Tag Archives: rambling thoughts

Esme vs. Daughter

25 Jul

As you may have guessed from the title, things got worse.

Loverboy and I finally had to agree to not talk about Daughter.  Why?  Well, read on.

He came home from work the other day.  I was at his house since I had both sets of children, so I figured I would make a nice home-cooked meal.  L walks in the door, sunny and happy, until he realizes Daughter is home.  Like someone flipped a switch, he became sullen, grumpy, and reserved.  Basically, a shit to be around.

During dinner, the two of them started getting into it.  I finished my meal, and shooed the other kids out of the dining room.  A few minutes later, L comes storming out, throws his plate in the sink, and follows Daughter down the stairs into her basement dwelling.

An hour passes.

L finally emerged, and is pulling the fake happy off with everyone.  I am sure everyone knows what that is-it is obnoxious, annoying, irritating, and any other negative -ing adjective you can think of.  I ask to speak with him upstairs, and I let some more of what is bothering me off of my chest.

I informed him that every time his daughter is around, his disposition changes dramatically.  My kids ask about it, his kids ask about it. He treats everyone different.  He won’t hug or kiss me when she is around (but will in front of his younger kids).  He barely talks to me when she is around.  He doesn’t smile.  Get the idea?  He is letting his 21-year-old run his emotions.

L then told me that he doesn’t know how to take what I have said, and that his attitude doesn’t change.  I reiterated it does indeed change.  He said it bothers him when I talk about Daughter.  He said he knows she has issues, he knows she is a loser, but he will never turn his back on her, and she will always have a place to live.  He said he doesn’t want me to bring it up again.

I looked at him for a minute, and said OK.  I was totally thrown by his last comment, because he always asks for advice.  I always tell him that she isn’t my daughter, so I can’t say.

Several days ago he brought up us moving in together.  I told him that until he and his daughter fix whatever they have going on, I won’t move in.  He seemed to accept it.  He knows I have become increasingly uncomfortable, and he told me then that she will always have a home with him.  So we all know I will never win this.  I don’t think I should even expect to.

Sorry, I know this post is kind of rambly.  I am just so torn and lost.

We have been talking about future stuff lately-never thought I would do that again!  Anyways-we have.  He wants a future with me.  He wants me to move in with him next year.  He wants me.  

So…stop me if I am wrong here…

I think at some point I should expect to be first.  I think for once he should focus on his happiness, and tell Daughter that if she can’t play ball, she can get her own fucking life instead of mooching off of him.  I am not saying to cut her out.  I am not saying to replace her.  I am simply saying that he should focus on Loverboy.

And, of course, I want to know that I mean enough to him that he stands up for me and/or fights for me.

He tells me often that I am so important to him.  And yet I now feel like limitations have been placed on our conversations.  On our relationship.  On our future.

To end the conversation, I told him that if he continues to let her call the shots, he is going to wind up a lonely old man, and it could be someday soon.

He reiterated how much I mean to him.  I shook my head, and walked out of the room.

I’m wondering if this can only end one way.

Love, Esme

 

My Blog…And I Need To Get It Out.

11 Dec

I’m sitting here in my cozy house, protected from the outside elements, and I finished a book that made me think.  And made me panic.

It’s a book about a paramedic’s experiences.  As medics, we all have stories that we think would make good books.  We see the absolute best in people, and we also see the absolute worst.  So bad, other people can’t imagine.  And what do we get for our dedication and sacrifices?  We get punched, vomited on, kicked, scratched, cussed at, and God only knows what else.  I’ve been called a cunt, a whore, a fucking bitch.  My kids lives have been threatened.  I’ve been caught in the middle of gang cross-fire.  I’ve almost been tased.  I’ve missed out on holiday celebrations, school meetings, and first goals.  And I loved almost every minute of it.

Almost.

There are those calls that haunt my memory.  And I know I have mentioned them before.  But that is what they do…they haunt me.  I will forget for a long time, and then I will be assaulted by memories.  Memories that can knock the breath out of me.  Visions that can bring me to my knees.  The smells, the screams, the terror on patients faces.  It all comes back.

