More of the grieving process thanks for reading

That is pretty much what bariatric surgery did to me; it took 165 pounds off of me. It has been freeing and yet weird. I have a blog piece almost ready about the procedure and a rundown of post-op expectations; I need to tidy it up. Honestly, some of these venting pieces have been more beneficial. I have gone through more grieving than I ever expected. Yeah, I know; why am I writing about this 6 months later? Nursiepoo has just been trying to eradicate his life with his husband. I think I am mostly done, except for the occasional specter of him that shows its ugly self.
So why literally wipe him clean of the house? The biggest reason I have is the very reminder of his existence. The pain, both real and emotional, that I endured there. I highly recommend Surrounded by Narcissists by Thomas Erikson if you haven’t read it.

The emotional pain of living with a narcissistic person is the worst. In my case, with my PTSD and other issues. Narcissists love people with mental health issues such as PTSD or any other mental health issue for that matter. They use your PTSD as an avenue for bullying. I had never thought of this until the last few years of our marriage. I started reading about it and found out that it is almost textbook narcissism to seek out someone with mental health issues. It is a predator finding prey. They, like he did, used it to amuse themselves. So, in a sense, I was a playtoy.
Let me detail things for you.

So May hits, I will take you on the train wreck that was the first 2-3 weeks. First, after a very busy night shift, I arrived at 830 (ish) am to a quiet and calm house. For some reason, the swamp cooler was running and pretty cool in the house. I remember that sometimes he liked that, so I shrugged it off. The house was dark and quiet, so I sat down in my big living room chair, fired up Fallout and TikTok, and figured I would get my fill-in before he woke up.

We, or at least he, had an implicit rule that we didn’t disturb each other if it was quiet. So, like a good boy, I used the quiet time for me. After about 30 minutes, I thought, “Shouldn’t he be working?” I remember him saying the night before that he considered calling out of work on Monday. Even though I still went in at 9:00am, and that’s when I discovered him with a mouth full of blood and a pistol in his hand. My faithful dog Leonard (an absolute angel…Honestly, when I couldn’t find him and he didn’t greet me, it should have been a problem).

A friend of mine told me later that he had felt he was capable of shooting me, the dogs, and then himself in a grand display. I, and I am sure many friends, are glad he didn’t. Now that I have had time to think, I am sure that was a real prospect.
The night before was like the dozens like them before, minus the reference of me leaving him.

This is the last conversation

Husbear:Meds on board, see you tomorrow
Husbear: Also love you
Me: Love you too
Husbear: So not moving out?
Me:Idk
Husbear: OK
Husbear: The same card was used as the chips. (he was snooping in our Smith’s account I had bought some household items_
Me: What card?
Husbear: 3746
Me: I don’t have a 3746
Husbear: 1236
Me: Not one of mine either
Husbear: OK, just confused
Me: It’s OK
Husbear: Time for me to completely zonk. Love you and hope you have a good night.
Me: Live you too
Me: Love, sorry dang phone

I was pretty sure he knew I was leaving, and by that point, I was bracing for the shock when he discovered a divorce was wrapped up in that departure. He had a penchant for violence, and honestly, I had enough. For those with happy memories of him, I am jealous. I felt nothing but pain from the beginning, and I am not even sure I noticed the red flags, even though one of my best battle buddies (military term for the person who watches you and you watch them truly have your 6 (back). Once again, this exchange looked similar to any other night I worked. Obviously, once I found him, the chaos of that day and the lasting effect that his narcissistic ass has had for the last 6+ months began.

So what have I done since that day? Well, I started a purge cleaning literally 2 days later. If he truly was gone, I wanted him the fuck out of my life. With the help of my friends Susan and Paul and my dad, we psychotically cleaned the house like I am sure it hadn’t been cleaned before. I ordered a 30-yard dumpster that I filled twice before it was returned. I donated 2 truckloads of clothes and stuff to the VA clothing locker. A bunch of appliances to friends and to charity. After all the cleaning, I began fixing the house. Our (now my home) thank dog, the bastard, had a life insurance policy that paid the mortgage balance and needed a ton of work. It has been neglected for his drug habit for 12 years. You heard me correct 12 years. I am not an angel. I used to do it, too, but the cost was prohibitive and also burdensome as hell on my physical and mental health.

I was never allowed to be proud of my military accomplishments; that has ended. My office at the house is covered with awards, decorations, and pictures of MY achievements; again, those weren’t allowed when he was alive. The bedroom is now a tribute to geekdom and gaming with posters from cheesy movies riffed by the Mads and Fallout memorabilia. Hell, I even have Fallou sheets. Yep, that nerdiness of mine has shown through the shit. As the song says, I write my own hymn, I sing my own hymn, and it says, yeah, your soul is good. Even though I grieve, I think more than him, more of what my life could have been. I have no regrets; it was a painful growing experience that will likely make me avoid or be suspicious of attempted relationships. I am not saying I am above it, but that person is going to go through a bitch of a time. I already have a perfect friendship with a couple people who matter as much as I do.

That’s weird to say, “matter as much as I do.” I don’t think I have ever had that in my vocabulary, so if he did anything with his life, I finally know how to say I need to matter first. Man. Maybe I am healing; I can see that in my life.

So, as Costa Rica comes to an end, sitting in the VIP lounge, I board in roughly 1 hour. The image of his pain grows smaller in the rearview mirror. I need to stop looking at the goddamn thing. I think again, as the song says, “Where does love go when it has no plan? When everything is lost? The only thing that I forgot, is that we walk alone. But I’m going to be OK, I am going to be just fine, I’m going to be alright now.”

From the bottom of my heart, dude, I hope the afterlife, if it exists, helps you find a kinder path.

Be the kind of person your mom and your dog want you to be