Sad Things.

Sad Things.

I found a list of names. If things had been different and I had a girl, we would have called her Alice.

“Your next boyfriend is going to be so lucky.  You might be worth something by then.”

Yesterday

I saw a lawyer this week as he has been hoarding some things that are mine and he agreed to give me.  There’s some money involved.

We had a separation agreement that I absolutely signed under duress.  If I signed, he would work toward taking me back and my money wouldn’t be wasted.  If I did not, he would sell the house for next to nothing, give me as little as he could (nothing if possible), ruin my reputation and disappear. Keep in mind this was at the beginning when I was inconsolable with guilt after what he’d caught me doing.  

So he got everything.  However we made an agreement on a few items, the ones he’s currently holding hostage.

The lawyer estimates my fight to cost thousands in legal and court fees - likely more than the value of the things. She also thinks my claim for the stuff is shaky at best in terms of the law as well.  So I could spend a whole lot of money and still not have them in the end.

In short, I’m fucked.

The truth - a realization

I was amazing in bed because I was hellbent on getting you off quick and the hell off of me.

Landscaping

If you continue to read below you will hear more about my personal hygiene than you signed up for.  You’ve been warned.

I confessed this story to someone and their “WTF?!” reaction prompted me to post.

I used to shave my pubic hair.   All of it.  It was the only way he liked it. For those of you who’ve never done it before, or don’t have a vulva you’ll just have to trust that it is a seriously tedious and arduous task. 

Sometimes I wouldn’t be prompt with my upkeep.  It was such a pain, and there were so many things in my day that I had to do. There were constant complaints from him about how women find them selves good men, settle down and just let themselves go.  Then they wonder why their husbands cheat on them.

So one day I guess he just got so frustrated with me dropping the ball that he was going to take matters into his own hands.  Literally.

I was showering and he came in the room ( I curse EVERY bathroom lock we ever had for PURE INEFFECTIVENESS).  Without asking, he got in the shower with me and grabbed my razor.

He started shaving me.  I’ll admit I did not protest too much, but I was obviously uncomfortable.  That progressed shortly to physical manifestations of panic, fear and anxiety: dizziness, nausea, difficulty breathing, chills (while in a hot shower no less), but I managed to hold back tears.

He got angry with me for shaking and losing my balance and went on a rant.  I had once again ruined what could have been a sweet and sexy moment.

Apparently I don’t know how to keep my cool with a razor-blade centimetres from my clitoris when it is in the hands of someone prone to outbursts and no idea what he’s doing.

When he got out and stomped off in a rage, I let the tears flow silently.

This.