Mental Power

I’m still waiting for a moment…an epiphany. A point in time that’s going to come when it all makes sense. When all of the lessons I am supposed to learn will be obvious, when the things I crave and desire will be right in front of me instead of floating in an abyss far away. When the things that PC has done will be nothing but the past and I will need to really buckle down and concentrate to even remember all of the terrible, horrible things that he has done to me. A point where the things we all say are outrageous and laughable really will be laughable. Because right now? I’m not laughing.


I have been trying. I have been trying to pull my thoughts out of the cycle that spins, slow at first and then faster and faster until I’m back down in the rabbit hole of what if and its not fair and can’t one fucking thing just go my way and all of those other fun thoughts. I have forced myself to get outside and walk: because its October and its glorious. Because I like walking. Because there is nothing to do besides think and when I do that its like, all of those pent-up thoughts smoke a little joint and chill the fuck out for a bit.

I tell myself affirmations. I list the good things: in my head, and on paper. Family…friends…love…health. My home. My kids. It could be worse… I follow the rituals that tie into my spirituality and the universe: saging and tarot cards and bathing in moonlight and listening to the universe and listening to my heart. But at some point? It all starts to feel like utter bullshit.

Because: people are mean. Because 40-year-old adults are running around acting like the cast of Mean Girls. Because even when you are a good, moral person who has never actually set out to intentionally hurt anyone it doesn’t mean the universe repays you by keeping these people out of your path. Because: even when PC has done what he’s done he still cannot stop trying to fuck with my life. Because: timing blows. Because because because….

PC and Trollup seem to have recruited a new protegé, The Plumber’s Ex Wife. And while I have tried (really! I really do!) to keep my head out of drama and let things happen as they will and stay true to myself its very, very hard when you feel like you’re being targeted, attacked, and punished by people who actually have college degrees and are in charge of raising children and, again, are over the age of 40. And the logical part of my brain knows that the Ex Wife in cahoots with PC has nothing to do with me and everything to do with The Plumber. But they have successfully managed to make it even more impossible for The Plumber and I to spend any time together without our children.

I know this is PC pulling puppet strings. Just as he repeatedly has been requesting and demanding to have our children overnight more…and when I offered him, reluctantly, an overnight, he responded with a negotiation and the proclamation that you want something, we want something. Things are not going to keep going your way anymore. Um, okay. YOU want something, PC. I waved the white flag. Now you want more and I say no and your response to me is I’m not taking the kids so you can go fuck The Plumber. What? And, as always, the ultimate victim is my kids.

Yesterday, we had court. Besides hating beyond hate the feeling of sitting outside those rooms, in a majestic hallway filled with angry, bitter people all fighting like some sort of future apocalyptic society, I hate the whole process of divorcing PC. Because: PC is illogical and irrational and miserable and greedy. He does not play fair. Yesterday was no exception. Moving into the phase of settlement, the very first point of contention was alimony. This is almost a given for me but PC wants it off the table….why? Because, according to him and his lawyer: I am “cohabitating” with The Plumber.

So, in a court of law, PC throws down a flat-out, completely made up lie. He knows this is not true, his lawyer knows this is not true (small town perks) and yet: they both presented this lie as truth, and put me in a position to yet again defend myself over something that is not true. And it just makes me wonder what the point of all of this is?

What is the point of prayers and giving it up to God and finding magic in the stars and trusting fate when there are people like PC just walking around free, like rabid animals? My pseudo-mom (read: my mom’s BFF) who certainly has her own pile of shit to deal with, made a very adamant point to me this weekend that while it’s all great if praying, church, mediums, and signs from God make you feel better…that doesn’t mean they are real. I don’t believe her (sorry, my dear!) but it does make me think. And wonder if the power of controlling your mindset, your perceptions, your attitude…is it really just denial?

Because PC is still going to continue to be a joy-stealer, an energy-vampire that I must hand my children over to. Trollup is still going to be a Mean Girl. Trump is still the president, hurricanes are still wiping out Florida and The Plumber and I are going to be lucky if we manage a dinner date in 2019, let alone cohabitation. (Really, PC?)

Last night, though, I stopped by The Plumber’s house for a wild rendezvous (trying to squeeze a week of conversation into 15 minutes before we each had to go back to being parents. Because that is the entirety of our relationship right now, it seems.) And in that fifteen minutes, while I spoke and The Plumber listened in the dim light of a warm fall night, I felt it again. That glimmer of…something. Peace? Safety.

And herein lies my lesson, my undone puzzle, the one I can’t seem to figure out. Where do I get this feeling within myself? PC fills me with anger and anxiety and hatred–I can count on this as much as I can count on the sun rising and setting. And The Plumber?  Fills me with warmth and groundedness, love–and I can also trust this.

But how do I do this, myself? If the gift of mental power really comes from something divine then for goodness sake, where is it?


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