Two Years Ago...

I wrote This...

Fifteen Years Down The Fucking Drain...

Well I've done it now.

I think I left my Hubby a few hours ago. I suppose I have. I've told him I'm done with our relationship and I'm sitting on my Mother's back verandah. It's almost one thirty am.

I been crying all evening since I've been here but that's hardly surprising; fifteen years down the fucking drain by the look of things. I feel sick thinking about a life without him. How am I gonna explain this to the kids- or to his Mother- or to myself? I've sat here for hours listening to my Brother-in-law and Sister and Mother give me sound words of advice- like who to call in the morning- everyone from Centrelink to a counsellor to my Mother-in-law to see if she really meant good when she told me that if my Hubby and I ever broke up then the house was 'mine' for me and the kids. I don't want it to be mine. I want it to be ours.

I won't sleep tonight- I'm too upset to sleep; especially in my Father's bed (he's gone camping at the beach)- how fucked would that be? I should be at home where I belong. I know in my heart I need to do this; we can't keep going round and round in circles fighting every second minute. The stupidest part is what we fight over- inane things like cordial flavours or Playdoh on the carpet in my Son's room- or which songs I played on the jukebox with my friend M the other night.

He says the issue is me not wanting to come home when he is ready to go.

My issue is that he called me an unfit Mother to be raising our kids while threatening to sign their custody over to my Mother as punishment for my continued drunkeness.

Mum says there's no way he'd do it- and besides, she would have to contest their custody as well or else how stupid will he look giving them away after he had just won custody for himself? Not that it's going to happen. It's just another idle threat to see if I'll change my wicked ways.

Which are? I'm not sure.

Getting some friends at last perhaps? Writing two books about being mental? Not sleeping all day on the couch like I used to? Keeping the house and yard so much nicer than ever before? Why didn't he call me an alchoholic when I was drinking three litres of wine on the lounge every night?

Why does he have to be so cruel to get his point across? Why does he deny what he says in the morning? How can he accuse me of making rude comments to Macca or make out that M hadn't even called me when my Sister was right there next to me and Remembers her calling me and asking me to go down to the pub? When I defend myself he asks me why- but how can I not defend myself when I am accused of lies?

The Psychologist Guy was right- he said I'd eventually pay for my fun. But then we both drink and take drugs- not so many bongs for him these days but he loves getting on the E's as much as the next person. We're all designer drug addicts...

The point I wanted to make went unheard- he didn't want to hear what my issues were with him- they weren't interesting enough to keep him listening to me and so instead he yells and talks over and down at me. I can't do it anymore no matter how much I love him.

Love? Do I still?

Or is it perhaps changing that I'm scared about?

Either way I'm getting a job this year. If we get back together he'll only continue to bring to my attention that it's him who earns all the money. He can keep it. I never wanted it anyway.

I just wanted him to like me- even from the very start when he gave me a fake name so he wouldn't have to see me again. He won't listen to a word that comes out of my mouth without treating it as lies or bullshit. He took my bankcards and all the money(actually I gave them to him but only as he insisted upon it) because he thought that if I left I would only go to the pub tonight and spend all HIS money. I thought that's what alcoholic wives did for a living?

How stupid can I be? Fifteen years? No one said it lad to last forever but I can't imagine it not. It hurts and upsets me to think of a life without him in it. Now I've got friends and I haven't got my Hubby. I don't want to go back to my life on the couch, don't you see? Why is it so hard to listen to me or speak nicely without all the 'Fuck off you're mental' speeches thrown in?

I don't know what I'm going to do. I'll be fucked if I'm going to live at my Mother's; me and the kids shouldn't have to live in a spare room and he's being a fuckwit if that's what he actually expects when he's the one who could quite comfortably live in a spare room at his mate's. And then there's the schools- if I have to move to some cheap-arsed suburb like Wingate then that's where our little Son is going to end up going to school.

I don't even want to break up- I just want him to stop and listen and stop calling me horrible names and just let me be myself- that Chick in the photo on the fridge with the springy-Santa hat who is smiling and happy. I want him to go to a counsellor with me so that he will listen to me long enough to hear what I am saying are MY issues with the relationship- instead of only getting to listen to what's fucked about me and why I'M ruining our relationship.

Am I the one saying things that can't be taken back? I probably did when I broke up with him. Maybe he won't even remember -he was drunk afterall. He probably thinks I'm at the pub now- squandering his money calling his mate a derro to his face. As if I would. I know in my heart I didn't do any of these things- from kissing Alistair on the couch(a ten-year oldy but one that still comes out from time to time) to supposedly making up that my Sister's were at my house last Saturday night even though he was THERE and he SAW them.

He stole my penis rock and clear marble and hid them in the car that night they went missing- there's no other way he would have 'known' they were down the side of the driver's chair because if they'd just fallen out of my pocket then he never would have noticed. Also they went missing the same night we fought and I knew they were gone Before I went bed. It's only a small thing- but he knows how much I love that rock and he hates it when I ring it out at parties or at the pub.

I wrote him a letter and showed him my 'mental cartoons'- I stayed up late making a new one that had UNFIT written on my t'shirt underneath a banner saying Happy Mother's Day. It isn't finished yet though there's not much point really. I posted the letter on my blog- it's alright nobody really reads it except for me- mostly only other bloogers who want to spam my site with their own crap in the hope I'll look up their site(No-not Gemnastics or Jenny Wynter or Riva- the only people who've actually left actual comments). Fat chance. I couldn't be bothered.

Looks like I'm going to kill this pen- the nib is fucked already. Pity.