(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
For the first quarter of the nine or so hours drive I was reminiscing about all the experiences I had with Jean and Alyssa. I thought about how they often confided in me. I thought about being yet another person in their life who rejected them, or let them down. I thought about how confused they would likely have been with not knowing the truth. I thought about questions that must have been running through their minds at night when they were laying alone in their beds. I thought about a lot of things. So much so, that I started to give myself a headache.
Heavy thoughts, combined with light sobbing here and there, made for exhausting energy to be in. I had to close my eyes. I turned to face the interior of the car, grabbed my coat to use as a pillow, then rested my head on the console between Bill and I. I may be five feet, nine inches tall. I knew how to make myself small when I had to. My feet were touching the car door. Whilst the top of my head slightly touched Bill’s arm.
As I was slowly drifting off to sleep, listening to some Nora Jones Bill was playing on the car speakers, Bill felt it was a good time to stroke my hair. I felt an instant flutter in my stomach the moment he touched my head. It triggered three horrific memories. One memory was when my mother had explained to me that Bill would find reasons to touch her hand, or the small of her back, anytime they were alone together in my house. I wasn’t sure if I could believe her back then. When Bill decided to take advantage of my vulnerability in his car on the drive, I knew my mother was speaking the truth.
The second thought took me back to 1999. My mother and Bill were having a secret affair behind my father’s back when I met Bill at my mother’s and his place of employment. I have no idea how long the affair had been going on. I wasn’t interested in any of the details when my mother was acting like a school girl on the phone, explaining her girl crush on Bill to me.
I didn’t make the connection when it came to my father’s toxic love towards my mother. I didn’t have the maturity, nor knowledgeable counsel to do anything about my parents’ choices. All I said at the end of the conversation was “well mum, if you’re not happy with dad, leave him. Do what’s best for you. I can respect your choice.”
I’m still not interested in knowing the details of my mother’s and Bill’s affair. That’s between them. I also have no idea how my parents healed from that experience, except to agree to use me as a projection of hate to help keep them bonded together. That’s their story to tell, not mine.
During their affair, and a few months after moving to St. Stephen to work for my mother, Bill decided to kiss me late one night, after the Dooley’s bar closed. We were both drunk and standing on a dock by the little town’s lighthouse. My children were being babysat by a local teen in the house my parents provided for me at the time. I knew about the affair when Bill kissed me. My mother had already confided in me about it at least one month before. It was for that reason, I told my mother the next day.
Have you noticed an attraction pattern in my life when it comes to attracting men with infidelity issues?
“What do you mean he kissed you? Did you kiss him back?” My mother lost her lid. She was shocked, and instantly furious all at the exact same time. I was no longer her friendly confidant. I was the “It” girl all over again. I knew that was going to be her reaction. I was prepared for it.
“I didn’t exactly kiss him back. I didn’t exactly stop him either, I guess. I am so sorry mum.”, was my timid response to her intense glare. My mother may be only five feet, three inches tall. She can also be quite the firecracker. Good things come in small packages. So does dynamite.
I did my best to explain that it was an unexpected experience on my part. I had no plans of even talking with Bill. Let alone finding myself on yet another dock, stretched out into the water, with a man I knew nothing about. I was still dealing with the loss of my first marriage. Albert had cheated on me so I left him. I’ll touch on both my marriages soon enough.
After that dreadful day in the kitchen of my parents’second home, my parents owned two at that time, I became very sick. I ended up in the hospital with severe pneumonia and issues with one of my kidneys. During my seven day stay in the hospital, which was about two weeks after the kissing incident, my parents didn’t visit me. Bill and my babies were the only ones who did. I didn’t even go on a date with Bill, nor kiss him again when my mother decided to close her recruitment business.
I was working on a big contract deal in Saint John for her when I fell ill. My parents kicked me and my girls out of their house. Neither of them would speak to me. I had nowhere to go. Bill offered to take us in. Fourteen years later, we divorced. Six years after that, he’s driving me home after being with yet another cheater.
Bill could be very manipulative when he wanted to be. He could also be an opportunist when called upon. It seems I surrounded myself with manipulative, absent minded people. Thank goodness for the love of my children. They were, and still very much are, my people. I couldn’t wait to get back home to Liv.
The final thought I was thinking in those few moments, caused me to revert back to sitting up. As I stared absent mindedly out the window, my thoughts drifted to what was supposed to be a fun camping trip with my friend and her father, back in 1986. Sydney’s father had other plans for me that weekend. Men and their wayward penises for me, became more of an internal death sentence, than a Mack truck would have been had it hit me back when I was fifteen.
(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
I was relieved when Rosie didn’t show up before Bill and I left his apartment that Sunday afternoon in April. At the same time, I knew it may have been possible for us to come across him and the kids before getting on the highway to freedom. When Rosie is determined, there is nothing stopping him. His efforts may fizzle out after a short burst of energy. With that said, his bursts can be tenacious and one-track minded. In my mind, anything was possible.
