I shall diminish, and go to the west.

Or close to that, I’m too lazy to look it up. No, let’s be precise, I’m too depressed. The razors edge of intellect is a dull foggy thing these days. I hope it can come back.

I was reading June Jordan’s “Poem about my rights”. I’ve been reading lots of feminist literature lately. But all it does is depress me further.

I utterly, utterly failed with my girls. Because I was too frightened to leave, and so caved to the misogyny of their father. Ironically, he has really grown- he is not that man. But he was- oh he was. And I allowed a backpedaling hiding balance on this fence post that will split you kind of feminism.

So they fit in.

So the relatives don’t freak out.

So they are normal- I mean Jesus you already didn’t change your name…

I played by all the rules, and did all the things- hell, I even “kept my figure”. And all this kowtowing to the patriarchy got me…screwed by it.

I say he has changed but that is ridiculous. He buys sex from exploited women. Only his lip service has changed- he was never who said he was. Who he says he is. Who he thinks he is.

But I’m tired. I want the righteous anger and to fight against this oppressive system I just seamlessly joined. I just…can’t.

I want to run away from it all. Be in a country that isn’t my shitshow of a country, but I am not a part of. Be removed from those systems and the care and attention and worry and activism. Just sigh and walk away.

Diminish and go west.

I failed.

Traveling again, Southeast Asia my old friend

I’m in the Philippines with the girls, Cebu. A trip planned as a Christmas gift, that now takes on great importance as Last Trip because Rose is getting married.

Married. My 18 year old who hasn’t finished high school.

I was greatly in denial, I’ll admit it. I did not think she really would do it- move to Washington and marry a man she barely knows to escape here and the drama with the divorce.

But she sure as heck is.

The Philippines is magical, that warm cacophonous Southeast Asia lovely chaos . It makes me happy to introduce it to Rose, who has never been. Geranium and I did Vietnam 2 years ago, LLCAH did not come rather inexplicably then…now I know why. Poisoned even that.


The rain is pouring down, I’m at a bar on the water and the powers gone. Snorkelers are out by the boatload in the silver pinging sea, the sardine run is on and they swim in balls of thousands, swirling through the deep. I should have gone, but I sat here dry and tipsy instead.

As it’s Southeast Asia, we have two resident May-December couples, the typical Old White Dude and Very Young Brown Woman. Neither couple is talking, one couple both are engrossed in their phones (lucky! I have no internet since no power). The other he is on his phone, he snorkeled earlier, she sits pouty and oh-so-young waiting on him. He went to use the bathroom and I was in line behind him, so I know he is an Aussie. Terribly polite, got another candle since “aimings harder for the lasses” and said he would watch the door (no lock, I walked in on him and hollered sorry as our opener to conversation).

Now we are back at our respective tables, and he’s chatting politely with me. She sits statuesque (if someone 4’9” can be called so) in silence. He is quite the erudite gentleman…you’d find him an all around decent guy. To a white woman.

There is something very off here and I’m not articulating it well.But like they say- you know it when you see it.

I don’t have to be happy all the time

So I had a therapy session tonight, just ended. Have I told you about my therapist?? She is amazing. I tried in person counseling, but the therapists, though US trained, were just so…Korean. It didnt work, and also our insurance only reimbursed less than half so it was just prohibitively expensive.

I heard an advert for better help on npr so I looked into it. Wasn’t expecting much. signed up for one free session.

My counselor? Her husband left her for a stripper and he was in the marines for 20 years! How serendipitous is THAT shit?! And it’s really working. I’m getting to where I can forgive myself for marrying him and subjecting my kids and myself to this. Which is huge.

Tonight we talked about happiness. She asked if I was happy when we were married, prior to the finding out. I said I was- I was, really. I classed it as content, and content is good enough for me. She grabbed onto that like a bulldog because therapist, lol.

Yes, I often subsumed my wants and desires for his or the children’s. But honestly? I’m fine with that. I think it is impossible to have a relationship and surely a family if you can’t settle for content over happy a large part of the time.

And I don’t actually WANT to be a person for whom personal happiness is the pinnacle of life. Because I don’t believe that, and I want to consider all these other people on this rock third from the sun.

I think if I’d not married a total slime bag, it would have gone perfectly for me. I should have just married someone as fucking grown up as me, because that is my honest opinion- grown ups realize it isn’t always perfection but can aggregate the total and be content. Content is pretty freaking awesome, actually.

It’s not that I don’t want to be happy. It’s just that I am happy if the people I love are happy and I’m fine compromising for that. I want to. I think we all should want to.

