Chicken Fajitas

I wanted to be done with my recovery writing by the end of 2015. It marked a significant passage of time from a lot of the events themselves and in my recovery as a whole. It just made sense to sort of wrap everything up, especially now that I’ve started two new chapters of my life with the end of my childbearing abilities and birth of the Twins. It would have been ideal for my artistic sensibilities… of course what I WANTED to do, and what WOULD have been ideal doesn’t seem to be working out.

I keep getting hung up on my final post, because just when I think I have a good handle on things and can convey everything that I’m feeling in regards to my young adulthood, the rug gets figuratively pulled out from under me. I can’t tell if it’s self sabotage because I’ve been baring these burdens for so long, it’s a little scary to think of everything coming to a real and final end, or if I’m falling victim to some sort of elaborate game of gas lighting and intentional miscommunication. Really, it could go either way… which sounds a bit bizarre if you’re just joining us here, but the fact of the matter is as long as I’ve been blogging, even before my diagnosis and subsequent recovery my ex, the subject of the majority of my writing, has been following me.

Not in the literal sense, he’s never clicked on the follow button that I can tell, but he is aware of everything I’ve written in regards to my past and to say he’s livid is a vast understatement. How does he find it if he’s never actually followed it? It started as a few mutual “friends” reconnecting with me after a few years of no contact. I thought it was some innocent encounters via social networking because that’s how social networking is designed, but as time went on I realized that they were only there to basically spy on me and filter information about me and my life back to my ex.

Which is pretty funny actually how misconstrued the information he got was. It was like the world’s worst game of telephone. I’d post something sarcastic or metaphorical, and it would get taken literally. Then my blog stats would spike, and I’d follow the breadcrumbs left behind in my reports right back to him and his goons, calling him out on the blog which would then get printed by a goon or two and sent to my ex. This continued for like… almost five years before I actually spoke directly to my ex and he got so flustered and upset that his intel was mostly wrong, he admitted everything trying to argue with me about my own damn life.

After that, I deleted everyone we had known during our relationship from my life, and pretty much stopped referencing him and his creepy pseudo stalking aside from the stories about our time together, which some how made things worse. The breadcrumbs are still there, but 95% of the time I ignore them unless I notice a pattern develop, then my curiosity gets the best of me and I follow them. More often than not, once I get to the end of the trail there is something waiting for me, leading me to believe the crumbs are intentional.

It would be easy to ignore them all of the time if not for the associated anxiety. Over the years since we split, we’ve had exactly one civil encounter the rest have been nothing but yelling, threatening, and him going on and on about how much joy it would bring him to see me die a horrible violent death. As if I didn’t take him seriously the first time he went off on me. Uh, yeah. I get it. I did survive him, after all. I know when he’s serious, or just venting for the sake of frustration.

And yet, on a reliable cycle of six months or so here come the breadcrumbs, leading to another angry venty rage and the chance to scream at me and wish death upon me. It doesn’t really hurt emotionally anymore, but it does pique my anxiety because I sincerely BELIEVE him. If he had the opportunity and the means, he wouldn’t think twice.

Which is ironic since the reason he has supposedly been following me is only because he believes I’m stalking him. Now, how much logical sense does that make? Yes… Let me try to be in the same area as you after your repeated threats on my life. I might be reckless and a bit cavalier at times, but I’m not going around putting my life in danger for funsies. I don’t exactly go out of my way to avoid him anymore, but I’m definitely not seeking him out.

So there’s that whole thing keeping me stuck and vigilant. Then we have the other memories. The memories of the GOOD times, which I generally don’t share here because of the way they get misunderstood. I tried that for a while, sharing experiences equally between the good and bad, but it was more dramatic than it was worth as I was accused of both being unfaithful to my husband, plus trying to win my ex back.

Yes, apparently remembering that he didn’t always have a death wish out for me, and that we had some really fun times together in addition to our darker times equates to me missing him and trying to come between he and his current partner. Which is at least partially true in one sense. I do miss the good times, but I’m happy with Hubs and my life now. I’m stuck with my ex and his partner anyway, even though I never tried to break them up. Let’s make everything MORE dramatic, am I right?! (that’s sarcasm btw)

There’s also the fact after nearly a decade of him spewing detailed violent threats all over the place, no amount of apologizing will ever rebuild any sort of trust. I’m not angry, I can understand, and forgive, but trust is permenantly severed. He wasn’t the most stable person before all of our break up drama. I might as well slit my wrists if I ever even entertain the idea of trusting him again.

Which is incredibly sad, although probably best in the long run. All we ever did was get into trouble together in one form or fashion. If we’d left the door open for friendly exchanges we’d end up in trouble together again. I mean, seriously. We would. I get it. I only wish the alternative didn’t come with death threats.  It would be much easier to put it behind me, but then again maybe that’s why he chose threats of violence instead of simply ignoring my blog. Maybe he doesn’t want me to move on? For what reason I have nary a clue, but at this point I’m seriously beginning to wonder.