Divorce – lee-lawmaster.com

Sixty One

On this day (4/16) in 1960, in Kokomo Indiana, my mother was born. Her life was full of what I can only assume was a hard childhood. Her mother, my memaw was not married and in her later years confessed to me that she became pregnant with my mother during a tryst in a church in her hometown of Leavenworth, IN.

Soon she would have a sibling, from a different father. I know as sisters they loved each other very much, and her new stepfather legally adopted my mother, but there was something she never elaborated about that she didn’t like about him.

From the combination of things both my mom and dad said to me, my mom grew up not knowing her real father, but she eventually got to. I don’t know if she was still in high school or not, but it was around the time she was 18. The experience was not what she had hoped for it to be, she had additional 2 half sisters. In the end, my father (who had just started dating her at the time) had to drive down to Floyds Knobs to get her. According to my father, he ended up putting a bullet through his head around the time I was born.

Motherhood wasn’t something my mom was prepared for, or enjoyed. She was still trying to figure out who she was when she became my mom. They were some hard years for her, trying to find her place in this world. It’s then when I think her never ending search for a “dad” began.

My father loved my mom deeply, and wholeheartedly until the day he passed away. Unlike my own experiences in life, he was always a part of the family to which he had divorced from. Even as an adult, my dad would come over to my moms for holiday events.

My mom on the other hand, spent several years cheating on my father, going to parties and spending time with darker ends of society. I even have memories of being at these gatherings with her, drugs and alcohol on full display, sex everywhere. The TV was a tool used to distract my eyes from what was going on.

My parents eventually divorced, with my father uncommonly retaining full custody of me. My mother could have visitation with me, but often didn’t have a place for me or transportation. I don’t think she ever paid child support.

For years, my mom disappeared. She was with her new man on the run from the law. Originally they had plans to go to Washington State but the gas money ran out in Texas, and that’s where they stayed. She eventually returned in an effort to get away from him but that was only temporary. It was however a sign of life getting better, as she started the job she would hold for almost 20 years then, at General Electric.

Through no choice of my own, I was forced to live with her between sixth grade and the age of majority. They were best of times, they were the worst of times. For the most part, it was like living with a room mate. There were a couple of times where I genuinely felt like I had a mother; but I always relied upon my dad for emotional support.

She supported me financially. She gave me what I can only call a middle class life, but our family unit was definitely shattered. I would often times purchase drugs for her. She would buy me a carton of cigarettes a week. She only had 1 rule, that if I was doing something illegal – I stay put. I kept my word on that rule, as I felt that it was the single thing I could do to honor her.

My wedding, where my own parents and grandparents were married

As an adult, her life seemed to be one series of disasters after the other until a large disaster reformed her life, she was laid off. The GE factory that I had even worked at was coming to a stand still. It’s now been closed for years. Through a program they have however, she was able to essentially skip the line and get a new job at the GE Appliance Park in Louisville, Kentucky. At the start it was a little rough, but she eventually was able to buy a home! Something neither of my parents had really done, owned a home.

Then, in the spirit of Star Trek, “Shakka, the walls fell.”

She lost that job too, she had amassed a large amount of debt and had nothing else to cling to but the inheritance her own mother left her of roughly $50k in an investment account and shared ownership of her home with my aunt, a home I always adored.

Unbeknownst to her, my aunt had allowed her youngest son and his newly started family to live there. I understood and appreciated it. It was better for someone to be there than for it to be empty, abandoned. I always wanted to keep that house in the family, no matter what.

With nowhere else to turn, and nothing else to lay claim to, my mother filed a protection order on her own nephew, who is an active member of the US Army. This forced him to leave the home his own mother let him stay in, that she legally owned 50% of.

It was during this time that I was going through my own circles of hell, with a divorce under my belt, a protective order on me and pending criminal charges happening. I had just gotten the job that I still have, giving me a level of financial freedom I had never known before. A load of responsibility came along with that however.

