Healing the Wounds...

Thinking over the last 10 plus years that I had been emotionally abused by Jaybe brings to mind the two methods of cooking a lobster. Bear with me. The two schools of thought differ in which is the more humane way. The first is that you bring a big pot of water to a rolling boil and drop the lobster into it. Some say that you can hear the lobster 'scream', but others insist this is just the sound of the body expanding inside the shell in the heat of the water. The other method is the one with which I identify after enduring the journey of a now defunct dysfunctional partnership. It goes as follows: one places the lobster in a big pot of tepid water and slowly turns up the heat until the lobster is dead and cooked. 'They' say that the lobster never even notices. How do 'they' know? Certainly, somewhere in their little crustacean brains they have to notice that they are dying, don't they? And if they have a little lobster friend in the pot with them, don't you think they would be turning to their buddy and saying, "Is it hot in here or is it just me?" and the pal would reply, "Now that you mention it, it DOES seem like was a lot cooler when we first got in."
I cannot pinpoint when the abuse started. I think that things changed once we moved in together and then again, shortly thereafter, when we had our wedding. The property damage didn't start until Brick was 6-8 months old, and it seemed, at the time, to be a one time incident related to his frustration of trying to help Brick go to sleep for the first time without me in the house. Reflecting back on that instance, I distinctly remember telling him to wait until I returned, and I would nurse Brick to sleep. I also remember his anger and competitiveness with Brick for my attention, and his
insane jealousy of my ability to calm Brick by simply putting him to my breast. He admitted that he wished that he, too, could lactate. At the time I thought it a sign of his wanting to be nurturing. Now I realize it was more of a sign of wanting to be the one in control, the one with the power.
I will write Custody !! (the sequel) sooner or later, but for now, I am tired.

Custody...

Since Jaybe and I were never legally married, it would be necessary for us to go before a judge and declare paternity in order for him to have ANY custodial rights. I know this. He does not. This would have to be done in order for me to receive child support, as well. Since he cut me off financially when he left the house (he stopped putting money into the joint account in order that I could pay the bills, buy necessities like cat food as well as food for the kids (we are now on food stamps), etc) my thinking WAS that I would have to file for child support. I dreaded this b/c Jaybe is EXTREMELY irresponsible when it comes to finances. So much so, that my credit rating was over 780 when we entered into our union, therefore the house, for which his mom gave us a generous (two-thirds the cost of the house) down payment. Then, for two or three years, Jaybe had his heart set on being a licensed massage therapist. So instead of taking small steps (going into a partnership, working at a small, established office) he, with the encouragement of his mother, started renting his own office, which at one-half the cost of our monthly mortgage.
I was working full-time at a job with benefits. When I finally became pregnant, after five years of failed attempts, I also lost my job. At this point, I received unemployment during the first 2 trimesters of the pregnancy and worked part-time during the third. Jaybe continued to follow his dream of using his LMT license by being in business for himself. Sure, he worked for a caterer part-time, and taught part-time at a massage school (which he hated due to the "down time" --i.e. answering phones while his students worked on clients). He seems to have some ADHD symptoms. I find things to do with my "down time", as I am a very internal person. I used to write my college papers in my head before I committed them to page. All I needed was a detailed written outline (think lower case letters), and about 5 days of procrastination. I typed each and every one of them the day before they were due. Never a late paper, never a grade below 'B'. That is just how my brain works. He also spent time volunteering at a local radio station, and little time at home. He rarely had enough massage clients to pay for renting his office. After two years, and much pleading and negotiating from my end, he sublet the office. I offered to act as receptionist (since he was CONSTANTLY double-booking himself or running late to an appointment or forgetting an appointment. I realized then that he was using the office to avoid being home.
(to be continued...)