After years and years now of endless changes and tumult in my life....it still does not relent.
Nothing, and I do mean nothing, is constant. Or grounding. Or peaceful.
The stress of the pressures facing me is constant and unyielding. It will never go away. Most of it is financial.
The worst of it...lifetime alimony. A huge sum, to be paid every month, until I mercifully leave this planet. It is like being an indentured slave and servant to someone, forever.
In addition to all of that shit, I have unemployment insurance that will eventually run out.
And, my father will be moving in with his new girlfriend, before too long. (I currently live with him). He cannot sustain the bills and paying for that house for much longer.
And there are NO expectations I will ever get even a modestly decent income, ever again.
I cannot BUY a decent job. Application after application goes without so much as an email telling me they aren't interested.
I am too old. And not cheap enough, I guess. They want young and cheap and stupid. It's better for the company's "bottom line".
I cannot sell a damned photograph.
Friends and acquaintances contact me and want to know if they can get one of my prints that they just "love".
So, I tell them sure!. That 11x14 print will cost $39.99 plus shipping.
SILENCE.
I guess if I give it to them for 50 cents, that'd be cool.
I have my work at a gallery and home decorating store. It's great stuff.
Nobody wants my photos.
They do however buy up the Sepia Toned shit that another "artist" sells there of sand dollars, starfish and shells.
In the last few days here at the cabin, I have learned the following.
That my ex-wife, with whom both of my adult children live is not well.
She has either Multiple Sclerosis (very likely), and/or Bone Cancer.
What this means to me?
Well, from a human standpoint, it's hard to put into words.
I spent almost 30 years with that woman in a relationship. Almost 23 of which, we were married.
Now, I hold no affection for what she did to me, but still, this affects my children, who love their mother.
And all I can do is watch as the world around me burns to the ground.
To get where I am now.
To have lost fucking everything and suffered like I never thought possible.
It is one more horrendous thing to deal with.
I used to be a man who was at the top of his game, earning a great living in a very exclusive profession.
Now I am a basically homeless bum with a camera, trying desperately to see how I can earn enough money to survive, and of course to pay that alimony.
And, if she does indeed have MS, then I will be required by the courts to take care of her with all the alimony I can possibly afford.
After all, 23 years of marriage and being a stay at home mom entitles her to lifetime support.
Even though she was the one who cheated on me (twice), and had me thrown out of my own home, and she filed for divorce.
I can not, and never will win in this life. It is impossible. It is not doable. And I do not have the strength to keep up this fight for years on end. To exist only as a source of money to a woman who now is suffering physically, but who put the hurt on me like nobody ever could.
I am trapped and burdened and obliged.
I was beaten, abused, harassed and treated like shit.
And I PAY. Forever.
To top off my stellar week, my son, who my ex-wife worked on for years to hate his own father, decided to de-friend me from Facebook. Because I didn't tell him I have plans to eventually marry someone.
Of course, I won't ever really be able to marry that person, because she will never be free from her mother, and I will never be free from this HELL.
That is my life.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The Mountain Man
For two weeks now, I have been at our family's cabin in the Catskill Mountains of NY State, with my 2 dogs, a computer, some cameras and some very nice weaponry. (for Bears and for target).
So, in many respects, I am living a solitary life as a "Mountain Man".
But recent events make me realize just how much like a mountain I am.
A mountain cannot move. It can't get up and go somewhere else.
The forces around it pound it mercilessly. Rain, hail, lightning, erosion, wind.
All it an do is stand there and take all that comes.
While it does, it becomes a home for many things. Plants and Trees, lakes and streams. Fish and Birds and butterflies and squirrels, and countless other living things. They take root there and find a home.
So much like me.
I stand here strong and defiant against the forces that rage and try to wear me down. And they do.
At the same time, I try to hold onto the good and the decent. The living and the beautiful. My trees. My birds. My clear cool water. To try to give them a home to find secure.
But every day, the winds blow. Storms rip through and fell trees. Lightning strikes and burns my forests to the ground.
And still I stand.
And over time, I will be worn down by erosion and the sands of time, and become a plain, or other featureless piece of geography.
Because a mountain cannot stand alone against the onslaught.
It can only hold out as long as it can.
So, in many respects, I am living a solitary life as a "Mountain Man".
But recent events make me realize just how much like a mountain I am.
A mountain cannot move. It can't get up and go somewhere else.
The forces around it pound it mercilessly. Rain, hail, lightning, erosion, wind.
All it an do is stand there and take all that comes.
While it does, it becomes a home for many things. Plants and Trees, lakes and streams. Fish and Birds and butterflies and squirrels, and countless other living things. They take root there and find a home.
So much like me.
I stand here strong and defiant against the forces that rage and try to wear me down. And they do.
At the same time, I try to hold onto the good and the decent. The living and the beautiful. My trees. My birds. My clear cool water. To try to give them a home to find secure.
But every day, the winds blow. Storms rip through and fell trees. Lightning strikes and burns my forests to the ground.
And still I stand.
And over time, I will be worn down by erosion and the sands of time, and become a plain, or other featureless piece of geography.
Because a mountain cannot stand alone against the onslaught.
It can only hold out as long as it can.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Words from a friend....
"Seriously, God has given you more than your share."
These words were posted to me on another board that I have belonged to for 5 years.
And when I see it echoed back to me from someone I don't really know, but who has also been there for almost as long (and followed my story all this time), I cannot help but hang my head.
Yes, God or whomever reigns in the heavens has either given me more than my share, or I have simply been so unfortunate as to only know what loss and struggle are. And not just of my own, but of those I love dearly, (my daughter), and how those things have torn away at my heart, and weakened me.
I could write a list a mile long of the things that have hurt.
It gets old for me to keep talking about them here.
Nothing in this life. And I do mean nothing...has gone easy for me.
Some would say that it is my own fault. That it is the way I behave, or act, or speak, or think.
But those same people are only just now seeing me.
They didn't know the man who used to believe.
They didn't know that somewhere along the way, I lost the light in my eyes. That I could no longer see happiness and good clearly anymore.
That I had become jaded, and cynical and lost my faith.
There was a time, I think, where I still thought that anything was possible. That it would all work out.
The turning point?
I think if I had to pick one particular time where I could say that it was the beginning of hell, it was on May 23, 2006.
On that morning, with my ex-wife in a full blown affair with my next door neighbor, she went to the courthouse, filed a temporary restraining order against me, and the police showed up at my door to escort me from my home. (I did not see this coming).
That the woman I married, now 20 some odd years later, would be with another man, and throwing me out with the garbage, from the home I built for her and my family....
That sealed it for me.
People are capable of such extreme cruelty. Even the people we once trusted more than anyone in the world.
That one act seemed to propel me down a series of losses that would not relent.
Each time, I would pick myself back up and try again.
Today, sitting at the kitchen table in the last home I have on this Earth, a cabin in the Catskill Mountains of NY, it has been over 4 years since that day. And in just 4 years, the changes and losses and pain have been almost non-stop.
God has given me more than my share.
I don't think God had anything to do with it.
I think sometimes, Hell is right here. Right now.
These words were posted to me on another board that I have belonged to for 5 years.
And when I see it echoed back to me from someone I don't really know, but who has also been there for almost as long (and followed my story all this time), I cannot help but hang my head.
Yes, God or whomever reigns in the heavens has either given me more than my share, or I have simply been so unfortunate as to only know what loss and struggle are. And not just of my own, but of those I love dearly, (my daughter), and how those things have torn away at my heart, and weakened me.
I could write a list a mile long of the things that have hurt.
It gets old for me to keep talking about them here.
Nothing in this life. And I do mean nothing...has gone easy for me.
Some would say that it is my own fault. That it is the way I behave, or act, or speak, or think.
But those same people are only just now seeing me.
They didn't know the man who used to believe.
They didn't know that somewhere along the way, I lost the light in my eyes. That I could no longer see happiness and good clearly anymore.
That I had become jaded, and cynical and lost my faith.
There was a time, I think, where I still thought that anything was possible. That it would all work out.
The turning point?
I think if I had to pick one particular time where I could say that it was the beginning of hell, it was on May 23, 2006.
On that morning, with my ex-wife in a full blown affair with my next door neighbor, she went to the courthouse, filed a temporary restraining order against me, and the police showed up at my door to escort me from my home. (I did not see this coming).
That the woman I married, now 20 some odd years later, would be with another man, and throwing me out with the garbage, from the home I built for her and my family....
That sealed it for me.
People are capable of such extreme cruelty. Even the people we once trusted more than anyone in the world.
That one act seemed to propel me down a series of losses that would not relent.
Each time, I would pick myself back up and try again.
Today, sitting at the kitchen table in the last home I have on this Earth, a cabin in the Catskill Mountains of NY, it has been over 4 years since that day. And in just 4 years, the changes and losses and pain have been almost non-stop.
God has given me more than my share.
I don't think God had anything to do with it.
I think sometimes, Hell is right here. Right now.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
From the very depths of my soul...
I want to scream.
I want to have the force of a hurricane emanate from my lungs.
To have lightning bolts fly from my fingertips.
To summon all the forces around me and channel them into one enormous burst of energy.
To cleanse all this pain in me.
I want to stand on a hilltop in a raging thunderstorm, my arms stretched to the heavens and just let out the most powerful force that I can.
I want so desperately for mother nature to take away this pain. To let me unleash it into the skies while a violent storm rages all around me.
Let my rage and my fear, my pain and my loss, join with that force of nature..
And set me free.
I want to have the force of a hurricane emanate from my lungs.
To have lightning bolts fly from my fingertips.
To summon all the forces around me and channel them into one enormous burst of energy.
To cleanse all this pain in me.
I want to stand on a hilltop in a raging thunderstorm, my arms stretched to the heavens and just let out the most powerful force that I can.
I want so desperately for mother nature to take away this pain. To let me unleash it into the skies while a violent storm rages all around me.
Let my rage and my fear, my pain and my loss, join with that force of nature..
And set me free.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Today I took the road less traveled.
I am at the cabin in the Catskills once again. So today, I went to town (with a cooler all set to go) to get some groceries, and then head out on "Butterfly Lane" to get more photos.
I got some wonderful shots.
Then, as if compelled to do so, I decided to take a road that intersects this very remote, back road through the mountains. My GPS told me it would lead me back to the highway, and back to the cabin, less than 3 miles away.
So I took the road. I made the turn.
I have never been down this road before.
In the 50 years I have been coming to this place, this was the first time I ever laid eyes on it.
As I made it about a mile up that road, I noticed this gorgeous barn sitting on a hillside to my left. I stopped my car, took out my camera, and started snapping shots of it.
