Home » A Wasted Life » When The Bullet Hits The Bone

When The Bullet Hits The Bone

After my trip to see J***, it was his turn to bring my things to me.  I had asked him to bring the wood-burning stove that my daddy had given me.  He said he was planning on using it on the “property.”
I’m sure he was but he wasn’t going to use my stove to warm the house that he planned to build for himself and that attachment.  I told J*** that my daddy had given that stove to me and he would want it to stay in the family.  He was not my family anymore.
He asked me what I was going to do with my tools.  I told him that I was probably going to sell them at yard sale.  He asked for them, citing that “they would mean more to him than anything I could get for them at a yard sale.”
I probably had every conceivable tool that would have allowed him to build his house but they were my tools.  I told him the only thing they would mean to him was that he wouldn’t have to spend money on something that he could get free.  I told him he could buy his own tools.
He had asked me if I would request a postponement of the final decree until the next calendar year, to prevent him from incurring a huge tax burden and in return, he would split the refunds with me.  I agreed and filed the request.  I told him that it would probably take a few weeks to find out if it had been granted and I would let him know as soon as I could.
He thanked me and gave me the date when he was coming and then said “you’re not going to shoot me when I get down there, are you?”
I didn’t even know what to say.  After I collected my senses, I asked him when he had ever been afraid of me.  He said he was just kidding.
He wasn’t kidding and it wasn’t HIM talking either.  His thought processes were clearly being coaxed.  His mind would have never taken him down that road.
He sent me an email reiterating that he was just kidding and was back-peddling even harder than he was after his last blunder.
Just before he came down, I had gotten a message.  It said “I’ve just moved to A******* :).”  I immediately contacted my “informant” to remind them that I had asked them to stop sending me things.  They said they hadn’t sent anything else.
I then, had three guesses who had sent it and I was sure the first two were wrong.
J*** arrived and we unloaded the stove.  It was in pieces and was heavy but I was glad he brought it.  He said it had taken him eight trips to the car to load it.  Poor J***.
He stuck around for a while and talked about his attachment, of course.  He said his attachment said “I think P**** hates me and I really wish she didn’t.”  WHAT?   Let’s reflect for a minute.
This attachment is shacking up with my husband, questioning my right to come to the state of S**** C*******, acting like she owns him and she wishes I didn’t hate her?  Who the Hell is this person?  It was obvious that she was a perfect match for J***, though.  They both shared the same lack of morality, the same self-obsession and the same sense of entitlement.
He actually said that he would like for me to “not hate her,” too.  What was he thinking?  That we would be best buds?  That we would go shopping together?  That we’d meet and slam down a couple of beers at the local bar?  That I would encourage my children to start calling her “mom?”  What is wrong with this man?
J*** also said that she was concerned about what my children thought of her and again, “just wanted them to not hate her.”  Were those really her wishes…or manipulation tactics to make herself look like the “good guy” to “her” man?
Never again would I question why so many people had asked me how I could stand being married to him.  I had heard people describe J*** as having almost every single attribute of a psychopath and I was starting to believe it.
He again mentioned bringing her down.  I had already made it clear that they weren’t welcome at my house and I told him that it might not yet be time for him to expect our children to embrace her with open arms.  He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, literally glared at me and through clenched teeth said “if my children don’t want to see her then THEY’RE NOT GOING TO SEE THEIR DADDY.”
That statement just punctuated his absolute arrogance.  Did he really think none of us understood that if it came to a choice between his attachment and his children, he was going to choose his attachment?
After that statement had time to settle into the crevices with all the other bullshit rhetoric he was so adept at regurgitating, he got up and walked out on my back porch.
He lit his cigarette, looked at me with disdain and said “I wish I had made you go to college.”
THERE IT WAS!
  The one thing about me that he hated more than my memory.  I didn’t go to college.  It must have been excruciatingly painful throughout the years for him to have to tell his highfalutin friends and colleagues that his wife was uneducated.
I guess that’s why he’s so proud of his attachment.  When he introduces her and is asked what she does, he can smile and boast that “she’s going to college.”
When he had to introduce me as his wife and was asked what I did, he would have to say “nothing.”
I wonder who he thought was going to take care of the children while I was “going to college?”  Who was going to take them to school?  Who was going to pick them up after school?  Who was going to take them to soccer practice?  Who was going to take them to the doctor?  Who was going to go to the grocery store?  Who was going to do the laundry?  Who was going to do all the birthday and Christmas shopping?  HIM?
No, I didn’t go to college and yes, I am uneducated…but having an education doesn’t make you an honorable or worth-while person.  Both of them are indisputable proof of that.
The next day, we went to the little place up the street.  After we ordered, I asked him point-blank if he and his attachment were living together.  He looked me right in the eyes and said “NO.”  He didn’t know that I had gotten the message.  I was sure he would outright lie and he didn’t disappoint me.
The next day, we went back to the little place and continued discussing things.  I had started secretly recording our conversations at the behest of my former attorney.  J*** clearly didn’t like the way the conversation was going because I told him that I wanted compensation for him having given me Herpes.
He looked at me and contemptuously said “yeah, MAYBE I gave you Herpes.  You could have gotten it from anybody.”
Why I didn’t throw my drink in his face, I don’t know.  He was accusing me of doing what?  The same thing he had done during our entire marriage?  The same thing he was doing now?
How could he say something like that to me?  How could he even think about saying something like that to me?  I think I would have rather he called me a whore than say that…..but…….he essentially just had, hadn’t he?
Then again, I didn’t believe that it was him talking.  I believe it was somebody elseHe was obviously being influenced to the point that he was willing to slander my good name, my ethics and my morality.  He had never been above compromising his own values but he was NOT going to disparage mine due to the spiteful and malicious suggestion of somebody else.
He can deny it until the day he dies but it will just be one more lie that he takes to his grave.
He had taken enough pieces of me.
That bullet hit the bone.

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