My Second Chapter

Note: Astute observers may notice that this post contains references to a goal setting post not written yet, buy that such a post went up yesterday. This post and the next one were written first. I’m writing on a truck, mostly without internet, I post what I have written and schedule it to come out in a dribble when I can.

This is not a new years resolution or anything like that.

Things are changing and I probably will do a goal setting post for the year. I have no idea when it might go up as I’m going to have to do this on a delay. I’m driving a truck for now, though not doing that is definitely one of the goals I am planning on setting for the new year.

I last posted, I don’t even know when because from where I’m sitting right now I actually can’t check, I know it’s been years.

I had been to Antarctica and was getting or had just gotten a divorce. I would have loved to talk about the first part of that, it was amazing but Christmas 2013 seems like ancient history now. The second part of that caused me to turtle up. I didn’t want to talk about anything really. Since then I got married and as of just under a month ago from the time I’m typing this, divorced again.

That period in my life had its ups and downs.

I moved with the woman who would eventually become my second wife in with my folks. She was a nurse, and the idea was that she would take care of my father while I got us back on our feet again. Just reading those two sentences I just typed it should have been clear what an epically bad idea that was, without the other drama that ensued even taken into consideration.

My mother is an alcoholic.

My mother is an emotionally, physically, and financially abusive alcoholic.

She can put on a normal face and be pleasant and fun to be around for anyone who is not often exposed to her. These facts are difficult to ignore when you live with her though. My second wife picked up on it immediately. She always claims to be an empath, and well, I don’t know about that, but in this case she wasn’t wrong.

My father is not perfect, but he is good. When I was growing up I remember him being an asshole. This isn’t the usual teenage “My dad’s a prick” thing that everyone remembers. That’s what I remember about him from before my parents divorced. (They were divorced and now they’re not it’s weird, just roll with it.) I didn’t have that word available to me at the time, but it’s how I remember him. He’s old now, he was old then too I guess relatively speaking, he was 50  when I was born. He’s mostly blind and mostly deaf, he’s feeble. He’s a good man though.

When my mother divorced my stepfather, oh my gods was that man an abusive prick. She fell on hard times. Those facts aren’t really related that’s just the chronology of it. My mother is a gold-digger. My father worked for the railroad, that’s some pretty great money, it was then anyway. The man who would be my stepfather came along and he was a liar and a fraud just like she is. He was convinced she had money, she was convinced he had money, they were both lying; it turned out about as well as you could expect. I will almost certainly talk about that period of my life at some point, but that’s not this story.

No, she fell on hard times because she is a lying fraud who liked to pretend she had money. I thought we had money, I had no idea that we were living so far above our means. It took my father a decade to track down and pay off all the debt she left him in the divorce. It was in his name, she’s also an identity thief, this theme will repeat. In fact I’m sure she did the same shit to my stepdad, I’m just not that upset by that.  This pattern of living above her means is what landed her on hard times, especially once she didn’t have a husband to rob blind anymore.

My father never remarried, until he remarried my mother. He pretty seriously dated a few women I recall, but either he wasn’t really interested in marrying them or in one case she wasn’t really interested in marrying him. My mother was his fifth and sixth wife, so he wasn’t any better at marriage than it would appear I am.

I don’t think that even after he cleaned up the mess she left him he really stopped loving her, that was a thing that happened much later. So she was in Denver on the verge of homelessness, and he married her again.

When you are a young child and your parents divorce. You want them to get back together. When you are in your twenties and that happens, you don’t really care that much. Now I wish it hadn’t. I would have hated at the time if she had actually ended up homeless. Now having been homeless three times myself I think it would have been a valuable experience for her.

My mother and my second wife didn’t get along to say the least. My ex wife and I both caught her on multiple occasions abusing my father. She had put all the county staff on alert that I might try something though so it was hard to get taken seriously. Also if you are going to abuse your elderly husband, nothing in the world is more valuable than your son being head of the state agency that handles elder abuse.

My brother and I had worked together to try and keep our mother from self-destructing in the past. She had a breast cancer scare and ended up having the DTs prepping for surgery. She dried out in the hospital, but she lost her ability to drive for a few months. Eventually she got the double mastectomy and she is for lack of a better word fine now. Anyway we disposed of the three crates of liquor in her bar, we made sure she kept her appointments, in short we made sure she got better. At that point I didn’t know what she was, or more accurately I didn’t know I knew.

When I didn’t get anywhere with the county social workers or the police. I called my brother. Afterall he was the county social workers’ boss, and as it turned out not interested in helping my father at our mother’s expense. I thought he had integrity. I thought he was a good guy. I guess I was wrong.

I couldn’t sit around and watch my mother abuse my father. She called the sheriff’s department nearly every day trying to get rid of the woman who would become my second wife and I. Eventually with nowhere to go, with only the minivan my father purchased for me , we left to be homeless. This was as I said the second time for me, though my first as an actual adult and the only time I felt responsible for other people.

It wasn’t just me. It wasn’t just my second wife and I, she had a 21 year old daughter and four dogs. Her dog was pregnant when we fled her ex-husband, and two of those were the resultant pups, born in the house my father built.

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