Unbeknown to me, the owner of that barn and property was just to my right, off the road, picking vegetables from a plot of plants that he put down near a stream.
I finally saw him, and since I had my windows rolled down, I hear him say...
"Hi there!...do you like Zucchini?"
And with that I said, "Yes I do, very much"
"Here ya go...have this one" he said.
And he came over to my car and handed me this gorgeous squash.
We started talking.
He explained to me that he plants among the wild plants and weeds by the stream. That it's all natural. No rows. No big fields. Just plants producing gloriously fresh food, in the middle of God's country.
He went on to tell me that he plants enough to feed his family, and enough for his friends, neighbors and kids from town to come by and take what they want.
He told me that anytime I come by, to just stop here and grab a cucumber, or a zucchini, and enjoy.
Nobody steals his produce. Nobody hordes. They just come by and take a couple and then move on.
His property is beyond beautiful. Set against a hillside, his home and his huge barn are old but beautiful in their rustic splendor. They fit in with these ancient mountains.
A sweeter man I have not met. He smiles and just loves his life.
He told me how that hillside and the barn look in Winter after a freshly fallen snow. How gorgeous it is.
He is thankful for the life he has. For the property. For the incredible views.
He is not a rich man. Just a man living a life in a beautiful country, surrounded by the things and people he loves.
I left there today with 3 cucumbers, one zucchini, and a new friend.
Because I took the road less traveled.
Because I took the chance to do something different.
The blessings of this life come in messages and experiences that we never anticipate.
Today, I expected to pick up groceries and get photographs of butterflies.
What I got was a boost to my soul.
I was given gifts by a generous man who loves life and spreads his good will to his fellow man.
Precious.
Beyond words.
I got some wonderful shots.
Then, as if compelled to do so, I decided to take a road that intersects this very remote, back road through the mountains. My GPS told me it would lead me back to the highway, and back to the cabin, less than 3 miles away.
So I took the road. I made the turn.
I have never been down this road before.
In the 50 years I have been coming to this place, this was the first time I ever laid eyes on it.
As I made it about a mile up that road, I noticed this gorgeous barn sitting on a hillside to my left. I stopped my car, took out my camera, and started snapping shots of it.
Unbeknown to me, the owner of that barn and property was just to my right, off the road, picking vegetables from a plot of plants that he put down near a stream.
I finally saw him, and since I had my windows rolled down, I hear him say...
"Hi there!...do you like Zucchini?"
And with that I said, "Yes I do, very much"
"Here ya go...have this one" he said.
And he came over to my car and handed me this gorgeous squash.
We started talking.
He explained to me that he plants among the wild plants and weeds by the stream. That it's all natural. No rows. No big fields. Just plants producing gloriously fresh food, in the middle of God's country.
He went on to tell me that he plants enough to feed his family, and enough for his friends, neighbors and kids from town to come by and take what they want.
He told me that anytime I come by, to just stop here and grab a cucumber, or a zucchini, and enjoy.
Nobody steals his produce. Nobody hordes. They just come by and take a couple and then move on.
His property is beyond beautiful. Set against a hillside, his home and his huge barn are old but beautiful in their rustic splendor. They fit in with these ancient mountains.
A sweeter man I have not met. He smiles and just loves his life.
He told me how that hillside and the barn look in Winter after a freshly fallen snow. How gorgeous it is.
He is thankful for the life he has. For the property. For the incredible views.
He is not a rich man. Just a man living a life in a beautiful country, surrounded by the things and people he loves.
I left there today with 3 cucumbers, one zucchini, and a new friend.
Because I took the road less traveled.
Because I took the chance to do something different.
The blessings of this life come in messages and experiences that we never anticipate.
Today, I expected to pick up groceries and get photographs of butterflies.
What I got was a boost to my soul.
I was given gifts by a generous man who loves life and spreads his good will to his fellow man.
Precious.
Beyond words.
More from the book...
I could have just taken the hundreds of photos that appear later in this book and made a coffee table book out of them. I very well may do that, for those that don’t care to read the gory details, or the anecdotes that accompany the photos in this work.
But I wanted to do more.
I wanted to share my story with those of you who like me, live an unremarkable life, but one filled with pain and loss and grief. For those who have had to try to overcome overwhelming odds, and seemingly endless obstacles.
This book is a voyage of discovery and salvation. Of suffering and pain and disappointment, turned into hope and joy and beauty.
I have updated it as I have been writing it. For me it seems, life offers one challenge after another. But one thing now remains constant in my life. My love of nature, of the birds, and the joy and connection it brings me. Closer now to the natural world than I have ever been, it fills my heart and soul with peace, joy and amazement.
No matter how my life goes, this time that I have spent compiling these photographs has been the turning point in my life.
The one thing I needed more than ever was a refuge.
And I found it. Where the birds live.
On a commute home from my last full-time job, where I was being abused by a horrific, controlling manager, and driving a hellish four hours per day, I came to a realization.
I said, out loud in the car, with nobody else to hear me.
I am not going to make it.
And I knew. I knew more than anything I have ever known, that to continue the life I was leading, and working that job, that I would not survive.
When you read the stories in this book, what you are reading is my life. A common and unassuming man, who had the same dreams every common man does. To get married, raise a family, have their own home, and a good career. A comfortable retirement to share with a wife, into the “golden years”.
What you will read is a story of how that entire life fell apart. How it wasn’t only lost, but destroyed. How the losses that followed would bring me to my knees, over and over again. And how each time, there was just enough left to stand up again.
And then, at one point. I picked up the camera again, and with a long lens and a shattered heart, I found the last hope of my life, the refuge that I would come to love and call my own.
I will share with you the stories of the birds I have photographed. The amazing things I have seen. The wonders that nature revealed to me. The funny moments. The new friends I’ve found there. A voyage of discovery, of hope, of revelation.
There comes a time, in everyone’s life…where all you can see are the years passing by.
And I have made up my mind, that those days…are gone. – Rascal Flatts (I’m Movin On)
But I wanted to do more.
I wanted to share my story with those of you who like me, live an unremarkable life, but one filled with pain and loss and grief. For those who have had to try to overcome overwhelming odds, and seemingly endless obstacles.
This book is a voyage of discovery and salvation. Of suffering and pain and disappointment, turned into hope and joy and beauty.
I have updated it as I have been writing it. For me it seems, life offers one challenge after another. But one thing now remains constant in my life. My love of nature, of the birds, and the joy and connection it brings me. Closer now to the natural world than I have ever been, it fills my heart and soul with peace, joy and amazement.
No matter how my life goes, this time that I have spent compiling these photographs has been the turning point in my life.
The one thing I needed more than ever was a refuge.
And I found it. Where the birds live.
On a commute home from my last full-time job, where I was being abused by a horrific, controlling manager, and driving a hellish four hours per day, I came to a realization.
I said, out loud in the car, with nobody else to hear me.
I am not going to make it.
And I knew. I knew more than anything I have ever known, that to continue the life I was leading, and working that job, that I would not survive.
When you read the stories in this book, what you are reading is my life. A common and unassuming man, who had the same dreams every common man does. To get married, raise a family, have their own home, and a good career. A comfortable retirement to share with a wife, into the “golden years”.
What you will read is a story of how that entire life fell apart. How it wasn’t only lost, but destroyed. How the losses that followed would bring me to my knees, over and over again. And how each time, there was just enough left to stand up again.
And then, at one point. I picked up the camera again, and with a long lens and a shattered heart, I found the last hope of my life, the refuge that I would come to love and call my own.
I will share with you the stories of the birds I have photographed. The amazing things I have seen. The wonders that nature revealed to me. The funny moments. The new friends I’ve found there. A voyage of discovery, of hope, of revelation.
There comes a time, in everyone’s life…where all you can see are the years passing by.
And I have made up my mind, that those days…are gone. – Rascal Flatts (I’m Movin On)
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Left Behind.
Increasingly, and overwhelmingly. This is my life.
I am the one left behind. The one who got to play a role in so many people's lives. And then they move on.
I stand here with the water around my neck and rising. The pressures, the losses, the memories, the dreams...choking the life from me. I reach above my head, and wield a powerful lens. I point it at the living world and the creatures who live there show their love for me. They give me so many gifts.
But the waters are rising and I am gasping for air. Still, I defy all that tries to crush me and I smile. I laugh. And I fill my soul with the birds and the butterflies, the breezes coming in from the lake at the cabin. The memory of my mother.
And I hold on.
I watch as those I fell in love with...have moved on to lovers and partners where they live a happy life. Secure and happy.
I watch, as my own father finds love with a woman who can also solve all of his problems. She loves him for who he is...but she also has more money than she knows what to do with. No longer does he have to hold the world on his shoulders. He can and will share a life with her, as her friend and companion.
He will move in with her before too long. Certainly before the end of the year.
The woman I love can never see me alone. She is bound to her house and her mother, and I am alone every night. We try with all we have to make something work, but time together is fleeting at best. There is NO alone time at all.
Tomorrow I head to the cabin and the lake.
My last refuge. The last place I have left.
I watch as everyone I know. My good friends, my former lovers, move on to happy lives, and security, and I watch on things like Facebook and elsewhere as they celebrate their lives.
Someone told me very recently that I am an old soul. A man who can see and appreciate the world around me. Who is open to the gifts and the beauty of nature. And, I suppose I am.
I am an old soul.
One who must have in previous lives been a horrible person. Someone for whom this life is my proving ground. To suffer and persist and try to find the good. To try to Be good. To be there for my friends and those I love. To reach out and help others. To show people the beauty of the world and the creatures that live in it.
But to suffer all the while.
To never know what happiness is. To never know what security is. To never know what having a loving partner by my side feels like.
I guess that is for the next life.
I hope it gets here soon.
I am the one left behind. The one who got to play a role in so many people's lives. And then they move on.
I stand here with the water around my neck and rising. The pressures, the losses, the memories, the dreams...choking the life from me. I reach above my head, and wield a powerful lens. I point it at the living world and the creatures who live there show their love for me. They give me so many gifts.
But the waters are rising and I am gasping for air. Still, I defy all that tries to crush me and I smile. I laugh. And I fill my soul with the birds and the butterflies, the breezes coming in from the lake at the cabin. The memory of my mother.
And I hold on.
I watch as those I fell in love with...have moved on to lovers and partners where they live a happy life. Secure and happy.
I watch, as my own father finds love with a woman who can also solve all of his problems. She loves him for who he is...but she also has more money than she knows what to do with. No longer does he have to hold the world on his shoulders. He can and will share a life with her, as her friend and companion.
