Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Today and yesterday have been rough. Hell, all last week, my recent resignation started taking it's toll on my faith, hope and sanity. Although all fear-based thoughts which I know to avoid, I still succumbed to it. Languished in it. Yes I had been drinking. Struggling with the guilt of using again as well.

Driving to the local market after an AA meeting. Buying vodka. Sneaking around the store in case another AA member spots me. I can ditch the booze discreetly, chat a bit, watch them leave the store. Then go back and retrieve that bottle.

But I've been running from myself for so long. Not wanting to be *me* and wanting something different, but feeling unsure what that looks like.

I have chosen not to drink today. And going to AA later tonight. Feels good to say that.

When I was with Roscoe, I started self-medicating heavily because I was becoming what I hated when around him. Like a repeated game of chew up, spit out, then allow the offender to repeat the sick game for 13 years.

And life really sucked for me. Because of what I allowed in my world.

Then he would judge me and compare ***his drinking habit*** with my newly acquired one. I wanted to be numb daily. Slip into my own little drunk world and imagine how life *could* be one day. Without doing anything about the raging mess I created for my heart.

Roscoe would walk into the kitchen where I'd set up shop in my favorite chair, leaning back, feet kicked up on the sink (my makeshift recliner), laptop on hand and a big glass of lemon, water and copious amounts of Burnett's Vodka. I might've been singing along to a song quietly or surfing ebay minding my own business:

"You're DRUNK! Already??? It's fucking 9am in the morning. You've got a serious problem!"

Pot. Kettle. Black.

And this started some of our more infamous and violent fights.

And as a side note on this oh-so virtuous alcoholic, here's his wrap sheet:

*4 DWIs
*1 Hit and run (not related to the DWIs)
*17K in back child support for a kid he's never wanted to meet or support
*Has worked maybe 7 months in 6 years; can't hold a job
*Suspended license (still)
*Never paid one bill in 13 years with me
*No checking or savings account
*Drives the car his mom *gave* to him
*He's 43 and now dating a 28 yr old(who's 4 years older than his daughter, for which he owes back support)
*Lives in his parents basement, until the 28 year old gets an apartment for them both. He has NO CREDIT and BAD CREDIT.
*And he's still not working probably

He would never let up or just let-me-be. He'd smell my water to detect vodka, and then look at the clock, then back at me:

"Seriously? What's happening to you?" And never in a kind, caring or empathetic manner. He was cruel. He'd begin talking about my fat ass. Called me an old drunken hag, many times over. Horrible names.

He'd bash me to his friends, my friends and my brother. About my drinking habits. Again, not in a I-really-care-about Ruby kind of way. No. Always the judge and jury. He damned me for finding a way (drinking) to deal with all his bullshit. Problem was he didn't think anything was wrong with him.

I'd ask him for simple things: "No" was always the answer. And yet I stayed.

I had left him a thousand times in my mind. And abused myself with bulimia and alcohol as punishment for the person I had become-- I didn't want to be around me anymore. And so the drinking continued and escalated. Because for some twisted reason, I couldn't leave him.

Even as I write this, I'm craving an escape from the emotions erupting inside me.

Gonna stop writing for now.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

I really need to write more. Keeping emotions locked up in the chaotic chamber of my mind always leads to trouble.

Guessing I didn't get the job. The interview was a week and a half ago.

"Do you think you're overqualified for this position?" she asked.

Like I'm gonna fucking admit to that. Of course I'm overqualified. Tried to explain that I'm getting back into the nonprofit sector and would love the opportunity to work with such a fantastic agency that helps the homeless, even if it's more entry-level.

Getting that job would have made all the difference to me now. Having gone through the whole Roscoe fiasco and the anxiety from leaving my personal training career after 7 years....

I resigned July 3....

Yeah, I've been freaking out. No job. Heartache. The loneliness. Trying to keep busy, but I don't feel the desire to do much more than sit on the couch, fuck with FB and other on-line follies, and look out the window. A lot.

I know that if I keep applying myself and searching daily, God will bless me with a new opportunity. Can't just give up.


