Fathers and Angels – not the usual spices…

When I started the magical process of wishing a new being to love back into my life I selfishly wished him to be without children and be without an ex-wife and without the enmeshed co-dependant family chaos I was all too used to living with for such a long time.  One could say my wish list was an impossibility to achieve. I wished a lot of things… 2 and a half pages later I had eeked out the human being I wanted to spend my life with based purely on character.  This recipe process took me a long time to complete.  It was thwart with touching wounds and scars I did not want to look at. I did not know whether I even wanted to love again or whether I would be able to offer another person a healthy or whole enough human being in return. I was also not willing to do anything to actively find this magnificence – I literally said he would need to find me. The bar was set and I was comfortable assuming this person did not exist.

To cut a long story short he ended up being someone I knew…. From childhood through to my teenage years.  He was not one of the ‘featuring crowd’ thugs – he was a strong quiet soul, just always there whilst I was too busy being a metal head goth being too invested in ‘cool’ to really notice. With that said, he did leave a lasting impression – he was one of the kindest people I had ever had the honour of meeting.  Kindness makes me weep… it’s just too beautiful for my soul to contain.

We have currently been together for just over a year and a half and most of the time I was waiting for his demon to arrive… turned out it was there all along and after much contemplation I came to the epiphany that this man is just human, like all us mortals. I realised I did not want to live with a “white washed jesus” – I wanted a human being.  He however was still the kindest being, demon and all, as the days weeks and months elapsed.

I read something beautiful today on the book of face – it was a posting about fathers.  The gist of it was to the effect that fathers are the men who care, not necessarily the bio dads… the commentary seemed sadly to trend mostly towards the men which chose to do this father thing i.e. not the bio dads. It hit me that the man in my life has enveloped me and my children to this extent and he is one of those men who choose to be here! “He who must not be named” has fucked up so holy with his children and has so many conditions set up around them and how they, his blood children must act and accept what he dishes and that they need to place his happiness above all else punishing them severely if they choose different by means of deprivation of medical care,  money and generally ignoring their needs on all levels – yet here is this gift of a human angel who accepts my children like his own and accepts them for who they are – gives all that he is able including the respect we were all so deprived of for so long – he does all this knowing he is not their father and never will be.

I sit in such gratitude of being able to witness this and be a part of it. To acknowledge that there are men in this world who step up to the plate and do it without the ‘bio dad’ recognition demands. He loves me, he loves my children and my wish list came true on levels I was not able to perceive at the time.

Pixling thinks… conjuring this magical being has taught me there are some good men out there.


Winds of Change

Change means doing things differently… Einstein said “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result”. I confess I change slowly and with an incredible amount of resistance… I only discovered this small gigantic flip of the switch when I started really moving deeply into the dark side of my neuron connections. I had to find myself becoming an emotional brain surgeon. It did not sit well with me I can assure you. Anarchy is where I find my thrills.

My usual line of business – which I am exceptionally good at, is trying to change other people and circumstances. It’s how I used to control life (trauma) around me, but that didn’t work out too well for me in the long run – accepting life on life’s terms is a large bitter pill which I did not want to partake of in a sacrament-like ritual, however when one is crawling of pain on your belly what choices are left?

Since I have applied the ”change” I have been sorely tested on whether it has actually shifted even a small iota of my thinking and acting by a couple of momentous events this year, so far. On mother’s day this year my very ex mother in-law (with her signature on my divorce papers to prove it) texted me to request nothing else but change – I had to change the mind of my son by using my influence as his mother, that I needed to change the trauma and hurt we have lived and so on. I was astounded by how selfish the demands for change were, that by no means was there an ounce of acknowledgement for what we had been through… it was minimised and wiped clean off the table and all that was lying on the table was her and ‘he who must not be named’ bleeding hearts. I was filled with anger and self-justification and wanted to defend our raw life lived without food at times and ask where the fuck were they… I desperately wanted to retaliate!

In that moment had to decide whether I would bite. This was the moment of change… My Lady Gandalf’s words came screaming into my muscle fibres… STOP!!!! Observe, and Steer (very fucking carefully). I stepped onto the rocks which had cut me to shreds before – I replied after a couple of minutes of breathing, that I am no longer in the business of changing anyone or anything but myself, that I cannot control or engage again in such emotional chaos that for my emotional sobriety I am not able to fill her demands. The onslaught did not stop there (it only does in the movies…) she proceeded to say that my recovery is to the detriment of her family and my children… The manipulation were like neon labels attached to her words. I held my ground, my boundaries with conviction and I was not mean or nasty in doing so – just strong.