While certain visions will never fade…the details do.  And that makes me panic.

I will never forget the brain matter oozing out of the fracture in the skull.  Or the two shoes laying on the pavement over 50 feet away.  The way the neck swelled, inhibiting any chance I have of getting a viable airway.  The arm that was shattered.  The femur fracture.  The slight movement of the head when the brain stem said it was time to try to breathe.  The rhythm on the monitor that told me this poor patient was still alive, still feeling, still fighting to live.  The absolute despair I felt knowing the patient was dying a very slow, very painful death.

And there wasn’t shit I could do about it, but remember his/her name.  Remember he/she was a person that may have had a great life.  To remember him/her so I could remember I did everything I could.

And I was forgetting his/her damn name!

I had to remember…if the name went completely into the recesses of my brain, I would never get it back.  And I need to think of him/her every once in a while.  Because maybe no one else does.  I was the last person my patient saw.  Maybe he/she looked at me as his/her last hope in the world, and I let him/her down.

I was frantic…I pulled out old newspaper clippings and subpoenas.  I was rocking back and forth in my office, muttering to myself.  I sounded, and looked, crazy.  But I had to find it.  I had to remember.  Someone needs to remember this person.

I found it, and I sighed with relief.  I stared at the name for a long time, going over every second of the call that was slipping from my memory.  I remembered some things I had forgotten about, and it honestly made me feel better.  I did do everything I could.  I pulled out all the stops, threw every ounce of ammunition I had at my disposal.  The patient was never going to make it, and I knew it from the second I arrived on scene.  So why did this one haunt me?  I’ve seen hundreds of deaths, of people dying.  If it can happen, there is a good chance I have seen it.  So why this one?

Because before the eyes closed one last time, the patient looked at me.  No, not even at me, but into me.  And all I could do was look back.

Those are the times I get haunted.  When I am the last thing anyone sees in this world.  I have to believe that we cross over, that our souls go somewhere else.  It is not an option for me to believe once we leave here, that’s it.  Something else needs to be waiting for them, and for us.

I know someday, I will forget the name altogether.  And maybe then, it won’t matter if I do.  But right now, it matters greatly.  Because there are so many times I am left with just the visions, and it sucks.  I hate not being able to complete the whole memory.  So many times I never got a name.

An 18-month old whose parents poisoned him, and all I can do is hold him as he seized for his last few minutes on earth.  The mother whose screams grew louder the closer I walked to her, because she knew I was going to tell her that her adult child had committed suicide.  The desperation on a patient’s face whose husband has beat her.  The terror that was visible on a 12 year-old face when she saw my male partner walk into the room.  The way a three year-old ran up to me and held on for dear life, and would not let go.  The fear in my partner’s face when we were held at gun point.  The look on an addict’s face when they take too much and they overdose.  The reactions of new parents when their baby isn’t breathing.  The reaction of my partner when a baby isn’t breathing.  The grinding of bone when a two-year old hit by a car gets thrown in my arms, and I caught him by his fractured femur.

I have good visions, too.

A mother’s face when I hand her a new baby.  The relief when I yell out ‘I have a rhythm!’.  The joy when people realize their loved one is OK.

The bad far outweighs the good.

And we deal with it.  We are not trained, for it, but we deal with it.  And sometimes, we deal with it very, very crassly.

I laugh at things I should never laugh at.  I joke about things that should never be joked about.  And every single person does it in my position.  If you are ever privy to this side of me, don’t judge.  I do it so I can continue to help everyone else.

But I also remember everything I can.  Because everyone deserves to have someone remember them.

Love, Esme

I Hate These Thoughts…

4 Dec

OK, it is that time of relationship again…time for Esme’s ramblings.  And, of course, this comes in light of something happening with the ex-husband.

My ex managed to fork over a fuckton of money for a new lawyer.  Yes, his parents hate me oh so much that I am sure they plopped down five figures to fight little ol’ me.  The date of my protective order hearing has been moved up to this week, and I am frantically working on my defense (I just needed a break!  Lawyer jargon has me cross-eyed!)

I told Loverboy a very small amount of what happened.  Just that the ex got a lawyer and moved up the case.  His response was He’ll need ten lawyers if he is going to beat you!  Sweet sentiment.  But I am really starting to wonder what I may have gotten Loverboy into.  And if it is fair.

My ex has run off a fair share of my dates.  In all honesty, there was never anyone worth continuing to date.  So as much as my ex has irritated me in that regard, it hasn’t royally pissed me off.  But this time, it WILL if it happens.

I haven’t been very forthcoming about my abusive marriage, which I have stated before.  Loverboy knows he was not nice, but that is the extent of it.  He hasn’t asked, and I have not offered.  A majority of the reason I have not is because I haven’t wanted to scare him or run him off.  Because as much of a problem I have had with the ex during my marriage, post-marriage has been a lot worse.  Harassment, veiled threats of violence, threatening to hide the kids…it’s all just bad.  These days it takes a lot for the ex to make me crazy.  It takes a lot for him to piss me off to the point where I see red.  It just takes a lot to get me riled where he is concerned.  Which is good and bad…good I am finally becoming accustomed to it, and bad for the same reason.  So when it comes to sharing, I just don’t feel the need to because I don’t often let it affect me.  But the problem is-when it does, it does badly.  And it is noticed by everyone.  I just don’t want to have to warn him of that possibility.

I also hesitate to share because this is my problem, not his.  I am the one that made the regrettable decision to marry him.  I am the one that has had to deal with the fall-out.  I am the one that has this cross to bear, so to speak.  And I am afraid to share that burden.  It is such a heavy burden.  I feel like it would be really unfair to make him take that on.

What guy would actually knowingly stick around with all of this drama surrounding me?  Honestly, I think it would be safer for him to turn and run.  I HATE drama.  I try very hard to get it out of my life…no more Sunday, the order of protection so I don’t have to deal with the ex, etc.  I kick drama to the curb just like I do trash on Monday.  But the ex keeps bringing it back.  Keeps depositing it on my doorstep.  And I just can’t completely get rid of it because of this damn judicial system!!

So I am scared.  I’m scared one day I will share and Loverboy will tell me it’s just too much to handle.  I’m scared to not share in case he is upset that I didn’t trust in him enough.  I’m scared that the ex will find out about Loverboy and cause so much havoc that Loverboy will have no choice but to walk away from me.  I’m scared that I am pulling him into this never-ending web of lies, deceit, abuse and unknown.  I don’t feel like it is fair.  But I also don’t feel like life is being fair to me!  I meet this great guy, who wants to get to know me, who wants to be around me, and fucking drama in the form of my ex starts pulling shit again.

I am really trying to not let life cause any problems with this.  When I see Loverboy, I try to forget about the drama, about the bad.  I focus on him, on us.  I smile, I laugh, and I try to be in the here and now.  And I need that.  But at the end of the day, I can’t help but feeling like I am being unfair to him.

He wants to go with me to my OP hearing, and I said no.  The last thing I want is for him to listen to my ex-in-laws badmouth me for three hours.

Am I being unfair?  Is it right for me to date Loverboy knowing what I am going to be facing for the forseeable future?  What if I really like him?  The ex and I have not been an item for SO LONG…why can’t he just leave me alone?  WHEN IS IT MY FUCKING TURN FOR SOME EASY-BREEZY??

Love, Esme

A Daily Struggle

14 Nov

There are days I really struggle with some things.  Lately this is the thought I was worried about:

I feel like I will be forever paying for the mistake I made marrying my ex.

Wow, that was kind of hard to type!

I don’t regret things in my life.  A lot of the bad things have wound up bringing me a lot of good.  For example?  I have two amazing boys.  I learned to stand up for myself (again).  I learned how to overcome oh so many obstacles.  I can now laugh at myself and at my world.  I don’t sacrifice who I am anymore.  I try hard to let go of the negativity in my life, whether they are people or things.

But I have also learned:

When someone asks about my marriage, or why I am divorced, they don’t like my truth.  Most run.  Most don’t like the fact that I am independent.  Most want you to need them, and I just don’t.  (Want vs. Need.  I don’t need, but I would like.)  Most don’t like that I am unwilling to change or concede certain things.

Because I found myself in such an extreme with the ex, I loathe to do anything that may remotely resemble anything that makes me feel like I am going back there again.  Sometimes I over-react, and sometimes I am spot-on.  I would rather over-react then go back to where I was.

But back to my original thought.  I do worry about that.  Did I have my one shot at happy-ever-after, and I just messed it up by choosing the wrong man?  Do women get second chances when it comes to love?  Is love and marriage a one-time deal?  Does a man exist who can deal with me, my quirks, and my past?

Did I just seriously fuck up my life by a decision I made at the age of 21?

I like to think not, but my experiences with men continually prove me wrong…

Love, Esme

Random

4 Sep

I just got the most random e-mail from Perfect.  ‘Memba him?  for all those who don’t, click the tag to your right.  But a quick overview:

  • He was the first guy I dated after my divorce.
  • He had two girls I fell in love with.
  • He had a crazy (legitly crazy) ex-wife he decided to give a second chance to, called me while I was on shift to let me know.
  • He called a week later and told me he made a mistake.
  • We never officially dated again, because I wouldn’t allow it.  But we had dinners with our families, and we sometimes spent the night at each other’s places.
  • What stopped us from being friends was an argument where he called me disgusting, vile names.  I told him to fuck off, and I never talked to him again

So the e-mail.  He found me on Facebook, quite a feat because I changed my last name.

He wrote to ask for my forgiveness.

He told me that he can now admit that he had strong feelings for me.  And he only realizes it because God has given him another amazing woman, that he married, and this time he was able to see it.  And act on it.

Well shit.

I don’t hate him anymore, because I just don’t have the energy to hate him anymore.  I have enough other things to deal with.  So if he needs to hear that I don’t hate him so he can move on in his perfect little existence, then so be it.  I let him know.

Now here is what pisses me off.  Yet another douchero man in my life has met someone, and settled down.  Yet another one that treated me like shit, and then told me I was UH-MAY-ZING and that some day I will find a man who will appreciate me, has found their soul mate.  What the fuck?!?!?

How is it I can’t even get to date four?  Or find anyone who appreciates me?  This makes sense how??

Fuck this dating/man thing.  OK, not really, but I am in pain, and I am super fucking frustrated.  What’s next, an e-mail from Nice Guy?  I can’t deal with this shit right now.

Love, Esme

This Just Hurts

13 Aug

I have tried repeatedly to write this post.  I have tried being snarky, I have tried being funny, and I have tried being blase.  It hasn’t worked.  I don’t know what else to do but be honest, and pour my heart out.  This post is more for me then you all, but you are definitely welcome to read along.

Two year ago, almost exactly, M walked into my life.  The gorgeous tall, blond-haired green-eyed Adonis walked into my life.  He walked in, sat down, and has been there ever since.  We dated for a short time.  When I was injured in the line of duty, he was the reason I ate twice a day.  He would come over and carry me to bed.  He saw to my basic needs without complaint.  He made me smile.

A couple of months into it, I stopped hearing from him.  It hurt, but not worth crying over.  I moved on.  30 days later, I got an unexpected phone call from him.  An ex was pregnant, I didn’t deserve him dropping me like that, could we please go out and talk about it.  Etc etc.

I don’t think we ever actually ‘dated’ again, but a few months later we started a sexual relationship.  But it was different than any other FB I had.  He would show up at my door at night and tell me to get dressed-we are going out.  He would take me to dinner, and not come in afterwards.  When we went out, his eyes were on me-even though he was constantly hit on.  He fought a guy in a bar who grabbed my ass.  We were, for all intents and purposes, dating.  But neither of us would admit it, and neither of us were faithful.  Neither of us wanted to be.  I was newly divorced, I had no desire to be tied down.  He was 27, and he was much more into the playboy lifestyle.  It was a perfect match.

Eventually, both of us started dating.  Him, the girl he became engaged to, and me a plethora of boys.  In the beginning of his relationship with this girl, he was unfaithful.  And that was with me.  I didn’t date anyone seriously, so I was doing who, and what, I wanted to.  The tide turned about 8 months into this.

He told me to not go on another date.  Please E, he said, just give me some time.  I want you, you belong with me.  Let’s figure this out.  That was the last thing I wanted-or needed-to hear.  I didn’t want to belong to anyone.  I didn’t want to wait for anyone.  I wanted to live my life and have fun.  I brushed him off.  Conversation over.

Our ‘meetings’ became few and far between.  I continued to date, he continued to struggle with his relationship.  One night, when we did meet up, he threw this out at me: I’m thinking about getting engaged.  I just feel like it’s the next step.  Unless you can give me a good reason not to.  For some reason, that news affected me, but I didn’t know why.  I told him he shouldn’t do it unless he was sure.  Then I let the matter drop.  I spent no time exploring that feeling.

Our time together became non-existent after that.  I had no desire to mess around with someone who was wanting to get serious with someone else.  Time passed, we talked some, but didn’t cross paths until it was time for me to move.

I brought my car to M, and he did some work on it.  I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him, and the heaviness out of my heart. He caught me staring a few times, and would just give me a knowing smile.  We went inside for a drink when he was done, and of course the conversation steered toward us.  You know, M, I am sure going to miss you.  He came over to where I was sitting, and put his hand on my cheek.  I think this is SUCH a personal move, and a tear ran down my cheek.  He leaned in and kissed me, and then we had some good-bye fun.

Throughout my absence, we would occasionally talk and text.  When he let me know he got engaged, it was like a knife through my heart.  I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.  I never expected to see him again, so I pushed it to the side.  I congratulated him, and I braced myself to never hear from him again.

I didn’t hear from M for months,  and then the texts started up again.  I’m guessing right around the time he realized he made a mistake in getting engaged.  When are you coming for a visit?  Any chance you are moving back?  When I knew I was moving back, I let him know.  Was I warning him?  Was I warning myself?  What did I accomplish by telling him this?  I could have not told him, come back, and just lived my life.  Maybe I should have done just that.

A couple of months before I moved back, I came to visit for St. Pats.  He caught wind of my visit, and tried to get me to see him.  I was so conflicted.  I wanted, with every ounce of my being, to run to him.  But I didn’t.  I don’t know why, but I didn’t.

So I move, and one of the first people I tell is M.  But I don’t see him until I have car problems.  When I do see him, I am shocked.  I have NEVER seen him so unhappy.  It’s like the light went out in him.  It broke a little piece of my heart.  I hated to see him like this, and I called him on it.  M, what is going on?  This isn’t you.  Why are you so unhappy?  M smiled sadly, and told me he wasn’t unhappy, but he was just living.  Surviving.  There was no point in arguing.  He didn’t want to hear it, and I was wasting my breath.

We started seeing each other again.  I wrote about this, we all know it.  One of my concerns was getting dragged into his unhappiness.

His unhappiness with his life lead to my heart-break.  It lead to the I can’t do this anymore.  It lead to You are such an amazing, special person, and you don’t deserve what I am doing to you.  It lead to When I am with you, it is just magic.  And I need to figure this out.  It lead to I didn’t know I felt SO STRONGLY for you.  It also lead to I am so incredibly unhappy with my life, and I didn’t realize it until you came into my life and mixed it all up.

I sat and listened to him with tears running down my face.  Please don’t cry, Esme.  I am not worth your tears.  Is this what you want?  Really?  Look what I asked of you!!  Why were you OK with this?  I feel like such a SHIT for putting this on you.  I should have dealt with my shit before I EVER talked to you about any of this.  I thought I could have the best of both worlds, but I can’t.  I need to figure out my life first.  And I need to do it without being pulled so many directions.

All I could do was sit and listen.  What do you say to this?  No, I’m not letting you leave?

E: You know, M, that my biggest regret was not fighting for you when you started dating the fiancée.  I am so angry at myself for not responding when you told me how you felt.  I am so mad at myself for not telling you how I felt when you told me you were engaged.
M: Why didn’t you?  Why didn’t you tell me?
E: Is there a good answer for that?  I wasn’t ready for it.  I also thought you were unobtainable.  Out of my league.
M: I don’t get why you thought I was unobtainable.  I wasn’t.  I just needed to hear it from you, and I didn’t.  You left, I never thought I would see you again, so I moved on.  I did what I thought was the best thing.

