And just like that, things were okay again.

The past two months since Squishy left me have been truly a learning experience. I learned that I am still strong, and I can make it through whatever life throws at me. It wasn’t easy by any means, and the scars still remain. But I have moved onto a better place, and I am comfortable.

I have started seeing a psychiatrist for help with PPD and life in general. She gave me a prescription to help me sleep, and I no longer need to self medicate with alcohol. I used to drink for fun, but it got to the point where I couldn’t sleep and had to be drunk to get even just four hours. I’m so glad that’s over.

I have finally made a connection with Little Hippie, now that he’s more of a child than a potato. I didn’t experience PPD with the other two boys, so it was very difficult to realize what was happening. Talking to friends who went through it, especially ones who specifically only went through it with their third child, was incredibly helpful. His dad sees him twice a week and every other weekend, and I am glad for that.

There were absolutely no plans in my head or my heart to start dating anytime soon. But I went out to dinner with a friend, someone I’ve known about two years, but had never hung out with. One night the ex’s girlfriend decided to text me from his phone and talk all kinds of shit. It was infuriating to the point where I actually vomited. At that moment, I wrote him off completely. There was no coming back from that incident. Because I was so angry, I needed to talk to someone on the phone to distract myself. I called my friend (let’s call him Hoss), and I told him what happened. He let me vent, and then proceeded to talk to me about everything under the sun otherwise. We were on the phone for four hours, and by the end of the conversation he had told me that he had been interested in me, but because I was attached, he never said anything. I was shocked.

The next night, he came over after work. It was wonderful. We watched a movie and cuddled up on the couch. I fit perfectly into his body, something I have never had before. From then on, we’ve been together. He stayed one weekend, and I joked that because he had a toothbrush here now, he must be my boyfriend. He agreed.

In the few weeks since that first dinner out, Hoss has treated me, and more importantly my two older boys, better than Squishy ever did, even at the beginning. Hoss seems to truly care, like lifelong care, not fairy tale romance care. He fixed my dehumidifier, and now maintains it of his own accord. He wants to cut my grass. He set up an antenna so I can get regular TV and watch Jeopardy! All these things that are the stuff of life that Squishy never did or couldn’t do or wouldn’t do. Hoss took me and the older boys fishing. He voluntarily had dinner in a real restaurant with them. Squishy wouldn’t even tolerate eating at McDonald’s with the kids! And you know what? They were SO GOOD with Hoss. He is patient. He is even keeled. He doesn’t yell at them or insult them. I never thought Squishy was that bad until I saw how good someone else could be. Hoss is already planning our holidays and birthdays. He changed my oil.

So, while I am surprised to be in a relationship so soon after tragedy struck, it is a good thing. It happened naturally, organically, without any pursuit or drama or whirlwind romance or whatever. That, I think, is what might make this be one of the best relationships I’ve ever had. I’m finally comfortable. It might sound cliche, but for once I actually believe that everything happens for a reason.

The Knife in my Back

At the beginning of February, the mothers’ group I belonged to did something amazing for me – they collected $300 and tons and tons of groceries, including personal care items and diapers, for me and my sons. I was shocked and beyond grateful. Nobody had ever done something so nice on such a grand scale before. Yes, I’ve had donations given and friends and family have helped me with bills. On the day these women delivered, my house was literally full, from kitchen to living room, with stuff. I thanked them in our Facebook group over and over for the next several days. I couldn’t believe it happened to me. I used the money to catch up on the utility bills, and with the little bit that was left over, I went out to karaoke one night.

Fast forward about three weeks, and I’m kicked out of the group because two of the three admins have decided that I lied about something menial. Despite giving them proof that I didn’t, they don’t care, and they ban me. I’m shocked. Most of the members are shocked as well, and then I find out that this girl went on a rampage that week that I took off from society and banned a whole bunch of members. So, I didn’t feel so bad. Clearly they are the ones with the problems, and not me. I know I did nothing wrong, and I’m an adult, and I don’t need to prove it to them.

Fast forward another two weeks, and I’ve received my tax return. I paid back my parents, paid the bills current and up through May, gave Poke some money, bought myself a few items of clothing, and got myself a couple of tattoos I’ve been wanting for a very long time. I still have almost 20% of my tax return still sitting in the bank. But here’s what happened: It’s now been about five weeks since those women donated their hard-earned money to my cause, yet someone got wind that I got those tattoos, and they decided that instead of using my own money, I must have used their money to pay for them, to get drunk, and to hire a maid. It doesn’t matter that if I hadn’t gotten that $300 at the beginning of February, I wouldn’t have had electric or gas heat for March, it doesn’t matter that $300 wouldn’t even cover all those things they said I bought, and it doesn’t matter that charity is supposed to be done out of the kindness of your heart without restrictions and expectations.

