time in my life - wasn't. I mean, in many ways it was, but in so many ways it wasn't. It had nothing to do with Steven, or my desire to have a child - I most certainly wanted a child of my own! And I thought I was in a loving relationship, with someone I could build a future with and have a couple of babies with, and live happily ever after.
We all know that the fairytale ended, hell it never really even began. I saw more and more of the true colors of James when I was pregnant - it was the first time he put his hands on me. He poked me with his finger so hard it left a black circular bruise on my chest when I was about 5 months pregnant. He threw things, had tantrums frequently, and put his fist through our glass top coffee table.
Once, he came in drunk and was pissed at me about something, and when he was coming after me to hit me, he almost knocked Steven's bassinet over, with Steven in it! I think Steven was about 3 weeks old.
I had a little meltdown in the car when I got home tonight, thinking about how I didn't really get to enjoy my pregnancy with Steven, or my maternity leave once he was born. I had no support from James when I was healing from childbirth and trying to adjust to being a new mom. He never got up with Steven in the middle of the night (thankfully Steven slept through the night from almost the very beginning, or at least until 4am or so). I had to do all the cooking, all the cleaning, and the child care in the 8 weeks I had off before returning to work.
And I'll never forget the first day I went back to work. My dad was flying back home so I had to take him to the airport. I was crying because he was leaving, and crying because I was leaving my new baby at home to go back to work. I had nursed Steven when I got up, and he went back to sleep. No sooner had I arrived at work (an hour late or so because of having to take my dad to the airport) than I received a phone call from James, screaming at me that I couldn't have fed Steven because he was screaming and carrying on and he wouldn't take the bottle. I bought a different kind of bottle, went home, nursed Steven, and went back to work. It was a frequent occurrence, that James would call me at work, screaming the accusations at me that I didn't feed Steven, because Steven would be hungry within 2 hours of me leaving.
The more I thought about all this, what I missed out on with that whole experience, and what I went through, what the kids went through, I just got really, really upset. Our home was so unstable and James loved to scream and yell, that Steven became a very frightened, timid child because of it. Thank heavens I got Steven away from that bastard. Steven's still timid at times, but thankfully he's really come out of his shell in the last 8 years or so. I don't even want to think about what he would be like if I hadn't left James.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Because I'm Worth It
When you've been in a relationship with an abusive person, they tend to beat you down, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. They control you, belittle you, make you afraid of anything and everything, and take away your self-worth. For whatever reason, you give them the power to do those things, as they cannot do that without your relinquishing the power to them.
Once you get the nerve the leave the relationship, you'd think that you'd take back all that power and things would be all hunky dory and you'd feel good about yourself again. WRONG! At least, not in my world. I've been slowly, ever so slowly, taking that power back and working to regain my self-worth.
It's been a little over 8 years since my divorce, almost 6 years since I've even spoken to that demon, yet I still have those feelings of inadequacies, the low self-esteem, and low self-worth. I never went to a therapist after the divorce, and I know I should have. I've thought about going to one now, to hurry up and deal with all the feels and hurts and everything. I just don't want to expose the hurts to someone in a professional setting. They don't understand me, there's not really enough time in the day for me to spill it all out to let someone who doesn't know me try to help me. Maybe I'll change my mind one day, maybe I won't.
I deal with it by the occasional blog here, and by talking about things with Brian and sometimes Steven. I think Steven is still dealing with some of what he experienced, but he talks about it when something comes up. I talk about it when things come up, but honestly I've been so happy the last several months that I haven't felt the need to discuss it. I did have a talk with Brian about it on Christmas Eve, spilled some tears and worked through whatever aspect of the memory that surfaced.
Yet I sit here, shedding tears now as I write this. I don't normally say I hate people but I hate that son-of-a-bitch. I hate that he did this to me. I hate what he took from me. I hate that I'm struggling to take back all that I lost emotionally. I hate the fucking scar on my face where he pushed me into a door after a fight, where I was trying to leave the house to get away from him because I was afraid he would kill me. I hate that I get emotional when I think about it, talk about it, write about it.
Sometimes it just doesn't matter how good you have things. The evil shit inside ruins it. And that's why I let it out - in tears, in words. And the photo above, if I were to speak to him today, that's one of the many things I'd say to him. But he is not worth it.