Removing the Roscoe tattoo is delayed. I decided to have it lasered so the cover up with look spectacular.
Made the appointment. The day before I was scheduled, the company's laser broke. Fucking really? So they're gonna call me back. Yeah, that was like a week ago.


Been drinking some. Used the excuse of it's the holiday week, let's get drunk! But going to AA tonight.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Tonight's AA meeting was essential for me.

Had been battling bad anxiety over tomorrow - covering up Roscoe's name on my neck. Helped to be around folks at the meeting who understand.

Also I think I found my biological father today. (I know, right??!!) Weeks ago I submitted a saliva test to find my history. Maybe locate my biological parents.

The irony, my bro purchased the test for me on my last birthday. I scoffed at it, threw the box on the dining room table and ignored submitting the test for 8 months. Until recently.

Just received the results last night. I have over 900+ relatives that matched my DNA. And my heritage is actually British and Irish.

Also, pretty sure my new family contact, Joyce (a distant cousin) ***knows*** who my dad is:

Based on our DNA and links to other family, Joyce described a man who was a 1) jazz musician, 2) lived in the round about areas when I could have been born...AND 3) my adoptive mom had confirmed the jazz musician part to me long ago, before she passed. My new contact also told me dad was a hardcore addict.

He committed suicide while high on drugs. Shot himself on the front lawn. The wife was leaving him. His name was Dean.

So now I know how I became an addict.

This has **got** to be the guy.

And he's fucking dead.

Out of all the relatives, there's only a handful out of 900 who live/lived in the area where I was born.

I wonder if Joyce will respond to me again with more updates. She seems hesitant a bit. Just what I'm sensing.

Absolutely fascinating to find remnants of  family.

I'm so grateful that my bro bought me the test. We've been rather close lately now that we have Roscoe as the common enemy -- finally. I'm thrilled and grateful that bro and I are still together.

I've decided to have the Roscoe tattoo lasered first. It's way too dark of a piece to cover (was redone twice) to look spectacular after a cover up. It happens to be on the sexiest part of my neck too. Don't want mediocre. Meeting my artist anyway tomorrow to do some touch ups. As a result of this decision, I found an amazing amount of peace. It just felt right. And the anxiety about the tattoo vanished almost instantly.

Bro likened the laser treatments as a gradual healing process, like healing from Roscoe. As the tattoo fades, so will the past, leaving space for the new. Sometimes bro kicks ass.  :)


Got a job interview this Thursday at 2pm with an awesome charity that helps the homeless. So excited!!! If this pans out my prayer will be answered. Dear God, I need a fresh start somewhere, where I can make a family and fulfill God's purpose for me -- helping others. That's all I want. All I want.
Well there goes a week of my life I can't get back! Last week.

A complete fucking wash, filled with drama (self imposed I believe), revelations, angry texts, booze (of course), tears....more drama.

Only went to one AA meeting, then left the meeting half way through and drove away to acquire some vodka. Whispered the excuse of "I need to take this call" and slithered out the side door of the AA house, glad for myself. And knowing that shortly, my mind would be basted in a drunkish buzz. And I won't have to feel the abject pain in my heart.

It's what addicts do.

Haven't been back to AA but plan on going to the 5:30p tonight. See who's there. Haven't drank today.


I located Andy and his address through real estate records. Planned on driving to his house at 3am and leave a note of concern:

"Roscoe is fucking Alex. In your house, while you're gone. You should probably check into it."

And everyone exclaimed that it was a damn bad idea. And they talked me out of it. Even printed out the note, which I promptly shredded after one friend confided in a disappointing tone, "Oh Ruby, you are so much of a better woman than that."


But Andy is very hard to find. Not on any social media sites. Except one, LinkedIn. And guess who decided to reach out and touch someone? (insert evil laugh).

And wouldn't you know, he did not set up any contact info. No phone or email. Sigh.

So after a couple drinks, decided to muster up the courage to contact one of his LinkedIn friends. Emailed him, asking that if he knows andy,  to have him contact me at once.

In 10 minutes, my phone rang: "Ruby, it's Andy, what's going on?"

