T minus 16 Months
October 21st, 7:56am
Dear Friends!
I’m finally moving into a little more permanent situation. I am thrilled! But I have nothing lol. Please let me know if you are getting rid of anything or know anyone getting rid of anything. NONE of this is essential. My life is SOOO full of good people and good energy, the rest is just STUFF. I have my dignity and freedom and all of you, and that is what matters 🙂 That said, my wish lists includes:
A small bed or futon
A small kitchen table
A small patio set
A dresser
A kitchen rack/stand/shelving unit
A bookcase
Any kitchen stuff (Dishes, utensils, pots and pans)
THANK YOU so much for asking around.
Talk about humility. Writing that email to twenty of my friends took a ton of courage. Six weeks earlier, on the night I moved out from the apartment I shared with Kurt, I left everything behind, taking only the items I could fit in my car. I had no furniture, kitchen items or decor; I had simply my clothing and a few personal items.
I had enough money for a couple of months of rent. I had no idea where the rest would come from. But it didn’t matter. Something inside me knew I deserved a home of my own. Somehow, I understood on a subconscious level that, by giving myself something nice, though modest, everything would work itself out. The new apartment was across the street from the yoga studio, close enough to the ocean that I could surf. At around three hundred square feet, it was everything I needed: a place to call my own.
Even though we lived separately, I still wanted to make things work with Kurt. I considered our distance a “separation”, desperately needed for my own sanity. I was just waiting out the storm, hopeful that Kurt was just in a phase. Eventually, with the right treatment, he would get clean again. We had been trying to attend couples therapy. My Al-Anon sponsor suggested I speak with Kurt only when he had at least two weeks clean. Kurt’s brain simply did not have the capacity to reason when it was coming down off a high. We scheduled therapy whenever possible between his binges.
During one therapy session, Kurt and I discussed my having rented a place of my own. He was furious, accusing me of lying to him about the amount of money I made, taking advantage of his generosity to pay the rent when we lived together. He mentioned that work had been slow for him (because he had been using drugs or coming down from a high for more days than he was sober), and he said might need to borrow a little money. He needed help to make the month’s rent on our old apartment, where he was still staying, still refusing to go to a treatment program.
Even had I the money to lend, I knew that loaning him money would be enabling. Instantly, I told him no. This denial unleashed a monster within Kurt. Later in the session, I asked him if he would be okay with me taking the futon from the spare room at our old place. He didn’t respond to the question in the session, but wrote me an email later that day:
October 21st, 7:01pm
Melanie, I don’t agree with or support your decision to sign a lease and get your own place. I’m not angry about it. I feel it is going to cause more problems with us, financial stress for you, distance us more, less time for fun and vacations but if that is what you want go for it! Since I don’t believe in or agree what your doing I choose to “detach with love” and take care of myself. I will not lend or give you the futon. I will not buy you a futon or a bed. I will not give you any money during the time we aren’t living together. So please do not ask. I don’t care if its a emergency you will get zero financial support from me. I feel this is what is best for you. It kind of sucks not having your spouse’s support on something that is important to you and that you want doesn’t it? However I will be contributing to the “Fix Melanie’s Implant Fund” which now has $1,000 in it.”
He was okay with me sleeping on the hard floor, but he had the money to fix my implant because that meant bigger boobs. He always knew just where to put the knife.
October 21st, 7:04pm
Dear Kurt, I understand. I wish you would reconsider the futon since I got rid of all my furniture to move in with you originally and since we got the futon as a gift together I feel it is ours and not just yours but I won’t force the issue. I can figure it out.”
His response felt like more acid in my stomach.
October 21st, 7:08pm
You are correct you got rid of your furniture to move in with me and then we got married. The futon is at our house that I have been maintaining for the past however long and it will remain here.
Your a big girl and you decided not to help me or do what I wanted. Now you get to have a taste of what it feels like. I am positive you will have no problem finding another futon or bed. I’m sure someone will help you. Like I said before please don’t ask me for any financial help or help period during the time we aren’t living together. You have nothing coming from me. You are on your own.
I didn’t write back. Eight minutes later, he wasn’t finished with me.
I don’t know what you expect me to do. I will be nice but I want some respect. I am not gonna kiss your ass and follow you around like a puppy dog. I have proved myself to you and your family. If you aren’t willing to forgive me and move on from it that is totally on you.
And twenty-five minutes later, even though I still hadn’t responded, he still hadn’t said his piece.
This is SO lame. Please file the (divorce) papers, PLEASE! I am begging you for your own sake. You don’t want to be with someone like me. There are way better guys out there. They are everywhere! Guys who will build you a yoga studio who don’t care if it succeeds or fails. Guys that just want you to be happy. Guys who will give you financial freedom to do whatever you want. Guys who, even when their wives leave them, still are saving money to help fix your implant that has been bothering you for a long time. Guys who take you on surf and snowboard trips. And most of all guys who aren’t drug addicts. I challenge you to find someone better!!!!!! I know I won’t find anyone better than you but I can’t deal with your bullshit.