So here she was, my mother, in my deceased memaw’s house, “cleaning” it. There is no power, there is no water – there are no utilities. She asked for my help, and I did the only thing I felt that I could. I bought her as many non perishable goods I could, and loads of bottled water. I took her out to dinner, and I filled her gas tank up. I didn’t want her to die.

It was when she asked me to buy her cigarettes that I drew the line. I had tried to get her to quit smoking and at minimum start vaping for years. It is also at this point when the physical track on my mother went cold. I only heard from her two times after that day. All other information I have is 2nd hand or from law enforcement, doing welfare checks.

I found out years later that my memaw’s home, that her and my papaw had worked many hours of overtime and put lots of blood, sweat and tears into turning into the house of this grandchild’s dreams, was sold due to being behind on property taxes. It was sold to my half-sister’s uncle. Who has now turned it into something I don’t even recognize anymore. I refuse to even drive down that stretch of road anymore. My heart can’t bare to see it. They spent their lives trying to make the lives of their descendants better; and in the end the temple to which our family celebrated many of the things families celebrate became the subject that tore ours apart. It hasn’t been the same since.

So, happy birthday mom. Your children are doing okay. You have a new grand daughter. Both of your children do love you, and we do worry about you. Your oldest grand daughter needs you back in her life, as you are the only grandparent she has left; and that has left a tremendous hole in her heart.

Well That’s Great

To quote my father, who said that after we had a car accident.

A week ago, a condition I’ve been dealing with reared it’s ugly head. It’s embarrassing to talk about, but I think those are the things that NEED to be discussed. That event brought on a concatenation of events that I’m still trying to heal from, both mentally and physically.

Well what is it? The condition, diagnosed through one of my own staff doctors at the school of medicine is called proctalgia fugax. I started having flares of this condition after going to a concert last year. I didn’t seek any treatment, as there are no real treatment options specifically for it.

While on the way home it started to increasingly become difficult to sit, as a burning pain seemed to become more and more intense in the area of my tailbone. It came to a point where I was forced to stop. I got out on an off ramp of the interstate to try to walk it off, but it was of no help. I then tried to lay down, no change. My girlfriend claims I passed out between walking it off and laying down, but I have no recollection of this.

From that point forward, this intense amount of pain would happen unexpectedly and at any location. I began to get this urge in my mind when these attacks would happen. As if it was one of those built in instructions from when we were neanderthals. It told me to use my muscles to try to have a bowel movement. That doing it would make the pain go away. This became my immediate reaction when the pain would start to happen.

Over time, the pain and effects of this condition lessened. To the point where I barely felt it the last time it happened. I thought I was over this, but I thought wrong.

I was woken up from the pain coming on last Sunday, and did what I normally do. But this time it came on stronger than it ever had. What happened to me is up for interpretation. To my memory I went from sitting on the toilet to waking up on the floor, face down. I had no visual memory of moving from point a to b. I did however have audible memory of crashing sounds.

With my history of seizures, I was very concerned that I had just had a seizure. When I got off the floor I received a couple other surprises. My back was red in an area on my shoulder, full of scratches and gouges. Then came the pain. I had some severe pain coming from my right rib area, directly under my breast.

My MD faculty at the school of medicine urged me to go to the emergency room, but the stubbornness in me refused. There isn’t much that can be done for broken ribs anyway. Why go? The next day I went, as I woke up with more intense pain than I had been feeling. They confirmed what I had though, diagnosing a “rib contusion / minor fracture.”

I’ve taken the week off of work, and the pain has slowly gotten less sharp in intensity, but it does remain.

Random YouTube Wormholes, and how humanity touches me

Yesterday, I randomly discovered something that touched me deeply. I’m not much for vlogging, even though my own YouTube channel is essentially that. That’s where the great algorithms google has created said “hey, you might like this video.”

This is the exact video that was recommended to me

At first, my naughty side was engaged. Then I realized this was just a small piece of a much larger and deeper engagement. This woman was reading the secrets every teenage boy wanted to know when we were young, she was reading her diaries!