Monday, December 1, 2014
Blessings
So recently, I'm taking Steven's brother CJ back to his apartment that he lives in with their father. I hate that CJ is stuck having to live with that man, but perhaps one day those circumstances will change.
Steven is always glad that his father is not outside whenever we go to pick up or drop CJ off. He just doesn't want to see him. I can't say I blame him. I get emotional sometimes when we talk about his father, because while part of me is very glad that James is no longer a part of Steven's life, it makes me sad for him too. I mean - James doesn't even call him. Ever. Steven hasn't seen or even talked to James after all the ugliness that happened back in June 2009.
But honestly, to have that man out of his life is truly the best thing that ever happened for Steven. Steven is old enough now to realize that he learned a lot of really bad things from James - the worst of which was how to treat me and people in general, and he has completely unlearned those behaviors, thanks to a couple of strong men in his life.
My stepfather, Marion, was the first one to get ahold of Steven, along with my stepbrother Thomas, when Steven did some things shortly after the divorce. I think they put a healthy fear and respect into him about how not to treat me. And of course having Marion around helped in general with Steven - he never saw his Poppy raise his hand to me or his New-nee, and rarely heard him raise his voice.
Brian has been a God-send for Steven. Unfortunately, I had gotten to the point that I was so used to being talked down to or spoken to in a disrespectful manner, that I didn't even realize it when Steven would do it. He made it quite clear to Steven a long time ago that Steven would not be treating me badly or smart mouthing me. It took having Brian in his life to do more with him than I honestly think I could ever have done on my own. I honestly don't know where Steven would be right now if it weren't for Brian.
Steven is always glad that his father is not outside whenever we go to pick up or drop CJ off. He just doesn't want to see him. I can't say I blame him. I get emotional sometimes when we talk about his father, because while part of me is very glad that James is no longer a part of Steven's life, it makes me sad for him too. I mean - James doesn't even call him. Ever. Steven hasn't seen or even talked to James after all the ugliness that happened back in June 2009.
But honestly, to have that man out of his life is truly the best thing that ever happened for Steven. Steven is old enough now to realize that he learned a lot of really bad things from James - the worst of which was how to treat me and people in general, and he has completely unlearned those behaviors, thanks to a couple of strong men in his life.
My stepfather, Marion, was the first one to get ahold of Steven, along with my stepbrother Thomas, when Steven did some things shortly after the divorce. I think they put a healthy fear and respect into him about how not to treat me. And of course having Marion around helped in general with Steven - he never saw his Poppy raise his hand to me or his New-nee, and rarely heard him raise his voice.
Brian has been a God-send for Steven. Unfortunately, I had gotten to the point that I was so used to being talked down to or spoken to in a disrespectful manner, that I didn't even realize it when Steven would do it. He made it quite clear to Steven a long time ago that Steven would not be treating me badly or smart mouthing me. It took having Brian in his life to do more with him than I honestly think I could ever have done on my own. I honestly don't know where Steven would be right now if it weren't for Brian.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Flashbacks
Flashbacks from hell today. I'm not sure what brought them on. The only one that I can remember at the moment has to do with his marijuana habit. When we lived in the apartment in Carrollton, he had this one plate that he used to roll his joints, and he kept it up in the ceiling tiles in the bathroom. I don't remember how I found out that's where he kept his stash, I think CJ told me, but I really don't remember.
I do remember that one time I took his stuff and hid it in my sock drawer, then went to work. He called me at work and harassed me and threatened to come up there and make a huge scene to embarrass me in front of my coworkers, and I eventually gave in and told him where it was.
I absolutely hated the fact that he was a pot head. I've always disliked the thought of pot smoking. It's not something I ever did growing up, nor did I ever want to. I'm sort of on the fence on the whole legalization issue. If you're a pot smoker, that's your business, and as long as you don't bring that shit around me, I don't care that you smoke it. I hated the fact that he cared more about his so-called "right" to smoke pot than he did about my feelings about it or the example he was setting for the children.
See, his justification for smoking pot was that he was part Cherokee Indian, and that Indians supposedly smoked pot when they couldn't get peyote. I totally call bullshit on that.
