Boy am I aching to be divorced. It’s been a few days since we had contact and I’ve got no desire to be in touch with him.
I know my Soon To Be Ex (STBX), and I know he’s not doing anything to pave the way for his daughters’ immigration — he’s too self involved, he has a very limited attention span, he doesn’t have enough money, and if they came he would not know what to do with them. But I imagine he’ll blame it all on me. Blaming is what he and his entire family do.
Until I met them I had never seen such a disordered group — they all point at one another (and everybody else) with blame — I kid you not. It should have been a huge red flag for me. They blame one another and constantly change sides. Even after saying the most hateful things and calling one another atrocious names.
He very rarely hinted that he felt the slightest bit of remorse for not providing for his children. Why should I have expected him to help provide for me when he hasn’t even done that for his own kids? When I left him a year and a half ago I said to him, “It’s time to do right by your daughters. Put them first for a change.” But he didn’t listen.
Oddly enough he does spend a lot of time on the phone with them and he is very involved in their lives but in a superficial way — it’s just for show. “See what a good dad I am? I spend three hours a day on FaceTime with my daughters!” Well, I suppose it’s better than total abandonment. But it’s like he’s so busy chatting with them that he can’t even go out and job hunt.
His time talking to the girls, his time spent shopping, grooming, and standing in front of a mirror, his time fucking Heather Ann, his time sleeping until noon, his time pretending he is a man of leisure — all of that interferes with him finding gainful employment.
I really want to go to the courthouse and get the paperwork and get on with the divorce but I’m playing this carefully. I’ve told him I’d help him sponsor his girls if it was all on the up and up. Then I told him I need some answers and he didn’t respond. I am guessing that he has no answers and doesn’t know what to do.
I had a couple of bad hours today. My dad called to ask what was on the Costco list so I read it to him, then he told me that he and my mom saw my STBX at the mall, “Looking all slick.”
I almost cut him off to say, “Please don’t tell me who he was with.” Thankfully he didn’t say anymore. But I really, really don’t want to hear about it — it would set me back.
So I guess when I think I’m making progress, but the idea of my folks running into him with Heather Ann or anyone else, really, upsets me very much. Perhaps I’m in denial about my progress. I kept wondering how he got to the mall if he has no car and what he is buying himself (or Heather) with his settlement money.
Just now I recalled how he loved to go to the malls in London, which naturally are much bigger. I remember asking if we can we eat before we go. Because it’s very expensive for me to buy lunch for all of us, especially when his girls came. He’d say yes, but I’d end up buying lunch and dessert anyway. Eventually I stopped going to the mall with him which surely must have cramped his style since he barely had enough petrol to get there, let alone have a cup of coffee or provide McDonalds to his kids. Near the end I stopped going most places in London simply because all I was was the person who paid.
On the Chump Lady websites there are a few women who, after fives years from d-day, are still miserable about their ex’s cheating. THAT CANNOT HAPPEN TO ME! He is so undeserving of stealing my happiness for that long!
My STBX is rather interesting, but he’s also a bit of a creep. I don’t miss him. I miss being part of a couple. He embarrassed me, he humiliated me, he let me down for eight long years — I don’t want that back.
He’s kind of an awful person, to be honest.
I could just imagine him at the mall in his tight jeans, pointy shoes, slicked hair, necklace (or tie), tight leather coat — prancing around a small Oregon mall saying, “Look at me, aren’t I exotic?” Oh my god I have to laugh.
Did I tell you he wrote to Banana Republic and told them not to allow their staff to steam iron the clothes where the public can see them? He said if he’s going to pay $100 for jeans he does not want to see them all wrinkled. I guess he wants them to be born pressed.
I’ve been thinking about how to get my things out of his apartment. I honestly can’t go in there without drugging myself. I will have to rent a small truck and ask my priest if he knows some college students who will go with me to get my stuff. And I’ll have a sheriff, too, if necessary. But I don’t want to go in there. I don’t want to see her stuff. I’m scared out of my mind.
But some of the furniture there is so sentimental to me. An antique dresser I’ve owned for 25 years and much more. So I’ll take two Ativan and go through the house as quickly as possible telling my helpers what to take. And then I’ll go home and sleep it off. I don’t know how else to handle it. I am really dreading it.
But after I get that stuff out I don’t think I’ll ever have to see him again. Our divorce will go smoothly because there are no assets. It’s possible we both have two lawsuits pending, but we’ve agreed to split them with one another 50/50 and the lawyer has those instructions. And that’s it. Pretty clean and certainly nothing to fight over any longer.
What I want: I want a full time job, an apartment of my own, to set up a corner of it for painting, to sell a bunch of stuff I don’t need on eBay, to buy some plants and take up a couple of new hobbies, to maybe treat myself to a professional KitchenAid mixer, and to try to have a little fun during the upcoming summer months. Oregon really is a paradise in the summer time.
I’m willing to work hard. I’m ready for the next phase of my life to begin.