I'm also dieting, with my husband, who by the way probably doesn't need to. It's somewhat frustrating to be married to a dashing, attractive man, when you feel like you look like the stay-puft marshmallow man's mother. Also, I would cut you for a doughnut right now. Seriously, I would.
So I said I would talk about ending up in England.
It was 2004, and my life was imploding. I was married to my first husband, who was addicted to a lovely thing called meth. He also wasn't a very nice person. I won't get in to details, because quite honestly I'm still terrified he'll find me online, and threaten my family (again) so I'll just leave it.
I discovered that he was having an internet affair with a woman in Minnesota. We had a massive argument, and he left. He came back a week later, apologized and said he was going to get his act together, and he was leaving state to do so. He promised that if I would pay for the plane ticket (he was not working, of course) that he would stay with a friend of ours, and get a job, and then send for me. The place he wanted to go was Minnesota.
Well, I'm not stupid, but at this point I was exhausted, and concerned for my son (his step-son) whom I had managed to insulate and protect from the madness so far, but only because he was still a little guy. I knew in my heart I couldn't protect him forever, and I needed the madness to stop. So I smiled, told him I loved him, and bought that god damned airline ticket. I knew I'd never see him again. I knew I was paying to fly him to her arms. I just didn't care anymore.
After that I was at loose ends. I felt like I couldn't stay where I was anymore. My son's father was in Iraq, and my son was a bit distressed. My son's step-mother offered, in what must have been one of the most surprising phone calls ever, to have my son and I move in with her and her daughter (my son's half-sister). I don't know if it was my mood, or everything... but I accepted.
So I lived in the South for months, and that's a WHOLE 'nother blog entry, and she and I made decent co-parents I think. Eventually though I knew I couldn't stay. I didn't enjoy the area much, and being on a military base all the time was not my cup of tea. (no offense to the people in uniform, I love you guys, but it wasn't for me) My ex was home on leave, so we talked and decided to let our son decide where he wanted to stay. We both felt like it was better for him to stay on base though, as he's just been diagnosed with Asperger's, and the schooling was miles better than where I was in California. I'm from the ghetto, nawhaddymean? In the end, my son asked to stay there. My heart was broken. I cried for days where no one could see. I still cry when I think about that day. His sweet little face, being such a little man about it, taking it as seriously as any kid ever did. *pauses to wipe off face* I love my kid more than anything in the world, and it never gets better.
I moved back home, but when I got there it appeared that my grandmother had let my aunt move into my bedroom. So here I was, lost, alone and sleeping on the couch in my childhood home.
Hmm, I should back up and explain a little bit. I was during all this time part of a thriving online community which you might have heard of, deviantArt, and I was very active on there in the social life. I had made some very good friends there (most of which who I am still extremely close to to this day). One of them is the still sickeningly fantastic artist Nykolai Aleksander, whom I love dearly. At the time she (yes, She. Nykolai is a woman) had just split with her boyfriend, and suggested I come stay with her for a little while. Oh and did I mention she was in London? Of fucking course I said yes.
We'd never met face to face though, so I should have been wary. I wasn't. I jumped in both feet first with all the joy of a kid discovering a toy store for the first time.
And thus started one of the best times of my life. A golden year if you will. How Nyko put up with me for that long is completely beyond me, and she still for some reason seems to love me in return.
|Taken from a friend's FB account. I did not take this photo, and I'm not sure who did. But as soon as I do I will give credit.|