Whilst Bill and I were driving, headed towards the highway exit, I was hyper vigilant. Whilst my head was down in defeat, my eyes were also glued on the roads. I scanned every which way I knew that Rosie would have driven. I kept praying “please don’t show up. Please don’t show up.”, inside my head. I didn’t talk much. I am a private person by nature. I wasn’t about to divulge my personal life to Bill. Bill knew that about me so he simply did his respectful thing by focusing on the road ahead of him. I on the other hand was thinking Rosie could show up at any moment. That thought caused my stomach to become nauseated. I wanted to pull over to the side of the road to vomit. It was extremely uncomfortable to resist.
The beautiful voice I often hear inside my head fell silent that day. I know spirit was working with me. I still felt completely detached from them at the time. I tend to be more of a “what will be, will be”, style of thinker. I am also somewhat of a risk taker. Life is all about taking a leap of faith. Right? I rely on my faith to see me through. Not this day. This day I was a scrambled mess in my mind. I’m not certain how I managed to hold it together. All I knew at that time was that Rosie was on his way home. With it being a small town, he would have likely seen us if I was there on the side of the road puking my guts out. It scared me to think, if he saw me there puking, he would have driven over to us and confronted us. I didn’t want that possibility. I wanted to avoid any sort of confrontation. Especially in front of the kids.
During my time with Rosie, I received a second hand witness to the interactions between his ex, Gemma, and himself. Gemma would yell and curse at him to the point that she could make a truck driver blush. Being a master manipulator, Gemma would twist truths by exacerbating it. She would also make false accusations and idle threats on a semi-regular basis.
Rosie refrained from doing any of those things. Rosie’s threats were more of a silent nature. For a while there, Rosie would record Gemma secretly so that he could have proof of her hostility in front of the kids. I recognize recording her on his phone was deceitful and that the courts discouraged that sort of behavior. I also don’t blame him for doing it. His children’s safety with their mother was such a concern that he became somewhat paranoid. Rosie was most certainly hyper vigilant on a daily basis, in all aspects of his day and life, especially when it came to his kids and Gemma.
It pained me to see Rosie in such deep survival mode. Every man for himself tended to be his thought process. He also fiercely loves his children. Rosie may be lost on how to be a loving and nurturing father. Nonetheless, his children are his top priority. Gemma on the other hand, often drove on the busy highways of Montreal without car seats for the children when they were at a size, and weight, for car seats. That used to piss me off too. Which added to my tainted view of her.
The exchanges with the kids were also extremely tense at the best of times. Remember, I can feel energy. The kids and Rosie were always increasingly anxious the closer we got to the exchange point. I was consumed by it on days when I was in the car with them. The kids loved to see their mother. They love their mother dearly. They hated feeling the intense energy between their parents. Rosie’s poor kids. My goodness they had been through a lot.
Rosie had also installed a camera in his apartment so that he could observe Jean whilst he was at work. Rosie and Jean could talk back and forth through it’s functions. On Rosie’s late nights they would converse more often that way. Since I also knew about the camera, I knew he may have been watching me load my stuff at the front door whilst he was in Montreal. I also knew he was unpredictable and playing with my mind. He may have been sitting comfortably in Montreal watching the camera screen when he texted me to tell me he was coming home. He may have known exactly what time it was that I left. Rosie knew I was scared. He knew his intimidation tactic would rattle me. It did.
Rosie planted a seed of a potential confrontation. My thoughts when Bill and I were driving were, he would either have wanted to confront us, or at the very least, he would have had a contemptuous smirk on his face whilst driving past. Thinking “good, that witch deserves it”, and about how he affected me. He did enjoy his ego boosts after all.
I say witch because I know Rosie is afraid of the real potential effects of dark practices. Voodoo rituals, and witchcraft were taboo in Rosie’s world. In my perception anything can turn dark. Anything can be of light. Both are required for our existence. It all depends on the intentions within a practitioner when it comes to the transfer of energy. If you’re not doing anything shady, there is nothing to fear.
I also know very little about Voodoo or witchcraft. I know very little about a lot of things. Continued self awareness helps conquer those demons. Which is what this journey is all about for me, and where I am guiding you to do the same as you read along.
I know there may be times when what you read triggers a painful memory. With all due respect, I am doing it on purpose. Pain is the key being handed to you. The memory is the door to unlock. You must choose to walk through. Otherwise you’ll collect keys like a custodian who had been collecting them throughout their entire career. Those get awfully heavy after a while. I know it’s painful. We can do this together.