And I spilled all the beans, how Roscoe was fucking alex behind his back, and how he also has a GF in New York, oh and by the way Alex now has HPV (enjoy that one, slut).

Ugh, I know I'm being mean. But anyway....

Andy and I joined forced and contacted both Alex and the girl in NY via text and email. Andy began blowing up Roscoe's phone with "how can you do this to me, man" kind of messages. To which roscoe never replied. Coward.

I shared all the conversations and gory details of what a rat Roscoe is to both ladies. Neither responded (they've got great willpower, I tell ya). But they know now, even about the HPV. I know for a fact that the NY girl has it.  Saw an email from her, to which Roscoe never replied. Three days later she ended the relationship on FB.

Currently, both Roscoe and alex are "in a relationship" on FB. Bam. That was fast.

And apparently they're getting an apt together. Good luck with that honey, Roscoe doesn't work. He's barely kept a job in 13 years, I paid for everything, he has no checking or savings, has never had a utility in his name, zero credit since he defaulted on all his CCs...oh and he owes 15+K in back child support for a daughter he abandoned deliberately decades ago.

Lives with his parents now at the ripe old age of 43.

Did I mention he lies too? Especially about his age, making himself 7 years younger in his profile. And his license is suspended for non payment of support. And he's an alcoholic.

Shall I go on?


So now that I know everything, I must begin to move away from this kind of shit and go forward with life best I can. It hurts to think about this anymore.

Monday, June 16, 2014

Seek and ye shall find, they say.

And if you look, and look, you will definitely find.


I've been troubled about who that girl is in NY, the one Roscoe is seeing. Since I found out he's planning on staying with her for awhile, my mind's been going wild.

Today, all that ended.

Woke up at 3 am, coffee and play time with the babies, then off to the gym.

Hit the Casino by 8 am. Lost my ass and returned home.

 More coffee. Contemplation. Idea.

"I wonder if his old password on Facebook still works?" Hmm.


Wow. Just wow. What I found in Roscoe's email floored me. Now, he's done some pretty backward shit in his life. But this ranks up there: A TRIPLE betrayal. One best friend. Two semi-suspecting women. One older. One younger. (The older) one is in a relationship with Roscoe. The other wants to be. He's slept with both. Writes lil love messages to each. Vomit.

The younger one also happens to be the **girlfriend** of one of his BEST friends, Andy. Roscoe's been fucking her since May, and I think even when Andy was out running errands. She knows about the older woman. Andy knows nothing. The slut and Andy have been having problems lately...hmmmn...wonder why??
They've split. She is now planning on getting a lil love nest for Roscoe and her cheating heart.

Roscoe's plan: He's going to NY to...drum roll.....break it off with the older woman. Also, he plans to return home, pick up the slut and drive to Detroit to hang out with his alcoholic crony, Dan.

Ummm. Ugh. What a piece of trash.

Resisting the urge for retribution. I think Andy needs to know. But how would one go about it?

Coffee. More contemplation. Cleaning. Then off to AA.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

So, regarding my "Come Back" Week, how did it go?

* Didn't attend a single AA meeting.
* Drank 4/7 days.
* No exercise, unless you include lots of housework.
* No daily blogging.
* Lots of Job Searching though. I want to work with a charity of some kind.

Biggest Accomplishment this week:
I allowed Roscoe to come over and pick up some of his items. Packed them up in a few tubs. Not everything, but it's a start.

Seeing Roscoe after 8+ months, for the first time ---- it was a little unnerving and of course bitter sweet. More bitter than sweet. After the dogs attacked him with some initial hesitation, I offered him a cup of coffee and to sit a while.

No coffee.

He sat and we exchanged a few updates. I mentioned nothing about DZP. Roscoe critisized my cleaning or lack there of. Read: Some dog hair on the hardwood floors. It's shedding season. Sue me.

He began asking about family photos his mom wanted back. And did I throw them out? Probably. When I was very drunk. Several years ago. After he left me for the 21 year old slut. I know it's wrong. But I admitted nothing.

"Well if you find any photos let me know. I'll be in town until the 19th."

"Where are you going?"