So I circled the wagons, and started at the very first video and kept the videos playing. It was around midnight when I stopped last night, not realizing the time. There were only two more videos of the series left, my heart full of those emotions I felt as a middle school / freshman boy.

By her own words, she came from a stereotypical middle class family, had what can be only described as a “normal” upbringing, yet only wanted the love and affection from a boy (or girl) that would make her feel complete. This moved me, down to the core of my being.

At the same age, I never felt liked, wanted or needed by anyone in my age group who was of love or sexual interest. Middle school was the time of my life in school, but much like Rodney Dangerfield I didn’t get no respect! I didn’t know what made girls like boys, but I wanted to be one of those boys they liked.

My 7th Grade picture, middle. They infamously spelled my name wrong.

Back then, I really wore my heart on my sleeve. (Who am I kidding, I still do.) My two go to’s with the opposite sex were cheesy lines and deeply written heartfelt notes of affection towards the ones that made my heart go pitter patter. I still speak with and know several of those girls, and those lines have stayed as memories of way back when.

One was to a girl who I instantly felt comfortable with, we will call her M. I would always ask her if she wanted to “take a magic carpet ride with me?” while passing her. Another girl, we will call her A, I used to essentially harass by asking her if she knew “what the other white meat was.” This was a play on the pork industry’s marketing at the time. Another girl, her first name is the name of one of the boats Christopher Columbus had, so I would ask her were they went? She’s now a professor at the same university I work at. When I took her course (you know I had to), I would bring this up, and even wrote it on my final exam “for bonus points.”

The notes, or letters or whatever you want to call them, I’m not sure if I’ll ever know how they were received by their intended recipients. I don’t even know if they got them. I would pour my heart and soul out to these girls, but never received a response in kind. Never.

But still, NOBODY WANTED ME. It seemed as if all of the girls I wanted actually wanted someone else, or a guy of more social significance had “laid claim to her” as if she were a piece of property. I didn’t understand, I still don’t.

I had my guy friends, people I had known quite literally since I was born, but it wasn’t the same. I wanted someone to fill my heart with joy. Bring smiles to my face just because they exist, all of that romantic stuff kids of this age think of.

I went through a lot of struggle during this time of life. My mother ran off with my stepfather as he was wanted by the police, leaving me alone in a trailer. Eventually I was living there with no electricity, no heat, no water – nothing. I was surviving through the money my dad faithfully paid for me to have lunch. When he discovered this, a new change began. He and I started living with my grandmother, 30 miles away (because my stepmom wouldn’t allow me to live in her house).

A girlfriend would have helped my soul, significantly. I will digress on me now.

Her YouTube series just highlights the struggles that most if not all of us must sadly endure. Those cringeworthy years where we want something – but don’t know how to get it. Don’t know how to understand the signs that someone is interested or not interested in you. They are times that leave an indelible mark on all of our souls.

You could say those times were fruitful for me, as I’ve always been what I call a “social chameleon.” Being able to fit into all sorts of social circles, it has enabled my continued connections to many of that time.

After a 11 year marriage, I ended up reconnecting with many from that time as a method of healing my wounded soul. I wanted to see how life had treated all of those that I genuinely cared about. I eventually started spending more and more time with one of them. At the age of 35, I was still unsure if she was giving me signs of interest, if she liked me, etc. It was like middle school all over again.

On the advice of a trusted friend, after we went to the drive-in (her kids, she and I) I planted a kiss on her as I was walking her to her door. I didn’t want to be in a state of confusion of where I stood in her life. I had to make a move. I was also legitimately worried that I had just ruined this excellent friendship she and I had been forming.

My girlfriend, also 7th grade at the same school. Middle image. We never spoke. WHY???

The constant pessimist, I assumed I would never hear from her again. I was wrong. In a couple of weeks, we will be celebrating 4 years as a couple. It’s been a wild adventure with her, but I think my life would have been much less interesting without her in it.

Had I realized I could look back on my writings 20 years later, and see the inner most thoughts of a younger version of myself, I would have started writing way back then. I hope you are reading this Gretasaur, and I hope you are smiling.