Finally, the exit to the highway. Freedom was right in front of me. In that same moment of seeing the highway and feeling the slight sense of relief, I secretly yelled in my mind “Jean, Alyssa, I love you!!!”. Even now as I write this, I have tears welling up in my eyes. No sooner did I think that thought, the heavens opened up and the tears started flooding down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t hold back. I didn’t want Bill to see me like that. I never let him see the healing process I had to go through after our separation. Then ultimate divorce in 2017. It was too late. I collapsed in my seat, devastated by life. I was crushed. It felt like saying goodbye to my own children. Knowing I would never see them again. That’s what I was planning at the time anyway.
Whilst I was slumped in my seat, gazing out the window, Jack, my rabbit friend in my mind was beckoning me down another rabbit hole.
“You’re late! You’re late! You have another date”. I had a key in hand and thought, “sure let’s add more pain to my day.” The nine hour drive ahead was going to be an adventure to say the least.
(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
I went for a walk today. I thought about the next blog for this true story series. I am planning to write about the long car ride back to New Brunswick from Quebec before this seemingly impulsive interlude. It is a car ride most certainly worthy of journeying along. It is well worth your read. If not to help you with your own lightbulb moments, for entertainment at least. Especially if you have been reading along on my torred love affair thus far.
Writing the car ride experience is also invaluable for my continued healing journey. With that said, today I must listen to my spirit so that I can keep my little girl ego inside of me at rest.
It is highly important to check in with all aspects of your ego stages. When an aspect of me requires my attention, I let her speak so that her discomfort can feel heard.
With that in mind, my teeth are falling out due to a terrible infection I obtained back in the year 2022, whilst I was living with Rosie. My two top, four front teeth, are capped due to a cavity I had gotten back in 2015. My ex, Bill, had me on his benefits for two years preceding our physical separation from one another in 2013. He removed me from them some time later that same year. I think he did anyway, because neither my eldest daughter, nor I, were blessed with any medical nor dental from his benefits after that.When Liv had asked him to help her with her teeth he responded with something along the lines of “go get a job”, from what I understand.
I took full advantage of Bill’s benefits after our separation in 2013. Beautiful teeth have always been important to me. The dentist recommended I cap the two middle teeth to get rid of the cavity. Along with the teeth at either side of them. Both those teeth were slightly crooked and protruding in front of my two middle teeth. The dentist thought they would look nice all in perfect alignment together. I agreed to the procedure. I’m glad I did. My teeth did look beautiful for the longest time.
With that said, the dentist had to shave down my teeth in order to spike them for the caps. After I broke the tooth with the literal taco Rosie served me, I contracted an infection. The infection that took over my mouth has been rotting my teeth underneath the surface, and is still currently affecting my jaw, and speech to this day. I have had a toothache since 2022. Like I said, I have a high tolerance for pain on all levels. I know that. Thank goodness my little girl ego no longer desires me to prove it. I can rest from carrying so much pain of others alongside my own.
We were sitting at the dining room table eating tacos Rosie had made. Rosie did most of the cooking. I rarely cooked. Both his mother and he made secret judgments and joked about my cooking when I did put in the effort. They thought my cooking was meh at best. Rosie’s mother was also the proud chef of the family. Rightfully so. She is a beautiful Haitian cook. I did thoroughly enjoy her food. I hadn’t tasted harian food before meeting Rosie’s mum. She definitely knew what she was doing.
I also knew of the secret criticisms both Rosie and his mother projected toward me energetically. They didn’t know I knew. I read energy around me constantly. I still do on a regular basis. It comes natural to me. I keep my observations to myself most of the time. Due to the energy I was reading from them, I became self conscious over my cooking.
I still rarely cook even now. I remember back in the day, my children and their friends use to swarm around my house at dinner time. Especially when I made Sheppard’s pie. I would always make enough for leftovers and yet, there was rarely any leftovers to be had. I loved that.
I also loved being called “Momma C” by all of my children’s friends. They were all treated, and welcomed in my home as if they were my own children. As mentioned, I have a soft spot for all young people, big and small. It’s amazing how confidence can plummet quickly after it’s been chipped away at by the people around you. My zest for cooking isn’t the same now as apposed to back then.
Whilst we were all sitting around the table talking about the kids’ day at school, I bit into the taco Rosie served me, only to end up with half my tooth in my hand. It was incredibly embarrassing. The kids, seated to my right, and straight ahead of me, looked straight at me, then their dad, with a look of “what do we say?”. Rosie was standing to my left, beside me, with a look of disgust. I was there holding my broken tooth in my hand in complete disbelief of my luck. I looked at him and said “oh no. My tooth broke.”
I was blessed, or cursed, depending on how you look at it, with soft teeth. Both my children deal with the same issue. It seems it is hereditary. There may be some truth to English people having a predisposition for challenging teeth. I didn’t want Rosie to see that. He had already made fun of his ex, Gemma, behind her back about her teeth condition at that point in time.
I didn’t have much of a choice. It wasn’t like the man was blind. Spiritually blind, maybe. Physically blind, not so much. I relinquished the rest of my meal. I gave it to the kids to share. Then proceeded to distractedly listen to the conversation between Rosie and his kids whilst they ate. I wasn’t able to eat, nor did I want to eat. Out of fear of breaking off more of my tooth.