He used to try to hide that he'd been smoking pot from me, but I could tell before he'd finished speaking a sentence whenever he'd been smoking weed or drinking alcohol. He never believed that I could tell, even though I busted him every time. His manner of speaking would change when he was stoned or had been drinking, and when you know someone as well as I knew him (well, I knew him in some ways, obviously I didn't know him as well as I thought I did with all the shit I went through with him), you could just tell. It ALWAYS gave him away. He's an idiot, but when he smoked pot, he turned into an even bigger idiot. You could hear it in his voice, how hard he would try to act and speak normally, but he just couldn't do it - his efforts further emphasized his stoned condition.
I remembered the hiding of the pot when I walked into the bathroom at work today. I wasn't having a stressful day, no one had mentioned the idiot, or pot, but maybe it had something to do with the conversation regarding the weirdo at the Atlanta airport this morning that stripped naked and was jumping up and down and shouting about Jesus and going to Heaven. I could almost imagine my idiot ex-husband doing something stupid like that. Although he'd be more likely to have a pity party and be threatening to kill himself than to be praising Jesus and shouting about the joys of the thoughts of Heaven.
I know a part of it too, is that I'm very hormonal today. I realized that early in the day. PMS sucks. Hormonal days are brutal - I'd rather have the physical symptoms than all the emotional ones. PMS hormones wreak havoc with my emotions, my self-esteem, my self-worth, my security within my relationships - EVERYTHING!!! Sometimes I don't even realize when it's my hormones that are taking over my emotions, but thankfully I've gotten better at recognizing it when it happens.
Anyways, here's to hoping the flashbacks and memories stop, at least until I'm done being hormonal.
I do remember that one time I took his stuff and hid it in my sock drawer, then went to work. He called me at work and harassed me and threatened to come up there and make a huge scene to embarrass me in front of my coworkers, and I eventually gave in and told him where it was.
I absolutely hated the fact that he was a pot head. I've always disliked the thought of pot smoking. It's not something I ever did growing up, nor did I ever want to. I'm sort of on the fence on the whole legalization issue. If you're a pot smoker, that's your business, and as long as you don't bring that shit around me, I don't care that you smoke it. I hated the fact that he cared more about his so-called "right" to smoke pot than he did about my feelings about it or the example he was setting for the children.
See, his justification for smoking pot was that he was part Cherokee Indian, and that Indians supposedly smoked pot when they couldn't get peyote. I totally call bullshit on that.
He used to try to hide that he'd been smoking pot from me, but I could tell before he'd finished speaking a sentence whenever he'd been smoking weed or drinking alcohol. He never believed that I could tell, even though I busted him every time. His manner of speaking would change when he was stoned or had been drinking, and when you know someone as well as I knew him (well, I knew him in some ways, obviously I didn't know him as well as I thought I did with all the shit I went through with him), you could just tell. It ALWAYS gave him away. He's an idiot, but when he smoked pot, he turned into an even bigger idiot. You could hear it in his voice, how hard he would try to act and speak normally, but he just couldn't do it - his efforts further emphasized his stoned condition.
I remembered the hiding of the pot when I walked into the bathroom at work today. I wasn't having a stressful day, no one had mentioned the idiot, or pot, but maybe it had something to do with the conversation regarding the weirdo at the Atlanta airport this morning that stripped naked and was jumping up and down and shouting about Jesus and going to Heaven. I could almost imagine my idiot ex-husband doing something stupid like that. Although he'd be more likely to have a pity party and be threatening to kill himself than to be praising Jesus and shouting about the joys of the thoughts of Heaven.
I know a part of it too, is that I'm very hormonal today. I realized that early in the day. PMS sucks. Hormonal days are brutal - I'd rather have the physical symptoms than all the emotional ones. PMS hormones wreak havoc with my emotions, my self-esteem, my self-worth, my security within my relationships - EVERYTHING!!! Sometimes I don't even realize when it's my hormones that are taking over my emotions, but thankfully I've gotten better at recognizing it when it happens.
Anyways, here's to hoping the flashbacks and memories stop, at least until I'm done being hormonal.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Nightmares
So I got in bed last night and turned the TV to the "Lifetime Movie Network" because they show ghost-related programs on Saturday nights (and otherwise I won't EVER have on a channel that has Lifetime in the title). There was a ghost program on when I went to bed, but I promptly fell asleep once I got under the covers and got comfortable.