Looking back I recognise her desperateness and I have compassion for it as I was filled with that exact desperateness not so long ago – I had to change that, I had to form a different path in my brain and heart to change my behaviour.  Addiction is largely a behavioural disease that envelopes families, everyone eventually gets some form of it, like the flu. I did not expect her to thank me for being such a well behaved bunny and for keeping firstly myself safe and by default everyone else safe, including her. She thinks I don’t understand when in fact I do… I just disagree now, and I choose to change bad chaotic behaviour which causes upset and drama.

Pixling schnarfs… change won’t bring praise but will bring results, just a thought.

Re-member-ing instead of Dis-member-ing….

Prior to my separation and then divorce I had no idea just how mad life really was… A case of looking back with my jaw on the floor including a big WTF slamming me in the face.

Living with an addict, dry or powdered (in my case it could and was a lot more, multiple addiction issues), was immense on all levels… This is a small example piece on an aspect of living the unmanageability…

My son recalled a memory of ‘he who must not be named’ ‘s workshop and the only tactile memory which popped up for him (now almost at the age of 18) was the smell of this room… I realised I had filed this memory under ‘unimportant’. How odd, I thought, as this was a daily red hot poker up my ass yet I classified it as ‘detail’ – the memory seeped back into my brain like an old movie and then too I recalled this awful scene, I followed a barrage of detailed memories around this infested workshop, his ‘addiction playground’ I used to call it, in our home – I immediately thought, was I the one ‘pissed and stoned’ for 18 years of my life?! 

(I will furbish a quick synopsis to sketch a brief outline in this interlude – nobody needs to have their imagination milked too much around this, believe me. We had 2 dogs, they were kept inside the workshop at night – cleaning and mopping was not one of his most favourite things to do… ever. Rubbish bags piled up next to the house… ok enough, I can detail this no more, case of a watered down version of trainspotting – on this note however, I raged and screamed, I cried and begged and spoke sugar coated words, I carried and swept and wiped up behind him to the point where I was enabling every bad habit he had fed and nurtured… So I stopped. The result… indescribable….)

It’s like many light bulbs which go on when I am reminded of things like this. It occurs to me every time, and it comes loaded with shame and good dose of a self-flagellating catholic guilt – that being co-dependent on an addict is just as bad, that no matter how self-righteous I thought I was at the time, or how much I played the victim I was choosing to live the same madness daily, with the added bonus of being an enraged succubus, hopeless and tired… dragging my children through that mess with me.  The state of that workshop sybolised the state of our marriage, and the mental and emotional state each of us in this dysfuction.

Everyday post the momentous separation, which happened 6 months after starting my recovery process, I am so aware of how all these things impacted my life, my being, and that years later I am still discovering the devastation and still putting pieces back together. I am grateful that I am able to do this in my safe, (clean) chaos free environment which I was able to create for myself and my children.

Pixling churns… chaos fucks with my serenity!

Stiletto Gestapo…..

I know quite a string of divorced people, and considering the stats I think (sadly) that this is something that could actually be turned around… i.e ‘I know a couple of married people’…


As I sipped my coffee this morning and thought back of my busy week, I thought of everything enmeshed with whats all going on in my children’s lives right now and just the ‘balls to the wall’ pace at which we are moving at, week after week. Then I wondered if it ever occurred to ‘he who must not be named’ what it entails to be a 100% present, hands on parent? This right here was the que for Mizz. ‘Immediate Expectation’ to show up, dressed in S&M leathers and stiletto’s together with a hard rock, angry justified woman soundtrack que of “I’m a bitch, I’m a mother, I’m a child, I’m a lover…..” Carrying a banner reading, “A thank you would be good, and if not that, some form of gratitude, Asswipe!” My thoughts screeched to I blinding halt – My now nerdy consciousness woke up with all the mad noise in my head realising I was yet again ‘fantasizing’ about shit!

