"Hallelujah! Holy sh-t! Where's the Tylenol?"

“Oh, the silent majesty of a winter’s morn. The clean, cool chill of the holiday air. An asshole in his bathrobe, emptying a chemical toilet into my sewer.”

I feel dumped on.
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I've been up all night.  

Let me preface what I'm going to write below with this.  I do not want anyone's pity.  I do not want to make what I am about to share a public spectacle.  What I do ask is for ALL of you, whether you believe in anything beyond this world or not, to PRAY.  Pray for the dark, hardened, stench of rot that might have once held a feeling part inside her.  Pray for her fucking soul, if there be anything resembling the burnt-out husk of one inside her.

I'm aching tonight.  Terribly.  I have realized over the last couple of months that the journey I am walking through at the moment is a parallel of the one I went through with Cade and Cambrey's mom soon after we were divorced.  And it is so F*C&ing eerie!!!  Yet 10,000 times worse than when they were moved away.  And I am mostly to blame.  I can blame her emotional sway that took me almost two years to beak.  I can blame my lawyer.  But in the end I am the one who let this happen without a battle-royal.  A twenty man, last man standing fight that should have at least given me a fighting chance against the gorgon.  

I sit and watch, trying to communicate, wanting to touch.  Wanting to hold him when he's upset, wanting so much to help him understand.  And what I'm getting is a game.  A game not being played by my three year old, but a game of control being played by an adult who should understand the hurts that he doesn't understand.  The loss of time and proximity that he can't begin to comprehend.  His spirit recognizes what she cannot.  The fracture and how it is affecting the core of our son's heart.  Her tepid attempts to console him are a laugh at me through the screen.  She knows she owns the rights to control.  Because how can you question a three year old about such deep concerns?  I've had attorneys say that the emotional isn't questioned in the courts, and I've seen it firsthand. 

If only there was a child psychologist in his life...... wait....... well you all know that answer.

After a week or so of seeing him pull back from our time talking, and realize I'm not expecting more than a few minutes at best with him on the screen each day, I felt I had to do something.  It will be over a month until I see him if I didn't ask.  And it shouldn't be an ask at all.  Again, the control game.

I texted her and asked to talk briefly.  I wanted to surprise him, and selfishly get to see his face and hug him tight.  I told her I wanted to come up and visit for a day.  And yes, I assured her I would pay for the trip - over $500 just for the flight - just to see him for a day, an afternoon.  She said yes.  But then my gut started to feel something.

I texted her just a few minutes after I booked the plane ticket.  Feeling I needed to get it in writing.  

And I got it.  What my gut was screaming at me.  "It wasn't a convenient time."  "It was too much."  Hell, I had just asked to see him for a few hours.  He wouldn't care if they were traveling the next day.  He might actually be good after spending just a little time with dad.  Might even give her time to pack.  Might be good for her son.

She is a snake.  A bitter person who shows such a pretty, put-together exterior.  But her actions show.  She doesn't really care for the "tribe"* she teared up and described us needing to be.  She only cares about control.  And she has it... for now.

I have to fight.  I am white hot and so angry that I haven't been able to sleep, hardly able to breathe.  I want my son to be happy and healthy, but the realization of castration as a father is going to force me to grow a new pair and make some waves.

So, in the words of Clarke Griswold...

"Hey! If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I'd like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?"

Amen.


*below is the article she professed such a yearning for when we were working out our visitation

Our Tribe - Co-Parenting