My tooth wasn’t brought up in conversation again after that. Rosie didn’t offer to help me with my tooth, even though we lived together, and he made an almost six figure salary, with a side hustle of some kind to boot. The same thing happened to the capped tooth on the left of my main front capped tooth, as well. That one fell out in the exact same way with a different meal prepared. I was living with Rosie, along with his mom, and kids, in their new house closer to the city of Montreal from August, 2023, to August, 2024. The infection from 2022 when I was in Rosie’s old apartment had started to migrate towards the front of my mouth.
My two front capped teeth used to be snug tight together in the center. Today, whilst walking, I can feel a gap with my tongue. The capped teeth are also protruding forward more. I never had bucked teeth up until now. It’s weird as hell and takes some getting use to, to be honest. My teeth are eroding from the inside out. Those stumps underneath the caps do not have enough enamel, nor strength to hold the caps for much longer. I know this. My intuition tells me so, even if I haven’t had any dental work, nor benefits in over a decade.
With that in mind, my ego wants to have a crying fit in frustration, and say “hurry the fuck up manifestation! I am open to receive my new teeth!” I do have faith all my efforts to make something of myself does in fact pay off. I also know my teeth, and physical health are a serious issue right now. As I come into making a name for myself, my health is my top priority. Point blank, period.
That’s the thing. Life throws curve balls. Sometimes we get smacked by our ego sensitivities. Even after waking up from the oppressive matrix. Life is a constant healing journey. Having a “fuck it day”, where you do whatever fun thing you want out of sheer frustration, is a form of healing. Even after discovering all the many layers to your psyche, with the subliminal patterns, and conditioning through self criticisms, and blame, has been uncovered. There is still plenty of time for plenty of healing and self discovery.
Knowing that, I had to write about this now. I have built a loving relationship with my little girl inside. She trusts me to take care of her now. She trusts that I will keep my promises of a prosperous, and loving, enriched life. When she starts to voice a little temper tantrum or fear, I check in. I acknowledge the painful emotional fear, and then reinforce a proactive line of thinking. In this case it is “Clair, you are writing. You love what you are doing. You are also healing a shit ton of trauma. On your own, with spirit’s help, I might add. Keep going. Keep writing. Trust the process. Trust in spirit. You are free to be you in all your beautiful, healthy, radiant glory.” That’s the way my mind works. That’s the way the loving voice inside my head whispers to me. I have learned to listen. I can do this, and I will.
Anytime you get smacked down, acknowledge that you are. Allow yourself to feel the pain by acknowledging the emotions, and what is triggering them. Then decide, do you maintain the emotional pain?, or, do you choose a healthier, more proactive line of thinking? This is how you can come to respect, know, and truly understand yourself. Then you get to consciously choose what to proactively think. It’s kind of like lucid dreaming in a way.
As my daughter, Liv, so eloquently said to me one day, “if you are experiencing the emotion for more than eight seconds, you are choosing to experience the emotion”. It’s true. I’m not about to choose to live in that, beat-myself-up, energy, any longer. I choose to feel good. To do that, I am choosing to stay focused on what I am writing to you, my welcomed and highly valued reader.
p.s.Thank you so very much for your compassionate heart to see past my plethora of formatting, spelling, and grammatical errors as you read. I appreciate you
Back to the regular scheduled program. Driving nine hours with an ex husband in a small Honda Civic. After five days of emotional hell with Rosie. Fun times.
(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
When I walked into Rosie’s apartment after he had locked me out, I didn’t want to show him that I was in pain. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of achieving his goal when locking me out, knowing I would likely seize up.
As I took off my jacket and winter boots, both Jean, and Alyssa came out of their bedroom. They were wearing their pajamas. They both walked towards me. One of them said, “Dad locked you out”, at the same time I was stuffing my winter coat in the closet. I responded with, “I know. Where were you guys?” Both kids responded in unison, “McDonald’s.” Then Jean said “I told Dad you didn’t have keys to get in. We even ate fast because we figured you were probably cold. Dad said we weren’t in a hurry. I’m sorry”.
Jean had witnessed me in pain from cramps on a few occasions by that point. He was with Rosie when I had to be rescued outside once or twice. I can imagine that was not easy for him, and only added to his traumatized life thus far. Jean helped to calm me down without realizing it, with his thoughtful empathy. In my mind I thought, “what a thoughtful boy for wanting to return home quickly. I think he’s genuinely concerned about me.” I responded with “I see. It’s not your fault sweetheart. Dad and I are having a disagreement, that’s all.”
Rosie was standing in the kitchen doing something or other , within earshot, when the kids came out to speak with me. From there, I went into the bedroom, grabbed pajama pants, a t-shirt, a new pair of undies, and went to the bathroom. I asked if anyone needed to use it. They all said no, so I closed the door and took a nice long hot bath with candles, and some Imagine Dragons on YouTube playing in my ear.
