Forgotten Facts...

It was All Because You and Twinkle Toes rang up and got Me off the couch on Saturday night to go to a barbecue at Fido's house...

I was happy staying at home watching the television with Little Son- nursing away my latest drugover. I hadn't slept much the night before; Ecstasy does that to you, you know. But it was You who had let me off my chain in the first place; coming home after a six hour stint at the pub Yourself to mind Little Son for Me while I went out with Mac and Jen Jen. You knew what I would do if I had the opportunity. You knew- because that's what You would do, too, given half the chance. You did it two nights before, Yourself.

Remember?

I'm not entirely to blame. We've both been taking too many drugs and drinking too much for way too many years. I'm not the only one with a problem, either- though I realise it's a difficult thing to admit to the first time that you do. I've struggled with these addictions of Mine for years and know it's no easy thing to 'fess up to Yourself- of All People; because it's easier to stay the same than admit to having wasted your Life in the relentless pursuit of the next wasting.

I thought that was the way in which to get you to open Yourself up to Me. I suck your cock so much better when I'm drunk or high. Like it's the Real Me who shows no inhibitions- the Me who isn't ashamed of wanting to ask to be fucked hard like the true Inner-slut in Me craves. Like that hot, big-titted redhead from Bad Wives 2...

So I thought we were on the same page for a change...

Don't you remember the conversation with Fido that we had? In which we discussed Little Son going to sleep in his daughter's bedroom for a few hours so that I wouldn't have to drive home so soon? When he said that would be More Than Okay and Alright I took what I took. And an hour or so later-just as the full effect of the acid I had dropped was beginning to take it's hold-was when You decided that it was time to take Little Son home to bed.

The fact is that Neither of us should Ever be high while our child is around. It shouldn't be a way of Life for him. And I shouldn't be expected to jump into our car and drive him home when I am heavily under the influence of them. Understood? He was fine to to bed and I would have waited until I was sober enough to drive. All he needed was someone to lay down with him for ten minutes until he fell asleep. I should have done it Myself. I should have known You'd have a phobia against sleeping in pink and purple painted bedroom...

That was the Catalyst, my Friends- for what followed...

So little Son wouldn't lay down. He wanted to stay up and play X-Box. You came out to where I was sitting with Jen Jen and made out that Everybody was ready for home-time. Jen Jen was 'suffering the flu'. Miss Fancy Pants had to get up early for a karate seminar. Everybody wanted to go and it was Me who was holding them up. Apparently. I look at the beer I just cracked; it's not that late and We'd already made arrangements to stay longer after all. And now he wants me to drive. Immediately. Now. It's not far to Jen Jen's house. Only two hundred metres and at the end of the street. I grab little Son's bag of stuff, his pillow and Wiggles blanket and go to get little Son. I've got the shits at You for guilting Me into driving when I've only just gotten off my head on acid. I'm angry that because you can't sleep in a purple and pink bedroom that creeps you out You make me do this.

I walk into the kitchen- you're telling Miss Fancy Pants something with a genuine look of "Give me sympathy" on your face. I see his eyes fall on mine and his expression changes to one that gives away the fact he was just bitching subtly about Me.

Talking about Me?

Yes he sneers. Angry now; especially when I make comment that it is because of his dislike of the pink and purple bedroom. A fact he'd admitted to earlier in the evening.

No he says. This is what He has to go through Every Time he takes me anywhere. This is because I don't know how to tell when the Party is Over. This is because I have a Problem. What is it; he asks Me- yelling at Me even though I'm now holding our five year old Son in my arms; little Son's yelling at Us both to Stop and crying that He doesn't want to go anywhere.

I put him down and he goes with Jen Jen- but not before seeing his Father make a shove towards Me and grab at my throat; lightly enough not to leave bruises but strong enough to shock Me. He's telling me something like Get your act together Bitch and I yell at him to get Fucked and that he's not coming anywhere with us. By now he's sitting on the front porch with Twinkle Toes-who was apparently telling him that it wasn't so cool for him to lay his hands on Me like that-still with the same venomous look in his eyes. I don't know if it's actual hate or just rage...

What makes him so angry with Me? Could it have been the trip he took himself? Drinking for six or seven hours straight? Not wanting to sleep in a purple and pink bedroom? Could it have been Fido's ultra-annoying childhood friend who's visiting tonight- the one who's been picking arguments and fist fights with everybody all evening? Could it be that he didn't want to upset Miss Fancy Pant's karate plans for the next day because he has a massive crush on her and wants to fuck her?

Truth be told it might All be my fault. My fault for always being the first to arrive at the party and the last one to leave. My fault that I have no self-restraint when I drink and won't allow anyone to tell Me when I've had enough. But doesn't it make me funnier when I'm stoned? Aren't I the hilarious kind generous friend You'd like to have in Your circle? Don't get the wrong impression about my group of Mates- they are all hard-working fast-living fun-loving and deep-thinking group of Individuals and Couples I've ever known. Perhaps I shouldn't Out them; but the majority socially take drugs and drink to excess on the weekends, too. Our lives are one continual party and that's the way we like it; we even joke we should pay weekend board to each other because none of us like to go home.