Do any of you ever have dreams where what is going on around you, on TV or the radio (if you have those on while you sleep), infiltrates your dreams? That occasionally happens to me. A song will work it's way into my dream, or the sound of my alarm will be some sort of alarm in my dream.
Well this morning I had a horrific nightmare. I don't know if it was something that had infiltrated my dreams from what was on LMN, or what it was. This was one of those dreams where the people would change from one person to another, and the circumstances would change, and it was most bizarre. It started out that I had 6 kids with James, ranging in ages from maybe 6 years old up to their early 20's, and he had lined them up in a field and given each one of them a pistol, even the youngest little girl who was maybe 6 or so. The he drew a pistol from a bucket, and would point it at each child and say something. He expected the child to respond and then draw their pistol and point it at him. All refused to draw on him.
At some point I got a pistol and drew on him, at point blank range, but didn't want to shoot him in front of the children. He went inside to shower and I had the kids gather up the pistols and told them to hide them under the porch while I dealt with their father. I was so worried he'd find the guns that I repeatedly kept changing where we were going to hide them. I caught him looking out the window at me, as I was searching for a good hiding place. At this point James had changed into someone else, someone I didn't know, that looked like the actor Steve Carrell (yes, I know, that is very odd).
I wanted to talk to him about how his actions terrified the kids, but I was afraid that by bringing it up, it would enrage him but I did it anyway. As usual, he didn't care. It was all about him and whatever he was upset about and whatever stupid point he was trying to make while handling the guns around the kids.
WTF was on TV while I was sleeping, to prompt this dream?!?!?!
James never had a gun while we were married, I know he wanted to buy one the next year with our tax refund, and that's one of the many reasons I decided to leave him when I did. But James would occasionally pull one of the big knives from the butcher block and hold it to his belly like he was going to stab himself, or would threaten to kill himself with a knife. CJ fought him over a knife once when he was doing this. I just told him to wait until I got the kids out of the house, I didn't want them to see the blood and gore if he wanted to off himself.
I never truly believed he would have hurt himself - he always enjoyed inflicting pain on others. He did this scenario one time and insisted I call his shrink. I called and got one of the other doctors in the practice who happened to be Steven's doctor. She recommended I drive him over to the inpatient facility to be evaluated - the police were at our house during this conversation, trying to talk him down. He agreed to go to the facility, but of course once we drove a few miles down the interstate, he changed his mind and promised he would calm down. I took him home and he went to bed. I was kind of surprised his doctor never called him to check on him and why he didn't show up at the facility, as it was made clear to me on the phone that they would be waiting for him.
When I took Steven to his next appointment, the doctor never mentioned the call I'd made that night, and I was too afraid to bring it up to her. Once I had filed the divorce papers several years later, I took Steven to his appointment with her and told her all about what our life had been like, the years of abuse, why I had fought James so hard on medicating Steven (my belief he was just wanting to drug him into submission for his convenience), everything. She didn't seem too surprised, but never let on that she knew any of that was happening, and didn't seem to recall the after hours phone call that night.
I guess I should stop going to bed with that channel on at night - honestly the only reason it was still on that channel after I fell asleep is because Brian wasn't here to change it. Normally I go to sleep with it on, and when he comes to bed he will change it to one of the History channels, or something else. He's at drill this weekend so I was stuck with whatever I fell asleep to.
I hate having nightmares, but especially ones that involve James.
Do any of you ever have dreams where what is going on around you, on TV or the radio (if you have those on while you sleep), infiltrates your dreams? That occasionally happens to me. A song will work it's way into my dream, or the sound of my alarm will be some sort of alarm in my dream.
Well this morning I had a horrific nightmare. I don't know if it was something that had infiltrated my dreams from what was on LMN, or what it was. This was one of those dreams where the people would change from one person to another, and the circumstances would change, and it was most bizarre. It started out that I had 6 kids with James, ranging in ages from maybe 6 years old up to their early 20's, and he had lined them up in a field and given each one of them a pistol, even the youngest little girl who was maybe 6 or so. The he drew a pistol from a bucket, and would point it at each child and say something. He expected the child to respond and then draw their pistol and point it at him. All refused to draw on him.