He will move in with her before too long. Certainly before the end of the year.
The woman I love can never see me alone. She is bound to her house and her mother, and I am alone every night. We try with all we have to make something work, but time together is fleeting at best. There is NO alone time at all.
Tomorrow I head to the cabin and the lake.
My last refuge. The last place I have left.
I watch as everyone I know. My good friends, my former lovers, move on to happy lives, and security, and I watch on things like Facebook and elsewhere as they celebrate their lives.
Someone told me very recently that I am an old soul. A man who can see and appreciate the world around me. Who is open to the gifts and the beauty of nature. And, I suppose I am.
I am an old soul.
One who must have in previous lives been a horrible person. Someone for whom this life is my proving ground. To suffer and persist and try to find the good. To try to Be good. To be there for my friends and those I love. To reach out and help others. To show people the beauty of the world and the creatures that live in it.
But to suffer all the while.
To never know what happiness is. To never know what security is. To never know what having a loving partner by my side feels like.
I guess that is for the next life.
I hope it gets here soon.
Friday, July 16, 2010
I want to see my eyes in the rear view mirror on fire again.
I am heading back to the cabin in a couple days. With hopes of being able to really start putting the book together.
But more so...to feel alive.
When I am behind the wheel of the almost 300 horses in my little WRX speeding down Rte 17 in the mountains of NY State..
My God, I am alive.
And I am free.
Heading away from all the shit. All the pain and all the confinement of living in my dad's house. A place where I am loved, yet where I occupy a small room. The rest of what is left of my life sits in stacks of boxes in the house. As if waiting for either a giant yard sale, or a moving truck.
I've come to realize that I don't need much. Just my cameras and a few other things, and I'm okay.
But what I need is to be FREE.
To be free of a lifetime of alimony paid to a cheating, abusive ex spouse that could make Donald Trump wince. To be free of the mountain of shit that has been loaded on, and carried on my shoulders for too long.
The fading light is cold on the shoulders of the trees
Oh the starwind blows right through me, and I never felt so free
Oh there had to be a crossroad, a place to draw the line
And it came down to the question, is this life I'm livin' mine
I'm at that crossroads.
Now, it's my life.
But more so...to feel alive.
When I am behind the wheel of the almost 300 horses in my little WRX speeding down Rte 17 in the mountains of NY State..
My God, I am alive.
And I am free.
Heading away from all the shit. All the pain and all the confinement of living in my dad's house. A place where I am loved, yet where I occupy a small room. The rest of what is left of my life sits in stacks of boxes in the house. As if waiting for either a giant yard sale, or a moving truck.
I've come to realize that I don't need much. Just my cameras and a few other things, and I'm okay.
But what I need is to be FREE.
To be free of a lifetime of alimony paid to a cheating, abusive ex spouse that could make Donald Trump wince. To be free of the mountain of shit that has been loaded on, and carried on my shoulders for too long.
The fading light is cold on the shoulders of the trees
Oh the starwind blows right through me, and I never felt so free
Oh there had to be a crossroad, a place to draw the line
And it came down to the question, is this life I'm livin' mine
I'm at that crossroads.
Now, it's my life.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Dreams Die Hardest of All (Excerpt from the Book)
I have a photo album that shows what started as a bare patch of land, all the way through the building and creation of my former home. It’s a time capsule. It was supposed to be filled with cherished memories. What it is filled with now is scenes from some alternate universe. It feels like having a stake driven through my heart to look upon the pages.
In it are pictures with my mom and dad. My kids smiling and playing on the huge piles of dirt from the foundation excavation. The kids roller-skating in the freshly paved cul-de-sac, before any homes, even ours, were constructed. The newly poured foundation. The frame structure going up. The finished product. The grass having gone in, and the first few plants and trees. Then it ends.
If it had ended there, I’d have been happy. But it didn’t. It ended nearly 9 years later, and it was perhaps one of the most painful things I will ever live.
When I built that house, it was to be a new start for us. A chance to have a very nice home, with plenty of room, in a gorgeous new neighborhood. Lots of land and living space. A place to create a sanctuary for us, and fill it with joy and beauty. I didn’t care for status. It wasn’t the largest of the homes in the neighborhood. In fact, it was one of the smaller models. That wasn’t important. It was big enough, more than we’d need to live comfortably, and set in a beautiful lot with a chance to make it something wonderful.
And that’s exactly what I set out to do.
Over the next 9 years the local landscape and garden shop would see me almost every weekend. Over time I would create incredible garden beds everywhere. I’d plant mature and very expensive trees in order to have a semi-wooded lot once more. It was gorgeous. It was a labor of love. I could sit outside and watch hummingbirds and butterflies and birds of all kinds. I’d sit by the pond and watch the Koi swimming. Chipmunks would run down to the water’s edge to get a drink. Small birds would do the same near the waterfall as it tumbled across and down the rocks. The front walkway would be a winding path of pavers shaded by flowering trees, and bordered on each side by huge garden beds filled with shrubs and perennials for every season. There were flowers blooming there every month except in Winter.
The inside of the home was treated with the same loving diligence. Over time we’d collect nicer furniture, and turn it into a country-like home. We’d bring the outside in, with earthy colors, wood and stone.
When we moved in, the children were 12 and 10 years of age. They had their own spacious rooms, their own full bath to use. The master bedroom had it’s own sitting room, a walk-in closet, a bathroom attached with shower and Jacuzzi, and twin sinks. Everything was an upgrade. Tile floors. Window treatments. The works. There was a 4th bedroom that I had converted into a loft, for use an upstairs office and reading room. The basement was fully finished. It had its own office with desks and computers and French doors.
On May 22nd, 2006, I left that house, never to sleep another night in it. I didn’t know I was leaving when I woke up that morning. I also didn’t know I’d never be coming back.
During the full year that it took to sell the house, I watched helplessly as events occurred that would be like death by a thousand cuts. I loved that home. Not for it’s worth in money, but for the love I had poured into it and the grounds, and for the dreams that were wrapped up in it. It represented my hopes and future. My family. My marriage, and being able to enjoy a life filled with beauty and nature and peace and tranquility.
One of the most painful things I would have to do is list the house for sale. This began shortly before the divorce was final, in the summer of 2006. The housing market had been strong not long before this, but things were taking a downturn. By the time we would end up selling the house, the market was in a full collapse.
It was my responsibility to mow the lawn and insure the upkeep of the home. Remember, by this time, I don’t live there anymore. I’m with my parents, and I now have to ask permission to come over to get the tractor out of the garage, and take care of the property. Then, after I am done cutting the lawn, I get to park it, clean up, trim the weeds, then get in my car, and leave.
I wasn’t there to be able to talk with the realtor who was working to sell our house. After a while and in the summer months, she suggested strongly to my ex-wife that people needed to see more of the house from the road. That the trees in front should be trimmed or thinned in order to have a better view. More “curb appeal” to use their inane marketing lingo.
Well, my ex-wife didn’t consult with me, or attempt to hire an arborist or a professional. Instead, she asked the good old next door neighbor, her affair partner for some help. The man is about as intelligent as a brick, and has absolutely no landscaping experience.
I drove up to the home one day to pickup my daughter. As I was coming down the street, I saw enormous piles of branches with leaves on them, sitting at the edge of the yard, in the neighbor’s truck, and all over the yard.
He had taken a ladder and a chainsaw and cut off ALL of the lower branches of every tree I had planted in front of the house.
He butchered them. He massacred them. He took off branches that were 5 inches thick and represented almost half of the tree’s volume. To make things even more painful, he cut down to the ground 3 very special plants I had put in directly in front of the house. The only Hemlock tree in the entire town had a place of honor near one corner. Why Hemlock? Because it is one of the trees that grows natively by our cabin in the Catskill Mountains. A cabin and property that has been a part of my life since I was old enough to walk. I wanted one by my home, as a reminder of that beautiful place. A gorgeous and very special ornamental Cedar was on the other side. They were GONE. He had cut them off at the trunk, and thrown them in the trash. This in order to “open things up” a bit, I suppose.
Not only had this man played an instrumental part in the destruction of my marriage and family, now he had taken the things most precious to me about the home I had built and the gardens I had so loving created, and in one afternoon, obliterated years of loving work and of watching these beautiful trees and gardens mature. I stopped my car and looked out at the destruction, and I felt my heart sink once again. Yes, we had to sell the home and I would have to bid it farewell, but I never thought I’d see the gardens and trees destroyed. I was willing to think that maybe some new owners would enjoy them and love them as I had. Now, this bastard had taken a gas powered monstrosity to them, and forever destroyed what I had tended to all those years.
As it were, the massive pruning didn’t help sell the house. All it did was hurt me. Like hell.
My daughter hated the neighbor. She kept to herself in the house when he was over, but he didn’t care for him in the least. How could she? This was the man who had helped her mother toss her father out into the street.
So, one afternoon my daughter decided to talk about this asshole to a friend of hers. A male friend. She told him how she didn’t like him being at the house, and that she didn’t care for the way he looked at her. Well, this friend was a poor choice to confide in. The next time he ran into my ex-wife, he told her about what my daughter had said, and admonished my ex-wife for allowing him into the home.
This caused a furor between my ex-wife and daughter. So much so, that it erupted and escalated into a serious situation. My ex-wife had the audacity to tell my daughter “just look at all he’s done for us!”. My daughter finally had it. After months of being mistreated by my ex-wife for opposing her affair and standing up for her father, they had a serious argument. At one point, my daughter finally had enough, and slapped my ex-wife across the face. I’m certain she deserved it.
But that was all it took. Instead of dealing with the situation rationally, my ex called the police, on her own daughter, to file assault charges.
I was sitting at my parent’s house when the phone rang. It was my daughter. Feverishly calling me to come get her before the cops showed up. She just said “Dad, come over here and get me, PLEASE??, Now!!??”. So I did. I barreled over to the house, pulled into the driveway, and in she got with a bag that held some clothes. By the time it was over the police had tracked her down to my parents house, and were questioning her. My ex had made the claims of her slapping her, but there were no witnesses, and it wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark. Thank God. Because if it had, my ex wouldn’t be able to “change her mind”. They would have been forced to arrest my daughter, now a young adult, and she would have had to face the full brunt of the law.
The situation had now gotten out of control. Instead of just me moving in and living with my parents, my daughter would now be calling my father’s loft office couch there her bedroom, for the next 4 months. As if it weren’t enough to deal with for my parents, they now had their son and their granddaughter as tenants. I started to wonder what was going to come next. I kept thinking I’d seen everything, and the worst was past us. Then this happens and it turns everyone’s life upside-down, yet again.