I was never bullied as a child, and I’ve always been thankful. I had plenty of fodder for which to be bullied, but it never happened. Unfortunately, this left me unprepared for adult life. These women are bullying me hardcore. For almost three days straight they sent me private messages on Facebook, texted me, commented on posts in another mothers’ group and tagged me, and even went so far as to attack me in a public forum on a subject completely unrelated to the situation. It is disgusting. Many, and I mean almost all, of these women claim to be Christians. They talk about loving God and praising Jesus, then turn around and call me a cunt. It’s been incredibly hard on me, even getting to the point where I thought about committing suicide just to get some relief from the emotional pain they were causing me.

Luckily I have real friends I can count on, and when I reached out to them they were there to help me and keep me from going to the dark place. I was able to recover in a matter of hours. I wasn’t going to say anything, but I did, and I’m so glad. They made me realize that there is something seriously wrong with those girls, and that they must truly hate their lives if they need to sit around all day and think about me and my situation. I mean, in the end, I know they’ll never believe me because people would much rather believe the bad than the good. But I know in my heart that I did the right thing, and that’s all that matters.

I wonder what Jesus would think of your behaviour.

White Trash Party!

From Wikipedia:

White trash is a derogatory American English racial slur referring to poor white people, especially in the rural South of the United States, suggesting lower social class and degraded standards of living. The term suggests outcasts from respectable society living on the fringes of the social order, who are seen as dangerous because they may be criminal, unpredictable, and without respect for authority whether it be political, legal, or moral. The term is usually a racial slur, but may also be used self-referentially by working-class whites to jokingly describe their origins or lifestyle.

It always tickles me when people call me white trash. Clearly the official definition doesn’t apply to me in any way whatsoever, but the slang definition (redneck, hillbilly, etc.) also couldn’t be further from the truth. I wonder, then, what makes them think that calling me white trash would be insulting? Let’s explore this phenomenon.

  • Am I white trash because I am overweight? Surely there are no fat rich people. But I can lose weight – you’re ugly on the inside and that will never change.
  • Am I white trash because I receive government assistance? Well, here’s the thing – I never did before Poke fucked up our entire life. I never needed it, I never wanted it. I still don’t want it, but I don’t have a choice.
  • Maybe I’m white trash because I am a SAHM who runs her own home-based business? Or could it be that I’m white trash because I have a college degree, like everyone else in my families?
  • I might be white trash because I don’t spend thousands of dollars on clothing for myself or my children. Because I prefer inexpensive or second-hand clothing, that means I am trashy. It has nothing to do with my disgust at the sheer amount of materials being discarded and piling up in landfills, leaving a mess for future generations.
  • Oh, I know! I’m white trash because I come from a middle class family, my parents (both bio and adoptive) all own their own homes, my father makes over $90K per year, and I went to private school my entire life.
  • Am I white trash because I occasionally feed my family fast food and/or food from a box, like mac’n’cheese or Hamburger Helper? Well, not so much Helper now that Poke is gone – that shit is gross.
  • Perhaps I’m white trash because I have four rescue cats as pets. Everyone knows that white trash have lots and lots of animals roaming around.
  • Maybe I am white trash because I live in a trailer in a trailer park? Oh… wait. I live in a house with a fenced in yard in a nice suburban neighborhood. Weird.
  • I know! I am definitely white trash because I believe in equality for all people regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, etc., and I am liberal leaning socialist, and I enjoy having Obama as president, support gun control, love the ACA, and yet I’m still Catholic and pro-life.
  • I must be white trash because both my children are physically and mentally/academically ahead of their peers.
  • Am I white trash because I drink my wine from a box? Yeah, okay, you’ve got me on that one. That is kinda trashy… but I also like to save money, so I’ll take it.

Overall, I think it’s pretty clear that I am most definitely not white trash. To me, when someone stoops to calling me that, it’s obvious they have absolutely zero fodder for the fight. They say to themselves, “Damnit! That bitch says nothing but the truth! I can’t prove her wrong! What can I do… hmmm… I know! I will call her names. That’ll show her!” It’s all quite amusing. Call me names, insult me, I don’t care. You can say what you want, but I know the truth, and all my friends and family know the truth as well. The only person who is coming off as trashy – and ignorant – is you.