Let The Games Begin....and they have

The thing you need to keep in mind when dealing with co-dependent people is that their world is the only world, and that world operates on deceit.  Everything you've ever said and will ever say they will assume is a lie, and they wait in dread for the inevitable moment that you do something deliberately cruel and abusive to them.  Everything that happens is interpreted this way.  You have no say whatsoever.  Anything good or fun is just a set-up, every positive emotion is probably faked and always fleeting and pale, and everything disagreeable or unpleasant is an attack.

My relationship with the Arborist didn't stand a chance.  For the past year I've struggled with this knowledge.  I finally told him.

Given the above...?  You can imagine how well that went over.

Two weeks afterward, he shot me an email, a nearly unintelligible, vicious rant having to do with his sister, The Stainless Steel Amazon, and a fight they'd had four years ago...a fight precipitated by the event mentioned in the first post of this blog.  The same one I was assured by him was done and in the past, no hard feelings, shit happens, copious amounts of sunshine blown up my ass, noses brown, eyes right, forward march.

 What that had to do with the present was precisely nothing. It was purely and simply abusive on his part, and ugly, and it was the last straw as far as I'm concerned.  I don't suffer fools, and I don't suffer punks.

But something told me that this wasn't the cherry on top...not yet.  And sure enough.....

Turns out, he's been phoning this same sister and sweet-talking her for the past two weeks ('I guess you know your mom's mad at me...sniff...')  Now she's taken his part and they're both angry with me for being such a mean old irrational bitch.

I've had to put up with two visits from  my daughter since, both visits chock fucking filled with lots of pointed comments and barely disguised impatience.  The message is clear:  This is all my fault.  I should apologize. 

Meanwhile I have that email simmering away in my archives. 

Me, I'm done. I'm in therapy. I'm dealing with the mourning and the other issues this has brought up, and I've disconnected.  I don't see him ever dealing with his shit, and I've made it clear that unless he does this isn't going to happen; so for now, this faltering excuse for a relationship is over for the foreseeable future. 

But what goes for James Bond goes for me:  Never say never. 
Keep watching this space.