Whilst I was in the tub the kids went to bed. Rosie came in a few minutes after he tucked them in to talk I guess. When he opened the door, I didn’t give him time to speak. I told him I would be leaving. If my memory serves me correctly, that evening was a Tuesday.
Liv had made arrangements for me to be picked up by her step-father, Bill, on Friday that same week. I didn’t know exactly at that time that Bill had to push the date to the Sunday. Rosie acknowledged my statement then turned, muttered something, and then closed the door. Later that evening Rosie stayed in his room. I slept on a God awful futon, beside a puppy who was training within a confined space with pee pads.
The dog’s name was Duke II. Rosie bought that dog for the kids after I moved in, in 2021. For the same reason he wanted to get Duke I. Forgetting his busy lifestyle, or just like previous, took it for granted that I would do all the work. It ended up being both possibilities.
Duke I, was two months old when I came to help out in 2020. Rosie wanted to surprise his son because his sister had a puppy with her at her mom’s. I didn’t even really like that dog much. I bought him off of a co-worker at an elementary school I had been working for at the time. I brought him with me on the long drive to Montreal from Fredericton. During the brutally cold Canadian winter. It was a good healthy nine hour drive or so. Depending on traffic, and the condition of my legs. I had to stop a few times to rub my shin and calf to get cramp out. Good times. Rosie didn’t pay a cent for that dog. I paid for him and his vaccines. Rosie didn’t pay me back either. Even though he was the one who wanted the dog and said he would give me some money. My goodness I was a whipped people pleaser back then.
Rosie got rid of Duke I, after I left before the end of Rosie’s training on the base in Gagetown, New Brunswick, which was scheduled to end in April that same year. Rosie thought it was a good thing for his kids to have a dog. I secretly knew he wanted the dog so that his ex wouldn’t be able to manipulate his daughter by pulling at her heart strings over the puppy at her mother’s house.
Gemma would give messages to Alyssa such as, “Alyssa, stay here with me. I have Lucy. She misses you when you are not here.” Gemma mastered the art of manipulation. I also wondered if Duke was a way to create a form of competition as well. Both Rosie, and his ex, were highly competitive.
Whilst Rosie and Gemma were competing over the elusive parent of the year trophy, along with Rosie competing for the world record for the most affairs one person can have in a month, I had to do all the training and care for Duke. I was the one who walked him every two hours so he could do his business outside, including through the night. I trained Duke to walk beside me rather than pull. I had also been working with him to not bark when he could hear people in the stairwell.
When I asked Rosie what had happened to Duke shortly after moving in, in July, 2023, he said he gave Duke to a family who had more time to take care of him. Makes sense really. The kids hardly paid attention to any of the three dogs we ended up housing during my stay with Rosie. Rosie was also too busy making new friends of his own on his shady side of life. He didn’t have time for a furry friend.
The following few days were pretty much the same. During the day Rosie was out and about, either at one of his several appointments, or on base, or God knows where. At night he slept cozy in his bed whilst I was left to sleep on a futon, beside a dog. Basically, I was in the doghouse. Rosie secretly relished in the fact that he put me in the proverbial doghouse.
During the day, and as per usual, I was left to my own devices. Jean and Alyssa were at school. I had the place to myself. My mind kept racing about all sorts of experiences with Rosie. On the third afternoon, after my expected three days of contemplative silence, and before leaving, Rosie was looking at the vision board I made with the kids. It was on the wall almost directly across from the front entrance, and right beside a window. On that vision board was a wedding ring. I tore it off when I was home alone.
I was home, I would say, about eighty-five percent of the time throughout the entire time Rosie and I shared our journey together. I didn’t realize at the time that I was a single woman inside of a relationship. Spirit may have been showing me. I wasn’t picking up what they were laying down. Lesson learned today.
Rosie noticed the picture of the ring missing. He gestured towards it and looked at me. I said “What?”. I knew what he was getting at. I just didn’t want to entertain his mind games. My mind was already fragile at that point. He replied with “it’s gone”. As in the little magazine picture of the gold band was missing. I said, in a matter of fact way, “I took it off. I have no interest in getting married to anyone anytime soon.” He walked away and shrugged. There really wasn’t much he could say. I found it appalling that he would have the nerve to talk about a wishful thinking picture about a never to be wedding, right after we fought about his infidelity. That’s messed up.
That conversation triggered another memory locked within me. I dreamt of going away to a tropical paradise for a honeymoon. I didn’t go on a real honeymoon with either of my two ex husbands. I would fantasize being on a white sandy beach with a pina calada in hand, and my gorgeous, loving, intelligent, quick witted, specimen of a husband beside me. The trigger was the picture of a palm tree in the collage. It brought me back to when I found out about Rosie paying and planning a seven day all-inclusive getaway to Mexico with Gemma, his supposed ex and baby mama. He went on this pre-honeymoon trip with Gemma whilst I was fighting thoughts of suicide and planning my escape from this world.
