Piano and Dancing

I am eating my breakfast and reading yesterday's paper. In another room Daughter is practicing her piano. Her playing sounds beautiful, and as I listen I reminisce about when she started. She had tried the violin and didn't like it. With her long fingers, I thought she'd do well with the piano. I asked around and found a teacher. A friend offered to sell me her piano. Hubby was dead against it. "Why spend so much on a piano that she'll drop after a month or two?" I persisted. Hubby said, "How are you going to get it here?" I looked in the Yellow Pages under piano removals and found someone.

And so Daughter started her lessons and did well. Now on her third teacher, she practices every day.

When I finish breakfast I walk in to compliment her. She looks up at me. "Can I help you?" she says in a voice that would freeze hell. "I just wanted to say how good you sound." She frowns. "Can you close the door please," she commands.

I walk away, tail between legs. Again. Another attempt at engaging with her. Another slap in the face.

So it has been since last summer. To recap: Last year I reconnected with an old schoolmate. Our correspondence seemed to awaken something in me and I found myself fantasising about a life with this man. I wrote my feelings down in a draft email Draft is the key word here. I never intended to send it. But Hubby found it. Quite how he found it is subject to debate. What isn't was his reaction: swift and brutal. He wrote an email to my sister (not a draft) telling her to tell me to get my act together and that he was cancelling our holiday to America and that I would have to tell the kids and my parents why. He attached the draft email. He printed out a copy of the email to my sister, stamped it "copy" so there would be no mistake, put it in brown envelope with my name on it and left it on my dressing table while I was in the shower. Then he left the house. I did what I was told: I called my parents and told them what was going on and later on I told the kids. Daughter left the house in floods of tears. Son retreated to his bedroom.

Did Hubby and I discuss this? Not really. Let me make something clear: there is a difference between fantasy and reality. This person and I were and are separated by an ocean and 4,000 miles. We did not have sex. We didn't even see each other. In a desperate move to salvage the trip to America, I suggested marriage counselling. I found a counsellor. I made the appointment. We went twice. Hubby managed to charm and impress the counsellor. I said I thought Hubby was a control freak. He said he was just careful. I melted into the couch. I said initially I would cease contact with my friend. And I did. We had planned to meet up but that obviously was cancelled. The trip was back on though.

But after a few days of being treated like a Jezebel by Hubby, I contacted my friend again. Why couldn't we have a friendship? Why couldn't we see each other in America? And so we made plans. And kept in touch. And I got caught by Hubby the day before we were to see each other. Again, just how he found out is subject to debate. For Hubby lies and I don't know what's true and what isn't with him anymore. So my friend and I didn't see each other. We had agreed that it had to be platonic, just friends. Hubby didn't believe this and began a nightmare campaign to rip to shreds every bit of privacy I might have had or wanted.

He also began to work on the kids. And I made a very wrong assumption, which was that my kids would forgive me and still love me. But they took his side. Why and how are subject to debate. I think he showed Daughter some of the evidence he amassed against me (to "save" the marriage, he said.). I think Daughter told Son. He certainly started to have conversations with her in the kitchen with the door closed. I overheard a few. Brochures for holidays to the Caribbean started arriving at the house. Daughter and I have been on a roller coaster ever since. I think sometimes she forgets how angry she is at me and acts almost normal with me. Then something happens to remind her. I say the wrong thing. I do the wrong thing. I spent October and November either in tears or on the brink of tears. Things seemed to ease up in December, then they treated me very badly on Christmas Day. I know it was hard for all of them, and I tried really hard to make it normal. I went up to my room and cried, then squared my shoulders and made Christmas dinner. By New Year's I'd pretty well recovered. Till I discovered my birthday card from my mother had been ripped open and the money inside taken. I had an almighty fit about that.

I think Hubby took it. Why? What would you say to a woman screaming that someone in the house had stolen her birthday money? You would say the postman probably took it. He didn't. He said, "I'm not surprised; you're so untidy." The unopened card had arrived early so I left it downstairs in the kitchen to open on my birthday. On New Year's Day I spoke to my mother and she said to put it in a safe place. Now, with Hubby's history of spying on me, maybe I should have been more careful. But I wasn't. Spying and stealing are two different things. Or so I thought. But I also know that in his diary he had made a note of how much American money I'd given back to him after our trip with a question about what happened to his share of the money my mother had given us when we had visited her. Yes, I held back some money. I held back $100 that I'd held back the year before as well. And I held back what I figured was left over of my share of what my mother gave us.

