counting down

Firstly, a little website plug — Beatrix is cooler than all of you and now has her own fashion blog, just like her fairy godfather. You can see it at

I’m so bored of having the most important thing in my life to talk about right now be about someone so mind-numbing. Fear not — this will soon end, as these last and next few posts are indeed the cataloging of The End — and then I’ll clutter the internet with posts about nappy-shit consistency and you’ll all be begging me to rant about my boring parenting relationship again.

Unfortunately, the beginning of the end is involving a lot more official paperwork than I would have liked, and this is a problem because it causes a sense of permanency that I had wanted to originally avoid. For obvious safety reasons for my family, (and the fact that I’m sure certain people and their girlfriends probably know about this blog) I’m not comfortable with going into specific details about moving or conversations with police, mediators and legal professionals, but you can be sure that its all causing me enough stress that I’ve had to remove Beatrix from her childcare placement because there’s simply not enough security in place there, and I’m not prepared to take any risks at this point. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’m sure the threat of less contact would be enough to make any parent do something stupid — hence me having to take measures to protect my daughters.

The benefit of planning to breastfeed my second, when she arrives, is that from what I understand legally, she will be in my custody 100% of the time. Visitation can be arranged through when its suitable for me, but overnights are out of the question until the child is two years old, because its understood that the bond to the mother is something more important developmentally and psychologically than anything else at that point, even regular contact with the non-custodial parent.

I should probably point out that my intention isn’t to abscond with my children into the night. I think having both parents in your life is something that is so, so important, and I think this has been made clear by how hard I’ve really tried to make this work, throughout my relationship and non-relationship with He Who Shall Not Be Named (because I’m tired of saying his name). I put up with a lot of mental abuse over the years because I thought that it would be worth it in the end, and all its caused is a lot of undermining self-doubt on my behalf that I’m not doing as good a job as I would have liked. Bollocks, I realized yesterday. I’m great, and for all my personality flaws and traits and who I am, I’m doing *really* great in the situation I’m faced with. I had a woman on the weekend tell me (at a toddler’s party) that they were amazed that I was out and about at 34 weeks pregnant, because she spent her last weeks trying not to die on a sofa. It was nice to hear that I’m not as pathetic as I had decided I was. I really want my girls to have a balanced life with both of their parents being an equal part of it, but I want that to happen without 4 fights on my doorstep a week and every interaction ending in tears. I don’t care how much you don’t enjoy my company or personality, some things are just not okay to say to someone, especially someone who you owe a little respect to for keeping your children alive and happy. These incidents have been unacceptable since, – well, forever – but are more so now because Bea is at an age where she knows what’s going on, and its distressing her enough for her Kinder teachers to mention odd behavioural patterns to me.

At this point I have to keep Bea at home with me until I work out what I can do to change the situation, because it’s not just my own mental welfare that I’m concerned with, it’s Bea’s. I’ve been more than patient over the years with He Who Shall Not Be Named’s drug abuse problem, only to watch it get progressively worse and worse instead of better. I thought letting him fix it himself would be the way to go, because constantly nagging and threatening obviously wasn’t doing anything, but all this did was give him an outlet to lie about what he was doing. I’m not unrealistic about drug use — I understand that pretty much everyone who isn’t straight edge has probably had a joint in their life, and I understand experimentation is an important part of working shit out for some people. I even understand going to a party and getting drunk every so often, or passing a joint around a circle at a campfire. I get all of that. I’m not a hypocrit, I’ve done these things. And just because I no longer do them myself doesn’t mean that I’m a complete narc; I think those things (despite being illegal) are probably okay to do “morally” if you have no responsibilities or other people in your care to worry about, but the fact is that I do, and so does He Who Shall Not Be Named, and I don’t think it’s okay to go from being just a stoner who says “Well, I’d never do pills” to taking pills and a whole lot of other shit that horrifies me inbetween, and then from “I’d never do acid” to spending Easter Weekend on said drug. Where does the line stop? How often can you move it forward? I know *everyone* says “I’d never do ice”, but surely that line gets blurred somewhere, because there’s a huge amount of people who have fucked their lives up on ice, and I don’t think they started out saying “Well, you know, I’d like to be an addict, that sounds like fun!” I wish I could explain this to him calmly and logically without him getting all defensive, because I’m not attacking him, I’m worried and I understand that’s its obviously become a problem that’s now gotten out of his control. I don’t think the best way to deal with someone with these kinds of problems is to tell them what a disgusting failure they are — he’s sick and he needs help, just like I needed help with my depression and self-harming. They’re both unhealthy ways of dealing with stress, and I guess the part that’s hard is that his unhealthy behaviour is so ingrained to his social world that it’s almost impossible to let go, because he’ll be losing so much else with it and risk becoming an “outsider”. If I’d had self-harm depression parties with my friends and everyone was doing it and encouraged me to do it, I’d probably feel like an arsehole or lonely or left out if I didn’t participate, so I can understand that dealing with drug addiction must be incredibly difficult because it really does change your entire life. But really, he has a choice, and it’s one he should have before him for a long time now — be part of your children’s lives in an involved positive way, or see them through supervision. I can’t stop him from taking drugs. I’m not naive. But I also don’t have to sit at home every night he watches my children and wonder about their mental or physical safety because an addict is in the house with them, and this is why I want to implement the supervised visitation plan. I don’t want him to stop seeing his kids, I think it’s essential. But as far as their safety goes, nothing is important enough to compromise that, and it doesn’t matter if he sees them supervised until they’re 16, that’s his choice to make. He needs to be the one to decide what’s more important — spending alone time with his kids sober and being allowed to do whatever he wants with them, or continuing taking drugs and as a result seeing them with a family member chaperoning and not being able to have them sleep over or take them anywhere alone  — because if I just put my foot down and tell him how it’s going to be, he’ll flip out and cause huge dramas. I assume that the chaperoning situation will be introduced for a little while, because I think at this stage of his lying and repeated use he actually needs to go to rehab, and I will be enforcing this and regular drug testing as one of my guidelines to him having unsupervised visits. If tries and fails and he can’t do that, then of course I won’t take his kids away from him, that wouldn’t be fair, but I’m afraid his children will have nobody to blame except him when they want to know why they can’t go to the playground with Daddy. And I hate that I feel guilty for it! I’ve put up with this crap to my own mental detriment and jeopardised my values and Bea’s safety for 4 years, and yet somehow I feel bad for saying “Hey, please don’t take psychosis inducing materials anymore.” I think the problem is that I want everyone to be happy and I know it makes him happy to take drugs. That’s sad. I should care enough about him to say “Uh, no, this isn’t safe for you to do, and fuck if it makes you happy, you’re gonna end up dead one day.” I also have the problem that I don’t want anyone to dislike or hate me, and I know he’s going to. But then again, I’m pretty sure he already does — he makes sure everyone in his life knows what a drainer I am, even when I go out of my way to leave him alone and not talk to him, I apparently “drain his life” as he told his ex the other day. He must either think about me a lot or I’m doing something in my sleep that I’m unaware of, or maybe just me being alive drains him. Whatever. I’ve realised that being friends with someone or making sure everyone “likes” me isn’t reason enough to put so much at risk and put up with what I see as really gross, bogan living arrangements for my kids. That’s my worst nightmare, being like 14 year old druglord parents from Narre Warren, and he’s making my nightmare a reality. If he wants his life like that, then he can have it, but there will be a price to pay –and I’m no longer going to be the one who pays it.

End rant. Thanks for listening if you bothered to read to the end, I know it was “draining”. 😛