Ok. My buddy Dave said I need to stop thinking about what happens to me as defining who I am and I need to write my own story. Fine. Be that way.

I have a habit of seeing potential in people. I make them feel inspired. I make them feel like they can go do wonderful things because they are so great. This is complicated because most of us don’t live up to our potential. Potential doesn’t mean you actually have the drive or skills to make something a reality. It means that if you have drive to learn the skills necessary you can make it a reality. Some people can’t make some things happen even with drive and skill. I could not be a professional stunt woman. My body can’t do that. I’m not sturdy enough. I lack the potential outside of whether or not I have the drive or skill.

Over the years I have invited several people into my life who had great potential and very little drive. They all kind of wanted me to be the motor behind them pushing them through. It’s a really unpleasant position for me to be in for my friends. It is hard enough as a mother.

I’ve been floating between fury and incandescent rage and deep abandonment for days. I cannot trust people who over promise and under deliver. That is a relationship deal breaker for me. It is too reminiscent of my family of origin. Someone wants credit for promising to do something even though they don’t do it. Like my sister claiming in mediation a decade later that she had been a huge supporter when I prosecuted our father. No you fucking did not. You iced me out. You told me it was my fault my brother died and my fault my father died. You refused to speak to me for months after raging at me.

Don’t fucking tell me that you are providing support when you aren’t.

With the fuck off letter from the NHS yesterday I am feeling incredibly vulnerable, weak, abandoned, and dehumanised.

Also, yesterday was the day when TB finally decided that he doesn’t want the possibility of sex to exist between us at all. He decided that 9 days after the cut off date for me paying for a rental house. I’m on the hook for a £500 romantic get away even though the person who invited me on it now is treating me in ways I don’t appreciate.

I went back through the handful of things he has actually been willing to commit to writing in the past seven months. He pushed me to invest in him really hard. He has wanted an avalanche of support. Do you know what he said to me after the rape and aftermath? That he was really disappointed that he wasn’t the next person to kiss me.

Fucking awesome.

He hasn’t been a source of support for me. Instead I went through chat logs and video call timing history and I have been leaning on 16 different friends (including Noah) to the tune of hundreds of hours of support in order to figure out how to cope with how TB has been acting.

Do you know what I don’t fucking need in my life? Someone who treats me shabbily enough that I need more than a dozen people providing support. That’s bad. It’s unsustainable. Between the time I spent processing with other people and the the time I spent giving him support… that’s all time away from focusing on my kids.

I didn’t participate in planting anything this year because I spent all of my gardening time talking to TB. What a fucking waste of my time.

I made him a man and now he wants to go off and spread his seed because he feels like someone will find him hot and want him. Wow. I’m sitting over here being a raging cunt and judging every aspect of his life choices and finding him deeply wanting in terms of a potential co-parent to an infant.

He’s never bothered to learn the language of the country he moved to in five years. Despite having a huge number of housemates he has no significant savings and no retirement. He thinks he’ll have to work until he drops dead. It’s a lot harder to earn enough money for the strain of kids that late in a career. His position in the country he is in is not stable. If he produces a child there, it is possible he will have to leave the child behind and go back to the US because he can’t stay. It is going to be fucking pathetic if he has to go try to learn German somewhere else so that he can get back to being with his family.

He’s almost 44 and he’s just starting to look for a partner. That means his vetting process is going to be sloppy and rushed because he is pressed for time. He is very likely to at best get to a point where it is appropriate to have a child with someone by 46-48. He won’t be one of the dads at high school graduation; he will be grandpa. He won’t be supporting his kids through their transition to adulthood; he will be needing them to provide his elderly care because he doesn’t have the fucking money for a home.

Someone choosing that turns my stomach. I judge. Something he doesn’t seem to understand is that I have very different metrics in my head for how I judge parents and how I judge non-parents. He went from me judging him according to a very liberal “Well if you are happy that’s good enough” standard to “Are you thinking about the well being of your dependents before your own happiness?” He’s not.

Frankly I also judge the digital nomad movement and fucking Americans traveling constantly all over the globe amassing massive frequent flier miles and pricing locals out of being able to afford to live in their traditional homes. The life he has lead over the past 20 years isn’t one I have a ton of respect for when I look at it as his “I am preparing to be a parent” period of life.

His entitlement is what I left California to get away from. Why in the fuck am I allowing this to be such a big part of my life? Because I care too fucking much about old friends from the old days. I’m a loyal bitch.

I don’t think I am loyal enough though. I think he has burned through the credit he had deposited in the Bank of TB & Krissy. He took and took and took until I have nothing left to give him. He used me up by never giving anything back. He has not been acting like my friend. He doesn’t help me with anything. He always offers to distract me with stories about himself. He sends me stupid emojis to tell me he is thinking of me. He likes to send “poke”. It gives him a little dopamine hit.

I’m not a fucking video game.

I’m fucking mad. But I think that this anger is healthy and good. My boundaries are being tramped into the mud. I can fix that. I will end this relationship. I will choose to put the energy that I have been giving to him back into Noah, my garden, my kids, and myself.

I’d rather spend my time talking to my supportive friends about myself instead of stupid fucking TB.