Daughter thought and thinks I overreacted. It was the postman, she told me later during another argument. Ah yes, that argument. She was to appear in four dance shows at her dance school's annual prizegiving last month. "I want to go to all of them," I had told her. She didn't want me to, then said she didn't care. I took the information sheet up to my room so I could book tickets for everyone. She waited till I went out then ordered tickets for her dad, her brother, and her friends. How did I find out? I found a print-out next to the computer that said "Thank you for ordering tickets." I asked Hubby about it and he said she'd said I could sort myself out.

I don't know if I can express accurately what this made me feel. That girl has been dancing since she was 2 and a half, when I started taking her to ballet lessons. I'd found her one day dancing on the dining room table and watching herself in the mirror and I thought she'd enjoy it. And so she has. I have taken her to lesson after lesson, exam after exam, dance competition after dance competition. I have taken her for ballet shoe fittings. I have done her hair, her makeup. That day that I found the printout I was due to meet her at a beauty salon to pay for her eyebrow wax, then take her to the hairdresser's to get her hair coloured (and pay for that too). I texted her that she could sort herself out. Then I felt guilty about those working women with whom I'd made the appointments. So I turned up at the beauty salon and I paid. I cried the whole way there though. Then I took her to the hairdresser. But first I stopped at the carwash. As the car was being washed, she and I had it out. She even cried a bit, something she rarely does.

Did things improve? A bit. And then not. Just last night I heard her downstairs talking to her father about his two job possibilities (oh yes, Hubby's unemployed streak looks set to end). "Too bad Mum won't get to enjoy it," I heard her say.

I don't know what the end will be to this story. Just last year she sobbed to me that she didn't want her dad coming in her room when he'd been drinking. So I got him to give up drinking during the week. I hate Hubby for his part in this. "It's all your own fault," he would sneer back. Yes, I suppose I am at fault for much of this. And what I think about that would be a whole other post. Some of this is just teen-age girl rebellion, I suppose.

One positive thing is I have apologised to my own mother for the way I treated her when I was 15. Perhaps one day Daughter may do the same.

Working on Getting Work

Divorce is a nasty business, and it brings out the nasty side of many people. Yesterday, I had an appointment at my local job centre to tell them how I'm getting on with my job search (more on that later). The woman I saw and I are both going through marital breakups, but hers seems far worse than mine. So far, Hubby has shown a vindictive, picky, nasty side. But he hasn't physically harmed me -- yet. This woman's husband in a fit of pique threw her to the floor when they were arguing over money. She has bruises. She said she never in a million years thought he would get violent. Then he called the police on HER. She sneaked a peek at her son's texts and discovered he has been telling lies about her to his dad. Now that, I think, is the hardest part of divorce: your children rejecting and betraying you to your other half. I explained that her son has done this because he's afraid of losing his dad's love. I suggested she look up the five stages of divorce on the internet. I told her I won't even buy a lottery ticket till my divorce is final.

And then I looked at this woman and thought, "You have a job and you don't even know all this. How come I can't get a job?"

And that, for me, is the biggest challenge. Yes, divorce is nasty and negative. But it can also unlock doors that have been shut for years. I am on a journey to employment. I started off very naive. Times have changed since I last updated my resume. I've found professional people to help me do it for free. Job seeking is also different. The internet has made it so much easier. Doesn't mean I'm getting employed though. I started off looking for receptionist and business admin jobs, figuring that I would have to start over in the working world. But I didn't even get an interview in all the 50-plus applications I sent off. The woman who helped me with my resume suggested I start looking in journalism and related fields because that's my background. Well, duh. Why didn't I think of that? Then she referred me to a program being run by the local college for getting longterm unemployed people back to work. I'm taking a computer course as well. It's all a learning curve, and it gets my mind off the more negative aspects of this divorce.

One thing my counsellor suggested I do was develop a relationship with myself. I think that's exactly what's happening here. I'm thinking about my positive qualities and how they can be put to use in the working world. And maybe one day an employer will agree with me.

Doesn't hurt to try.

Lies, Damned Lies

I'm trying to decide whether to use this blog as a sort of blowing-off-steam, getting-it-off-my-chest space in which I tell all about the demise of my marriage or as a space to talk about getting my new life off the ground. Perhaps a bit of both.

