I am alone in this world. I have friends close by and very far away, but I have little family. I was adopted and they were Norwegian. From Norway, where their family still is, comfortable in their homes and their lives, but only a very few give me any thought. That has been made abundantly clear.
I am here in the Unitrd States, where I was born and my biological parents were born. They were still children when I was conceived. They were in High School and they weren’t Seniors. My mother was 15 when I was born. My grandmother encouraged her to give me up for adoption a few months after my birth, probably for the best.
I have had a good life. My adopted Dad was the best, even though he married a narcissist. She ruined a lot over the years, even denying him a well paid career as a Ship’s Captain. They argued often, but I never heard him complain or blame her. I wasn’t aware until I was 20 that she was a consummate liar and conniving bitch. I knew I waas adopted, because her lies were that bad, but I didn’t fully comprehend how far back her lies went, or the depth. She made sure Dad wouldn’t be a father to his own biological son. I didn’t know about him until I was 51, both my parents were dead and a cousin found me on Facebook. Mom’s family just dismissed it, just like she had. He had a different mother, her predecessors. Dad’s 2nd wife. That was the other shock. Dad had been married 3 times.
So much to process for me. Alone.
I was with my ex-husband for 30 years. We were married for 15 yeas by the time the divorce was final. I paid for the wedding so why not pay for the divorce? I tried, even though my former best friend thinks I didn’t. We tried therapy, j\his choice, and that was a sex therapist and couple counselor. My ex lacked empathy. Real, actual intimacy. Empathy plays a huge role in that, and he couldn’t. He could show empathy for the loss in someone else’s life, but not in his intimate sphere. He couldn’t show any towards me if there was something else, like work or his Buddhist practice.
There was a day, a few months after my Dad died, that he was donating time on a sgift at the Community Center and he assured me he would be home right after. He would be home between 1-3 pm. I asked him if he was sure, he wouldn’t take an hour or two to chat with others? No, he would come home right away. Promise. My car was dead in the driveway, so we had only his car. I would be stuck at home until he was back. I had errands to run, a sewing machine to pick up after servicing, and they had specific hours including being closed on Sundays. He got home after 4, they closed at 4 and were 1/2 an hour away. I was pissed. He hadn’t used his cell phone to call me. He saw someone he knew and hadn’t seen for a while and time got away from him. Again.
He made at offhand comment, once, that my boobs were drooping. I wasn’t a young woman by then. I was in my late 30’s and I never had “big boobs”. I wore a B cup and was self conscious over their size. I made an offhand comment, once, that he his chest was nearly concave, probably because he was so thin and did exercise to keep “thin”. He lamenmted constantly his waist kept expanding. Like 29″ x 34″on a 5’10” frame was so sexy for a man hitting 40 who wouldn’t eat meet because they were mammals. I had a B12 deficiency and using monthly injections so I woudln’t have seizures because my brain was deprived of a needed nutrient, and I was diabetic and hypertensive. I just needed to exercise and I would be fine is his eyes.
We were driving home after grocery shopping one day, and I asked him where I was on his priority list. I was 3, maybe 4. His Faith was first, work was second and then me. Not in the Buddhist list of priorities. Another time we were talking, the fact I hadn’t converted reflected badly on him. What? He knew what I beleived in. Had known before we started dating. Now, more than a decade plus later, it was my fault that his hours of chanting didn’t make his world perfect? Maybe I had read enough about his choice of Buddhist faith that I knew the basics and pretty much was “that”, that I knew I supported him and did enough Buddhist practice to know he was a Buddhist by perceived actions only. There is a difference, kind of like an agnostic and a Christian. It is how you treat every human, not just those that you think are worthy.
I wanted children. He knew that. It wasn’t the right time for years. We didn’t have enough money, we didn’t live in the right house, and then I was too old. We found out when we were in our early 40’s he couldn’t produce sperm. He could ejaculate, but it was without sperm. He had taken a hard hit on the bar of a girls’ bike as a child. That caused a stricture on his urethra blocking their escape. That stricture had been a problem for years when he urinated, but he had been to the doctor and they couldn’t find anything. I told him, “Take the doctor with you to the bathroom and SHOW HIM.’ That did the trick. He eventually had to have surgery so his bladder wouldn’t explode. And that sperm thing was identified. Sex didn’t feel the same for him, what sex we had that didn’t involve pornos – on his own or actually including me. Damn, the amount of crap I had to delete he got through Napster. That shit kills networks if you don’t monitor, which he didn’t. That was my job, and cooking, and laundry, and making sure all the bills got paid and being the primary wage-earner. So many hats I had.