The party has to end...

I drove the short distance to Jen Jen's; the fight seemed to keep me sober and I arrived without incident. Luckily. We are just getting into bed when the phone rings. It's Twinkle Toes. They're coming up to get Hubby's cigarettes- which I've inadvertently taken when I'd packed up little Son's belongings. I go to bed; taking the cigarettes with Me- thinking Fuck You; you don't get to come over only to get a cigarette. I want a fucking apology this time. I send him a text; telling him he's piss-poor excuse of a man for laying his hands on Me when he knows full well that I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag. He might not have actually hit me but he threatened to; with fist drawn back and chest pumping and eyes full of mad hate directed at my Being. Who I am; all I represent...

And then I go to bed. Little Son wakes me up and Jen Jen makes him a Vegemite sandwich for breakfast. She tells me that after I went to bed they came and left- cigarette-less; and stayed the night at Twink's place( who also wouldn't have driven so soon if my Hubby hadn't killed the party)- adding that there was no way she was going to offer The Prick (my Hubby) one of her's- especially after his little 'unnecessary outburst'. She's not even taking sides; and while I was grateful to her for letting me stay over I knew she was pissed off being placed in the middle of our argument. I don't blame her; all of our Friends have witnessed it at one time or another, though perhaps this incident was one of the worst She's seen.

I drove home about ten the next morning. Hubby wasn't back from Twink's so I set about putting on a load of laundry and doing the washing up while I waited for the inevitable. The gate squeaking signalled his return. He came in and asked for a cigarette.

I pulled my hand back; holding the cigarettes out of his reach. Got anything to say, I ask him. Like sorry for grabbing me by the throat last night- or for making me drive when I'm over the limit and on acid? We're yelling at each other and Little Son comes in as his Father rushes me off my feet by the throat, slamming me into the kitchen bench- holding me there with his fist pulled back and trembling. Just Itching to Do It. Don't You Fucking Hit Me I tell him- my body seemingly offering No resistance; save a feeble flick of the cigarette packet aimed at his face. It misses but he lets me go and grabs the packet before storming out to the back veranda; yelling abuse, tormenting me that he Doesn't Like Me Anymore and to Get The Fuck Out.

I am- I tell him. Just grabbing a wet school uniform for little Son so he can go to school. Don't ever touch me again- I tell him; grabbing my purse and the packet of smokes. I don't even have shoes on. It's eleven am...

AT the bottle shop I buy a six pack. I know my Mother is only going to rag Me out for drinking but like I told her later What did she expect Me to do after my Husband had just kicked me and my kids out of our house? Lucky really, I explained, that I hadn't bought a four litre cask of crap like I really wanted to do. Then My crap wouldn't have bothered me even half as much.

Why do you stay, Buffoon, she later asked me; in Effect- why do you like the Life you have-and I had no answer. But I do know that the drinking and the drugs aren't the Real Problem- they are just a visible symptom of Whatever it is that I am suffering from. But I'm getting ahead of Myself...

So I'm drinking my beer on the front veranda of my childhood home- playing Snap with little Son. Hubby has noticed I've taken the smokes as I fled and calls Me up. Smokes he paid for but didn't buy at the shop himself(due to his very real Shopping-phobia; just recently I sent him into a shop to buy a doughnut for our little Son and he came back empty handed saying he just couldn't handle the crowd)but none-the-less His because He earns the money around here. And bring back my money Bitch. All $32.85 of it. Because it's mine. And then Fuck Off again. So I did. I was even sorta calm as I delivered them into the mailbox; where I presume he retrieved them from as soon as I drove off.

Back to the veranda and beer...

I sat there an hour constructing a text message; trying to put across my side of the story; how we had discussed with Fido staying longer at the party. That regardless of how much it 'pissed him off' it wasn't His right to grab my throat and menacingly threaten to hit me- especially in front of little Son. Even if he didn't hit me it felt like He Could have. And I know that he finds this a reasonable way of expressing his anger when things don't go the way he likes it. When he feels like he has lost control of what I am, or Aren't doing. If it's not up to his expectations then he can treat me in any manner he wants. Even if it makes me scared of him...

He rings back- yelling more abuse at me and telling me he's not interested in reading or hearing about my bullshit excuses anymore because he's heard me do it all before; justify my actions when I am just one fucked up person- and then hangs up in my ear before I can say hardly a word. This is why I have to write you a text message, Hubby; even if only to get the chance to voice a single thought without it being cut down and ignored. To be Ignored;to be Unheard by the one I love- that is emotional torture. It's mental abuse.

That-and more- I wrote in the next text...

And He called back. Again. All he hears is More Bullshit from Me. I'm only escaping the truth of Myself in my delusions; he doesn't care to hear it. It isn't His problem.

Well, No. I'm Not.

His problem is that he has never apologised for a thing in his life. He has never Once felt sorry for hurting Me all those times; verbally, mentally, emotionally and physically.

So followed a sleepless night on the top bunk in my Parent's spare room. My old room. The computer room now. I must have woken up thirty times wedged up against the wall; little Son's foot square in my back. I don't know if I slept badly because of the distinct lack of space or because I'd had no bed-time bong...

Next morning I woke and took little Son with Me as I went home to make up his lunch-box for school. He didn't want to get out of the car and wasn't keen to go inside but was happy enough to play in the yard with Chopper until I'd done what had to be done. Then we left again; my intention wasn't to start another fight in front of our Son today. He'd seen enough in the past few days- and had thought up his own solution for the problem; "Just call the police Mum and they can take Daddy away to the Jail". Why would the police do that? "Because Daddy's a Dickhead Mummy". That's why.

So I took little Son and dropped him off at school with a kiss; came home and showered(remember I hadn't showered in three days or changed my clothes in as long)and walked down the back where Hubby was working on his motorbike. It's sat in shed, broken, for the last six months and I've been driving him to work everyday. I guess he's working on it now so that he doesn't have to rely on Me to get him there each day.

Are You ready to talk yet? I ask him. No; Not really- is the response. I'm sick of having the same conversation each and every time we go out anywhere. That You're not ready to go home. It's a broken record Buffoon, and I'm sick of the shit. So do You want me to pack our bags, then I ask? I don't give a fuck really, You say. I'm doing what I want to do from now on. I've got this shit(pointing at broken motorbike)that I want to get done today. You do whatever the fuck you like.

I turned on my heel without another word. Grabbed my phone, wallet and car-keys and drove to my friend's CC's house. She was sitting on her veranda with Bubby and her two Sisters. Her Hubby, Norty,on a rostered day off, offers me a bong almost as soon as I walk through the door. So I have two- and then explain to CC the situation I've just left...

CC is the sort of person who can Really get into another person's head. She's a Virgo like Me; empathetic loyal and emotional. She listens whilst making me a fresh corned-beef sandwich and we both lament there are no pickles; and after she has given advice and tried to assure Me that This episode will end the same way as it always has, with Me and Hubby remaining together, I leave to confront Him again in a discussion about Exactly What Is Happening Here With Our Domestic Situation; should I be packing our bags for a more permanent stay at my Mother's, perhaps or are we going to try and work through this One Last Time? Norty and CC have offered to put me and the kids up for a few nights until we get it sorted but if it were a permanent end to the relationship then our permanent residence for at least the next six months would be at my Mother's and Father's. And just quietly; this scenario scares the absolute bejesus out of Me.

It's about 2 when I get home. I'm not surprised that He's not here- and if I know Him at all; he's at the pub with Twink. It's nearly three when my phone rings. Will You and little Son and eldest Son be home tonight I'm cooking hamburgers and want to know how many tomatoes I need to buy at the shop? The shop? He's actually going Into a shop And buying something? Unbelievable!

I call CC, who informs Me I've left my wallet under her couch*- and tell her we won't need to stay at her house at this stage, thanks for the offer anyway, but he's asked if we'll be here for hamburgers for tea tonight. This is His way, she says, of saying sorry and that he wants me back home but just doesn't know any other way of saying it. I'm dubious about that. I think it's more to do with the fact his motorbike is still not going and he'll need someone to drive him to work in the morning...

And lets face it- I need him, too. For the moment at least. If keeping the Peace for a few months means I can stay in this house on my own terms until I find somewhere else to live then I will keep the Peace. If it means staying home on the weekends so I can save up the money needed to move out then that's what I'll do. If I have to work weekends then I'll do that too- in fact I told my Boss yesterday that I am now available every weekend if needed- when I'd only been If I can hang out here until Tax Time then we would get enough money to get himself some transport to get to work and enough for me to move out without having to beg money from somewhere else. Because whilst I love her I couldn't bear to live at my Mother's again. I need my Own space.

But if You think I will stay in this house- or in the bed we've shared for the past fifteen years-without an apology or some sort of admission of wrong then You are the deluded one, Hubby. I'll do extra shifts. I won't go to the pub or spend money on drugs. If I have to I'll sell my antique Bottle pictures that my Grandmother gave Me. I'll get the money together for a bond on my own place. Above all; I'll leave on my own terms, thanks- this is my home, too. A place where I deserved to feel safe and loved.

It's about Time I was honest with Myself...

So I will make the necessary changes in my Life.

No more games Hubby. I promise.

If actions speak louder than words then I'll show You All. And Hubby doesn't even have to know.

I'll make the changes for Somebody important...

Me.




(* NB When I returned to get my wallet I took up a bottle of pickles for CC and Norty for the leftover corned beef.

Because that's the sort of person I am...)