I did not place you with Dean & Diane. I placed you with your father. I have no idea how you got from your father’s to Dean and Diane’s, but no one ever talked to me or had me sign anything or even said it was happening.
I was contacted by Diane and told I needed to send her child support. I told her I didn’t know what the heck she was talking about, but you were supposed to be living with your dad. She never did tell me how all that came down, maybe you can find out.
I explained to her that your father was supposed to be caring for you and, if that wasn’t happening, what the heck was? She brushed it off again in favor of demanding child support.
So I told her point blank, “Lady, if you can walk in this room I rent and find money I don’t know I have, you can take it all to help my daughter. But there’s nothing here. I’m literally sleeping on the floor and I haven’t eaten anything but hormel chili on ghetto brand white bread (out of date) in over four months.”
Go figure, she didn’t have a response to that.
Kindly correct your narrative to reflect the fact that you were “somehow” moved from your father’s to Dean & Diane’s without my knowledge, permission, or agreement.
I’d be happy to clarify pretty much anything you want to ask, as clearly you are lacking fundamental facts that (perhaps?) will greatly modify your perspective.
Feel free to check any/all of them with Rick, Dottie, and the three counties enforcement offices that were involved in certain events of that time. My friend, Clif can testify to it as well, as he was literally the only person on the planet who gave a shit about me and kept me from being on the street… again, when the job poofed from under me and I lost the studio room apt floor for a bed/housing.
I suppose it never occurred to you that, had anyone in the situation actually wanted to HELP us be a FAMILY, they might have let us room long enough to apply for county/state/federal assistance and then, at least I could have stayed and continued trying.
They didn’t. And the only work I found was in Texas. And when it died, I was on my way back and broke down in Lousiana. That’s where I met Clif. (Actually, had known him online for years.)
Ever notice that the difference between someone helping you and actually assisting you is that they “help” by doing what they prefer you to need than what you actually need?
No one in Georgia was willing to assist ME. Only you. So I put my trust in that (mistake), and struck out to rebuild from Texas. Nothing went to plan. I decided to grovel to the Zetty’s and start over (again) from the ol’ WH. But I never made it that far.
Clif let me sleep on his sofa while I humbled myself to beg every person I ever gamed with to help me get my family back. An old guy in New Jersey agreed to give me room, board, and food in exchange for taking care of his 96yr old mother.
You remember that place, I’m sure. If not, I think I wrote about it a bit back…. go refresh your memory.
You will never lose my love, but since you won’t grant me closeness and care, I greatly prefer that we let communications lapse. I know you don’t get this, but it hurts to know how much you need to feel loved and do not…. because in my heart, mind, and world, you are loved more than what is probably healthy…. but you refuse to accept and believe it.
I clearly lack the language (and trust, it seems) to convince you. For reasons I do not know or understand, you do not seem to want to be convinced.
Speaking from experience, when you get tired of how it feels to treat yourself as if you do not deserve what all humans deserve by right of birth, you’ll change your mind. Literally.
Personally, I don’t think you can until your kids are older, because you’re literally catching up to the perspective that sits here, teary-eyed with sorrow, wishing you could get here faster.
If my karma is to never experience family, so be it. I’m tired and cannot spend my energy continuing to try. I am putting my ego aside, too… not giving up is kind of my thing, and I’m realizing that’s my challenge and fault, and not as noble as I seem to have preferred believing.
I am glad you got that poison out. I hope you are now well, or at least on the way to it.
The reason it upsets me when you write is because it reminds me that’s all I’ll ever have.
I’d rather forget now, please. I’m so tired of hurting.
Thank you.