But this wasn’t about to be the last of it. Far from it.
This left my son and my ex wife living at the house, and my daughter and I living together with my parents. The family had been completely split. Almost as if by my ex wife’s design. My son had always been very close to his mother. My daughter was always very close to me. My ex resented my daughter’s affection for me and because she would stick up for me. That enraged my ex-wife. Things were never easy between them once she had reached the teenage years. Now, it was full-blown hostility. During the times my ex wife and I had fought and argued and gone through the tumult of the affairs, the children got caught in the middle all too often. My daughter represented a friend to me, and my ex hated that. She wanted everyone to be aligned against me, and behind her.
My mother had an especially hard time now with both of us there. She was able to deal pretty well with me being there because I was isolated in a room, on a separate floor, and I was like a guest in the home. I had my own bath and shower upstairs as well. When my daughter had to suddenly move in and wasn’t able to have a bedroom, it meant that she was always sharing the same space in the home. My mom had no privacy left, and the mere fact that there were now two more adults sharing her home made it difficult.
Soon after the divorce, my wife left this man she had been with and met a new guy. After a very short time, she moved him into the house. My home. The place where my son still slept and lived. The place I’d built. And not only that, all of my things were still inside. I couldn’t remove anything except what we agreed to, and only personal effects. Only once the divorce was final and the home sold could I get any furnishings. Besides, I had no place to put any of them if I did.
He was, it turns out, a convicted drug offender on probation. He had no job. He was living in my home, sleeping with my now former wife, in my bedroom, and living off the money I was providing, which paid for the entire home and all of their expenses.
There was seemingly no insult and no injury I wouldn’t have to endure before this would be all over. All I could do is watch helplessly. I was powerless.
A feeling I came to despise, and was never again going allow myself to feel. Never again was I going to let someone else have that much power over my life. That much capability to destroy.
During the months that followed there would be huge blowups between this man and my son. To the point where the police were called yet again. This time, by my son. I could do nothing. I had no rights to even come to the property without her permission. The situation kept escalating. The home became a place where the neighbors would watch like voyeurs, waiting for the next episode in the seemingly endless drama.
My son and he were at war. He would tell me stories of how this new man would become so enraged at him, that he’d have to lock and barricade his room to avoid a physical confrontation. At one point, this asshole was so frustrated he turned off the main breaker to the house to try to stop my son from playing his music loud in defiance.
By the time it was over, and when the house was finally to be sold, my son would not be welcome where his mother was moving with her “new man”. In just one year, she would have managed to completely destroy and cast out her entire family. He husband. Her son. Her daughter. All gone. And for what?
While this jerk was living in the house, he had fits of anger. He believed that my ex-wife still had feelings for me, and it would enrage him. So, he’d destroy things. Like my entire collection of hand-made fine scale model airplanes. Some that had taken me over 100 hours to build and airbrush. When I finally came to the house to get my belongings and move them out, I even found a piece of one in my salt water aquarium.
He had access to all of the things I had cared about, or built or owned. My wide screen television, my stereo system. My music collection. The model airplanes, the rock and mineral collection, all my books. Everything I had. It was a wonder any of it survived intact.
There seemed to be no end to the losses I would suffer. The pain I would be inflicted with by people and forces I had no control over. Big or small, they all combined to continue to make me feel powerless. To have to watch as a spectator, as they tore apart my life, my things, my home, my family.
By January of 2007, my mother’s health was really suffering. After months of having me in the home, and then adding my daughter, the strain had taken its toll on all of us. My parents worst of all. So my father came up with an idea. He was going to cash in stock and give me enough money to move out and rent a townhouse. I’d move there with my daughter, and finally move everything of mine out of the house that my ex-wife, her new boyfriend, and my son were still living in. Until the house was sold, I couldn’t afford anything but paying for that. So, my dad took a gamble that we’d sell the house pretty soon, and we could resume some measure of a normal life.
It was a time of great joy for me. Finally I’d have a place to call my own again. My daughter would have her own room and bathroom. I’d have an office, a kitchen, a living room. Peace and privacy. My parents would be free of the burdens of having us living there, and could tend to their own lives.
So, we called the movers. We arranged to come to the house and take all my things. It felt like a victory of sorts. I had some power back. My ex and her boyfriend would just have to suck it up and watch as I took my property back, and out of the home. The king bed, mine. Half of the furniture. All my collectibles. The television and stereo and surround sound system. My movies, collections, music. FINALLY. I had a piece of ME back, and not in the possession of people I had come to utterly despise. Yes, they were only things. But they were MY things.
I felt fantastic that day. It was so liberating to be able to be able to have something under my control. I was getting my freedom back, and having many of the things I was used to would be a comfort to me in my new place. The day after the trucks unloaded and I moved in, we had 8 inches of freshly fallen snow. It was beautiful.
But the house didn’t sell. Not for 5 more months. It made things very hard for my parents, because they were financing this whole thing. But having that peace and security back was so valuable. For me and my daughter, and my parents.
As the Winter wore on, things began to settle in a bit. There were still serious problems between my son and this new boyfriend at the house, but they thankfully never became something serious enough to cause any major new crisis to have to face.
By Spring we finally had an offer on the house. We had to reduce the price to a point where we needed to short-sell it. That means that in order to be able to turn over possession, I had to come up with nearly 60 thousand dollars. Money I did not have. My father and I had discussed this, because the house was just not going to be able to command a decent price. The market had tumbled. The house was appraised 18 months before for $560,000.00. At that time, houses in the neighborhood were moving constantly, and at great earnings for the sellers. By the time we sold it, it went for $400,000.00 We were lucky to get an offer. The cost of the mortgages and the expenses was killing me and my parents. Something had to give.
Worse yet, the new owners knew they had us on the ropes. They demanded that we leave all the appliances. I had gotten them in the divorce decree, and was planning to store them away for a possible future home. I had financed them, and they were brand new, top of the line. Over 8 thousand dollars worth. Now, I had to not only keep paying for them, I had to leave them for the new owners. The new owners then went a step further. They insisted on a 500 dollar credit at closing to cover minor repairs of some wood trim outside one set of windows. They were going to take me for all I had, and turn the screws in at the same time. I quickly came to despise them. They knew I was desperate, and helpless. Powerless yet again.
So, after all my father and mother had done for me, they now had to refinance their own home to give me the money to finally be able to sell mine. My parents had given us a great deal of money to help us buy this house, in support of my dreams, and for their grandchildren. Now they had to come up with even more, to be able to watch those dreams die. We wondered when the blood-letting would end. It seemed that there was just no end to the cost of this. No end to how we would all have to suffer, just to be free.
The day of reckoning came in May. I would have to go with my ex-wife to sign over the house to the new owners. We would have only a couple of days to clear out the home. First, she and her boyfriend would move out and they would do some cleaning and emptying. Then, I would spend 48 hours finishing up, once they were gone. I would again need to use movers to take all of my garden equipment, tractor and things from the garage and move them into storage, along with some things I had left behind in the basement. There was a lot of work to be done, and almost no time to do it in.
I got a 2 ton dumpster delivered to the premises before the ex started her purging, and to hold the things I would need to dispose of. By the time we were done it was filled to overflowing. Many of the things in it were perfectly good and usable. There was just no time to sell them or donate them, and no place to move them to.
Oh, and since my ex-wife had no money other than what I paid for, my dad and I had to come up with the money to pay to move her out.
I will never forget those last days as long as I live. Some of the most heart-wrenching and painful things I’ve ever had to experience.
The movers came and took my ex-wife’s things. They loaded up a truck with my garden equipment the same day. One of the trucks was going to where she was moving, and the other was going to my storage facility. (A year or so later, after having paid thousands of dollars to store all of this equipment, I would give it all away. I couldn’t afford to pay for the storage facility, and I was never going to own a home and yard again. I needed things cleared out. I listed the items on Craig’s list. FREE. Contents of storage facility. The only condition was that they had to take everything. 8 pickup truckloads later, everything I had was gone.)
The next day, the cleaning began. First my ex and her boyfriend would take a day to empty what they could and clean it out. They did so. They left a few garbage bags for me. Very thoughtful of them. They also put a sizable dent in filling the dumpster.
The next to last day, I came to the house to get the rest of the few things I may have left behind, and to finish cleaning, and to add to the enormous pile of things we were discarding. It was back-breaking. So much stuff, accumulated over 23 years together. I was exhausted. My dad and my son helped me empty and move the fish tanks out, and carry out the last of the trash. I went home and slept. My hands hurt from carrying so many things and tossing them into the dumpster.
The only thing left to do was clean up and finish getting the house ready for the new owners.
The next day, the very last day, I went to the house late in the afternoon to finish cleaning.
The empty rooms and halls were silent. Every noise I made echoed. The outlines of where pictures once hung on the walls were visible. It was barren. Empty. Desolate.
After being out of there an entire year, this homecoming was to be so excruciating I almost could not stand it. The memories were flooding my thoughts. The kids when they were small. The day we moved in when my dad and I sat on the front porch at 2AM, with the sprinklers watering our new lawn. Relaxing and celebrating a new chapter in my life. The days outside. The work in the gardens. The life we had hoped for. The parties with friends and my children’s friends. Making love in the bedroom with my wife when things were still good, and fresh, and new. The sound of the wind chimes outside on a gorgeous day. The birds feeding at the feeders. The smell of the freshly cut grass, and of the thousands of flowers in summer.
Before I left I made an inspection of the upstairs. I walked the empty hallway. Past the rooms where I would say good morning and good night to my children. I stopped to look. I opened their doors and said out loud, “goodnight, Jenni”. “Good night, Billy”. “I love you”. There was no one there.
It was night now. I went outside and locked the door.
I got into my car and turned the key. I pulled out of the driveway, my face soaked with tears. I paused as I pulled back and out into the street.
I looked at that house, and in that moment, I knew what It was to watch my dreams die. It represented everything I had loved. Everything I wanted. Everything I had hoped for.
I said goodbye. One last time. I pulled away down that street and wiped the water from my eyes.
I would never go back to look at it again.
In it are pictures with my mom and dad. My kids smiling and playing on the huge piles of dirt from the foundation excavation. The kids roller-skating in the freshly paved cul-de-sac, before any homes, even ours, were constructed. The newly poured foundation. The frame structure going up. The finished product. The grass having gone in, and the first few plants and trees. Then it ends.
If it had ended there, I’d have been happy. But it didn’t. It ended nearly 9 years later, and it was perhaps one of the most painful things I will ever live.
