Exhausted.
We’ve been home for almost two weeks, and I’m still exhausted. So is Shannon.
Still trying to raise a total of $3k, to pay back the Gerbas and finance one more trip. Exhausting. So far I've paid back the plane ticket back from Minneapolis, but there's going to be another plane ticket.
Pour one out for Miss Dolly, y'all. Photo by the legendary rock photographer, Janet Macoska.
There’s a very good therapist whose YouTube videos I frequently watch, who says the word she hears most frequently from survivors of narcissistic abuse is, “exhausted”. The emotional, psychological, and yes, even physical, labor it takes to keep up with such a partner, is absolutely draining AF. And it doesn’t cease when you walk out the door. Walking out the door merely takes you one step at a time into a whole new world of exhaustion and The Exhausting. One does not simply… walk… into freedom.
The backstory, in brief: On April 5, 2025, my Wasband blew up at me for the last time. He didn’t know it was the last time. I did. He erupted three times in a row, and I knew it was absolutely, positively, over and done. So I said sweetly, with as placid a face as I could manage, and in the nicest Customer Service voice I could concoct, I said gently and sweetly and nicely, “ok then, you can go fuck yourself,” and locked myself and the dog into the bedroom.
And while I was crying behind a locked door, with my phone open and ready to dial 9-1-1, he went into his office and changed his Facebook status to “separated”.
By Wednesday the 9th I was gone.
FAFO.
What did he expect? He changed the status back to “married” sometime on Sunday the 6th, but I had already screenshotted it. Separated, buddy? You want it, you got it. It’s clearly gonna be the open road or the Emergency Department for me next, so I choose Road. By the time I got to New York, I was exhausted. And then the divorce was exhausting. And the very shitty settlement is exhausting, because he keeps everything including the house and I have less than two years of spousal maintenance at a rate so low it would make you gag. I was painted as unstable, and a deserter, and it cost me in the neighborhood of roughly $125,000.00, in terms of what was lost in the decree.
Because I did what they tell you to. I left, to save my own life, because all the red flags on the red flag-o-meter were blinking red. And then the system punished me, as it does with most women who leave a narcissistic abuser without first being extremely wealthy and affording a super-shark divorce lawyer right off of HBO. It’s common. Older women leaving abusive relationships and having the financial rug ripped right out from under them because they were so bold as to do the only possible right thing for ourselves. It’s so pretty.
I ask you, what chick is ready for that nonsense??
That’s the backstory, now here’s where it’s at. Two weeks ago yesterday I was falling apart, shredded, by the process of picking up my property and the cruelty packed into it. Two weeks ago tomorrow we flew home. We’ve both been simply dragging ass since then, as Shannon’s faithful and amazing husband Phillip continues to work his Iconic Landmark Tour Guy W2 Job, and create games and comics by night. The main person who benefits from our return to the Bronx is Amy Farah Howler, who has her ladies back to give her longer and (in her opinion as a dog) better walks. Wheelie, the Parkour Kitty, cares not a whit.
What we had seen as a long weekend turned into the Neverending Two Weeks from Hell, and what was shredding me two weeks ago today was how his sabotage and nastiness in the way he dealt with separating our property wasn’t just the fact of it. It was also that the effect had been to wear both Ms. Haddock and myself down to the point that the time cost now exceeded the calendar points available. She had obligations scheduled and I wasn’t staying in Minneapolis one minute longer without her, because my mental health was deteriorating and I needed to get home to the Bronx and hug my Amy Farah Howler.
All dogs are therapy dogs. Amy Farah Howler doubly so.
The upshot is that I now have a little tiny storage locker all my own in Minnesota, and I have to go back AGAIN (in 4 to 8 weeks or as soon as I can raise the funds) to finish off the shipping. And I also have to file with the court, as he did not, in fact, include quite everything on the list.
Exhausted, exhausted, exhausted.
But I got my George Carlin photo back. 💖
Yep. That's really him, and we're really backstage, and I really got to introduce him. 💖😎
We’re officially 2% of the way to the $3k. Thank you for your support. I gave most of it to Shannon and $10.00 to my friend Natalie's Meal Train. I’ll let you know if I book a couple gigs and I can cover the other 98%, but ya know, if you get a chance to pass the hat……. 😉
It is 7:45am and behold, I must make more coffee.
Meow, darlings.
(oh, yeah, his FB status now is “single,” not divorced – I’m his 3rd divorce – that ain’t single, booboo! 🤣)