There was nothing to say. I went to bed without responding.
He must have fallen asleep angry because the next email didn’t come through until 7:00 am the next morning.
So are you willing to meet or are you gonna keep on thinking I’m a mind reader and keep playing games with me?
Again, I stayed silent. By noon, he wrote me again.
I don’t like how I feel and I don’t want to not help you even though you wouldn’t have helped me. I want to be a better person and not try to get back at you and make you feel how I did. I am going to take the high road & offer to buy you a futon or help you get one. The money will come out of your breast implant fix fund. I am saving it for you so if you want to use it you can. It’s for you not me. If you find one get it and if you need to use my truck you can.
I didn’t write back. But I re-read the email thread several times and refreshed my inbox constantly. Somehow, I was addicted to the feeling of each punch. By noon the next day, some of the dope had drained from Kurt’s head, and the man I loved wrote another email.
My sponsor said when my medication starts working it should help with my reactivity. Until I calm down I agree that it isn’t good for me to communicate.
Healthy Kurt understands and is very proud of you and what you’ve done. I don’t blame you. I told your mom yesterday that I’ve never been with anyone so healthy and that I’m angry because I can’t manipulate or control you. Angry Kurt isn’t in control of his thoughts or emotions right now and is pissed. That is the truth and it is hard to admit because my ego, pride and character defects are out of control and running my life right now.
Despite my bad behavior which I apologize for, I do really love you and would regret losing you.
He wasn’t a bad guy. No, wait, he was an awful, manipulative beast. Or was I a terrible wife? Or maybe we were both monsters, or…! My head spun. No futon was worth that kind of emotional rollercoaster ride. I would figure out something else.
My first day in my new apartment finally arrived. My friends had supplied me with dishes and kitchen items. Barbara gave me a patio set that needed refinishing that she had never gotten around to doing. Lauren gave me brand new glasses, still in the box. Bryan gave me some cool candles, and Momma Kandy set me up with two rugs, two bath towels, dish soap and a roll of toilet paper.
I went to the swap meet to get a few spoons, light bulbs and all-purpose cleaner. Walking down the aisles, I saw a beautiful, wall-sized tapestry hanging in a booth. I stopped to admire it. A big tree grew from a rock, with all sorts of animals hiding in its leaves.
“You like it?” asked the man at the booth. “It’s called ‘The Tree of Life’.”
“I love it!” I exclaimed.
“I’ll make you a good deal, then.”
“No, thanks. I can’t afford it. It’s not on my shopping list today.” I studied it a minute longer, lost in its branches.
“Ma’am,” a voice called behind me, “do you want that tapestry?”
I spun to see a very large, older black man standing behind me.
“I do want it, but I don’t need it,” I said.
“Of course you don’t need it. Who needs a tapestry?” The man laughed. “Sir,” the big black man called to the man working the booth, “package up that Tree of Life for the young lady, please.”
“Really, no, it’s fine. I have more than I need already,” I protested.
“But, young lady, you deserve to have nice things too, not just the things you need. God told me to buy this for you, and that’s what I’m going to do, so don’t argue. Also, ma’am, I’m a pastor. Would you mind if I prayed for you right now?”
I looked at him. I looked at the man taking down my new piece of art. With one hand, I clutched my heart. With the other, I covered my mouth and nose. Sobs gripped my body. I dropped my plastic bag, full of items plucked from the dollar bin, and practically ran to the big black man who now stood with open arms. I buried my face into his grey pocket t-shirt. He rested one hand on my shoulder and lifted the other above him toward the sky.
I don’t remember everything he prayed, in a loud voice, in the isle of that open air market. But I know he referenced Esther, a woman from the Bible. As the story goes, Esther had to move away from a place that offered her security, because it was the right thing to do. She was so broke and poor that she had to go forage leftover pieces of wheat in the fields, overlooked by farm workers. But God was looking out for her, and arranged for the farm workers to leave so much behind that she couldn’t even carry it all home.
That night, I lit the candles Bryan had given me. I unrolled my yoga mat, and three more I had borrowed from the studio, for extra cushion to sleep on. I stared at my Tree of Life tapestry, now hanging on the wall. It didn’t even matter that my butt was starting to go numb from the hard floor, just four yoga mats beneath me. I felt safe for the first time in a long time. I felt like a princess in a palace. I’m going to call this place the Princess Cave, I thought.
As I reveled in the glory of providing for myself, I heard a commotion in the alley behind my house. Someone was dragging something heavy to the dumpster. I heard metal scraping the ground. A woman’s voice announced, “Just leave it next to the dumpster. Maybe someone will want it.”
I got up and peeked out the window. Standing there, propped up between the dumpster and my back door, my neighbors had just left a perfectly good futon, gleaming white mattress and a paper bag full of sheets. Esther had a tapestry on the wall and a bed to sleep in too.
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*some names have been changed to protect privacy
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