At some point I got a pistol and drew on him, at point blank range, but didn't want to shoot him in front of the children. He went inside to shower and I had the kids gather up the pistols and told them to hide them under the porch while I dealt with their father. I was so worried he'd find the guns that I repeatedly kept changing where we were going to hide them. I caught him looking out the window at me, as I was searching for a good hiding place. At this point James had changed into someone else, someone I didn't know, that looked like the actor Steve Carrell (yes, I know, that is very odd).
I wanted to talk to him about how his actions terrified the kids, but I was afraid that by bringing it up, it would enrage him but I did it anyway. As usual, he didn't care. It was all about him and whatever he was upset about and whatever stupid point he was trying to make while handling the guns around the kids.
WTF was on TV while I was sleeping, to prompt this dream?!?!?!
James never had a gun while we were married, I know he wanted to buy one the next year with our tax refund, and that's one of the many reasons I decided to leave him when I did. But James would occasionally pull one of the big knives from the butcher block and hold it to his belly like he was going to stab himself, or would threaten to kill himself with a knife. CJ fought him over a knife once when he was doing this. I just told him to wait until I got the kids out of the house, I didn't want them to see the blood and gore if he wanted to off himself.
I never truly believed he would have hurt himself - he always enjoyed inflicting pain on others. He did this scenario one time and insisted I call his shrink. I called and got one of the other doctors in the practice who happened to be Steven's doctor. She recommended I drive him over to the inpatient facility to be evaluated - the police were at our house during this conversation, trying to talk him down. He agreed to go to the facility, but of course once we drove a few miles down the interstate, he changed his mind and promised he would calm down. I took him home and he went to bed. I was kind of surprised his doctor never called him to check on him and why he didn't show up at the facility, as it was made clear to me on the phone that they would be waiting for him.
When I took Steven to his next appointment, the doctor never mentioned the call I'd made that night, and I was too afraid to bring it up to her. Once I had filed the divorce papers several years later, I took Steven to his appointment with her and told her all about what our life had been like, the years of abuse, why I had fought James so hard on medicating Steven (my belief he was just wanting to drug him into submission for his convenience), everything. She didn't seem too surprised, but never let on that she knew any of that was happening, and didn't seem to recall the after hours phone call that night.
I guess I should stop going to bed with that channel on at night - honestly the only reason it was still on that channel after I fell asleep is because Brian wasn't here to change it. Normally I go to sleep with it on, and when he comes to bed he will change it to one of the History channels, or something else. He's at drill this weekend so I was stuck with whatever I fell asleep to.
I hate having nightmares, but especially ones that involve James.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
A Very Personal Revelation......
So I come across this blog post last night Is It Rape If...... . And I know exactly how she feels. I was sexually assaulted by my ex-husband. Three weeks after my son was born. He decided he was ready for sex, and he didn't care that I wasn't. He didn't care that I'd had an episiotomy and 14 stitches and wasn't healed yet.
He didn't care that I said no. I tried to talk my way out of it, tried to cry and beg my way out, but was afraid enough of him to refuse him when he argued and insisted. A little piece of me died that day as I laid there, crying while being violated, not just from the physical pain of it, but from the humiliation of having something taken from me that I did not freely give.
I was so ashamed to admit to the obgyn at my 6 week post partum visit that I'd "had sex" before the 6 weeks was up, and I was certainly too ashamed to admit that it was forced upon me. THANK GOD I did not get pregnant from that encounter!!!! I made sure to stay on some form of birth control throughout the rest of our marriage. I did not want another child with that monster.
He made me absolutely hate sex. Dread it with every last fiber of my being. Not just because he assaulted me, although that was a huge part of it. Some of it would be because it was always "his way". My input and suggestions were always made fun of, were never good enough, or were too "high school". The rest - I despised the man. And as many of you know - for a woman to have sex and enjoy it, her head has to be into it, and mine just couldn't be there with all those bad feelings about him and the marriage.
Sex became another power struggle between us. Typically I would give in when I was afraid he would just take what he wanted, and it was never something I enjoyed. It was easier to begrudgingly give it to him, than to risk being raped again. The last 2 years we were married, we had sex a total of 2 times.
Fast forward to my life now - does this memory still bother me? Damn right it does. For all the same reasons as in the blog posting I shared in the first paragraph. All those doubts about if it was rape, did I do enough to prevent it, did I deserve it, etc. I know, though, that it wasn't me, it was HIM.