It was Rosie’s birthday, September, 2017. It was the day after the night of drunken terror. Rosie booked a room in a motel on the top of the hill in Fredericton. Finally, a different motel than that sleezy one on the side of the highway. It was nice. Nothing too fancy. What I liked about it was the room. It was cleaner with a king sized bed, a table, mini fridge, and some other typical items you would find in a three star motel. I brought a small bag with me. Not a plastic grocery store bag like the last time. It was one of my own purses that was big enough to hold a fresh change of clothes and some toiletries. Call me Mary Poppins.
I wasn’t expecting to have sex with him. I started a period. Not that that mattered most of the time. We had doggie style anal sex more often than anything else. Which was probably his inspiration for whistling at me like a dog during his drunken, road rage, stupor. Rosie introduced me to anal sex. I told him that he was the only one I felt comfortable enough with behind me like that. I told him briefly about the necklace man when I was nine years old. I was telling him the truth.
At first sex wasn’t so great with Rosie, or any man for that matter, if I was brutally honest. I could fake it till you make it just like anyone can. Today, I prefer anal over vaginal because it usually hurts when a penis is inside my vagina, and my vagina also looks weird. It’s a rather difficult sexual trauma to move through.
Rosie got out the vodka and lemonade and made us both a drink within about ten minutes of arriving at the motel. Anytime we shared a room at a little hideaway somewhere, we always had a drink in hand. Looking back, I wonder if he saw me as the closing girl when the bar announced the last call for drinks? I know my subconscious certainly received that message that way. I didn’t realize that then. I do recognize it now. It fed the little girl looking in the mirror. Critiquing all her ugly stretch marks, the arrival of glistening silvers in her hair, as well as the bags under her eyes. Today I admire the beautiful woman I see in the mirror. I am truly my own best friend.
Rosie and I played dominos on the little circular table the hotel provided in the room. We played that game often together when we weren’t having sex or needing to put out fires. He was more competitive than I was. He also made me keep score most times. I secretly kept a thick pad of all our scores over the years. It was in my memory chest for the longest time. I didn’t throw them away right away. I kept that notepad, along with Rosie junior, a bear he love bombed me with, until after I left him in 2023. He had no idea that I kept the scores all that time. I can be a wee bit over the top sentimental at times. I’m proud of it.
Whilst we were playing dominos we were quickly getting drunk. I was becoming more relaxed and his sexy ass was becoming more appealing. We ultimately had sex. Laying there in bed afterwards, I had a thought that was playing in the back of my mind. I wasn’t talking about it because I didn’t want to accuse, nor speak out of turn by bringing up the topic. The night before was brutal enough. I was concerned of what his response would be.
If I was brutally honest, I knew what Rosie response was going to be. I wasn’t ready to feel more pain just yet. I wanted to have a fun, leave the drama outside, kind of night. It was also his birthday. I didn’t want to piss him off. I wanted him to have a nice night. As per usual, I was putting myself last. My need to know outweighed his comfort on that particular night though. I decided to ask him.
When we were separated, and before I met Joel in person, a picture of Rosie and Gemma was circulating on the internet. I don’t really remember how it came across my screen. Nonetheless, it did. The Universe was at play it seems. I asked him about that picture and showed it to him on my phone. His light-heartedness changed to soft seriousness rather quickly. I think he was a bit stunned when I showed him the picture and asked, “when and where was this taken?”. It was a picture of him with his arm around Gemma’s waist. Standing under a palm tree. With a snazzy beach shirt, long black shorts, and sandals. Gemma was wearing a bathing suit with a mesh skirt around her waist, and no shoes. They were standing on a white sandy beach staring into the camera, smiling.
I was sitting beside him on the hotel bed when I asked him that question. He was laying down. He sat up, pulled me on top of him to straddle him like you would a horse, looked me in the eyes and said, “I have something to tell you”. The first thought in my head was, he went away with Gemma whilst I was alone reeling over him breaking up with me at the highway motel.
My intuition tells me today that the trip was already booked when we slept together the night before the walk of shame. I suspect he was scheduled to leave shortly after the upcoming coming weekend of that night as well. Makes sense as to the timing of the car speaker incident when I professed my psychological pain. My intuition is bloody strong let me tell ya.
“Gemma and I went away when we weren’t talking over the past few weeks”, he explained trepedaciously. “Are you fucking serious! Where did you go?” was all I could think to ask next. “To Mexico” was his reply. “When did you go? How long did you go for?” I prodded him for details. His response was “you don’t need to know the details other than we didn’t get along most of the time. You’re only hurting yourself by asking questions when you know the answers would hurt you”.