"New York."

Ah yes. Months ago via text, he mentioned that he had met someone...."But she lives in New York" he said. And I felt some energy from him at that moment: He was quite smitten over her. Of course. Of fucking course. If it were  only that easy to get over a 13 year relationship that usually ruled in favor of the alcoholic I was harboring. It hurts to even write this.

He even had the audacity to criticize that I didn't have everything all packed up. Nice and tidy.

"You only packed up the crap! he complained. "I thought you said you boxed things up," he repeated over and over. Attempting to launch a guilt trip of sorts. He walked around the rooms anxiously asking, "Where this? Where's that? Did you give my stuff to DZP?" Ugh. No No. Maybe. Probably.

Actually I gave DZP's sons some big stacks of magazines he'd collected, which I knew he'd never read. He didn't bother to ask for them either.

I allowed him to mull around and pack up a few more items. Sitting downstairs while he rooted around in the upstairs library, all I could think about was this girl in New York.

After he left, I  called my bro, hoping to extract some info about her. He had lived with Roscoe and referenced the fact that he knows a lot about Roscoe's partner searches.

At first bro played clueless.

"Really? New York? Wow."

What else do you know.

"Nothing. Really! I mean, I think she has 2 kids."

Two kids? What else do you know and why hide this from me.

A small fight broke out.

"I don't appreciate being brow beaten over this."

Interesting choice of words.

"Well sorry about that." And I explained how it's still hard for me, blah, blah, blah.

My goal for this week's "Come Back" Challenge.

*Attend AA Daily
*Exercise at gym daily, even if just a bit
*Write here daily
*No drinking
*More reading (all the books I've been meaning to read)
*Be kind to myself

Sunday, June 8, 2014

I believe the Universe blesses us with puzzles, based on our tangled moods and thoughts. Today, I'd like to share one such example.

A couple weeks ago before I broke sobriety, we were hanging out on the couch. I stood up, lost my balance and fell on the screen of my laptop. 

Seriously ... I was not drunk or high (we had DZP's son for the weekend anyway).

My ass busted the fuck outta it. However, the dagger-shaped cracks - or "modern design" as my I.T. friend called it -  fascinated the hell out of him. He actually took pix - and VIDEO of the mangled screen to show his anticipated audience. Ugh, anyway - took a couple days for me to decide whether to take it to Geek Squad or just buy a new one.

Hang in there...it's about to get better ...

In my contemplation, I realized that I am a "slack owner" of a high-end I-Pad. Read: It never gets used. So at least I had a back up, right?

Quietly, I kept asking the Universe "Why? Why did this have to happen? Alcohol/drugs were not involved. I've been good" etc and so forth.

After some dusting off (hadn't been used in months), I set forth to organize my I-Pad apps, ensuring all was up to date. I stumbled upon the Find I-Phone app. Clicked it. And I saw my phone on the map, represented by a small green dot on a giant map of streets.

I also saw another small green dot on the map -- in the neighborhood where Roscoe lives. The fucking app is tracking both our phones. I can also see satellite views of buildings he's in.

HA. New obsession. ;) How could one resist? Also delivered on a silver platter to me from the Universe, so hey... 

However, plenty planned this week for my "Come Back." Not much time for stalking.

Oh and anyway, the whole point of this post --- what was the Universe trying to tell me with the laptop freak accident? Had I never cracked the screen, I wouldn't have a need for a new laptop, and I never would have retrieved the I-Pad and started checking apps.

Think about that shit. Everything is connected.

My interpretation: Roscoe is a roving drunk. Often he'd come over and scare the hell out of me in the middle of the night. One time he broke into my house through the dog door and came upstairs to my bedroom. Picture this: It's 2 am, your heart is pounding because you hear FOOTSTEPS up the stairwell. And you live alone (this was before my pitbull family).

Yeah. Maybe I was meant to find the app as a safety precaution, in case there's any trouble in the future. Or to just help me feel safer in general.

And in a strange way I do feel safer.

Still oddly tied to Roscoe, when I had no desire. 

Or did I? 

Those tangled emotions we send out. Very interesting.