I love my therapist, but I am not changing this. It’s one of the things I like about myself, that I can sacrifice and compromise for the greater good. I just wish everyone could, specifically LLCAH.

On being small

So everyone likes to pick me up. I’m not like a tiny Asian woman, I’m 5’7”. But I am very tiny boned and all, and I’ve noticed a trend in the last 4 guys, picking me up.

I’m not sure I love it. Or even like it. But I also know I’m supposed to be impressed with Feats of Strength. I mean, can’t we just walk to the bedroom? Just because you CAN pick me up because I weigh less than a hundred pounds does not mean you have to.

Also the weight is a real issue, I should be more. I’m always going to small but this has totally fucked with it. I was around 46 kgs for a while…super not cool. It’s better now, at 49-50. But I can control food and eating, while everything else- my own husband, my life- is out of control. So I do. I haven’t got any weight issues or body image issues but I do have control issues as my entire life is out of my control…so I control food.

Like so many things, I see it but am powerless to stop it. The “hey girl let me pick you up” is just another symptom of the underlying issue. It makes them feel good, and manly…so even though I’m uncomfortable I do it. Because them feeling good is more important than my discomfort. And also, I’m quite small and pick-up-able, thanks to all this. It’s like the patriarchy is grooming me or something. Funny that.

When my life begins

My youngest daughter, Rose, adored Tangled. Maybe because her hair never grew since she did sports at such a high level so young (mom fail). Maybe for the awesome music.

But this resonates. I’m out of my tower tower now, running amok I’ll grant you but those choices are finally mine, rather than the choices made with no information on what was going on in my marriage. The lack of choice, of information- that ruins.

You are going along merrily thinking you have a partner…and it’s all shit. There is a third person in the relationship (or like twenty third on my case 🙄) and you have NO idea.

So every decision and enjoyment- adopt this dog, take that trip- is colored and ruined retroactively by the knowledge you never had. Of your own marriage.

I love Lola, but alone I would never have picked her to adopt. A family dog sure, but I never knew my family was over then because well…lies. The trips? The Facebook dinner memories? Lies and disgust. And not just for me, for the girls as well.

But I’m free. The girls? Not so much. Stuck with LLCAH as I can’t afford them. And the betrayal, and the work, is very much the same for them…and I doubt he will do it. Coward thru and thru, that one.

Don’t go back to Rockville

So, my Dad died. And there is extreme pressure now that I’m getting divorced for me to just go back home.

But I cannot. I’m from the Pacific Northwest. I kept a diary from age 7-8, and if you read them, the winter months the entries are just…dark. Which is funny since I’m 8, but NOT once you see the pattern. The months grow dark, wet, close, and I grow morose, depressed and down.

I found a tracker of “days I have not seen the sun” in one (I have a big steamer trunk actually with all of this inside). 43 days I got to. 43 days.

Now my sister, she is a consummate Washingtonian. She gets annoyed by too much sun, and hates the heat. She has moss on her legs and webbed feet. Me?

Not so much.

And now my girls want desperately to leave, and my mother needs me, and it’s all drawing me back. Just go back.

But I just cannot…I can never live there, I couldn’t really when I did. Geranium posited perhaps I’d have cured cancer by now growing up somewhere else, not sluggish and depressed in the PNW…she isn’t wrong. What if.

But Rockville wants me back. And waste another year…


Books talk about heartbreak, and you read it, but you never really know. It is physical, heartbreak. It hurts. It burns and grabs and squeezes, it hurts. It’s pain.

See yeah, I’m attractive. People want me, physically. But they never know or care about anything between my ears, just my legs. I’m a conquest more often than not- the divorce and dating has thrown it all back out, the teen and early 20 years,it’s as though time stopped.

I’m a commodity and a prize.

So hey, I get some good dick and some orgasms, what do I care? I don’t really. But I did care about LLCAH.

He was the one who saw all of me, past the external beauty. He knew ME.

But what he knew and saw, well, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anything to promise to or be faithful to. What is in the center of me is just not enough, that is how I feel. Unloveable at my core.

And it hurts, physically. There is a real physical pain. The one person I thought looked past the outside, and knew me, and we built a family…it wasn’t enough.

I’m not enough.

There is no real substance after all, is the lesson. The years of being objectified (and let me tell you, I am right back there) are what is real. Because the person I thought loved me for me did not really. And it does feel like no one ever will, if he cannot.

I mean, I had his children, in blood and pain, I made a home over and over for us…but something, fundamentally, is missing. In him? Or me? Because let me tell you the world wants me physically, and so I can’t help but think that is all I am, and will ever be.