But do I let these memories affect my life today? Absolutely not. I love my husband and the life we have together. I trust him 100% completely, and know that he would never do anything like that to me.
There's just so much more I could say on this memory from my life, but I'm done. I've said enough. I haven't revealed this event to very many people in my life, and it's going to be hard for some of them to read this. It is what it is.
He didn't care that I said no. I tried to talk my way out of it, tried to cry and beg my way out, but was afraid enough of him to refuse him when he argued and insisted. A little piece of me died that day as I laid there, crying while being violated, not just from the physical pain of it, but from the humiliation of having something taken from me that I did not freely give.
I was so ashamed to admit to the obgyn at my 6 week post partum visit that I'd "had sex" before the 6 weeks was up, and I was certainly too ashamed to admit that it was forced upon me. THANK GOD I did not get pregnant from that encounter!!!! I made sure to stay on some form of birth control throughout the rest of our marriage. I did not want another child with that monster.
He made me absolutely hate sex. Dread it with every last fiber of my being. Not just because he assaulted me, although that was a huge part of it. Some of it would be because it was always "his way". My input and suggestions were always made fun of, were never good enough, or were too "high school". The rest - I despised the man. And as many of you know - for a woman to have sex and enjoy it, her head has to be into it, and mine just couldn't be there with all those bad feelings about him and the marriage.
Sex became another power struggle between us. Typically I would give in when I was afraid he would just take what he wanted, and it was never something I enjoyed. It was easier to begrudgingly give it to him, than to risk being raped again. The last 2 years we were married, we had sex a total of 2 times.
Fast forward to my life now - does this memory still bother me? Damn right it does. For all the same reasons as in the blog posting I shared in the first paragraph. All those doubts about if it was rape, did I do enough to prevent it, did I deserve it, etc. I know, though, that it wasn't me, it was HIM.
But do I let these memories affect my life today? Absolutely not. I love my husband and the life we have together. I trust him 100% completely, and know that he would never do anything like that to me.
There's just so much more I could say on this memory from my life, but I'm done. I've said enough. I haven't revealed this event to very many people in my life, and it's going to be hard for some of them to read this. It is what it is.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
The Addict and His Afflictions
My ex is an addict. When we first married, it was alcohol. He drank tons of beer. He is an alcoholic and an "alcohole" (see previous blog post here Alcohole ). He is also a smoker. He smoked about 2 packs a day when we were married. Half-heartedly tried quitting a few times, but it was more about a power struggle for him to keep doing what he wanted to do and enjoyed doing, rather than caring about his health or following doctor's orders.
Of course, due to decades of smoking, he was diagnosed with emphysema and COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, for those who don't know what COPD stands for - blockages in the airways caused by inflammation and sets one up for chronic bronchitis and pneumonia). He's now 53 years old, and it's amazing that he hasn't been diagnosed with cancer yet.
When we were married, it got to the point where he would see a pulmonary specialist every 2 weeks. This was more about maintaining his supply of Percocet, than for him to get any real treatment for his lung issues. He never would use the nebulizer and albuterol that was prescribed to him, wouldn't use the Spiriva once it was made available to him, he only wanted Percocet and his precious Fentanyl patches. He had a quack for a doctor, and on the occasions that I would attend visits, the doctor would tell him he needed to go to a pain clinic, and there was nothing wrong with him that would cause the pain that he claimed to be in, but yet the doctor would hand him a prescription for 60 Percocet, 10mg each, and tell him "see you in 2 weeks".
His pain pill addiction was started by a trip to a doctor in Carrollton who is since deceased, who prescribed him 100 Percocet for some pain he claimed to be having. WTF would a doctor prescribe someone 100 Percocet in one prescription?!?!?!? (this doctor was the father of the doctor that was arrested for prescribing stuff to deceased wrestler/murderer Chris Benoit - I don't want to name the doctors here and would appreciate it if you didn't either)
At some point after obtaining these 100 pills, James traded his alcohol addiction in for a Percocet addiction. He went to church one Sunday evening without me, and apparently stood up in front of the congregation and made some statement about asking them to take care of his family and making it sound like he was gonna kill himself. I was told that he was surrounded by sympathetic church members, and a bunch of them immediately came out to the house with him to have a conversation with me about his problem. As if I didn't already know. The pastor offered to help get him into rehab, a Christian one, and James agreed. The church offered to pay half for the 6 week program, and we could make payments that fit our budget for our half, or the church would pay all the costs for the 4 month program. James seemed keen to go, wanting to salvage our marriage and his health, until he found out that he couldn't smoke, or take his precious Xanax. He would only be allowed to take medically necessary medications, such as for blood pressure, diabetes, etc., and not anything for his nerves or pain, and smoking wasn't permitted. There was that, plus he didn't want to be in debt for half the cost of the shorter program, and he didn't want to be away from home for 4 months (and honestly that would have been extremely hard on me, having to deal with the 2 kids, and working with such a long commute to work at the time).