When I built that house, it was to be a new start for us. A chance to have a very nice home, with plenty of room, in a gorgeous new neighborhood. Lots of land and living space. A place to create a sanctuary for us, and fill it with joy and beauty. I didn’t care for status. It wasn’t the largest of the homes in the neighborhood. In fact, it was one of the smaller models. That wasn’t important. It was big enough, more than we’d need to live comfortably, and set in a beautiful lot with a chance to make it something wonderful.
And that’s exactly what I set out to do.
Over the next 9 years the local landscape and garden shop would see me almost every weekend. Over time I would create incredible garden beds everywhere. I’d plant mature and very expensive trees in order to have a semi-wooded lot once more. It was gorgeous. It was a labor of love. I could sit outside and watch hummingbirds and butterflies and birds of all kinds. I’d sit by the pond and watch the Koi swimming. Chipmunks would run down to the water’s edge to get a drink. Small birds would do the same near the waterfall as it tumbled across and down the rocks. The front walkway would be a winding path of pavers shaded by flowering trees, and bordered on each side by huge garden beds filled with shrubs and perennials for every season. There were flowers blooming there every month except in Winter.
The inside of the home was treated with the same loving diligence. Over time we’d collect nicer furniture, and turn it into a country-like home. We’d bring the outside in, with earthy colors, wood and stone.
When we moved in, the children were 12 and 10 years of age. They had their own spacious rooms, their own full bath to use. The master bedroom had it’s own sitting room, a walk-in closet, a bathroom attached with shower and Jacuzzi, and twin sinks. Everything was an upgrade. Tile floors. Window treatments. The works. There was a 4th bedroom that I had converted into a loft, for use an upstairs office and reading room. The basement was fully finished. It had its own office with desks and computers and French doors.
On May 22nd, 2006, I left that house, never to sleep another night in it. I didn’t know I was leaving when I woke up that morning. I also didn’t know I’d never be coming back.
During the full year that it took to sell the house, I watched helplessly as events occurred that would be like death by a thousand cuts. I loved that home. Not for it’s worth in money, but for the love I had poured into it and the grounds, and for the dreams that were wrapped up in it. It represented my hopes and future. My family. My marriage, and being able to enjoy a life filled with beauty and nature and peace and tranquility.
One of the most painful things I would have to do is list the house for sale. This began shortly before the divorce was final, in the summer of 2006. The housing market had been strong not long before this, but things were taking a downturn. By the time we would end up selling the house, the market was in a full collapse.
It was my responsibility to mow the lawn and insure the upkeep of the home. Remember, by this time, I don’t live there anymore. I’m with my parents, and I now have to ask permission to come over to get the tractor out of the garage, and take care of the property. Then, after I am done cutting the lawn, I get to park it, clean up, trim the weeds, then get in my car, and leave.
I wasn’t there to be able to talk with the realtor who was working to sell our house. After a while and in the summer months, she suggested strongly to my ex-wife that people needed to see more of the house from the road. That the trees in front should be trimmed or thinned in order to have a better view. More “curb appeal” to use their inane marketing lingo.
Well, my ex-wife didn’t consult with me, or attempt to hire an arborist or a professional. Instead, she asked the good old next door neighbor, her affair partner for some help. The man is about as intelligent as a brick, and has absolutely no landscaping experience.
I drove up to the home one day to pickup my daughter. As I was coming down the street, I saw enormous piles of branches with leaves on them, sitting at the edge of the yard, in the neighbor’s truck, and all over the yard.
He had taken a ladder and a chainsaw and cut off ALL of the lower branches of every tree I had planted in front of the house.
He butchered them. He massacred them. He took off branches that were 5 inches thick and represented almost half of the tree’s volume. To make things even more painful, he cut down to the ground 3 very special plants I had put in directly in front of the house. The only Hemlock tree in the entire town had a place of honor near one corner. Why Hemlock? Because it is one of the trees that grows natively by our cabin in the Catskill Mountains. A cabin and property that has been a part of my life since I was old enough to walk. I wanted one by my home, as a reminder of that beautiful place. A gorgeous and very special ornamental Cedar was on the other side. They were GONE. He had cut them off at the trunk, and thrown them in the trash. This in order to “open things up” a bit, I suppose.
Not only had this man played an instrumental part in the destruction of my marriage and family, now he had taken the things most precious to me about the home I had built and the gardens I had so loving created, and in one afternoon, obliterated years of loving work and of watching these beautiful trees and gardens mature. I stopped my car and looked out at the destruction, and I felt my heart sink once again. Yes, we had to sell the home and I would have to bid it farewell, but I never thought I’d see the gardens and trees destroyed. I was willing to think that maybe some new owners would enjoy them and love them as I had. Now, this bastard had taken a gas powered monstrosity to them, and forever destroyed what I had tended to all those years.
As it were, the massive pruning didn’t help sell the house. All it did was hurt me. Like hell.
My daughter hated the neighbor. She kept to herself in the house when he was over, but he didn’t care for him in the least. How could she? This was the man who had helped her mother toss her father out into the street.
So, one afternoon my daughter decided to talk about this asshole to a friend of hers. A male friend. She told him how she didn’t like him being at the house, and that she didn’t care for the way he looked at her. Well, this friend was a poor choice to confide in. The next time he ran into my ex-wife, he told her about what my daughter had said, and admonished my ex-wife for allowing him into the home.
This caused a furor between my ex-wife and daughter. So much so, that it erupted and escalated into a serious situation. My ex-wife had the audacity to tell my daughter “just look at all he’s done for us!”. My daughter finally had it. After months of being mistreated by my ex-wife for opposing her affair and standing up for her father, they had a serious argument. At one point, my daughter finally had enough, and slapped my ex-wife across the face. I’m certain she deserved it.
But that was all it took. Instead of dealing with the situation rationally, my ex called the police, on her own daughter, to file assault charges.
I was sitting at my parent’s house when the phone rang. It was my daughter. Feverishly calling me to come get her before the cops showed up. She just said “Dad, come over here and get me, PLEASE??, Now!!??”. So I did. I barreled over to the house, pulled into the driveway, and in she got with a bag that held some clothes. By the time it was over the police had tracked her down to my parents house, and were questioning her. My ex had made the claims of her slapping her, but there were no witnesses, and it wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark. Thank God. Because if it had, my ex wouldn’t be able to “change her mind”. They would have been forced to arrest my daughter, now a young adult, and she would have had to face the full brunt of the law.
The situation had now gotten out of control. Instead of just me moving in and living with my parents, my daughter would now be calling my father’s loft office couch there her bedroom, for the next 4 months. As if it weren’t enough to deal with for my parents, they now had their son and their granddaughter as tenants. I started to wonder what was going to come next. I kept thinking I’d seen everything, and the worst was past us. Then this happens and it turns everyone’s life upside-down, yet again.
But this wasn’t about to be the last of it. Far from it.
This left my son and my ex wife living at the house, and my daughter and I living together with my parents. The family had been completely split. Almost as if by my ex wife’s design. My son had always been very close to his mother. My daughter was always very close to me. My ex resented my daughter’s affection for me and because she would stick up for me. That enraged my ex-wife. Things were never easy between them once she had reached the teenage years. Now, it was full-blown hostility. During the times my ex wife and I had fought and argued and gone through the tumult of the affairs, the children got caught in the middle all too often. My daughter represented a friend to me, and my ex hated that. She wanted everyone to be aligned against me, and behind her.
My mother had an especially hard time now with both of us there. She was able to deal pretty well with me being there because I was isolated in a room, on a separate floor, and I was like a guest in the home. I had my own bath and shower upstairs as well. When my daughter had to suddenly move in and wasn’t able to have a bedroom, it meant that she was always sharing the same space in the home. My mom had no privacy left, and the mere fact that there were now two more adults sharing her home made it difficult.
Soon after the divorce, my wife left this man she had been with and met a new guy. After a very short time, she moved him into the house. My home. The place where my son still slept and lived. The place I’d built. And not only that, all of my things were still inside. I couldn’t remove anything except what we agreed to, and only personal effects. Only once the divorce was final and the home sold could I get any furnishings. Besides, I had no place to put any of them if I did.
He was, it turns out, a convicted drug offender on probation. He had no job. He was living in my home, sleeping with my now former wife, in my bedroom, and living off the money I was providing, which paid for the entire home and all of their expenses.
There was seemingly no insult and no injury I wouldn’t have to endure before this would be all over. All I could do is watch helplessly. I was powerless.
A feeling I came to despise, and was never again going allow myself to feel. Never again was I going to let someone else have that much power over my life. That much capability to destroy.
During the months that followed there would be huge blowups between this man and my son. To the point where the police were called yet again. This time, by my son. I could do nothing. I had no rights to even come to the property without her permission. The situation kept escalating. The home became a place where the neighbors would watch like voyeurs, waiting for the next episode in the seemingly endless drama.
My son and he were at war. He would tell me stories of how this new man would become so enraged at him, that he’d have to lock and barricade his room to avoid a physical confrontation. At one point, this asshole was so frustrated he turned off the main breaker to the house to try to stop my son from playing his music loud in defiance.
By the time it was over, and when the house was finally to be sold, my son would not be welcome where his mother was moving with her “new man”. In just one year, she would have managed to completely destroy and cast out her entire family. He husband. Her son. Her daughter. All gone. And for what?
While this jerk was living in the house, he had fits of anger. He believed that my ex-wife still had feelings for me, and it would enrage him. So, he’d destroy things. Like my entire collection of hand-made fine scale model airplanes. Some that had taken me over 100 hours to build and airbrush. When I finally came to the house to get my belongings and move them out, I even found a piece of one in my salt water aquarium.
He had access to all of the things I had cared about, or built or owned. My wide screen television, my stereo system. My music collection. The model airplanes, the rock and mineral collection, all my books. Everything I had. It was a wonder any of it survived intact.
There seemed to be no end to the losses I would suffer. The pain I would be inflicted with by people and forces I had no control over. Big or small, they all combined to continue to make me feel powerless. To have to watch as a spectator, as they tore apart my life, my things, my home, my family.
By January of 2007, my mother’s health was really suffering. After months of having me in the home, and then adding my daughter, the strain had taken its toll on all of us. My parents worst of all. So my father came up with an idea. He was going to cash in stock and give me enough money to move out and rent a townhouse. I’d move there with my daughter, and finally move everything of mine out of the house that my ex-wife, her new boyfriend, and my son were still living in. Until the house was sold, I couldn’t afford anything but paying for that. So, my dad took a gamble that we’d sell the house pretty soon, and we could resume some measure of a normal life.