So much has happened in the months since I last blogged. Not much of it positive. I could blog on and on about Hubby and the lies he's told (and probably continues to tell). Small lies. Big lies. Needless lies. And I know them all. How? The man who sneeringly told me I should never write anything down wrote everything down himself. Then threw it in the bin. Passwords for www.match.com. Passwords for his email account. Passwords for his googlemail account he opened to send me a fake email from my paramour. Passwords for the real list of assets (as opposed to the one he showed me). Did he not know that years of doing jigsaw puzzles with my children made me a dab hand at piecing together his rubbish? And then there was his diary. He felt compelled to write everything in it too. When my daughter texted him to tell him she saw me coming out of his study (I don't remember why I was in there -- either to read the diary or to get a copy of a utility bill so I could open a bank account in my own name). When he told our son's cross-country coach that we were splitting up (in October, but he lied about it in December). I got quite obsessed with all the subterfuge for a while. Then, I decided I was better off not knowing. I just assume now that he comes in my room and goes through my stuff (and every now and again I find telltale signs). I just assume that he continues to lie. I believe nothing he tells me. If he says it's dark outside, I go outside just to check it's true. But I don't go through bins. I don't read his diary. I don't go in his study. I don't care anymore.

He's always been a liar, but I used to have nicer words for it. He embellished the truth. He exaggerated. I used to find excuses for his lying. Not anymore.

One of his acquaintances used to read this blog and told him about it. Zoe P, if you still read this, and I hope you don't, I hope you realise there is more than one side to the story of every marital breakdown. I noticed today that I have one less follower. Was it Zoe? Was it Hubby? Was it Hubby's sister?

Here's another lie I heard Hubby tell someone on the phone. According to him, my first marriage broke down when I got caught red-handed by first hubby having a one-night stand. Pure fiction. The one-night stand happened AFTER the marriage ended. First hubby never caught me red-handed at anything. And how do you think Hubby found out that there ever was a one-night stand? He read a diary I kept nearly 20 years ago. He read that diary 11 years ago but kept quiet about it. Till he read a diary I kept for about a week in September before he took it out of my handbag, read it, and made photocopies of it. I wrote private things that I never wanted anyone to read. I was trying to organise my thoughts and feelings, hoping against hope that I would "come to my senses" about staying in my marriage. More fool I for writing them down.

Hubby bragged to his friend that he would destroy me. He emailed my parents to say they would never see their grandchildren again because he had no intention of ever going on holiday to the US again (did he think I wouldn't take the kids to see their grandparents?). My mother had chest pains all night after reading that. He told Daughter he was going to take her and her brother on a Caribbean holiday, then told her "the lawyers" said he couldn't do it till the divorce was final. I don't know who "the lawyers" were, but my lawyer never said a word about it and I doubt his did either.

Sometimes marriages break down and the people involved don't have a clue why until the divorce proceedings start and it gets down and dirty. And that's what has happened in my case. I realise now that my marriage was in trouble before I even started this blog. It was in trouble before it even started. Hubby lied and I chose to believe his lies. I lied too, to myself mostly, because I didn't want to admit to myself that I'd given up so much for such an unsatisfactory relationship. I used to believe that we could tell each other anything, but the truth is we never told each other much of anything at all. For example, Hubby had a MAN problem that I didn't even know about. He went to the dr. and told me later that it was for something else. I think the dr. gave him some blue pills, which I think he took the night before he discovered the infamous draft email. I think that's why he reacted so extremely bad. I think all of his behaviour since then has been a result of his hurt manhood.

I can understand being hurt and being angry. But vowing to "destroy" me? Involving my family and telling them they won't see their grandchildren again? Lying to me and about me? That's just downright cruel. I didn't set out to deliberately hurt him or destroy him. I should feel guilty. But I don't. I did feel enormously bad for the kids, but after Christmas -- when I tried so hard to make it as pleasant as possible and they tried equally hard to hurt me -- I didn't feel so bad about them anymore. After all, I haven't run off with another man. I'm still here living in an extremely difficult situation. I still wash their clothes, cook their meals, give them money, take them places. I'm the same mother I was. I just don't love their father anymore. They don't know how hateful he's been to me. And I won't tell them either.

So here I am at 50, about to be single again and a lot poorer. Unable so far to find employment. I should be scared, so scared I don't want to leave my marriage. But I'm not. Instead, I'm excited by my pending independence. My mother has warned me that some of my friends might dump me along the way. Let them. If they do, they weren't very good friends in the first place and I'm better off not having to carry that baggage around.

Well, Here's All the Gossip

I was going to create a new blog and start over. And make sure hubby and his two friends and five acquaintances couldn't have access. And then I thought, "Fuck it." This is my blog, now three years old. I've enjoyed writing it. I've met great people through it. Hubby may mock my blog name, but he is ignorant of its origins. And of many other things as well.