I lost it. “You mean to tell me you berated me about being with Joel and here you are on a romantic getaway with her. I’m going to be sick”. I quickly got my underwear only wearing ass off of him, grabbed my clothes and headed straight for the bathroom. Whilst I was in the bathroom Rosie fell silent. This was of course after he pleaded with me by insisting the holiday wasn’t a romantic one.
According to Rosie, Gemma needed a break from the kids. She pressured him into going. Supposedly he had a horrible time with her. She was miserable and they fought most of the time there. Like I was going to believe all that after all the other shit that he pulled. That guy could lie to the Virgin Mary if he felt he had to. Just so he could hide his true nature from his highly fought for reputation. He was a God fearing man too, supposedly.
Whilst I was in the bathroom something else came to my horror. While we were having sex the tampon I was using lodged so deep within me I couldn’t grab the string to pull it out. I would normally press the string against me during the humpty dumpty. With that said, I was drunk, so who knows in that moment. I needed help and Rosie was the only one who could do it. I called him into the bathroom hysterical. “Rosie, I need your help!”.
Rosie thought I was having another attack. When he came into the bathroom I was seated on the toilet with my panties down to my ankles. “It’s stuck. I can’t get it out”. “What’s stuck?”, he asked. “My tampon. You must have knocked it up there. Get it out! Please! I can get septic shock from one of these things”. Rosie got down on his knees between my legs and respectfully got it out, whilst I sat on the toilet, completely humiliated. He didn’t make me feel embarrassed whilst he was softly asking me to calm down and talk things through with him.
I think Rosie wanted to stay calm so that I wouldn’t stay angry with him. I on the other hand couldn’t of felt any smaller than I did in that moment. After that ordeal, I got myself dressed, grabbed my bag, then went out the door. I didn’t say a word to Rosie whilst he was standing there only in his boxers and tank top. I had already retreated within myself at that point. I was in no shape to have a one-sided, respectable, and empathetic conversation. In other words, my empathetic scared little ego didn’t feel like talking to him.
Rosie unfortunately struggled terribly with empathy. It was one of our biggest long standing disagreements between him and I over the years. My empathy and his lack of it. There was no way I was staying with him a minute longer.
Rosie came running after me. “Don’t go! Let me explain!”. Hell no was all I was thinking. I ignored him and kept speed walking as fast as my crippled, drunken, long legs, would let me. He moved faster. After a few more times of him yelling “stop!”, I swiftly turned around, extended my hand straight out and yelled “leave me the fuck alone!”. By then I was at a set of traffic lights. They were in my favor. I walked across the busy four lane street. Rosie turned around and went back inside the motel.
I had every intention of walking the several blocks back to my tiny little apartment with Liv. I was cold, embarrassed, distraught, and once again fighting leg cramp, when Rosie appeared beside me driving on the road. He wound down his window and started pleading with me to stop and get in. I wasn’t having it. Then the cramp got worse. I crossed to the other side of the street at the next intersection to get away from Rosie. Rosie made a quick turn, drove back up the hill on the same side as me, and pulled into the parking lot I had decided to cut through. He parked his car, got out, and gently said, “Clair, please talk to me. It’s not what you think. I can’t make it work with her. You know what she is like. You have it all wrong. At least come back to the hotel so that you can get warm. You could always leave first thing in the morning.”
Rosie would have said anything to calm me down and take me back to the hotel. I didn’t believe him. He still stands by these lies about his romantic getaway to this day. My intuition knows otherwise. I wasn’t thinking too deeply about his lies at that time though. All I knew in that moment was I was drunk, cold, it was once again well past midnight, and I was cramping. Again, reluctantly, I went back to the two-story, elongated hotel with him. I didn’t say two words to him the rest of the night. The next morning I got up, brushed my teeth, put my long blond hair up in a messy ponytail and promptly left. This time Rosie did ask me if I wanted a ride home. I said no and then proceeded to the bus stop. I didn’t see him nor speak with him for three days after that. I have a ritual of taking three days of silence to process difficult experiences in my mind. It has always been a solo mission for me, and my way to stay connected to the divine. I honor that process to this day.
Fast-forward to 2023. I was sitting there in his office chair thinking about that painful night six years earlier. Thinking about that day when I learned about his romantic holiday. It still upset me like it happened the day before. I was so damagingly in love with Rosie. The emotional pain and mental turmoil I held inside for most of my years with him was unbearable, and yet, I kept going back to him.
On the night of the illuminated tropical getaway, I thought, “Not this time! I won’t have anything to do with him ever again!”. I was wrong. I didn’t realize back then how much trauma and pain I was holding from all the years with abusive men, as well as the subconscious conditioning I had received from my parents through witnessing their toxic relationship. I had little awareness when it came to love from another human being.
Rosie was no different to any of them who stole my innocence. I just didn’t fully want to admit it. I wasn’t ready to. I also wasn’t ready to have him gone from my life completely either. I was emotionally needy. I did go back with him a few days later.
