“I wish my ex well. I wish he would fall into a well.” Maxine
Then there is the competing guilt that my wishing him ill hurts my kids. I don’t want to hurt my kids by wishing their father ill. It’s just that I am tired of him doing evil to me and my not having the opportunity to express my pain and the truth of my experiences with him.
While my kids are adults, they are still his and my children. It is easy for their father not to say ill of me. There is precious little for him to say bad about me.
After nearly 30 years of being ostracized by his family, largely because he stayed with me, his new best friend is the older brother that would not return his calls, emails, or many other communication attempts over nearly 30 years. However, now that I am out of the picture this alcoholic (runs deep in that family), bullying, abusive, womanizing, (suspected) child abuser is suddenly my exes best friend.
Worse my ex accepts him like his being shunned never happened. Would that he were so generous with and to me. But, that was never to be. He is better off without me. This way he can pursue his extremely inappropriate online video relationships (if you can call them that) with foreign women. He is sure he is their only ‘boyfriend’. Right. This from the website whose very name imparts the expectation of sexual contact. Well, he is the sexual predator. They are taking advantage of this by draining him financially.
Nearly 30 years and I rarely spent our money on myself and certainly not foolishly. I spent it on him. I encouraged him to buy what he wanted. He worked outside the home. I worked hard inside our home.
Trying not to let my pain overcome me when talking to my kids about their father physically hurts. My throat has the hand of abuse gripped tightly around my windpipe like the tendrils of long growing ivy up the trunk of the tree it feeds on and slowly kills. The ivy trunk is thick, the size of a small tree, bent secretively dark and low and short as it hides below the beauty of the foliage. The perfect cover for its evil intentions. It will survive. It is a hearty plant. It can take a very ong time for the ivy to kill its host. So long, that it seems nearly to be a symbiotic relationship.
But, the tree knows. The tree feels the pain, the draining of its life force. As if it wants not to harm the beautiful plant. Knowing somehow that it will hurt it. I loved the life the death plant exuded, wanting part of that for myself. Working, praying, hoping I could change its nature. Change nature, itself. I was not more powerful than it.
I know that I planted saplings. Two of them at least. I tend them and nurture them. Sadly, they too are infected with the knowledge of the death plant. They, like me, love it. Love him. They try to accept who and what he is. Who and what he became after I was no longer the buffer between him and them. It is difficult for them to love him. Difficult for them to find a way to be a part of his life without his life taking over theirs as it did mine. Sometimes, it still does. The pain of his effect runs deep. Deadly deep and the pain is tremendously hard to heal from. I deeply hope our children can heal. I have not been able to. Yet.
Cheating is a family thing.