But I know, ultimately, the real reason was he didn't want to give up his precious drugs. That was the real reason he didn't want to go to a pain clinic, too - he was so afraid they would insist that he try to live without narcotics, and use other non-narcotic medications, and exercises and lifestyle changes to help his phantom pain. I say phantom pain, because every doctor I went to with him, told him there was no reason for him to be in pain. (and yes, I know many times there are afflictions that people have that cause pain, that are extremely hard to diagnose, but he was checked for all those things and had none of the indicators for any of them - no signs of arthritis, blood work all normal for things like fibromyalgia, etc.).
He would come up with bogus reasons to go to the emergency room - fell down the stairs because the cat tripped him (this excuse happened multiple times - the last time he tried it I was home and knew for a fact the cat didn't trip him - we stayed home and he pouted because I busted him in a lie), fell on something at a store, one time he claimed he burned his arm - I happened to look outside the kitchen window as he was squirting lighter fluid onto the grill and it flamed up, singed the hair on his arm, and he claimed he was burned. His skin wasn't even red. He carried on so much the kids were screaming at me to take him to the ER, so I did and they looked at him and told him he didn't even have a first degree burn.
Anyways the reason to go to the ER was to try to get a shot of Demerol and maybe some take home Percocet. One year he went to the ER 17 times. Yes, SEVENTEEN times! In 12 months!!!
Since we've gotten divorced, I've been told that Dr. Quack has since lost his ability to prescribe narcotics, and James was forced to go to a pain clinic to keep his precious drugs. I've been told that he gives them away or sells them, and that he fails his drug tests at the clinic because he doesn't have the appropriate levels of the drugs in his system, and now I've been told that he "lost his pain pills", meaning that the pain clinic is now refusing to prescribe them to him anymore due to non-compliance.
And now he's saying he wants to go live in a nursing home so he can get his pain meds back. Really?!? As if he could get admitted to a nursing home and convince them to give him pain meds for imaginary medical conditions. He should be careful - they may admit him into a psych ward, which is probably not a bad idea, considering his delusions about having mafia connections and the like.
I get my info from his son that lives with him, and son if you're reading this - your father is playing you. I know his health is not that great, considering the emphysema and COPD that he's living with, but he does absolutely NOTHING to help himself. Still smokes. Most likely doesn't use his nebulizer or other meds related to those conditions. And I just don't see him being bad enough off to need to live somewhere to have round the clock care - if he was, the doctors would have already recommended it. He just acts in such a way to try to make people feel sorry for him, and he's a master manipulator when it comes to getting what he wants. He acts all pitiful and sick to make you feel sorry for him. Lays the guilt trip on you, and if the guilt trip doesn't work, then he aggravates the hell out of you until you give in and do what he wants you to do, just to shut him up. That's your dad for you.
Of course, due to decades of smoking, he was diagnosed with emphysema and COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, for those who don't know what COPD stands for - blockages in the airways caused by inflammation and sets one up for chronic bronchitis and pneumonia). He's now 53 years old, and it's amazing that he hasn't been diagnosed with cancer yet.
When we were married, it got to the point where he would see a pulmonary specialist every 2 weeks. This was more about maintaining his supply of Percocet, than for him to get any real treatment for his lung issues. He never would use the nebulizer and albuterol that was prescribed to him, wouldn't use the Spiriva once it was made available to him, he only wanted Percocet and his precious Fentanyl patches. He had a quack for a doctor, and on the occasions that I would attend visits, the doctor would tell him he needed to go to a pain clinic, and there was nothing wrong with him that would cause the pain that he claimed to be in, but yet the doctor would hand him a prescription for 60 Percocet, 10mg each, and tell him "see you in 2 weeks".
