Eight years. That’s how long I had to wait in my marriage to conceive a child by my husband.  This isn’t the place or time to go into details about the ‘marriage’, and my ‘husband’, who had sex with his wife once every 3-5 months and was more active with himself in the bathroom… who always had his big O, turned over and left his wife to finish herself off…  CONCEPTION… was a friggin miracle, and once completed, in a condo in Tamarac, Florida, 1980.  How ironic I moved 4 miles from there 22 years later, once divorced, once the bathroom bandit became a ‘wasband’.

During a therapy session it became clear that a child was the one thing NO ONE could take away from me.  Being innocent and naïve to the extent of human trafficking and pedophilia in America and world at large, was so rampant, that drive to get pregnant and have a child to love unconditionally, was imbedded in my subconscious DNA.  It’s what girls were supposed to become and supposed to do once a wife.

Those eight years weren’t happy.  Little did I know that my husband abused me verbally, emotionally and physically, his abstinence used for punishing me.  It took me 22 years after the divorce in 1995 to realize he too was a victim of the same kind of abuse by his parents.  Where else did HE learn how to treat me.  If we, as humans, believe in ‘mistakes’ (which I don’t) he was my biggest mistake.  But I digress.  We each married one another for all the wrong reasons:  Wrong –Squared times 2.

Being 33 my clock was running out.  My mother-in-law hated me because I had a college loan and my father wasn’t rich.  Her son was dating the daughter of a psychiatrist and to her, that was the right ‘match’.

Anyway…  I have a running joke about my ex:  He got the most from one brick building than any other human;  he student taught at IS 59, got hired at IS 59, never had to look for a job…. met me at IS 59, married me at IS 59, divorced me 22 years later at IS 59, met his new wife at IS 59, had an affair with her while still married to me at IS 59, married her at IS 59 (not literally IN IS59!) and finally, retired from IS 59.  Don’t ya think?  Not to mention she looked like a clone of himself.  HAH!

Never in my wildest imagination did I ever think that being abused personally would have such secondary ramifications with my son.  All the abuse took place in front of him when we were in the car as a family.  None of us could escape the verbal barrage.  From the time he was born until the divorce, which took 3.5 years from 10 -13 and a half, he was subjected to demeaning, slanderous name calling, typical abusive languaging…  all to sink deep into the child’s subjective mind about his mother, only to emerge late into adolescence , continuing even worse as a 40 year old adult, with no insight into his own abuse directed at his mother, having written in a FaceBook message, “you are a shitty mother and a cunt.”

Little did it occur that 1. I would have NO relationship with my only child, the one no one could take away from me…  and 2.  HE took himself away from me.  Actually, the father did that.  As a metaphysician I realize on some deep level of consciousness, I created this entire scenario as a gift to reveal and heal the truth of it.  Ernest Holmes wrote, “there is nothing to heal, only truth to reveal”.  So it is.

So, what no one could take away, the one who was loved unconditionally by his mother, the one who was sung to sleep every night for his first nine years, the one who went to counseling sessions to deal with his ADHD, the one who fostered and cheered him on as his greatest cheerleader, the one who sewed his custom Halloween costumes, the one who fought to get him into a two year college after being rejected, because of special circumstances – was the cunt.  What do you think of that?

The day is coming that I will take my last breath and my son won’t ever get to know me… won’t ever get to learn the facts, the history, the things he has forgotten, as children do, about their upbringing.  He has no constructive recollections of who I am, who I have become, who I was in his life; only the nasty dirty dark abusive story woven by his father.  Judging from the kind of parents the ex parents had on both sides, my son is the 4th generation abuser.  If he doesn’t clear out that energy, he will lose his wife and children when they have them, and promulgate the abuse syndrome for another generation.

For now, as Mildred Pierce said when she remarried her first husband and their daughter Veda made my son look like Mother Theresa, “SCREW HER.  We have each other. Let’s just forget about her!”  Mildred shook her head YES.  Still alone, I get to adapt that script.  That action.  Forget my son.

Like he didn’t exist.




Could never never do that.




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