So what is happening in my life? What isn't happening in my life? I am getting divorced, selling my house, searching in vain for a job, putting up with two very stroppy, self-absorbed teen-agers, taking a computer course, trying to finish up my massage coursework. Wow, I'm out of breath just writing that. I never pictured my life at the half-century mark as being like this.

And what about Hubby? Still hasn't found a job. Has been absolutely horrible to me at times and feels quite justified in that. I keep trying to put myself in his shoes. Would I treat him the same way if he had fallen for someone else? Nope, don't think so. He is incapable of discussing his feelings with me or in acknowledging that I might feel and think differently to him. And so we come to this chapter in our lives. I've sprouted quite a few grey hairs in the last few months. I can't trust anyone in my house. My personal papers have been gone through. Money my mother sent me for my birthday was stolen by someone in this house. I can't leave my laptop unattended. Do I deserve this? Hubby seems to think so. So does Daughter, for she has shown quite clearly whose side she is on. Hers, of course, but she favours whichever parent can give her something.

Do I cry? Oh yes. Usually in the morning. Then I buck up and get on with another day. I always have something to do. And what makes me happy? My friends, my cats, singing (I now belong to two choirs). Of course, I can't entertain my friends in my house at the moment. Hubby has said none of my friends are welcome here. I could say the same for him but he doesn't have any friends. Well, he has two. And some acquaintances. Don't come to this house, any of you. If my friends aren't welcome, neither are you.

I was seeing a counsellor but Hubby was noting down each time I went and how much money was being spent. So I stopped going. Money seems to be his main focus. The last time I dared to assert myself as being the mother of our two children and still having a right to a say in what they do or don't do, he sneeringly called me a spendthrift and said all my family are spendthrifts, bankrupts, and divorcees. And that our children would be inheriting quite a bit of money from his family. Now that surprises me because he's always told me what a mess his parents' finances are in. And his sister and brother are now unemployed as well. But I don't place the same emphasis on inheritance as he does. Yes, it's nice to inherit money, but isn't it nicer to earn your own? As for me being a spendthrift, well, that made me laugh -- it was much later on, but still I did laugh. He married me because SALE is my favourite four-letter word.

People, the man is pathetic in his cluelessness. I want to hate him, and sometimes I do, but really I feel sorry for him. First of all, he thinks he's given me a gold-plated lifestyle, but it's only brass. Comfortable, yes. But not luxurious. Never that. I drive a 9-year-old car. It's a good reliable car and I like it. But it's not a late-model Mercedes or Range Rover. Our house has been done up, but on the cheap. I haven't had to work, but I haven't had designer clothes like my friends who work can afford. I don't even have Marks and Spencer clothes. I have supermarket chic clothes.

Hubby has said he has no respect for me. He's called me a bitch and said our two children "fucking hate" my guts. Well, they probably do at times. And truth be told, there are times I'm not too fond of them. I've considered walking out on the lot of them (have I mentioned that we're all still living under the same roof?). But then my children would have only their father as the parental influence in their lives. And I can't allow that. They NEED me. They may not realise they do but in time they might. I can't allow a man whose sole motivation in life is money to be the only influence in my children's lives. Not that they want to be influenced by me. But deep, deep down, it will leave a mark on them. And when they turn 50, perhaps they will forgive me. And understand me.

Or perhaps not.

My first divorce was so much easier. No kids, no house to sell. Just split the possessions down the middle. First ex, I forgive you for I realise now that you actually behaved quite honourably. Unlike this one, who wants to know what I did with £40 I made in an attic sale (like a garage sale). For the record, I gave £13 to each of the children and kept £14 for myself since I did all the work. He also wanted to know what I did with £175 he gave me in lieu of going on a trip with him and the kids. For the record, I deposited it and haven't spent it. In 2008 I bought my family's Christmas presents at charity shops because Hubby had me thinking we were practically on the bread line. He went and spent the same amount of money on his family that he always has. In 2009 I paid for my family's Christmas presents with the credit card. He paid for his family's out of our joint account. He tried to make that credit card debt all mine and couldn't understand how unfair that is. He wanted to know what three cheques I wrote for the amounts of £300, £300, and £210 were for. For the record, two were paid to the courts and one was a deposit to my solicitor. Meanwhile, he opened a savings account in his name and promptly deposited £42,000 from our joint account into it. It now has £1000 in it and he appears to have returned the rest of the money.

Or maybe not.

He wants to know if I plan to remarry. For the record, none of your fucking business, bub. But not for five years at least.

