I have to be cryptic now. Sorry. And yet still convey my pain.
I found out that my husband has been spending money, quite a bit of it, for many months. I’ve seen some of the things he purchases and many of them are for his OW. They’re tiny, sexy, etc.
He lead me to believe he had nothing and was living off loans from his friends and money now and then from his mom. He lied. I know I’m the only one to be surprised. I knew he looked well dressed and well coiffed. I just didn’t want to believe it.
Now I know that my furniture is over there at their house. No wonder he asked if he could have the buffet I bought — he wanted it for his hip love nest. I said, “No. I bought that for myself for my birthday last year.” Nobody bought me anything so I bought it for myself. All of $75 at the Goodwill. Fuck off. It’s mine.
My dresser, a man’s dresser, tall with cupboard doors you open to show three pull out drawers. No doubt that cunt is using that dresser that I’ve had for about 35 years even though when I left I said, “Don’t let your whore use my dresser.” I didn’t really believe she existed at that time.
And many, many other things that I’ve trusted him with because I was too broke to pay for a larger storage unit than the one I have now.
Ok, it’s too late at night for me to be getting wound up. I have to let that go for the moment. I had to take four ativans in order to get to sleep last night. I’m exhausted.
I wrote to the original attorney again, but don’t expect him to contact me. Then I wrote to the woman who referred me to him and asked if she had another recommendation. She wrote back with another name. I called that attorney’s office and spoke to the receptionist who grills you and asks uncomfortable questions. It all comes down to your ability to pay.
In other words, my husband can use me, take my money, cheat on me and leave me destitute, lie and get money from his family and elsewhere and not help me financially, and I can’t do anything about it because I am broke.
Excuse me. Where is justice?
The receptionist set up an appointment with me this coming Wednesday afternoon. Thirty minute free consultation. I’m going to go in with a ton of information and talk fast. I need to somehow find out if they think they can help me. They may not be able to do anything for me. He may hide the money he’s getting so well that no one can find it. I’d have to pay a lot of money to have a forensic accountant figure it out. And the minute he gets a whiff that I’m doing this, he’ll shut everything down.
He’ll cut me off. He’ll just walk away from his case rather than give me a penny of it. What I ever could have done to make him hate me so, is an utter mystery to me. I could see how he could want to leave me and fall out of love with me, but to destroy me? I can’t understand.
How could I have lived with a man capable of that? My shame is unbearable. People can look at me and ask, “Why did you stay? Why did you use up all your money with him?”
I just don’t know. I just kept throwing good money after bad. I just kept thinking it could not get worse. And finally I thought no one else would have me anyway because my self esteem was shot and I was estranged from family and friends. That’s the ironic part because not even he wanted me.
His girlfriend is younger than I thought, early twenties. And he is having fun buying her pretties. And all I can do is think back to eight Christmases and eight birthdays where he didn’t have the money to buy me a thing. My heart is so broken. But worse than that, is my humiliation.
I guess there is no limit to his lies and deceit. I was the biggest fool on the face of the earth.
Back to my furniture. I’m going to ask the attorney about that. My name isn’t on the lease, I did that on purpose because I didn’t want to be liable and I didn’t want my creditors to be able to find me. I have a key, but I don’t dare enter without his permission.
So I hope I can get a sheriff to go with me because when I see my apartment filled with her things, I will barely be able to stand. I want it to go calmly. I want to take everything and then worry about where the hell I’ll put it. I’ll need the peace officer. He has at least two guns and he’s getting to the stage where he despises me and also feels hopeless. Not a good combination. I will ask my colleagues at the kids center how to talk to one of the officers I see every day there.
Yet, that’s just a guess on my part. Maybe the case money doesn’t mean that much to him. He’s spending money like water. His mother must have finally given him the money she promised him after she sold her rental in London. He would naturally keep that mum — wouldn’t want me to get a penny of it.
But if I can, I will take as much of it as my lawyer can fight for. Plus half the case if it ever happens, plus pay my attorneys fees.
That’s the plan. This is war.
But the pain never stops.
The level of deceit is unfathomable to me. I will sell those last two pieces of jewelry and hope they come close to $2,000. The retainer is $3,500 though, so I don’t know what to do. I need help. I don’t know what to do.
I went out to my car today and saw a huge bolt had gone through my tire. I feared I might have to buy all new tires since it’s four wheel drive. I struggled to try to pump it up with a bicycle pump just so I could drive slowly to Les Schwab, but no, not possible.
I was trying to get out of here before my dad came home because I didn’t want him to have to help me. He’s fragile. I don’t want him to strain himself and it was so cold out. But no, he came home. (I had already knocked on two neighbor’s doors). So he was able to get the spare tire on and it didn’t look so good either. But I drove slowly to Les Schwab and left it there for two hours.
They called to say it was finished. They had fixed it and put the spare away. I asked what the damage was. He said, “Nothing. Just remember us when you need new tires.” And I sobbed into the phone. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
And I will buy them there. I promise. Now and then the Good is able to be found.