(As I recounted this convo for my mom, she got so angry.  He should have fought for you harder, instead of settling.  That’s what he did…he couldn’t have the best thing in his life, so he settled.  Gotta love moms.)

E: Don’t put that on me, M.  Just because I left doesn’t mean you had to get engaged to someone you didn’t truly want.  Don’t do that to me.

We talked a little more.  Well, he talked and I cried.  All he did was reiterate everything he had already said.  I couldn’t listen to him anymore.

E: Is all of this happening because I never told you I love you?
M: What?  No!  Esme, I know you love me.  I can see it in your eyes.  Your smile.  Your touch.  I’m not lying when I told you that you are special.  That I love you.  You never had to say it.  Because I knew.  And you know that I love you.  You know this.  Please tell me you know this.

I nodded my head.  I do know.

M: I just have to figure this out.  I have to figure out what is good for me.  Christ, E, I am thirty years old and I have nothing figured out.

I said OK.  What else can you say?  I said everything that was in my heart.  I let him know how I felt.  There is no mistaking where I am coming from.

Later that day I received a text message from him: I do love you.  Don’t give up on me.  Ever.

I spent two days crying on and off.  I am angry at myself for feeling like this.  I have so many doubts, because ingrained in my very existence is the fact guys lie.  And play games.  M knows this about me, and I got a random text message yesterday: You are not unlovable.  The problem lies with me.

My girl Sunday is pretty unsympathetic.  Did you really think this wouldn’t happen?  Did you expect him to make you happy?  Go date and find someone else.

Not what I want, or need, to hear right now.  And she was not the only one to tell me to go date.  Let me say right here, right now-I DON’T WANT TO FUCKING DATE RIGHT NOW!!  The thought of dating makes my stomach turn.  I am not going to date when my heart clearly belongs to someone else.  Don’t tell me to date.  Please.

And I don’t need the negativity.  I am fully aware it was a fucked up situation.  As much as I tried to be casual about it, I felt myself getting sucked in.  Before I went into it I KNEW I had strong feelings for him.  What did I expect?  I don’t know.  Maybe I expected to right the wrong from all of that time ago.  Maybe I felt that, even though I lost him, I could still have him in a small way.  Could still have him in my life.

What do I think will happen?  I think his sense of family will lead him to go into a marriage he doesn’t want.  If I hear from him again, I think it will be down the road, after he is so fucking miserable that he will be looking for a distraction.

Of course, it all seems so easy to me, or to anyone that may be on the outside looking in.

Godammit I love this guy.  How do I deal with this?

Scratch That

25 Feb

So we can scratch that date.  Partly because I am still in more pain than I thought I would be in.  But also because I think I would have been stood up if I didn’t end it.

We messaged each other a lot yesterday.  Had really great conversations.  He chose the time and place for the date (because I am really working on letting a man be a man and plan all of that shit).  I told him yesterday evening, as I was signing off, to please confirm with me tomorrow.  I gave him my phone number, and told him he could either call, text, or IM.  It all goes to my phone.  He said absolutely, and he told me he was very excited to meet me.

As a side note, I require someone to confirm with me the day of the date.  Why, you ask?  I have been stood up three fucking times. Three times I have been sitting in a bar/restaurant and waiting for ducheros.  And that is just damn inexcusable in today’s age of technology.  So I no longer show up if I don’t have confirmation.  And amazingly enough…I have never gotten a text ‘yelling’ at me for standing some dude up.  So I am guessing I would have been stood up even more if I show up anyways.  ANYWAYS…

I didn’t hear from him all day.  I finally sent him a message (because he never gave up his digits) and let him know I am still in a great amount of pain, and can we reschedule?  I didn’t hear back from him.  I still haven’t heard back from him.  So what the fuck ever.

I am just tired of all the game playing.  I still have a few guys that want to meet/date me.  And I am not sure I want to keep doing this to myself.

And has anyone else noticed a direct correlation between the hotness of the guy to the douchebaggery quotient?  I have.  And it may require its own post…

Love, Esme