It was a time of great joy for me. Finally I’d have a place to call my own again. My daughter would have her own room and bathroom. I’d have an office, a kitchen, a living room. Peace and privacy. My parents would be free of the burdens of having us living there, and could tend to their own lives.
So, we called the movers. We arranged to come to the house and take all my things. It felt like a victory of sorts. I had some power back. My ex and her boyfriend would just have to suck it up and watch as I took my property back, and out of the home. The king bed, mine. Half of the furniture. All my collectibles. The television and stereo and surround sound system. My movies, collections, music. FINALLY. I had a piece of ME back, and not in the possession of people I had come to utterly despise. Yes, they were only things. But they were MY things.
I felt fantastic that day. It was so liberating to be able to be able to have something under my control. I was getting my freedom back, and having many of the things I was used to would be a comfort to me in my new place. The day after the trucks unloaded and I moved in, we had 8 inches of freshly fallen snow. It was beautiful.
But the house didn’t sell. Not for 5 more months. It made things very hard for my parents, because they were financing this whole thing. But having that peace and security back was so valuable. For me and my daughter, and my parents.
As the Winter wore on, things began to settle in a bit. There were still serious problems between my son and this new boyfriend at the house, but they thankfully never became something serious enough to cause any major new crisis to have to face.
By Spring we finally had an offer on the house. We had to reduce the price to a point where we needed to short-sell it. That means that in order to be able to turn over possession, I had to come up with nearly 60 thousand dollars. Money I did not have. My father and I had discussed this, because the house was just not going to be able to command a decent price. The market had tumbled. The house was appraised 18 months before for $560,000.00. At that time, houses in the neighborhood were moving constantly, and at great earnings for the sellers. By the time we sold it, it went for $400,000.00 We were lucky to get an offer. The cost of the mortgages and the expenses was killing me and my parents. Something had to give.
Worse yet, the new owners knew they had us on the ropes. They demanded that we leave all the appliances. I had gotten them in the divorce decree, and was planning to store them away for a possible future home. I had financed them, and they were brand new, top of the line. Over 8 thousand dollars worth. Now, I had to not only keep paying for them, I had to leave them for the new owners. The new owners then went a step further. They insisted on a 500 dollar credit at closing to cover minor repairs of some wood trim outside one set of windows. They were going to take me for all I had, and turn the screws in at the same time. I quickly came to despise them. They knew I was desperate, and helpless. Powerless yet again.
So, after all my father and mother had done for me, they now had to refinance their own home to give me the money to finally be able to sell mine. My parents had given us a great deal of money to help us buy this house, in support of my dreams, and for their grandchildren. Now they had to come up with even more, to be able to watch those dreams die. We wondered when the blood-letting would end. It seemed that there was just no end to the cost of this. No end to how we would all have to suffer, just to be free.
The day of reckoning came in May. I would have to go with my ex-wife to sign over the house to the new owners. We would have only a couple of days to clear out the home. First, she and her boyfriend would move out and they would do some cleaning and emptying. Then, I would spend 48 hours finishing up, once they were gone. I would again need to use movers to take all of my garden equipment, tractor and things from the garage and move them into storage, along with some things I had left behind in the basement. There was a lot of work to be done, and almost no time to do it in.
I got a 2 ton dumpster delivered to the premises before the ex started her purging, and to hold the things I would need to dispose of. By the time we were done it was filled to overflowing. Many of the things in it were perfectly good and usable. There was just no time to sell them or donate them, and no place to move them to.
Oh, and since my ex-wife had no money other than what I paid for, my dad and I had to come up with the money to pay to move her out.
I will never forget those last days as long as I live. Some of the most heart-wrenching and painful things I’ve ever had to experience.
The movers came and took my ex-wife’s things. They loaded up a truck with my garden equipment the same day. One of the trucks was going to where she was moving, and the other was going to my storage facility. (A year or so later, after having paid thousands of dollars to store all of this equipment, I would give it all away. I couldn’t afford to pay for the storage facility, and I was never going to own a home and yard again. I needed things cleared out. I listed the items on Craig’s list. FREE. Contents of storage facility. The only condition was that they had to take everything. 8 pickup truckloads later, everything I had was gone.)
The next day, the cleaning began. First my ex and her boyfriend would take a day to empty what they could and clean it out. They did so. They left a few garbage bags for me. Very thoughtful of them. They also put a sizable dent in filling the dumpster.
The next to last day, I came to the house to get the rest of the few things I may have left behind, and to finish cleaning, and to add to the enormous pile of things we were discarding. It was back-breaking. So much stuff, accumulated over 23 years together. I was exhausted. My dad and my son helped me empty and move the fish tanks out, and carry out the last of the trash. I went home and slept. My hands hurt from carrying so many things and tossing them into the dumpster.
The only thing left to do was clean up and finish getting the house ready for the new owners.
The next day, the very last day, I went to the house late in the afternoon to finish cleaning.
The empty rooms and halls were silent. Every noise I made echoed. The outlines of where pictures once hung on the walls were visible. It was barren. Empty. Desolate.
After being out of there an entire year, this homecoming was to be so excruciating I almost could not stand it. The memories were flooding my thoughts. The kids when they were small. The day we moved in when my dad and I sat on the front porch at 2AM, with the sprinklers watering our new lawn. Relaxing and celebrating a new chapter in my life. The days outside. The work in the gardens. The life we had hoped for. The parties with friends and my children’s friends. Making love in the bedroom with my wife when things were still good, and fresh, and new. The sound of the wind chimes outside on a gorgeous day. The birds feeding at the feeders. The smell of the freshly cut grass, and of the thousands of flowers in summer.
Before I left I made an inspection of the upstairs. I walked the empty hallway. Past the rooms where I would say good morning and good night to my children. I stopped to look. I opened their doors and said out loud, “goodnight, Jenni”. “Good night, Billy”. “I love you”. There was no one there.
It was night now. I went outside and locked the door.
I got into my car and turned the key. I pulled out of the driveway, my face soaked with tears. I paused as I pulled back and out into the street.
I looked at that house, and in that moment, I knew what It was to watch my dreams die. It represented everything I had loved. Everything I wanted. Everything I had hoped for.
I said goodbye. One last time. I pulled away down that street and wiped the water from my eyes.
I would never go back to look at it again.
What it means to be human.
Today I started the day with a 2 hour conversation with my father.
We sat at the kitchen table talking about life, and struggle and loss. And what me might do to make it in this world.
We are facing times so hard that the end result could be he and I on the street living out of our cars. Having to lose all and what little we have left.
But we talked about hope.
About struggle.
About love.
About mattering in this world.
But what we came to understand from our long talk was simple.
For people like he and I, there is nobody waiting in the wings to really help us.
We get platitudes. We get that people care.
And they send us their best wishes. And they wish us well.
As we spiral into hell, about to lose it all.
My dad and I combined are brilliant. Hard working. Creative. Intelligent. Incredibly capable.
And nobody cares about that.
We so far have been unable to do anything which can do what we need to do. Get a solid income to sustain us, so we can live.
And I do mean LIVE. Buy food. Keep a roof over our heads. Be able to drive a car. Afford gasoline. Pay the bills.
We try like hell, and we have great friends. And they all see us for who we are. And they wish us well.
As we descend into hell. With nothing to stop the descent.
And so it will be.
In my estimation?
We aren't going to make it.
We will lose.
Why?
Because all of those who love us and care about us do so from a safe distance. And they will let us lose it all. And they will feel sorry for us. And they will offer us platitudes and prayers and good wishes.
And we will both spiral into hell, and die.
And then those same people will say what nice people we were. And what a shame it was.
And then go to out to dinner with their family. And thank God they aren't like us.
We sat at the kitchen table talking about life, and struggle and loss. And what me might do to make it in this world.
We are facing times so hard that the end result could be he and I on the street living out of our cars. Having to lose all and what little we have left.
But we talked about hope.
About struggle.
About love.
About mattering in this world.
But what we came to understand from our long talk was simple.
For people like he and I, there is nobody waiting in the wings to really help us.
We get platitudes. We get that people care.
And they send us their best wishes. And they wish us well.
As we spiral into hell, about to lose it all.
My dad and I combined are brilliant. Hard working. Creative. Intelligent. Incredibly capable.
And nobody cares about that.
We so far have been unable to do anything which can do what we need to do. Get a solid income to sustain us, so we can live.
And I do mean LIVE. Buy food. Keep a roof over our heads. Be able to drive a car. Afford gasoline. Pay the bills.
We try like hell, and we have great friends. And they all see us for who we are. And they wish us well.
As we descend into hell. With nothing to stop the descent.
And so it will be.
In my estimation?
We aren't going to make it.
We will lose.
Why?
Because all of those who love us and care about us do so from a safe distance. And they will let us lose it all. And they will feel sorry for us. And they will offer us platitudes and prayers and good wishes.
And we will both spiral into hell, and die.
And then those same people will say what nice people we were. And what a shame it was.
And then go to out to dinner with their family. And thank God they aren't like us.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Sleepless Nights, Endless Dreams...
A few days ago I was at the cabin and the lake. With my daughter.
One of those days, I took a ride on Peas Eddy Road. Barely a road, it goes through the mountains with sheer drop offs and a stream by the road. And exposed hillsides in spots where there are many flowers.
We used to call it "Butterfly Lane"
And I stopped at the place we all used to go.
11 years ago, my children, my wife an I went there. With butterfly nets and jars. We'd catch many butterflies, bring them back to the cabin and then let them go.
I pulled to the side.
Got out of my car.
A much older man now.
Armed with a big camera and lens, and a love of nature.
I stood in the same spot.
Alone.
I took photos of the butterflies.
And I saw in my memories my young children laughing and excited. My wife in the car and outside enjoying the scene.
And I put my camera to my side and stared.
4 Bald Eagles flew overhead, as if pall bearers to this funeral.
The death of my dreams.
And I cried a thousand tears. I could no longer lift the camera to my eyes.
Because in that moment I saw what was. And what would never be.
One of those days, I took a ride on Peas Eddy Road. Barely a road, it goes through the mountains with sheer drop offs and a stream by the road. And exposed hillsides in spots where there are many flowers.
We used to call it "Butterfly Lane"
And I stopped at the place we all used to go.
11 years ago, my children, my wife an I went there. With butterfly nets and jars. We'd catch many butterflies, bring them back to the cabin and then let them go.
I pulled to the side.
Got out of my car.
A much older man now.
Armed with a big camera and lens, and a love of nature.
I stood in the same spot.
Alone.
I took photos of the butterflies.
And I saw in my memories my young children laughing and excited. My wife in the car and outside enjoying the scene.