His pain pill addiction was started by a trip to a doctor in Carrollton who is since deceased, who prescribed him 100 Percocet for some pain he claimed to be having. WTF would a doctor prescribe someone 100 Percocet in one prescription?!?!?!? (this doctor was the father of the doctor that was arrested for prescribing stuff to deceased wrestler/murderer Chris Benoit - I don't want to name the doctors here and would appreciate it if you didn't either)
At some point after obtaining these 100 pills, James traded his alcohol addiction in for a Percocet addiction. He went to church one Sunday evening without me, and apparently stood up in front of the congregation and made some statement about asking them to take care of his family and making it sound like he was gonna kill himself. I was told that he was surrounded by sympathetic church members, and a bunch of them immediately came out to the house with him to have a conversation with me about his problem. As if I didn't already know. The pastor offered to help get him into rehab, a Christian one, and James agreed. The church offered to pay half for the 6 week program, and we could make payments that fit our budget for our half, or the church would pay all the costs for the 4 month program. James seemed keen to go, wanting to salvage our marriage and his health, until he found out that he couldn't smoke, or take his precious Xanax. He would only be allowed to take medically necessary medications, such as for blood pressure, diabetes, etc., and not anything for his nerves or pain, and smoking wasn't permitted. There was that, plus he didn't want to be in debt for half the cost of the shorter program, and he didn't want to be away from home for 4 months (and honestly that would have been extremely hard on me, having to deal with the 2 kids, and working with such a long commute to work at the time).
But I know, ultimately, the real reason was he didn't want to give up his precious drugs. That was the real reason he didn't want to go to a pain clinic, too - he was so afraid they would insist that he try to live without narcotics, and use other non-narcotic medications, and exercises and lifestyle changes to help his phantom pain. I say phantom pain, because every doctor I went to with him, told him there was no reason for him to be in pain. (and yes, I know many times there are afflictions that people have that cause pain, that are extremely hard to diagnose, but he was checked for all those things and had none of the indicators for any of them - no signs of arthritis, blood work all normal for things like fibromyalgia, etc.).
He would come up with bogus reasons to go to the emergency room - fell down the stairs because the cat tripped him (this excuse happened multiple times - the last time he tried it I was home and knew for a fact the cat didn't trip him - we stayed home and he pouted because I busted him in a lie), fell on something at a store, one time he claimed he burned his arm - I happened to look outside the kitchen window as he was squirting lighter fluid onto the grill and it flamed up, singed the hair on his arm, and he claimed he was burned. His skin wasn't even red. He carried on so much the kids were screaming at me to take him to the ER, so I did and they looked at him and told him he didn't even have a first degree burn.
Anyways the reason to go to the ER was to try to get a shot of Demerol and maybe some take home Percocet. One year he went to the ER 17 times. Yes, SEVENTEEN times! In 12 months!!!
Since we've gotten divorced, I've been told that Dr. Quack has since lost his ability to prescribe narcotics, and James was forced to go to a pain clinic to keep his precious drugs. I've been told that he gives them away or sells them, and that he fails his drug tests at the clinic because he doesn't have the appropriate levels of the drugs in his system, and now I've been told that he "lost his pain pills", meaning that the pain clinic is now refusing to prescribe them to him anymore due to non-compliance.
And now he's saying he wants to go live in a nursing home so he can get his pain meds back. Really?!? As if he could get admitted to a nursing home and convince them to give him pain meds for imaginary medical conditions. He should be careful - they may admit him into a psych ward, which is probably not a bad idea, considering his delusions about having mafia connections and the like.
I get my info from his son that lives with him, and son if you're reading this - your father is playing you. I know his health is not that great, considering the emphysema and COPD that he's living with, but he does absolutely NOTHING to help himself. Still smokes. Most likely doesn't use his nebulizer or other meds related to those conditions. And I just don't see him being bad enough off to need to live somewhere to have round the clock care - if he was, the doctors would have already recommended it. He just acts in such a way to try to make people feel sorry for him, and he's a master manipulator when it comes to getting what he wants. He acts all pitiful and sick to make you feel sorry for him. Lays the guilt trip on you, and if the guilt trip doesn't work, then he aggravates the hell out of you until you give in and do what he wants you to do, just to shut him up. That's your dad for you.
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