“You don’t believe I will come to Canada, do you, mine?”
I read the messages Spitfire has posted this morning and I’m already cranky enough from the time change to snarl at her.
Spitfire shows proof of what she plans on doing, and I snarl at her again. And keep on snarling all day long.
I can’t believe she will come to Canada. There’s too much insanity in her part of the world with Brexit and European Union and more, that she isn’t sure what her life will be like after the end of this month.
I can’t believe what I did. Nor can I believe my wasband’s reaction. I could see the sheer jealousy in his face, even as he shoved his mask right back up.
I can’t believe he still thinks I was the one financially abusing him.
One of my coworkers set me straight. “He had no bills? Nothing that he had to pay every month? That means he has none of the risk too. You had it all. He was financially abusing you.”
We went back and forth a bit with why everything could have been in my name and only my name. The big thing was that he was being hounded by a couple of bill collectors and had hundreds of dollars he had to pay, and probably still does. He let bank accounts with his name on them lapse into the red and then get closed, even the joint one that had my name and I warned him about. He had even the government coming after him for something that I told him to appeal and he never did.
He had no ambition. No drive.
I believe I was an abused wife is so many different ways.
No, not believe. I know I was.
The worst part was going to the police, telling them some of what they did, and because there wasn’t enough evidence, they won’t go after him. He said he would if I asked him to.
I should have ordered him out of the house right then and there.
He doesn’t seem to care that the vehicle driving his kids around was unsafe.
He is alone now. I sit here, trying to figure out what I believe in.
I do believe in Spitfire. I am not sure she’ll make it to Canada. She says she will.
I will have to hold onto that.
I don’t know if I will be able to make the car payments, but I have to believe I will. If I can get a buffer set up – at least a month’s worth – I’ll be okay. More would be better.
I believe I will survive.
I believe I have three kids who will be more successful than I was as a young adult.
I believe I will have some success in the next few years.
I believe I did everything I could to make him happy when I was his wife.
I believe I will carry on, even without Spitfire’s help.
I believe that the universe provides. All I need to do is to be open to the universe.
I have a hard time believing in the word of others. I’ve bent over backwards for people, with the promise of so much from them, and have gotten nothing.
I don’t believe Spitfire will be here, but she’s my owner. She’s given me a promise that she will have me in her arms by the end of this year. I don’t believe that she’ll succeed because so many others have let me down, but she’s my owner, and I have to trust her.
But my cup’s empty…