I sent Gretasaur an email and facebook message, just to say thank you. I deeply appreciate those gifts she provided the world, and I want her to be aware of that.

Trashy

Since around Thanksgiving I have seem to been accumulating trash. The orange trash bags required for the system of trash disposal I use seem to have been a unicorn around here.

It’s a good system, a system I have used and been involved with my entire life, ran by my county’s solid waste district. They sell rolls of these orange bags at local retailers. They also provide many recycling options. They even have an area where you can leave things that still have use for others to pickup and take.

I try, and always have to recycle as heavily as possible. With the recent holidays however, the amount of trash in this house has become too much!

I had a conversation with other people on the social media site NextDoor about this, which made me no longer feel like I was going crazy. Through them, I discovered that I was right. There was only 1 retailer in the county that seemed to have any, and they were literally a 30 minute drive away.

People have since posted images and stated they have been seeing them at closer locations to me, so I shall venture out to once again try to find these mysterious Orange Bags.

Once I accomplish this task, I hope to get back to working on the IROC. I want to get the installation of these speakers completed. I also might remove that sagging headliner in preparation to recover it. I then have to take my little piece of sunshine back to her mothers, something I loathe but such is life.

Catching Up – Saving My Home

Divorce, it’s an ugly word. It brings out the worst in everything involved. The people and the government. Fathers of children are typically taken for everything they have or are attached to, and mothers are given sainthood.

Well, that didn’t happen here. I wasn’t about to let it happen either.

All she wanted to do was run away and start a new life with someone new. This left the house. As I said in my previous post, at the time – I didn’t make enough money to even consider making the mortgage payment, which was $960 a month at the time due to her mismanaging of our finances. That was literally my entire net income.

She wanted to give it back to the bank in a short sale, but agreed to let me try to save it. I knew that I couldn’t afford to rent an apartment, and I knew that I would have to get a room mate if I got an apartment. So why not use this asset of mine for my own gain? Right?

As soon as I could, I put an ad up on Craigslist and all other sites trying to find a room mate. My area has a problem with rentals, as they are typically priced to a point of luxury. I’m not trying to make any money here, just trying to survive myself. What I charge for rent basically pays the utilities.

I also refinanced the house. I didn’t want to, but needed to for two reasons. To get my ex wife’s name off of the mortgage, and to make that payment lower. It set me back a decade, but now it is mine.

It all started with phone calls and emails. I would get calls with nobody on the other end of the line, and emails with nothing in them, not even a subject line. It was constant, it was nagging and it was frustrating.

Once I was able to actually communicate with this person, he ended up being the best room mate a guy could have. He was originally from the area but had lived a life of adventure, traveling the famous trails of our country. He had to come back to town to take care of things due to the death of his father, needing a place to stay for a few months.

He kept his area clean, and would even clean the entire house! I loved that guy. When he told me that he was done here and going to pack his bags to move in with his brother in Bozeman Montana, I was a little heart broken.

I then got another room mate, this time a female. For a period of a couple of months they were both in my house at the same time. This is when I learned that more than 1 room mate just doesn’t work well. Too many people.

She is the polar opposite of Tony, on the level of hoarder. I try to do my best to have more of a friendship than straight up business relationship with my room mates, to weed out people I would not be comfortable living with. I will be more cautious with the next one.

A few months ago, her mother passed away and left her the entire estate, including a home. She is currently working on fixing it up and will be moving out when she is ready. So the search will be on again for a person to help me sustain my home.

Catching Up – Midlife Crisis

This is a bit out of order, forgive as there is just so much to catch up on.

The divorce didn’t leave me with much. I got lucky on several things except for my method of transportation. I was left with the car my now ex-wife had when I met her, a 2001 Kia Rio. I referred to it as the “Clown Car.” As there was literally no leg room in it in the back seats when I sat up front.

So I did what I had to do. I didn’t make enough money to afford anything. I was trying to save my house at the time. I took ownership of it, did some maintenance on it, tinted the windows as it was the hottest vehicle I’ve ever seen in my life.