And I put my camera to my side and stared.
4 Bald Eagles flew overhead, as if pall bearers to this funeral.
The death of my dreams.
And I cried a thousand tears. I could no longer lift the camera to my eyes.
Because in that moment I saw what was. And what would never be.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Nights like tonight...
I hate my life.
Nothing ever comes easy.
Nothing is normal.
It is always some fucking intricate situation.
And I grow tired of it.
I am heading to the cabin property for almost a full month to really try to bring this book to reality.
Just me and my dogs and a computer and a hard drive with all my photos on it.
I so dearly wish I was spending this time with someone who loves me. But of course, that is not possible.
It never is.
So I go it alone.
Guess I better fucking get used to that.
Nothing ever comes easy.
Nothing is normal.
It is always some fucking intricate situation.
And I grow tired of it.
I am heading to the cabin property for almost a full month to really try to bring this book to reality.
Just me and my dogs and a computer and a hard drive with all my photos on it.
I so dearly wish I was spending this time with someone who loves me. But of course, that is not possible.
It never is.
So I go it alone.
Guess I better fucking get used to that.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Just who am I?
I've been writing a lot lately, both here and on the other board I belong to. And maybe that's good.
I plan on spending almost a month at the cabin to work on this book. The title of this blog, after all.
And I've been learning more and more about who I am. And starting to understand the what and the why of what I do, what I say, and what I feel.
I think I can finally sum it up and make some sense out of it.
I will never come completely to peace with the loss of the life I wanted. Not what I had...but what I dreamed of.
A family. Growing old together. Having the kids come and visit our happy home. All the lost time during their childhood puts an exclamation point on not only the future that was not to be, but a past that never was.
I have found strength in my moments of weakness.
I have found friends who love me who have never seen me, face to face.
I've rediscovered a passion for nature and photography.
And I have really learned how to write about what I feel.
So, those are gifts born of pain and loss.
Things I should not take for granted.
And I won't.
But what is so very important to understand, if you care to know this man behind this blog and these words (and the book), is that I am a man who has endured a constant assault of lies, betrayals, abuse. Loss of family, finances and career. Stress and conflict. Legal battles. And it was unending. And for years on end.
I am not special. I am not on the same level as a Holocaust survivor.
But I hurt just the same.
And so do many of you out there.
And I want to give voice to that. And I want to show what is possible, despite it.
And to find the beautiful. The glorious. The amazing. In nature.
And in so doing, save myself and heal my soul, while showing others that you can do more with your life. You can find something good, even when the rest of it is bearing down on you like an avalanche.
I don't know that there will ever be a happy ending in my life.
But I do know that I am going to steal all that I can from this life and make it mine while I can.
And so should you.
Because you only get one shot at this.
I plan on spending almost a month at the cabin to work on this book. The title of this blog, after all.
And I've been learning more and more about who I am. And starting to understand the what and the why of what I do, what I say, and what I feel.
I think I can finally sum it up and make some sense out of it.
I will never come completely to peace with the loss of the life I wanted. Not what I had...but what I dreamed of.
A family. Growing old together. Having the kids come and visit our happy home. All the lost time during their childhood puts an exclamation point on not only the future that was not to be, but a past that never was.
I have found strength in my moments of weakness.
I have found friends who love me who have never seen me, face to face.
I've rediscovered a passion for nature and photography.
And I have really learned how to write about what I feel.
So, those are gifts born of pain and loss.
Things I should not take for granted.
And I won't.
But what is so very important to understand, if you care to know this man behind this blog and these words (and the book), is that I am a man who has endured a constant assault of lies, betrayals, abuse. Loss of family, finances and career. Stress and conflict. Legal battles. And it was unending. And for years on end.
I am not special. I am not on the same level as a Holocaust survivor.
But I hurt just the same.
And so do many of you out there.
And I want to give voice to that. And I want to show what is possible, despite it.
And to find the beautiful. The glorious. The amazing. In nature.
And in so doing, save myself and heal my soul, while showing others that you can do more with your life. You can find something good, even when the rest of it is bearing down on you like an avalanche.
I don't know that there will ever be a happy ending in my life.
But I do know that I am going to steal all that I can from this life and make it mine while I can.
And so should you.
Because you only get one shot at this.
Time for a little "humor" in my posts.
Okay, I spend 2 weeks at my family's cabin in the Catskills. Ahhh. Glorious. Cool. Beautiful.
It got down to 49 degrees one night. Brrrr....
I get back to New Jersey.
And since I have not been to the refuge for two weeks, I am dying to get back there.
So, the other morning I get up at 4 AM, and head down starting at 5AM. It's cool and comfy before the sun comes up. Windows down in the truck. (No working A/C). Loved it.
Got some nice shots, too.
By 8 AM, the temperature was over 90. By 10:30, nearing 100.
And the Greenhead Flies.
After a while, I stopped my truck (windows open the whole while so I could shoot photos) and Ran screaming like a little girl.
I could not TAKE it anymore. LOL
There were about 30 or 40 of the biting monsters in my truck with me.
The last straw was when one went into my ear canal as I tried to shoot a picture of a bird.
I threw it in Park and opened the door, took off the camera strap and grabbed the Deep Woods Off.
I swear, it's like salad dressing to these flies.
I was so covered in that shit that I smelled like an insect repellent factory.
And those bastards would find the one square inch of skin I missed with the spray.
By the time I left, one had found a spot on my leg. As I yelled OWWW!!! I watched the wound bleed from the ancient blood sucking monster that just impaled me.
I despise them.
They will make you nuts. In your eyes. On your lips. Your ears. And there are BILLIONS of them, in the marsh alone.
I can usually make a few trips around the refuge with them and deal with it.
This day, they were especially nasty. After bout 20 bites, and smelling like a toxic waste dump of noxious chemicals, I called it a day. By 10:30 in the morning.
Temperature - 98 degrees.
The bugs and the heat won that round.
And stupid as I am, I will be back to try again.
Now, if only I can electrify my truck so I can zap the bastards at will.
It got down to 49 degrees one night. Brrrr....
I get back to New Jersey.
And since I have not been to the refuge for two weeks, I am dying to get back there.
So, the other morning I get up at 4 AM, and head down starting at 5AM. It's cool and comfy before the sun comes up. Windows down in the truck. (No working A/C). Loved it.
Got some nice shots, too.
By 8 AM, the temperature was over 90. By 10:30, nearing 100.
And the Greenhead Flies.
After a while, I stopped my truck (windows open the whole while so I could shoot photos) and Ran screaming like a little girl.
I could not TAKE it anymore. LOL
There were about 30 or 40 of the biting monsters in my truck with me.
The last straw was when one went into my ear canal as I tried to shoot a picture of a bird.
I threw it in Park and opened the door, took off the camera strap and grabbed the Deep Woods Off.
I swear, it's like salad dressing to these flies.
I was so covered in that shit that I smelled like an insect repellent factory.
And those bastards would find the one square inch of skin I missed with the spray.
By the time I left, one had found a spot on my leg. As I yelled OWWW!!! I watched the wound bleed from the ancient blood sucking monster that just impaled me.
I despise them.
They will make you nuts. In your eyes. On your lips. Your ears. And there are BILLIONS of them, in the marsh alone.
I can usually make a few trips around the refuge with them and deal with it.
This day, they were especially nasty. After bout 20 bites, and smelling like a toxic waste dump of noxious chemicals, I called it a day. By 10:30 in the morning.
Temperature - 98 degrees.
The bugs and the heat won that round.
And stupid as I am, I will be back to try again.
Now, if only I can electrify my truck so I can zap the bastards at will.
You need to move on.
I have heard this refrain many times.
Stop lamenting what you have lost, and move on and make a life for yourself.
And I am. And I push forward harder and with more intensity than I have ever mustered, against all odds.
But you can't take 30 years of a man's life and erase it.
What I am trying to do, and I see it coming together, hopefully soon.
This is like rebirth. It hurts like hell. I pour endless tears over memories and dreams I once had.
I write through the tears. The viewfinder of my camera.
I see, I capture. I experience. I learn.
And I work harder and harder to get the most amazing photographs. And to learn.
I'm running away from the painful past with my eyes always in the rear view mirror.
Sooner or later, I will reach that point where the roads intersect.
Where I can take the road ahead and make it mine. And leave the past not gone, but more distant.
My dreams of a life I wanted are not dying easily.
And with each shot I take. With each word I write.
I try to build something new.
While watching the rest of what I once dreamed of and loved die.
My pain and loss fuels what I do now.
There can't be one without the other.
To me it's like living on the border between heaven and hell.
And I know all too well that hell follows, and heaven awaits.
Stop lamenting what you have lost, and move on and make a life for yourself.
And I am. And I push forward harder and with more intensity than I have ever mustered, against all odds.
But you can't take 30 years of a man's life and erase it.
What I am trying to do, and I see it coming together, hopefully soon.
This is like rebirth. It hurts like hell. I pour endless tears over memories and dreams I once had.
I write through the tears. The viewfinder of my camera.
I see, I capture. I experience. I learn.
And I work harder and harder to get the most amazing photographs. And to learn.
I'm running away from the painful past with my eyes always in the rear view mirror.
Sooner or later, I will reach that point where the roads intersect.
Where I can take the road ahead and make it mine. And leave the past not gone, but more distant.
My dreams of a life I wanted are not dying easily.
And with each shot I take. With each word I write.
I try to build something new.
While watching the rest of what I once dreamed of and loved die.
My pain and loss fuels what I do now.
There can't be one without the other.
To me it's like living on the border between heaven and hell.
And I know all too well that hell follows, and heaven awaits.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
You could have saved me.
These words echo inside of me tonight after one of the worst days I can remember.
I have never felt more like I will not make it than I do tonight.
After writing my blog about being a long term victim of abuse...
My realization, which I already knew in part.
Is that my father is very much the same. He is a dominant controlling man. He will swear to you that he needs to be that way to survive.
But what he employs are the very same tactics of classic abusive controlling people. Posturing, loud voice, employing guilt and intimidation. And when he has broken you down enough, he lures you back in with talk of love and appreciation for you.
And he did the same with my mother. Classic co-dependence, with a twist that he suffered to support her, while directly contributing to her demise. And the dominating her spirit, and her desire.
Today I sit here with so many bad things having happened.
After two glorious weeks at the cabin with my daughter. Peaceful, calm, beautiful. My father comes up for the last few days and turns it into hell.
And at the end of the day, I call him for what he is, an abuser. Tell him to read my fucking blog. Then my daughter and I leave while he is out of the cabin, and leave him a note.