I don’t always like the arrival of sanity. Hanging with ‘justified stiletto’ chic is way more exciting at first, but it hurts after a while…. what I am starting to realise is that I need to keep myself rooted to reality and just accept life the way it is. A ‘Thank you’ won’t be forthcoming and ‘expectations are resentments just waiting to happen’.

So here I am, finishing up my morning thoughts with my cup of Jo thinking gratefully how my reality Gestapo has become a way more hardcore chic!

Pixling thinks…. Oy Vey 😉

Un – Code -pending Thoughts

“The chemically dependent partner numbs the feelings and the non-abuser is doubled over in pain – relieved only by anger and occasional fantasies,” – Janet Geringer Woititz

As I read this sentence today I felt like I was side swiped by the biggest (eco-friendly of course) light bulb… It keeps bringing me to my knees this discovery of co-dependency.  Needless to say the rest of the chapter was as mind blowing, but this sentence rewound me to a time where all I was convinced of ever feeling was complete and utter brain melting anger.  It took me almost 2 years after separating from the thankfully now ‘ex’ to start feeling other emotions.  I honestly thought that the angry star I was already born under was a screaming comet destined to supply electricity to the darkest Mordor ever known to man or myth… Oh, and the fantasies referred to in the sentence were not good ones… they usually entailed a fork and an eye.

Turns out I was using… jip, intravenous anger and adrenaline to survive from one day to the next, tripping balls on the chemically, off the planet dependent… and I was using every day.

I remember thinking so often… “I wish I was as fucking  numb as you are… feeling absolutely nothing whilst I am reliving my own Hara-kiri like a reoccurring nightmare…”

It did occur to me (not as often as it should have, but often enough) that “I can change this…”, but it felt like I (and my insides) was cemented into this spiral for all eternity and that I could see no clear way of getting out of this without completely destroying myself  – How magnificently wrong I was.  It took an extremely strong therapist to say to me “when you are ready to take yourself seriously then so will I, until then… I wish I had one of you in my life. You’ll keep supplying me with money, clean up my mess and make excuses for my bad behaviour etc.”

The finely honed victim in me was devastated, whining and crying crocodile tears about the whole world being against me, including a paid professional! But it hit home. There was still a droplet of sanity in me to water the seed she had planted. It saved my life. After 6 months with her I finally plucked up the smallest quivering bit of courage to leave. Weak and crawling on my belly yet I still managed to move.

Pixling thinks…. Un-coding is a beautiful discovery!

I am back… after a 2 year sabatical

Geez what a ride… it’s been 2 and a bit years since I last blogged… I stopped due to life getting just crazy and I simply could not assimilate what I was living. All I can say is that after what felt like an emotional Hiroshima, I was patching up the bits and found heaps of nuts and bolts all over the show which held pieces of me together… a bit like assembling an engine that was rattled loose at every possible join on the worst possible farm road.  But I am glad to say that after the degreasing and mop up jobs and figuring out what goes where I am in one piece and dare I say… stronger than ever!

This does not mean that things are smooth sailing… (DUH, this is life and I am human) but I am strong.  I have also been divorced now for 1 Year and 9 months. I have reached a new level of understanding, taken responsibility where I needed to and am completely self-sufficient, 10 times over.

The divorce was a completely and utterly horrendous emotional blood bath which turned me inside out and made my blood run cold, curdle and boil all at the same time (I often longed for a peaceful, quaint, bland little padded room in which I could rest, filled with a thud, lifeless silence). It took a full year to run its course. I had little in the line of support physically on hand (my family lives far away from me), and when the final Decree arrived and I was in my lawyers’ office to sign this legally scribed parchment I realised how independent I had really become…. The paraphrased signatures at the bottom of each page belonged to “he who must not be named’ and his parents… Well that settled that then, I literally divorced the whole family… or them me – a momentous moment, astounding! I was not surprised and though “go figure”…all the while my lawyers’ secretary ran around the office trying to find me witnesses to sign the document to make it binding forever. I thought how apt, like in the marriage so it is when leaving.

I have decided to randomly blog about it all for only now am I really able to put this into some form of sane perspective.

To end off, I have made peace with my divorce and in hind sight I have so much gratitude it is done and I am no longer attached to one of the most unconscious beings I know… I have managed to find love again which I thought will never be possible after such trauma…

Pixling knows… good engines need care and attention.