And The Winner Is....Tinkle In My Tent

Thank you all for helping me with the name.

As a first installment...

So as you can see, my ex is still on my ass. she has been commenting here, has created her own blog just to trash me, has been recording phone conversations between me and my boys, is having them relay messages to me (getting them in the middle of adult issues) and is threatening Insane Mama and I with calling CPS on us. What the F??? It is non-stop.

9 year old is walking around the house using the vacuum as a stroller for her dolls.

13 year old cam home from boy scout camp to announce that bugs LOVE biting him and that he no longer likes hot dogs.

11 year old slept until noon today since her cousin went back to Texas this morning. They had been conducting some LATE nights playing computer games in bed and spending all day - every day at the beach.

16 year old ... well who knows.

Still no word from Birth Mother...

Insane Mama still rocks!!!!

Insanely Peeing In The Wind - Part 4

The day I left was complete and utter misery. We were both crying. I continued my lame attempts at negotiation with the doctors to keep me just one more week. They told me that there was no way that I could stay because of insurance issues.

Now, all in all, I felt mentally pretty good. I had my head on straight, was making progress on dealing with many of the things that had landed me there and I had identified the things in my life that needed to change. On the other hand, the one person that I felt closest to and who had been one of the biggest reasons for me getting to that mental state would soon be far too distant for me to swallow.

That morning I had breakfast with her and we exchanged numbers and emails…along with our fears and thoughts. It was one of the hardest mornings I’d had. After breakfast, I had to go to a session with my therapist who wanted to go over all of the discharge things and what my plans were when I went home. My mind was preoccupied with other things at that point and all I could muster to say was, “I don’t want to go home with her.” That was it. The therapist continued to talk as my soul floated away. After my session, I went looking for Insane Mama. I could not find her anywhere. I started to freak out. There were so many more things that I wanted to talk with her about. We needed to make plans for “us” on the outside and spend as much time together as possible before I had to go. I’m sure that I seemed like I was jonesing for drugs, just plain looney or like a psychopathic stalker…the way I was running around, basically yelling at people to tell me where she was. I was a complete lunatic.

I had about given up and was sitting on a bench with my head in my hands. Then I saw her walking down the path towards me. I felt like a child that has just been give a free trip to the moon. My face ignited and I leaped up from the bench and ran to her (kind of like one of those stupid beach commercials about Viagra or something). Our embrace was overwhelming. It was like we just melted into one another. We spent the next 30 minutes together, during which time she told me that she was hiding out because she knew how hard this goodbye would be. We held each other, cried and made out plans for down the road.

It was then that we heard over the loud speaker that I was to report to my room to collect my things and then report to admitting. We stood up, still holding hands, then we hugged and kissed for what we feared would be the last time. I felt every inch of her seeping into me. I knew that If I could keep this feeling and vision inside me…I could make it through anything until we were together again.

Our hands slipped apart as I started down the path to my room. I did the best I could to hide the tears and feelings of dread while on the drive home with my wife. The hard part was enduring the hour ride home hearing her complain about the cost and how much of a waste of time and money it was.

Double Update

This, my dear friends, is, I’m sure going to shock you. I am going to write TWO, SHORT, updates in one post. Now mind you, this is something that I’ve never tried before…and I urge you not to try this at home…unless I am successful – then everyone should do it.

Crap, off–base again. Sorry.

Ok, the first topic of my double-header is my birthmother. Now most of you know the situation, but if not please catch up on all seven posts.
1. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/06/vomit-call.html
2. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/06/vomit-call-continued.html
3. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/06/nothing-like-little-monday-morning.html
4. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/06/meeting-my-birth-mother-for-first-time.html
5. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/06/meeting-my-birth-mother-part-2-0f-2.html
6. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/06/no-matter-how-brief.html
7. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/07/abandoned-for-second-time.html

Now, I took all of your advice and sent her another email on Tuesday the 8th ….and have yet to receive any reply. I have talked with Insane Mama about it and at first she reiterated some of the things that you guys said; maybe she is digesting, maybe she needs some time, maybe she is dealing with other important things, etc. I understand that…BUT…If you reunite with your birth child and then you get (not one but) two emails from him…wouldn’t you at least reply with something like, “I need a bit of time …I will contact you when I can.” Or something like that. The NO RESPONSE is what is killing me…not the does she want to stay in contact stuff. I can deal with rejection…it is the being ignored part that hurts.


The second subject of this post is my step father. I wanted (and wanted to give you) an update on my stepfather’s progress after his operations (see below prior posts if you came to this party late)
1. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/06/dad-number-3-not-natural-or.html
2. http://ipitw.blogspot.com/2008/07/dad-number-3-update.html

Now I have called two days in a row to get an update and have not gotten any response. What the fuck? Now both mothers are dissing me?

I will give you an update as soon as I get one.

Pee Is Everywhere

Since everyone has their little bloggy things that they do, photo days, random vents, kiddie quotes, yada yada. I thought that it would be a good idea for me to have a little sumpin sumpin too.

You will start seeing a new title on my blog that is just going to be random thought and tid bits of things that I just need to get out of my head. These will all be short little “tinkles” and should NOT be mistaken for a “regular” post.

There is a lot of weird shit that goes through my head everyday and where I live…I tend to see and hear some …out there stuff. The place where you will find these random notes will be…now this took a long time to decide on what to call it (and if anyone has issues with the title..please call customer service.) Finally, I came up with a few possible titles…Please tell me which one you think I should use.

Random Bursts of Urine
Random Bursts of Pee
Tinkle in My Tent
Bladder Leakage
Pee Is Everywhere

Thank you in advance for helping me name this very important addition to my blog.

Insanely Peeing In The Wind - Part 3

Now, remember, at this point I was…well shit, still am... married. I did not really want to do anything out of spite, revenge or anything to worsen an already bad situation. BUT… there was no getting around this one. I knew that the feelings that I had, the lust in our eyes and our rendezvous were in several ways, the wrong thing to do…but on the other hand, hiding and subduing my feelings was something that I was at the hospital trying to overcome..

I tried several time…not to like her, but every time I saw her, spoke with her, touched her, and even looked at her…I completely melted inside. I could see in her eyes, her intense honesty, genuine care for me but I also saw that she felt bad, in a way, about what was happening. I knew that she did not want to be any part of my marriage not working out, she told me so. I am sure that this was very hard for her as I knew how she felt, yet she told me several times that we should stop and step away from one another. I knew that I had to be sure about the future of my marriage… as I also did not want a salvageable marriage to be destroyed by …. An intense, lustful relationship centered within the walls of a “loony bin.”

Insane Mama and I spent the next 4 or five days almost solely talking about our marriages, past relationships, what we want in a partner and what we felt that we was missing in our lives. I NEVER thought that I could/would have these conversations with any woman (besides a professional.) I think that goes back to my past, “sub-adult,” relationships with girls where I was the cool guy and they were the pretty girl (that’s all it was.) Also, my wife was not one to listen to feelings or one that would accept that there are importannt things in life that men need …that some women don’t understand. Over the years, I learned to just keep it all inside.

Crap…where am I going with this? Oh yeah…I finally had someone that actually listened, understood, cared, did not judge and could relate to so much of my life. I honestly thought, at points, that she was an angel (well maybe not an angel, but rather a…force(?), an incarnation of GOOD.) No matter what we said to one another or what we did together, the common feeling was honest and genuine caring. I had been able to talk with guy friends in the past and talk with my mother (a psychotherapist) and siblings to an extent, but nothing like this. I could not shock her with my insane past. I could not make her run with my… “issues.” And thankfully, I could not scare her off with bold lustfulness towards her.

As we sat in trauma group sessions, talking about horrific times in our lives, I saddened, to my innermost core (tears flooding the inside of my body) listening to her talk of the ways in which she had been cheated out of aspects of happiness in her life that I knew she deserved. In some of the other group sessions, there was some note passing, winks, smile and attempts at fantasy mind reading. Meals, we always sat together…and if one of us was not there…the other would prepare a plate for them to put aside. Breaks and free time …we were inseparable…except when I had phone calls from my wife. She would give me my space to handle family issues. But as soon as I hung up, she was there to see if there was anything she could do for me…or just to offer an ear. (I know that she heard me yelling, screaming and crying on the phone.)

I think that what “sealed the deal” between her and I was my mastery of a few certain things, that she witnessed (and I am sure could not get out of her mind:) playing cards (poker and spades,) farting and burping on command (with complete tone control,) and especially my unmatched skills on the wiffel ball diamond.

As each of us was to be there for 30 days, and I got there a week before her, I knew that I would be leaving before she did. This thought terrified me. I did not want to leave her. I didn’t know if we would ever see each other again after this place. I was sick to my stomach with these thoughts…I actually tried to convince the doctors that I was not ready to leave…so that I could stay with her. My last week there was filled with nightmares. I did not know that to do. I also remember telling her to just come with me…for her to check herself out with me and that we would just run off together.

As we approached my last days, our time was filled with tears, hugs, prayers and letters to one another, so that we could always have each others thoughts and feelings close. The day I left…

To be continued…

Insanely Peeing In The Wind - Part 2

After lunch was over, everyone would go out to one of the outdoor common areas to talk, play cards, talk on their cell phones and lounge about. A bunch of us had formed a pretty tight “clique” and we all like to sit around playing cards while ragging on each other, having farting and burping contests and talking about the inept doctors (there were several.) Then girl 2 (you should know by now that I am talking about Insane Mama) came out to the deck and asked to watch us play. She joined us and then it was not long before she became a permanent member of “the insane dozen.”

Over the next day or two, I had an opportunity to walk and talk with her about why we were there and about our pasts, etc. Our lives could almost be twins. There were so many things that we had in common; our marriages, our histories with sexual assaults, binge drinking, children, family issues….it was just perfect. We began talking every day…several times. We grew very close to one another and I think that the trust and comfort that I felt towards her was mutual. We talked about everything… I even talked to her about my being sexually assaulted about a dozen years before. That was something that I had never talked to anyone about. I felt THAT comfortable with her.

I knew that she was special. I smiled every time I saw her and every morning could not wait to see her. Nights were a mess because we were separated and my head filled with fantasies, thoughts and images … all about her. I know that she (and most of the people at the hospital) knew how I felt about her. I guess it was obvious by my bringing her flowers, breakfast in bed and slipping her poems at every chance.

This bond that we formed was more special to me than one would think. I had learned, over the past 15 years, that talking to, spending time with and especially bonding with other women was strictly forbidden. Not to mention, the fact that prior to meeting my wife, I honestly had little respect for the girls that I dated. I know that this is going to make me out to be an ass, but it is the truth. I dated a lot of girls over the years and NEVER talked with them about feelings, my past or anything at all that would make me emotionally vulnerable. I hope that my point is getting across to you all… I really wanted to talk to her…and listen to her. I was completely amazed by the fact that I never even attempted to put up any walls between her and I.

There was a special bond between us and I did not want to ruin it by forcing anything. I continued fanaticizing about her and knew that she did about me, we exchanged some of them that we wrote down in the form of letters and poems. I was HOT for her. All I wanted was to be with her every minute of every day. We took long walks at every chance and it seemed that our thoughts and emotions just oozed from our mouths as we held hands and threw wanting glances back and forth. We discussed some of the most troubling and emotional things that we’d been through. I would open up with something earth-shatteringly (??) deep, revealing my innards to her…expecting to, yes, vomit all over her from fear and anxiety of her reaction. But what I found is that it actually made me want her (physically) even more. Is it wrong to get horny from that?

Our relationship deepened on many levels and the touching, holding hands, lustful and loving glances were soon joined by some of the most meaningful kisses that I could ever imagine.

To Be Continued...

Insanely Peeing In The Wind

I know that some of you know about how Insane Mama and I met…but I am going to take this opportunity to put my side of things out there. Now that I am behind schedule and have read some of what IM has written… I have been debating posting mine…but …what the hell.

In May of 2005, I was in one of the worst places (mentally, physically and emotionally) that I have ever been in. I had a disaster of a marriage, two very young boys (the only two things that were holding the very thin strings of my life together.) That was bundled with my years of being unhappy (with myself, my life and everything around me.)

After several attempts at “escaping”, I landed myself at a hospital that dealt with “Dual Diagnosis” (mixture of substance abuse and emotional/psychiatric issues) clients. When I walked into the hospital, I told the intake people that I was “lost.” I had no idea what to do with myself. I was too chicken shit to kill myself but did not want to live as things were. Yes, that is how bad things were at the time.

After meeting with my doctor and getting settled in my room, I began the routine of going to groups to talk about “issues” and spending time in the common areas with the other patients. I quickly learned a few things:
1. There were far fewer “crazy” people there that I expected (most there for severe depression issues)
2. I had A LOT of shit that I needed to get out.
3. I actually did not hate life – I hated what my life had become.

After I started talking in groups and when I learned that writing was going to be a valuable tool for me, I started to really open up. I guess that my stance was that since I was there…I should do everything in my power to get better. There were a lot of people there that just walked the walk and talked the talk. I had done that before and …well… this is where I landed. This time it would be all or nothing.

I knew, from the time I walked out of my first group, that my marriage was over. It saddened me, but I just knew it. The twists and turns that my wife and I had gone through over the past 15 years had left us both scarred and, at least for me, I could not go back to that life. Though I knew that…I still went back and forth in my head about so many issues; the kids, our business, our home, etc.

As a man having been involved with the same woman for since I was 22 years old, and the emotional trauma that I had sustained over those years…I feared being on my own. Would I be alone forever? Would I ever see my children? Had I lost my balls forever? Did I even know how to talk to women anymore? These were all things that terrified me.

I had horrifying flashes of me being a social retard out in the real world. I was so out of tune in so many ways that I started my stay there with an extreme fear of leaving the facility…into the wild.

After the first few days…I knew that I was in the right place. I began writing…a lot. It helped me to organize my thoughts…which enabled me to talk about things in group so that people could understand what I was trying to get out. My writing surprised even me. I knew that I could write ok but did not know if anything coherent would come of just writing without thought, direction or over analysis. I just sat and wrote. I wrote about my childhood, my late teens, young adulthood, my marriage, my sons, being in jail, being sexually assaulted, being adopted and having my balls residing within a certain woman’s purse. All in all it all felt good…just to get it out. Knowing how good it felt to write, I began talking in groups about my writing, sharing my poems and revealing things that I had never spoken of.

Things were going quite well, although the doctors could not seem to find the right mix of medications for me. I would go from zombie to agitated bastard…and back again. But by this time I had met some pretty cool people…and some that I felt shared some of the same history that I did. I felt that I could open up to them to discus what was going on (kind of a continuation of group mixed with my new found “socialization 101.”)

Then, one day, as I was sitting in one of the afternoon groups, two new people came in and were asked to say a little something about why they were there. I elbowed one of the guys next to me , gestured to the second girl and said…”she’s kind of hot.” He nodded, with a smile and told me to control myself. The first girl mumbled her name and said that she would not be able to do or say much for a few days (we all knew that …her body chemistry might be a bit off.) Then the second girl looked up, introduced herself and proceeded to stun the group by making some sexual comments about her recent past (shocking only because it was her first group.) I looked back at my friend and just smiled.

To be Continued...

Abandoned For The Second Time

I do not really know what to say right now…except that I am thoroughly confused. Back on June 16th, I made a trip to meet my birthmother. The meeting went very well…I thought, and we parted with tears, smiles and plans on keeping in touch.

As soon as I got home I immediately sat down and sent her an email – Thanking her for the opportunity to meet her. I also mentioned that I did want to keep in touch and that I hoped to see her again and to meet my ….? (natural half brother.)

I did receive one brief email from her saying that she did not have much time to write, but that she wanted to thank me for the visit and that she would write more soon.

Now it has been almost a month and I have not heard anything else from her. What the fuck? I don’t even know what to think. Was she revolted by me and just pretended during the visit? Did she check off, on her list, that she had met me…and now she can move on to other things? Has something happed to her?

I am very confused and I am not sure if I should put the whole thing on the back burner for now…If she wants to back away…who am I to impose myself on her?

I am hurt, confused, curious and worried all at the same time. I hate feeling like this.
I am going to send one more brief email to her and then … I guess…make some attempt at closure.

Divorce, Birth Mothers, Hospitals...Life Is Good

With all of the things going on in my life these days, I have taken some extra time to reflect on my life. I am very comforted by the fact that things could be much, much worse. About 20 years ago, I was in a very …. rough spot in my life. I was mixed up with the wrong people, into a lot of things that I should not have been and had the misfortune of landing myself in situations that would forever change my life. I wrote the following story a few years ago, when I was trying to get through some undealt with emotions. I am not sure why I am posting this other than keeping my current situation in check…things are not THAT bad.

From early in the day, the cellblock was busier but quieter than usual. This always happens when something big is coming. The quiet before the storm. The Black and Latino gangs seemed to have more distance between them than usual. As the day drifted on there was a lot of quick meetings and whispering happening within the gangs. The rec yard and mess hall were tense, yet uneventful, which was far from typical. Looking down from the third floor balcony, the common room looked like a pair of hypnotic eyeglasses, swirling groups of people on either side and a few misplaced guards in between.

Gangs in lock up are simple yet complex. They can be quite large but only the top three have any say on what happens that day. Many have no interest in being in a gang, or taking part in the insane schemes, yet protection…a family is an unavoidable need.

It was about 8PM when there seemed to be a lot more scampering around. The volume on the TV was turned up as the Latino leader and his 2 under-bosses emerged from their “office.” Simple gestures by him sent the Latino soldiers on their missions. As a group of about 15 men all converged on the level one balcony, the lookouts began signaling. There seemed to instantly be 2 dozen Black soldiers surrounding the Latinos. At first there was just a lot of tough looks, talk and pushing going on. The tension was high, it felt as if it were 100 degrees on the block. The looks on everyone’s faces were looks of fear and confusion mix with honor and duty – reminiscent of soldiers on a battlefield. With another nod from the leader everything seemed to start moving in slow motion. 3 men entered a cell. Outside it was like a scrimmage line on a football field. Hitting and pushing with nobody gaining ground. Moving nearer, There were glimpses of a fellow block-mate backing into the corner of his cell, with his comrades unable to help him. The sight was frightening, even though he was the enemy.

As the muffled calls for help emerged from the cell, it was clear to everyone that his time had come. There seemed to be a slight pause before the view of stabbing motions filled the cell. All watched quietly as the victors emerged from the cell with blood-soaked hands. Quickly, with tear-glazed eyes, the sight of people running, weapons disappearing and smiles from the balcony were seen. It was clear that many involved were filled with hidden emotions. Beneath the smiles and cheers, it was easy to see the fear and sadness. Returning to the cells, hearing the jingling of keys on the guards’ belts as they ran into the block, everyone laid in their bunks, closed their eyes…all this for a carton of smokes.