I could not take one more hour in that cabin with him.
Here at least, living in his home, I have a room and a door, upstairs. But even that is not enough.
I have to get out of here. Or I will end up self destructing in this environment.
As a victim of possibly 2 decades worth of abuse, this is like throwing myself into the fire from the frying pan.
Lets add to that.
Today a voltage surge at the ancient cabin fried my laptop. Rendering contact with all my friends impossible.
So, because of the shit with my father, and that, I made the 245 mile trip in the evening, and now sit at home.
Lets add to this...
The girl I am crazy about, had a horrible day herself. Her mother, who is also abusive and very controlling and who she relies on, dropped and destroyed her pride and joy. A $12,000.00 camera rig with incredible lens.
And lets add more.
The girl I am crazy about can never see me.
Why? Because her abusive and domineering mother has threatened to throw her out of the house onto the street if she does.
What I need in my life is a substantial income or a windfall to help save my life. And those I love.
And it is not coming.
My ex-wife will get her alimony no matter what.
My father in his massive insecurity, will abuse and dominate in order to feel "safe".
My girlfriend's mother will dominate her life and crush her spirit.
You could have saved me.
If you only knew how.
That with funds and income and money, I would have the means to change all this.
But I don't.
So, I will resort to drastic measures.
And I will almost certainly be the casualty of that.
But I can TAKE NO MORE.
And I WILL NOT.
If I need to walk on the dark side to survive, I will.
I have taken all in this life I am prepared to.
I have suffered every loss that I can bear.
I have lost it all.
NO MORE.
Scorched Earth from now on.
I could have been the wonderful, loving, gentle, kind man.
Now I will be the worst nightmare if I have to.
Because no one, and nothing, will subjugate me.
So, get behind me, or get the fuck out of my way.
I have HAD it.
You could have saved me.
But no savior was coming.
So now, hell on Earth is the only way.
I'm sorry for this, I truly am.
But "you" could have saved me.
Instead, you let me die.
I have never felt more like I will not make it than I do tonight.
After writing my blog about being a long term victim of abuse...
My realization, which I already knew in part.
Is that my father is very much the same. He is a dominant controlling man. He will swear to you that he needs to be that way to survive.
But what he employs are the very same tactics of classic abusive controlling people. Posturing, loud voice, employing guilt and intimidation. And when he has broken you down enough, he lures you back in with talk of love and appreciation for you.
And he did the same with my mother. Classic co-dependence, with a twist that he suffered to support her, while directly contributing to her demise. And the dominating her spirit, and her desire.
Today I sit here with so many bad things having happened.
After two glorious weeks at the cabin with my daughter. Peaceful, calm, beautiful. My father comes up for the last few days and turns it into hell.
And at the end of the day, I call him for what he is, an abuser. Tell him to read my fucking blog. Then my daughter and I leave while he is out of the cabin, and leave him a note.
I could not take one more hour in that cabin with him.
Here at least, living in his home, I have a room and a door, upstairs. But even that is not enough.
I have to get out of here. Or I will end up self destructing in this environment.
As a victim of possibly 2 decades worth of abuse, this is like throwing myself into the fire from the frying pan.
Lets add to that.
Today a voltage surge at the ancient cabin fried my laptop. Rendering contact with all my friends impossible.
So, because of the shit with my father, and that, I made the 245 mile trip in the evening, and now sit at home.
Lets add to this...
The girl I am crazy about, had a horrible day herself. Her mother, who is also abusive and very controlling and who she relies on, dropped and destroyed her pride and joy. A $12,000.00 camera rig with incredible lens.
And lets add more.
The girl I am crazy about can never see me.
Why? Because her abusive and domineering mother has threatened to throw her out of the house onto the street if she does.
What I need in my life is a substantial income or a windfall to help save my life. And those I love.
And it is not coming.
My ex-wife will get her alimony no matter what.
My father in his massive insecurity, will abuse and dominate in order to feel "safe".
My girlfriend's mother will dominate her life and crush her spirit.
You could have saved me.
If you only knew how.
That with funds and income and money, I would have the means to change all this.
But I don't.
So, I will resort to drastic measures.
And I will almost certainly be the casualty of that.
But I can TAKE NO MORE.
And I WILL NOT.
If I need to walk on the dark side to survive, I will.
I have taken all in this life I am prepared to.
I have suffered every loss that I can bear.
I have lost it all.
NO MORE.
Scorched Earth from now on.
I could have been the wonderful, loving, gentle, kind man.
Now I will be the worst nightmare if I have to.
Because no one, and nothing, will subjugate me.
So, get behind me, or get the fuck out of my way.
I have HAD it.
You could have saved me.
But no savior was coming.
So now, hell on Earth is the only way.
I'm sorry for this, I truly am.
But "you" could have saved me.
Instead, you let me die.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Toughest blog I will ever post about me.
Today, this morning, when talking to my girl, Susan, I came out and said something I had never admitted to myself before.
I am a victim of abuse.
Over many years, and in many ways.
I am a large and powerful man. But when you are faced with the kinds of things I endured in the latter years of my marriage, size matters not.
I have finally faced and accepted that so much of who I am today, and the way I feel about things at times, comes from more than a decade of verbal, emotional and at times, physical abuse.
Oh, what I endured. I cannot begin to describe it.
At times, I felt as if I was a POW, at the hands of a merciless tormentor.
My ex wife was severe manic bipolar, and it was worse in the latter years of our marriage.
To her credit, since the divorce, she has done extensive counseling, and has been on medications to control her bipolar condition.
But those years haunt me.
At times, looking back, I cannot believe what happened. Or the insanity of it all. How and why I stayed...I still do not understand.
It was only when she threw me out (with a restraining order, talk about irony) did I get the space I needed to see my old life from a distance.
Suffice to say.
The abuse was constant. I never knew when it would come, though. The mood swings of someone who is bipolar are impossible to predict. And you never know what will set them off.
I have been beaten around the head. Struck with objects. Had scalding coffee poured over my head. Been kicked and punched and had food and other things thrown at me in a rage.
And the verbal assaults and torment were unrelenting.
She would start fights with me at bedtime so many times that I would have to go to the couch to get away. Then, she would come to the couch and stand over me, demanding that I talk to her. And the hours would tick by, and I'd have to try and get up the next morning to drive the 72 miles to work. Often on 3 hours sleep.
The harassing phone calls at work. To make sure I knew how miserable she was with me, and how I was such a failure.
Constantly putting me down.
The one line that will never leave my memory is "Just look at you, who would want you?"
She knew how to play on my own weaknesses. She told me what a failure I was as a father to my children. What a failure I was as a husband.
I retreated. I hid. I went to my basement office and worked on computer games as a second job, for almost a dozen years. I tried to find a haven.
Then, she would walk down the stairs, stand outside the office door, scowl at me, threaten me, and deride me.
I took so much abuse that it begs comparison to the frog in the pot analogy.
If you put a frog in a pot of scalding water, it will immediately try to jump out to save itself.
If you put a frog in a pot of cool water and slowly turn up the heat, it will boil to death.
And I was nearly dead.
Only in her violence did she end up saving me. By throwing me out, while having an affair with my next door neighbor, did I get out of that pot.
But those years of torment, torture, sleep deprivation, and physical abuse have taken a huge toll on who I am.
I often realize now that much of how I feel, and how I react, is based on the fact that I am a long term abuse survivor.
I am a huge and very powerful man.
But I was powerless against her. For I could not bring myself to inflict grave harm on her, to stop the onslaught.
So I took the blows. I felt the pain. And I let her nearly kill any belief in me that I was good. Or worthy. Or lovable. Or even deserved to exist.
And I battle that still today.
I am thinking of finally giving in and seeking counseling.
As a survivor of horrific and persistent abuse. As a battered man.
I am a victim of abuse.
Over many years, and in many ways.
I am a large and powerful man. But when you are faced with the kinds of things I endured in the latter years of my marriage, size matters not.
I have finally faced and accepted that so much of who I am today, and the way I feel about things at times, comes from more than a decade of verbal, emotional and at times, physical abuse.
Oh, what I endured. I cannot begin to describe it.
At times, I felt as if I was a POW, at the hands of a merciless tormentor.
My ex wife was severe manic bipolar, and it was worse in the latter years of our marriage.
To her credit, since the divorce, she has done extensive counseling, and has been on medications to control her bipolar condition.
But those years haunt me.
At times, looking back, I cannot believe what happened. Or the insanity of it all. How and why I stayed...I still do not understand.
It was only when she threw me out (with a restraining order, talk about irony) did I get the space I needed to see my old life from a distance.
Suffice to say.
The abuse was constant. I never knew when it would come, though. The mood swings of someone who is bipolar are impossible to predict. And you never know what will set them off.
I have been beaten around the head. Struck with objects. Had scalding coffee poured over my head. Been kicked and punched and had food and other things thrown at me in a rage.
And the verbal assaults and torment were unrelenting.
She would start fights with me at bedtime so many times that I would have to go to the couch to get away. Then, she would come to the couch and stand over me, demanding that I talk to her. And the hours would tick by, and I'd have to try and get up the next morning to drive the 72 miles to work. Often on 3 hours sleep.
The harassing phone calls at work. To make sure I knew how miserable she was with me, and how I was such a failure.
Constantly putting me down.
The one line that will never leave my memory is "Just look at you, who would want you?"
She knew how to play on my own weaknesses. She told me what a failure I was as a father to my children. What a failure I was as a husband.
I retreated. I hid. I went to my basement office and worked on computer games as a second job, for almost a dozen years. I tried to find a haven.
Then, she would walk down the stairs, stand outside the office door, scowl at me, threaten me, and deride me.
I took so much abuse that it begs comparison to the frog in the pot analogy.
If you put a frog in a pot of scalding water, it will immediately try to jump out to save itself.
If you put a frog in a pot of cool water and slowly turn up the heat, it will boil to death.
And I was nearly dead.
Only in her violence did she end up saving me. By throwing me out, while having an affair with my next door neighbor, did I get out of that pot.
But those years of torment, torture, sleep deprivation, and physical abuse have taken a huge toll on who I am.
I often realize now that much of how I feel, and how I react, is based on the fact that I am a long term abuse survivor.
I am a huge and very powerful man.
But I was powerless against her. For I could not bring myself to inflict grave harm on her, to stop the onslaught.
So I took the blows. I felt the pain. And I let her nearly kill any belief in me that I was good. Or worthy. Or lovable. Or even deserved to exist.
And I battle that still today.
I am thinking of finally giving in and seeking counseling.
As a survivor of horrific and persistent abuse. As a battered man.
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