That was until I took my daughters on a shopping spree for that Christmas following the divorce.

We were on our way back from Indianapolis, when suddenly smoke started filling the car. We suddenly had no heat. I knew any repairs to this car were going to be costly. The car was only worth about $1500 as it was.

Throughout the divorce process, I had been interviewing for the job I currently have. When this car broke down, I made enough to afford that car payment and extra cost for full coverage insurance. So I started thinking, just what do I want?

That’s when I came to the sad realization that manual transmissions aren’t something you can get easily in a lot of vehicles these days. It broke my heart. I wanted a manual transmission, as I’ve had several issues with automatics.

So it came down to the final 3. It would be either a Jeep Unlimited (4 doors), a Chevrolet Colorado (4 door) or a Chrysler 200.

I ended up just buying the first Jeep I saw. A 2010 Jeep Unlimited Sport. The first thing I did was jump in the back seat – to make sure my very important passenger would have enough room. This was critical to me. Boy did it.

Even though it was used, I still had to pay out the nose for it. My credit had been ruined by the ex-wife, so I had to pay an exorbitant interest rate and my monthly payments are almost as much as my mortgage payment.

But seeing the smile on that little girl’s face, makes it all worth it. Every single penny.

Two and a half years later, I’ve put over 40k miles on it. We’ve criss crossed the country. Going as far west as Yellowstone National Park, and as far north as North Dakota in it.

Emergency

After the incident that happened on that Friday the 13th, my now ex wife filed for an “emergency custody & visitation” hearing.

It rattled me to my core. Indiana is known for taking the mother’s side of anything in regards to children unless the mother is a known drug addict or prostitute.

In the document I was served with, twice, she claimed that my child was not safe with me and that my mental status was questionable. Nothing in the document had anything to do with my parenting abilities or lack there of, it had everything to do with what happened between my ex wife and I.

I got some legal advice from a family law attorney. I wanted to hire him, but I didn’t have the ability to cover his $4000 retainer. I was hoping she hadn’t hired one.

I showed up to the hearing late, as I was sitting at the wrong court room for 20 minutes. When I showed up, the proceedings had already began but I was welcomed in by the judge.

She swore me in, and I apologized for being late. It was me, my ex-wife and the judge, all within 3 feet of each other. She then simply asked me what happened. I told her the same story that I posted here. I also mentioned to her how when I returned home from the hospital, all of the things we agreed on keeping at my home of our child’s was gone. The only things remaining were toiletries and coloring books.

The judge’s eyes opened wider, and she told my ex-wife that what she did was wrong. I could tell my ex-wife was scrambling to explain her actions, but no explanation was needed.

My ex-wife lied under oath and stated that I “pushed her down the stairs.” That was impossible as a hutch was blocking the stairs at the time. Her sister was at the bottom of those stairs, which provides a witness to that event.

The judge said that she saw no reason to modify the custody & visitation agreement, plain and simple.

I told her that I want to have my daughters together and will have my eldest with me when I have my other child. She said that was good, and wants me to do just that.

At the very end the judge then proclaimed that “he gets her on Thanksgiving.” I’m not sure how to take that exactly. Before I walked into that courtroom was she trying to keep my child from me on the biggest holiday of the year for me? I guess I’ll never know.

In the end, the justice system surprised me. I’m grateful and appreciative.

On my way home from the hearing, I started receiving friendly texts from my ex-wife concerning bringing items back to my house. It’s brought a flood of questions into my mind. Is this really the woman I call the love of my life? Is this really the person I vowed my life to? Is this really the mother of my youngest child? Perhaps one day, I will discover those answers, but for now I’m just left with questions.

Starting Over

As of this moment, I’m basically starting over in life. Not a move I wanted to make, but I digress.

I’m starting with my girls. My first mission is to revamp what is now their space. I just purchased a very nice bunk bed for them and will eventually have their room stocked as it should be. My now ex-wife took everything of my youngest daughter’s except for her toiletries. I’m not asking for them back either, like a phoenix I will rebuild. Dad’s place will be special to her. The home she came to from the hospital will always be a home for her, even if she isn’t there full time.

