Skip to content

Fuck Politeness

This is a revolution, not a public relations movement

Tired.

Short version is that in what feels like another lifetime, I was a messed up teen, I got knocked up at 19, kept the pregnancy, tried to ‘make it work’ with the dad, realised he was an abusive alcoholic/drug dependant child in a man’s body who hid from his (substantial) problems and was never gonna get his shit sorted no matter how many promises he made…and I, seeing what our lives would be like if we stayed bailed to try to establish a life of safety and hope for myself and my son.

He called to complain that I took the rental television (that’s what happens when it’s in my name and you smash things), got wasted and visited a hooker, threatened to kidnap our son, stalked me within an inch of my life (for real, my hair fell out in chunks, I lost so much weight I looked like I had a terminal illness and I dreamt all night long of ringing phones and stupid arguments), descended even further into binge drinking and taking more and more serious drugs, contracted Hep C, nearly lost both his arms shooting up street grade smack…finally got clean…and decided to move to Germany.

I’ve been looking after our son on my own since he was about nine months old. His dad was completely dysfunctional until our son (sorry, just not wanting to use names) was about five or six. He moved when my son was I think around six or seven. He keeps promising that he’ll move back. He promises to start sending some child support, he promises to be in more contact, he promises a lot…and never delivers. He promised it was for a year or so. He promised he’d pay for our son to go over to visit after a year. Never happened. He’s been back twice. My son is 11.

He called on Friday night to tell me he was in Aus. For 2 1/2 weeks. For a wedding.Oh yeah. His dad has another child now.

My son is both excited and angry. He’s all over the place like a yo-yo and I’m trying to be there to listen and give hugs and support and give space and facilitate visits and cope with his mood swings…and am quietly standing to one side while he’s elated to finally meet his little brother (ten months old)…and am bracing myself to be ready to pick up the pieces when his poor little heart gets broken all over again. It’s inconcievable to me…

[Edited to note that I didn’t have to *wait* very long. Guy calls to say that the wedding this w/e may be the last time he sees the son this visit, as they are off to Tamworth for a full week…and no, the son is not invited. So now the visit here is cut from 2 1/2 weeks, to 1 1/2 and will consist of one two hour visit, one day trip to the Aquarium, and one family wedding…because OBVIOUSLY when you move o’seas to look after your new partners ailing father at the expense of your child, what you should do on your brief visit back is spend a whole week of that time visiting your new partners friends at your son’s expense. WHAT THE FUCK???]

Advertisements

Tags:

%d bloggers like this: