I did not, nor do not, want this blog to turn out to be an "I hate my ex" blog.
Truth is, I don't want to hate him. His haters, ie my supporters, will take issue with that statement. They may in turn spew some hate my way. Which will in turn lead me to say I'm hating them for a day, bitch about them to Bicepual, and then he'll feel the hate towards them as well.
I'm confused and lost in so much un-love.
With all the name calling and dirty tricks played out in the course of our break up, my anger toward the man I was with for nearly 20 years, manifested itself in one little thought bubble, "I hate him." The wailing, the lawyers, the fighting; "I hate him!" The custody arguments, the money discrepancies; "Ohh, God I hate him!" It got fairly easy to say, actually.
Time has passed. The tricks are getting less conniving and dis pleasurable. They happen so infrequently now, or at least I react to them so infrequently. It was a long time ago for me and I wouldn't dare speak for him, but I have to think the fun has got be sucked out of it for both of us.
For quite some time, I wished upon the Divorce Fairy to grant him a new girlfriend. I wanted him to have a distraction (which is the nice way of saying, "God! I hate you! Get off my ass!") and thought he could concentrate on anything but my life. That's all I really wanted.
The Divorce Fairy (I imagine her name is Sheniqua. Something you'd remember. Someone you know could bend your neck like a flex-straw if she had to), like any other god like, mythical, power enforcing individual, does not grant wishes on your demand. It's all on her time. And she came through for me a few weeks ago.
"Mom. Dad got a girlfriend. Her name is A."
And there I sat. Knowing they were watching my exact reaction, I know they feed off me and my emotions. Would I be angry? Would they see me cry? Would I pepper with them with a million questions?
"A" is into things he's into. She's into the stock car racing and the raising young kids (I hear she has an 8 year old son). I don't know if she's a good mother. I don't know if she can cook or if she has a good sense of humor. I didn't ask a lot of questions, and I certainly will not give him the pleasure of having me ask. Not yet anyway.
My children tell me she's nice. So that matters. And that, for now, is where I will leave it.
Yet, I find myself remembering the hate he and I threw at each other for so long, and a lot of it stemmed from me having met Bicepual. When I began to create a life with this younger version of man, the ex told my kids he was probably a pedophile and might harm them. That left me to deal with the sobs of misunderstanding on their end. How do you explain, "sorry kids, you're dad is being a douche canoe." without saying, "sorry kids, you're dad is being a douche canoe."? How do you let your kids know that their dad is just so mad at their mom, that he wants to hurt her? How do you explain aching heartbreak?
You don't. You hug them, you love them, you remind them just how safe they are. And secretly, you tell your own soul, "I hate him." For the hurt and the tears and the pain.
So when the kids now drop the "new girlfriend" bomb, awaiting my reaction, I don't give them much. I mutter, "that's nice." and steer the topic elsewhere eventually. Over more time, details come out about "A", and in the shroud of secrecy he seems to have perfected with our kids, he won't tell them her last name (they're old enough to ask her themselves, duh) or her age. They don't know how old she is.
But I do.
She's about the same age as Bicepual. Just as young.
Just!
As!
Young!
Thank you Sheniqua! If he was smart enough to understand what it means to eat proverbial crow, I'd remind him now. Alas, I don't waste my time. I find myself wanting to cringe, "Ihatehim" now, having put me through what he did for something that never had to be, only to have him commit the same crime a short few years later. Oddly, I instead think, "Bout time. I hope he's happy" and with that I realize I must not hate him. Thought I did! Swore I did! Maybe, I don't.
Maybe I want what's better for him, and I realized some time ago, that was no longer me. People think I fell under the spell of greener grass promises, but I truly have never been that naive. Bicepual and I, together now, still have bills to pay, family we sometimes don't want to see, arguments over jobs, kids, life. We're typical. We're normal. We fight, and we laugh. We make up and we say we're sorry.
That never happened in my first marriage.
So...
Dear Sheniqua,
I wish one more time;
I hope he's happy. I hope he moves on. I hope he's smart with this one. Or the next. Or the one after that. Whatever it takes. I hope he's better to her. I hope he's learned a few things, and I hope I've taught them to him. I no longer wish his MiniMe rots and falls off, so you can cancel that request.
Kthanksbye.
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