An object. A pretty toy. Ultimately that was all I was- I was clever and dressed well and made a nice life for him, after the initial physical attraction waned. And he just wants that to continue…like I’m not a real person at all.

If he, after 22 years, can’t see my personhood- does it even exist?

Perhaps I am just a toy, a doll. No one cares about my thoughts…if he doesn’t, who could?

What cheaters do, or Sordid Tale Part 3

So, I find out LLCAH is cheating. And I’m a wreck, and I see a lawyer and leave immediately to Cambodia.

Well, the text messages start.

THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT. If you are going thru this, go immediately to a website called SurvivingInfidelity and start reading. Because all these low life’s do the exact same things.

The blame game. “Well, you didn’t do xyz in our marriage!”. LLCAHs particular fixation was running the spouse and family support group when he had a command in the military. I had 2 babies and a raging case of post partum depression…and he had cheated on me. Yes, that was the first (as far as I know, but who really knows) time. And he totally forgot that. He totally forgot he’d cheated on me, he only remembered I’d not chaired the group.


“We haven’t been happy!” Really? You threw me an awesome surprise birthday party, and took me for an Anniversary extravaganza trip to all the places we had met at and been when we first married. How, exactly, was I to know you weren’t happy? Did you tell me? No?

Because we were. Everyone universally was floored to include our adult children, who live with us. LLCAH lied, hid and deceived, and wanted to remain married to me while doing fuck all (and I do mean FUCK all). This is the usual MO- because people who want to get divorced, get divorced. Cheaters want to stay married, and cheat. They want to have their cake and eat it too.

This is what they do. I already knew he was a liar, but man did that ever fuck with my head. Thank God I read something that cleared it up- I’m responsible for 50 percent of the marriage. He is responsible for 100 percent of the cheating.

Sticking your dick into random women certainly doesn’t fix any marriage problems, talking to your spouse does.

And ask yourself, do you want to be married to someone that tone deaf and stupid?

I certainly do not.

I was a victim of his cheating, but by staying, I’d be a volunteer. I’d be signing up for his gaslighting headgames and narcissist mental gymnastics.

Doing stupid things is stupid

Argh. I went home from a friends birthday at a bar with a guy who was just a giant mistake. Giant. Huge.

I’m too old for this. I have no problem with a one night stand, but I don’t regret those because they aren’t made drunkenly. This one?


What am I, 20?

In some respects kind of. I never had a series of long term relationships, I only ever had one and I married that asshole. Now it’s 23 (25 since I dated) years later and I’m trying to figure this out.

I know I don’t want/can’t muster up the emotional energy for a serious relationship. The German showed me that. I didn’t want to deal with his emotional needs, heck just dealing with mine right now is more than enough.

And I can’t seem to find the balance of a fun, steady, companion type relationship that doesn’t veer off into the serious pretty quick. It’s one night stands or serious, seems no middle ground.

Picking up Mistake Men in bars is not going to help that problem, which should be obvious but then again I am the queen of missing the obvious.

Let it Go…

Full disclosure, never saw the movie.


“It’s funny how some distance, can make everything seems small,

And the fears that once controlled me, can’t get to me at all..

It’s time to see what I can do,

To test the limits and break through,

No right , no wrong, no rules for me-

I’m free!”

That resonates. Cambodia was hands down the very best thing for me when this happened. I looked at the world and thought- what could I do without him? A lot, actually. I could build a meaningful life without a house in the suburbs and keeping up with the joneses. I could let it all just go.

I’m not a doctor, or a nurse. But I have raised babies and I’m caring and compassionate and very not afraid of hard work- turns out there is an orphanage/school in Kampot for children with brain injuries. And I could live off my half of the pension, and volunteer. I could fashion my rest of my life to really make a difference for humanity, on a small scale but that doesn’t matter- the doing does.

It floored me. The distance- it showed me I could do so many things, things I wanted to do, differences I wanted to make. I fantasized about buying a tuk tuk and taking in young teen moms who would end up in the sex trade (LLCAHs favorite). I would teach them English, and give them a safe place for their babies, and they could run tuk tuk tours around Kampot while I minded the babies. Lola’s Tuk Tuk. I mean- I can certainly teach English and work ethic and know babies. AND I COULD DO IT.

The distance was absolutely key.

The possibilities astounded me- what I could for humanity now that I was not tied to him and his grasping small self. I want to leave this earth knowing the balance is tipped in my favor for good, I want to save the world in Aquarius fashion (I don’t believe in that, but) .

And I CAN.

The distance, it made everything seem small, and big.

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