After his surgery, I proposed adoption. No, we couldn’t risk it. You never know what you will get. What? I was adopted you heartless bastard! I didn’t say that. I was too hurt, too devastated.
I brought it up in counseling. I cried, because it still hurt so much. He stared at a spot above the therapist’s head. He had to ask my ex to hand me the tissue that were next to him. He did so soundlessly and without emotion. The therapist asked him how he felt hearing this from me? I can’t remember what K said, but it was along what I had heard over the years. He was a loser with no marketable skills, etc. That loser mentality, the Martyr, was his constant go to.
What he wanted from the therapist was a quick fix. A pill or hypnotherapy. I spoke to the therapist separately on the last time I went to him. He said I had given him more insight to K than K had said himself or had shown interest or awareness to improve. He told me I was his crutch as much as Buddhism. There was nothing I could do if he didn’t want to change or be aware of his failings. He said, which he hardly ever did, to divorce K. To do that for me, because I wasn’t on his radar. Nothing would change if I stayed, and if I left he would just go on and see to his own needs. Just like he had before he met me.
My Mom had Alzheimer’s. When she fell and pulled out her hip implant, he blamed her for her lack of understanding. For causing him not to get a full nights sleep because he had to take me to the airport. When my Dad was dying back in 2001, he never went with me on those drives to So. California. He saw dad at Christmas before the strokes, never during the weeks of hospice when I went every other weekend. He complaned about the hours I worked, but as a Contractor, of I didn’t work I didn’t get paid. That was a theme for us, repeated when Mom got sick or did something or had a carcinoma tumor that had to be removed on an emergency basis. She was needy and difficult. She was old and I was her only family. Excuse me for caring, Mr. 180lbs of Dead Weight. No empathy. No compassion. No humanness.
There was one night where I had had a night-terror and my knee collapsed due to stepping on the dog and me forehead connected with a dresser and I was bleeding all over the place and freaking out. He did take me to the ER. They wouldn’t let him in the room because he might have been the cause. I told them,”It was me. Only me. “I sleep walk on rare occasion and the dog was in the way. I fucked myself up!” As if he could. I got 14 stitches and a brace for my leg and was sent home. I was warned I’d have two shiners, probably. A few hours later, he got up to go to work. I indeed did walk up with two black eyes swollen shut. He arrived before Noon, but those few hours put him out of race for perfect attendance and he lost a free vacation day. My fault, because he took me to the hospital. IT was 3 days before I could return to work. My Boss told me to stay home until I didn’t look like a war casualty anymore. I can back after the weekend looking the walking wounded. That happened before we were married. Should have seen the writing on the wall like graffiti on a train car.
I have been alone for years, but I found the strength to move one, move beyond it. That was usually through work. But I don’t know what to do now, because this brain injury has locked out the access to what I did. I have to relearn it. And I am screwed. I am running out of time.
I am technically homeless. I am housesitting, but that ends next weekend. I have no money to move, but I have too much to qualify for help through the County. I will die if I have to live in my car. My health is in a delicate balance that could go south very quickly.
I have retinopthy. That became a forefront issue again this morning. A vein in my right eye failed or exploded this morning, causing visual obstruction in the field of vision in my right eye. Nothing will correct it overnight or in a few days. Just monthly injections for months. I just concluded nearly a year of injections for my left eye. It’s hard to explain what it’s like. If I close my eye, I can see the outline of an animal face. The sketch. When I open my eye, it a pattern of swirls and lots of pinprick debris. It’s messy, but I can see through it. I’m not blind. Yet.
And I have to find a job dealing with this now. What else, God? How much more before you’re done testing me? How much more do you think I can take? I’m done. I can’t take anymore. I am defeated. I have no pride. no ego, nothing. There is nothing left. No one’s listening.
I have a GoFundMe page. I linked it here in posts frp=om the last two days. I had a stroke, but I didn’t loose my home in a fire. I am struggling with a brain injury, but I don’t have a family member with a life threatening emergency. I am alive and I grieve for all those who died due to violence. I am alive but failing. I didn’t get the care I needed for over a year, but I have it now so I’m fine? I am not and I have no idea when I will be. People just exect me to be because I can write. That hasn’t been lost, it just took a while to come back. I need a chance to come back.