Then it’s a matter of building a new identity for myself. I built my adult identity as a family man, but I have no family now. I don’t expect or want a new one either. I’m my own man now. I’m not going to get anywhere by sitting at home like a bump on a log either. It’s not going to help me, it’s only going to hurt me. I need to get out there, unfortunately the peer group I typically hang out with is either 15 years older or younger than me. It works against me in many ways. I need new friends, I need single friends. I need new experiences.

The first step is to blank the canvas that was created in my home. I have a lot (and I do mean a lot) of holes to patch. Once I get that completed, I think my mind can finally start to settle. I’m just having some trouble with motivation.

I have a room mate, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery with this guy. My home is cleaner than I think it ever has been at this point. I only wish he would be here longer, because before you know it he will be leaving for his home in Oregon.

It’s final (in many ways)

Friday the 13th, a date that will and already does live in infamy. That’s also when my divorce was final.

It started as a typical day, but turned into something very dark, something I might pay a heavy price for.

My now ex wife (which I didn’t know at the time) had spent the day moving most of her things into the garage to prepare to move out the next day. Her sister came down from Indianapolis to help. I was under the assumption that she would not be there when I got back home from work.

I wanted everything she was taking to be put either downstairs or in the garage, as I didn’t want a bunch of people I don’t know walking through my house, potentially ransacking what they please. I was going to do the good thing and take Amelia with me and we were going to have a fun day together, see a movie and go to the Wonderlab.

So I started moving what was left, heavy furniture. There was a chest of drawers, a cedar chest, the dining room table and chairs and a hutch to be moved. I figured it could be done that night, and I assumed that I could do it on my own (as she was supposed to leave that night and take Amelia to a birthday party).

I started with the hutch. Rachel provided some assistance, but was not happy about it. She kept saying that I wanted to break her things, I didn’t. I just didn’t want them where they were. We had problems getting it down the stairs, and that’s when she told me the divorce was final, and in a very snarky tone.

I don’t know why, but between that and the situation which was escalated by her sister, my anxieties got the best of me and I lost control. I had to end the feelings within my body by any means possible. I felt like I was going to literally explode. My heart was racing so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of my body at that moment.

So I did something I greatly regret. I pushed her. I then got my handgun, loaded it and was going to end my life. I never pointed it, but held it at my side. Then I saw the tattoo I had put on my arm of my dad’s handwriting. It reads “Try to do me proud. This is ol’ Dad signing off. Love, Dad.” It stopped me in my tracks. I knew he would not be proud of my actions, I knew he wouldn’t want my life to end like this.

So I put the gun away, unloaded it and sat on my couch. I knew the police were on their way. I just wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Was I going to jail? Am I now a violent person who just did a cruel and harmful thing to my family?

Sure enough, the police did call. They asked me to come out of the house. I didn’t want to escalate the situation, so I did. They had me put my hands on my head and kneel. I was then cuffed and the handgun was confiscated under Laird’s Law. The sheriff’s deputy said that he will try to have my lifetime concealed carry permit stripped from me as well.

They asked me what happened, and I told them much like I’m telling everyone here and now. I’m fully aware this is publicly viewable, and that’s okay. This is what happened. They were obviously checking to see what the truth and what the facts were. The police (and I can only assume my ex wife) took mercy on me. No charges were filed. Instead I was taken to the hospital on a 72 hour law enforcement hold because of my suicidal action.

The law enforcement officers were kind to me, and I understand what they did and why they did it. I thanked them for their efforts and their jobs. On the way to the hospital, I had a good and genuine conversation with the Sheriff’s deputy.

I was then placed into the detention center of the ER, a place I had never been before. It was as interesting as it was frightening. I had to remove all of my clothes and wear a gown. A nurse graciously let me keep my cell phone until I was moved to the “crisis” unit. I was then sold/pressured to sign myself into the hospital voluntarily as it would let me get out in 24 hours or less. I came to find out later that was a complete lie.

