It's day 2 of being rid of the monster. (The monster that sits atop the person we were hoping to save, underneath.)
I talk to myself all day. Out loud, I'm mostly saying thank god. I'm so happy. He's fucking insane. What a drain. He did nothing. He contributed nothing. It was piles of anger and sadness and anxiety and lurking and non action and bitterness and weird. But at least it went on for three months.
I can't believe he left, really. He didn't have to leave. The kids aren't home til May and June. He had a full month he totally could have stayed and I wouldn't have been able to do anything. But he found that place and it was cheap and pretty and he was riding that high and signed the lease and then he was talking about it and as soon as I said well I hope you get your mental health figured out then he went dark like storm clouds and resisted that it was about mental health, said instead that it was because it was going to be too crowded here, he rejected, in fact, my whole statement and he didn't know there was a time limit to getting mental health help
and I said well we said to move in with us you had to have continuation of your mental health care. We agreed to that. You were in therapy. We said okay move here January, have a therapist set up so you stay safe and helped. It's April. You never set up a therapist
Well I got cheap insurance
Your insurance has the therapy
I've been busy
Then he moved out and b cried because that's his baby and he's all alone.
and I was in the other room feeling like a helicopter was lifting a hundred thousand pound mean asshole off my heart.
I don't want b to feel bad. I want this guy to get the help he needs. I just can't be in the same room with him until he has accepted help from strangers, from trained people who can help him. I'm telling the truth. Get help or get out.
But I understand B. I feel and know exactly how his gentle heart feels. So I'm giving him hugs.
But now I can take care of my mom, and work here at home without dreading this guy coming into the house, or coming into the room. I can Live at my house that I made with my family, the place I nurtured into a safe and peaceful, loving environment and I don't have to be angry or irritated that someone is in my kitchen every time I want to be in there. I figured out that even if Bradley Cooper had wanted to be here at my house for 3 months, speaking to me in French (he speaks French) and cracking jokes after we had spent hours hanging out in bed with Jennifer Lawrence together, I would ALSO be sick of even Bradley fucking Cooper in my kitchen at 8 am. That is strictly an empty place for me and my tea and my feet up eating breakfast without a fork.
My heart can finally rest a minute and I can have JUST dementia mom and heart attack survivor B, and their love and care to tend to. And the horses to give me my challenge and time outdoors in nature. And swimming to decompress. And dogs on the bed to remind me to breathe and relax. And wrestling with words and stories, and when not writing, then thinking of words and stories. It's a very gentle balance and now things have a chance to settle like a birdbath with only one drop of rain after a storm is passing, over there in the distance.
I hope it stays for a bit, stillness.