Rosie came unannounced to my apartment after the horrific fight with a tampon, carrying a stuffed bear. Rosie smothered the bear with my favorite cologne that he wore at the time and then gave to me. The cologne was called Prada, I think?
I named the bear Rosie junior. I slept with that bear every night we were separated from 2017 to 2023. I even brought it on my travels to and from Rosie’s over the several years. He used this bear to profusely apologize and tell me how much I meant to him. The bear was a manipulative way to get my sensory perception into a fond, nostalgic state of awareness. In other words, Rosie wanted me to long for him through the smell of the bear.
Rosie was relentless. Not only do soldiers learn how to handle bombs in the military, the training also teaches some soldiers, namely Rosie, how to use that training to Hiroshima love bomb the hell out of unsuspecting women.
Next thing I knew it was 2023, and I was sitting on his chair in Quebec, with Rosie junior sitting somewhere in Rosie’s bedroom, reminiscing about one of the more painful times in our journey together. Once again, I found myself crying whilst making plans to leave him with a stuffed bear in toe.
It’s amazing how we live in the past, present, and future in our minds all at the exact same time. Oftentimes without even realizing it. Past, present, and future are ingredients for you to have the “I am” experience. They are poured into the same cooking pot at the exact same time when you start your earthly experience. That’s one of the reasons for time being an illusion. I was living in each year Rosie had left me or hurt me all at the same time, inside my mind.
The next day I had a difficult time talking with Rosie’s daughter, Alyssa. She was doing her soft, somewhat manipulative best to get the details of mine and her dad’s disagreement. “Are you mad cause I told you Wendy was Dad’s girlfriend when we first moved here? Was it me who told you?, or did you already know he had a girlfriend?”.
I told Alyssa the truth to the best of my ability. I said “oh no sweetheart. It wasn’t you at all. I already knew about Wendy.” She said “okay”, then slowly walked away. Alyssa didn’t know what Rosie and I were fighting about. She used her own intuition, plus logical deduction, to formulate a rather accurate hypothesis. She was a smart, insightful cookie.
Alyssa did let it slip about Wendy innocently enough. How was she to know her dad was being unfaithful? I also did already know before she accidentally, and innocently spilled the beans. All Alyssa did was act as a conduit for spirit to reaffirm what I had already known for myself.
Spirit has always had my back, front, and sides. They still do. I didn’t tell Alyssa I was planning to leave. I didn’t tell Jean either. I stayed quiet about what the fight was about for the entire five days I was with them after the painful illumination. I followed Rosie’s wishes when it came to informing the kids. He decided it best I didn’t tell them. He wanted me to leave in silence so, I did.
After the five days of intense stress, discomfort, and a little back and forth of slight effort apologies on Rosie’s part, it was the day to leave. Rosie isn’t someone who authentically apologizes. He didn’t know how to. I can’t remember the exact day in April of 2023 that I left. I do remember being extremely anxious and lost in my head when waiting for Bill to arrive.
Rosie texted me to ask me a question. “When are you leaving?” Rosie was with his kids in Montreal. Even the weekend of me leaving Rosie still decided to go to his mom’s. He may of had some sexy time with someone else during that same time too for all I know. Rosie was having an affair with someone named Isabel by then. I know that. At this point it wouldn’t surprise me.
I told Rosie I was leaving a couple of hours later than I was actually scheduled to leave. He said “we will be home before you leave”. I said “please don’t”. Rosie didn’t respond. Now I was the one pacing back and forth.
I packed all of my things that had any resemblance of importance to me, and had placed them at the front door of the apartment. I was ready to leave in an instant. Bill showed up about two hours after Rosie had texted asking when I was leaving. Rosie was on his forty-five minute drive back to his apartment with the kids when Bill had shown up. He texted to let me know.
Was Rosie’s “friendly” notification to get me to wait? or, was it his way of setting me up so that he could tell the kids after I left, something along the lines of, “I even texted her to wait for us , and she still decided to leave without saying goodbye”? I knew there was more to his hidden agenda at that time. Rosie’s intelligence, coupled with his ego impulsiveness, scared the shit out of me. Not because Rosie would physically hurt me. It was more my awareness of the way he can manipulate my mind.
There was no time to waste. I brought all my stuff downstairs whilst Bill loaded up his Honda Civic. We were out of there in probably less than twenty minutes. I escaped not having to see Rosie. I was anxious of what he might do or say to me, or Bill for that matter. Especially in front of the kids.
I left peacefully and quietly just as Rosie wanted. It tore me apart not to give the kids a hug, tell them I would always love them, and say goodbye. The last time I saw them was the Friday beforehand, after school. It wasn’t for long either, because they usually left for Montreal within the hour of arriving home from school.
The long drive home with my ex husband was interesting and tiring to say the least. Oh what a life I have led.
LivWithClairity 