I still believe in the institution of marriage. I just don't seem to be very good at it.

I've come up with several career path ideas, which I will write about further at another time. In fact I'm full of ideas. This split seems to have unlocked all my creativity. I can't wait to get on with the next chapter in my life.

Wakeup has gone to sleep

But she may reawaken one day with a new invitation-only blog. Look out for your invites, and let me know if you want one.

The Power Game

People thought they were the perfect couple. He the big hitter in the financial world. She the little housewife and mother. He brought home the modestly big bucks. She tried not to spend them because it upset him so much. They had two golden children whom she ferried round to piano lessons, beavers, brownies, dancing, acting, tutoring, swimming. And then he came home when it was all over. And basked in their reflected glory.

He spent every evening locked away in his study, a room so sacrosanct it wasn't cleaned in 11 years, counting his money and dreaming of ways to make more. He would bring a bottle of wine or two up with him. Or he would be on the phone all night to colleagues. She would read to the children after their baths and put them to bed. Then she would watch TV. Alone. Till he got off the phone to come in and tell her all the wonderful things the colleagues had said about him. All conversation was about him.

She was lonely so she developed hobbies. Singing. Amateur dramatics. Sewing. Exercise. He did not ask about these nor share her interest in them. He counted his money and compliments instead.

He got a job offer in London. This would be a great way to build my career, he said. And she encouraged him. For she no longer had a career, having given it and her country up to be with him. Her home and children became her career. While he was in London she raised the children. He would come home at weekends, demand all homelife revolve around him for 48 hours, then return. She would breathe a sigh of relief when he left. But she was lonely. There was no conversation -- not with him nor anyone.

Then tragedy struck. He lost his job because his fund wasn't performing. He came home and immediately set about upsetting her domestic routine. Any routines she had with the children were overturned immediately by him without a second thought. He demeaned her and undermined her each and every day. She tried to smile through it but was so sad inside. He drank and drank and drank. The children would cry at night because they hated seeing their father like this. He kept getting turned down for jobs so they decided to buy a business. The first sale fell through when he inappropriately tried to contact employees. The second sale fell through as well. Secretly, she was relieved for she knew what life would be like running a business with him. It wouldn't be a partnership, but him making all the decisions and her making the tea.

Then someone old but new came into her life, and the Power Game began. She enjoyed the attention. She enjoyed finding someone she could converse with about anything. She allowed her imagination and fantasies to go wild. And unfortunately wrote a draft email about them. He found the draft email and behaved as though he'd found her in bed with someone else. He sent her sister an email exhorting her to make his wife behave. He behaved like a Victorian husband. And the stricter he was the more rebellious she became.

The Power Game soon took on a life of its own, neither he nor she thinking its conclusion through clearly. And her fascination with her newfound friend continued. She wanted to see him in the flesh, to talk about books and ideas. And her husband found out. He thought that spying on her would be the answer to their marital woes. Instead it flamed the fires of a foolish passion in her, a passion for privacy and freedom. The stricter he was, the more she struggled against the chains. He started to do strange things like send anonymous emails to her friends about her or steal her journal, read it and copy the pages. He put a keylogger on the computer to record each and every keystroke she made. He read her email and kept a diary of all her so-called bad behaviour. She found this diary and was outraged. He felt justified because of her long-distance friendship. He wrote her parents, her friends. He engaged their children in the battle against her. The more he fought to control her, the more she wanted out. Her friendship fell by the wayside, finally the victim of all the stress.

He started to used the money in the Power Game, warning her she would die in dire poverty if she left him. He wanted her back, he made that clear. But on his own controlling terms and without having to make any changes to his now very odd personality. He told her he had complete control over all the money, even that in her name, and there was nothing she could do. She went to the bank, who advised her otherwise. She took money out to pay her solicitor. He threatened her with an injunction.

He started to put around that she would get nothing, that he would get the house and the children because he had the moral upper hand. How could I have ever loved such a person, she thought. She despaired at losing her children and thought of drowning herself or slitting her wrists. But no, she thought, I can't do that. For then he wins the Power Game. And he cannot win.

The Spy Who Thought He Loved Me

I keep thinking I must write more. And then something happens to zap my creativity. Suffice it to say that my life is pretty turbulent at the moment. And full of intrigue. Who knew I was married to a wannabe spy? Certainly not me. Or maybe it was all those detective stories he devoured as a boy. A sort of James Bond/Philip Marlowe wannabe.

And I'm Nancy Drew. Coming soon on www.powderroomgraffiti.com: an enlightening article on how to spy on your loved ones.