That unit was what I like to refer to as “jail-lite.” My room was very much like a jail cell in my opinion. There was a jail like bed, a single chair and a camera pointed straight at the bed. The room had 2 doors to it and it was cold, so very cold. I was strip searched and they attempted to do a metals scan on me, but did not due to my VNS implant. It was a small unit, and I was allowed to move freely around it. There was a single bathroom for the entire unit. There was a phone that I was told I could use freely. I called my ex girlfriend and told her what had happened. I was not able to use that phone again.

That night, nurses checked on me and I sobbed at times uncontrollably in that room. I was scared, I was frightened and I was regretting the events that had taken place. It was the closest thing to jail that I had ever experienced in my life. I tried to sleep but couldn’t due to how cold I was.

The next day, I saw the psychiatrist and a counselor. He obviously didn’t care, and the counselor took my statements and was consoling. Within 3 hours I was moved to the “stress care” unit. I was told how much better it would be there, and indeed it was better.

I had space, and I wasn’t as cold. I was given a room with a room mate. He told me that he was “hearing voices” which creeped me out a bit, but he stayed primarily in the room – so I stayed away. I spent much of my time walking the unit, which is a U shape. Walking 12 complete legs is a mile. I can only assume I got in at least 10 miles or more in. They had “day rooms” with TV and such, but I couldn’t access a newspaper. That made me sad.

The nurses and staff were much more helpful than in the crisis unit, even though they were the same people. One in particular was especially kind, giving me information that I wouldn’t have found out for hours had she not told me. I went to a couple of group therapy sessions, one of which was very helpful for my anxiety. Something called HeartMath, which is a way of meditation to control your heart and in turn control your brain. It has helped me, and I’m currently on a regimen of exercises 3 times a day. I was told that once I can notice the control, I can back it off. But I don’t have that control yet.

Not an hour after that session, I was dismissed from the hospital. My ex girlfriend picked me up and took me home. It was a sad sight. All of the things we discussed, all the things we agreed upon, she threw out the window. All of Amelia’s things were gone, things she wanted to stay at daddy’s house. The only things left are her toiletries and the coloring books she wanted to keep. No clothes, no toys. Her car seat was taken from my car and her bike was even taken, when she had previously said that it should stay there “because daddy is going to show me how to ride it.”

I couldn’t stop the tears, so I left.

On and off throughout my stay, I tried to contact Rachel but never got a response. She then blocked me on facebook. That let me know, and so I sent her a final email message. I won’t contact her again.

I’m left with puzzling questions. Questions that I probably will never get an answer to. I was supposed to pick her up from school all week, and take her to her soccer lesson this week. This weekend, I was supposed to have her as my first official weekend. To poke and prod would just make things worse than they already are.

I’ve discovered that she’s requested a hearing to change custody and visitation. This saddens me, but I understand the concern after the acts I did do. I’ve said from the beginning, I must pay the price for whatever I have done, and that I will.

It Doesn’t Feel Right

Today is my first full day back at work since my surgery, and it doesn’t feel right. I would have never started or even thought of working at IU if it weren’t for Rachel. I wouldn’t be a man with an open mind and heart if it weren’t for Rachel.

I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it weren’t for Rachel. The woman who has shown through her actions that those things mean little to nothing to her. She’s said many times that she “needs a fresh start.” I don’t think she realizes that she doesn’t need a new relationship to have a fresh start.

Yet here I am. Sitting at this help desk contemplating the past, because that’s what it really is. I’m thinking about a person that no longer exists. A figment of my imagination as it were. I only want her to get better, and she’s in counseling but I haven’t seen how she’s benefited from it, other than giving up and letting go of her life.

On Saturday, my entire life will feel this way. She’s moving out with the assistance of her new lover, his family and her family. I’ve been tasked to stay away and keep our daughter. It’s my first official weekend of visitation.

I know I’ll heal from this. It will just take time.