The day has finally arrived. Moodswing Maverick is getting his own post. This is going to be raw and ugly for me, but I promised myself that when I started writing again, I would heal and write authentically and loudly, no matter who bears witness. Still, before we begin I need you all to know I feel like throwing up, crying and hiding under my bed.  I also feel like climbing on top of my house and screaming “fucking finally figured that shit out”, but we will get there.  

Moodswing Maverick is my son’s father.  

One of my favorite things to do has been to ignore him.  I pretend to have never met him when I see him in public. I walk right past him without even glancing at him. Treating him as some stranger, as if our DNA didn’t mix and create the most beautiful boy eight years ago.  Like I didn’t fall in love with him a little in middle school because he made me laugh and had such a kind spirit. And when I met him again as an adult at a coffee shop he was playing at I fell in love completely. My soul knew him and said “hi. Finally”.  That was in 2011. 

What I have learned since then is that “finally” feeling was all of my trauma finding his and matching perfectly.  Our childhood wounds playing together in a medley of push and pull.  That feeling of home is dangerous when your home was never safe.  The first time he said he loved me I responded with a smart ass comment and he loved me even more.  We laughed all the time back then.  We listened to music, learned each other’s bodies and ignored our real lives.  We hid in one another as reality was hard, cold and scary.  I was battling NBK in court for his stalking me.   Moodswing was battling his family and getting full custody of his eldest son.  We escaped with and in one another. 

And reality started creeping in, as it tends to do.  We decided we were going to live together. I began working on fixing up his father’s old house.  I worked my ass off, felt like I didn’t have any help, and no appreciation, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to go back to his wife and what was normal for him, or take an adventure with me in life. 

I left him.  I think I got frustrated with not seeing him enough, or him being in love with someone else (don’t ask me what I was thinking, I’m not great at relationships, m’kay).  I decided to move to Wisconsin.  I announced it as loud as fucking possible on social media, and to all of our friends.  I was waiting for him to make his grand romantic gesture.  The “no, please wait, you belong with me” moment we see so often in trash movies.  That moment didn’t come. I moved to Wisconsin.  He went back to his wife.   

When I came back to visit after my twin niece and nephew were born, I met up with him.  The way he knew me and called me out was like a breath of fresh air.  I played him all the songs I could think of that reminded me of him while I was gone.  I rambled, as I do, and told him I would wait for him.  Somehow, someway, I would wait for him.   

I eventually moved back three years after being in Wisconsin because I needed back surgery and wanted the back surgeon, I was familiar with to do it.  Yeah, your girl has her “own” spine surgeon. Fancy.  It took about a year for insurance and whatnot to get settled before I could have my fusion surgery.   

After my surgery I worked my ass off in physical therapy, and walking all of the trails in the area.  Six months into my healing I was walking ten miles before even going to physical therapy, a huge feat as I was using a walker when I first started.  I kicked all the ass, and then one night I got a message through Facebook from Moodswing with his phone number. 

Because I have zero chill (never have and absolutely never will) I called immediately.  His grown ass son answered. At least he sounded grown. Gone was the 10 year old kid that would giggle with me, a 15 year old with a man’s voice was like… “oh, hey, hold on let me get Dad.”  Moodswing was at my mom’s house within an hour and never left until we found our own place. 

The problem was, he wasn’t the man I fell in love with six years prior.  This man was mean.  He was hateful and hurtful. We were a rollercoaster.  The highs were so fun, but God damn those lows were sewer level deep.  I am so embarrassed and ashamed of what I allowed during this time.  I had plans to leave once, had finally had enough.  His mom died the next day.  We acted like I had never tried to leave.   I found out I was pregnant shortly after. 

I had been told years before that I could not get pregnant, so fucking surprise. He didn’t even flinch, rolled with it so gently and lovingly.  Said “that explains why you keep falling asleep.” Apologized for me getting up with him in the morning before he went to work.  My hormones and carrying his child made that trauma bond even more fucking wild.  Now I felt like I had to keep a family together, and he could pull that “I want to be there when he’s little since I wasn’t for (his other son).” 

We fought so badly one night that I went into early labor at 29 weeks.  (By the powers of all that is good and Holy they were able to get me under control, and I was able to carry my son to full term.) And the dude was mad I was at the hospital.  Made him leave a party to take me, even though I asked him not to go.  And I stayed. I stayed through some horrific shit. I even stayed when our counselor told me I absolutely needed to run as fast as I could.

And when I had our son, I was floored when the man (him) that showed up was the most loving, kind, nurturing man I had ever met.  He was perfect.  He helped me through my labor like no one else could.  He got me food, he acted like he ate half a pizza because he didn’t want me to feel bad I ate an entire pizza.  Like I gave a shit, I had just been in labor for 29 hours without sleep or food, and they tried to kill me with the epidural (different story). Anyway, the point is he was amazing.  Unfortunately, it was an act for the nurses and my friends and family.  (I remain grateful, even for the performance) 

As soon as we left the hospital he was yelling at me in the car.   

I left him soon after when I found an old farmhouse with a nice yard. 

The hell I had to pay for leaving him almost made me go back to him.  He tortured me.  And when he didn’t get the reactions, he wanted from what he was doing. He started taking me to court.  For the first three years of my son’s life, I fought this man in every fucking way, all for him to not even be in my kid’s life.  

He has not seen our son since he was going on four.  One year he said he wanted to and started working towards supervised visits, but he bailed on that too.  

And here we are now.

I saw him today. 

I knew it was him immediately, even though his back was turned.  When he heard my voice, he whipped around and… I kept walking.  I walked to the parking lot.  I put my stuff in the truck.  I put the cart away.  I sat in the parking lot looking up a song.  Then I shook my head and said “the fuck, get out of here”.  That’s when it hit me. 

For eight years I have been waiting for Moodswing Maverick to change and be the man me and my son need. For eight years my heart of hearts was holding it’s breath waiting for him to get sober, change his personality from disordered to not, and come home.  The feral fucking “What, oh hell no. SHIT. SHIT. SHIT” I screamed as I was driving away was soul level.   

Did I just waste eight years of my life waiting for a sociopath (no exaggeration) to not be? I cannot stop laughing at how silly that is, and how hilarious it is to me that THIS was the block I have had for 8 years. THIS!? You’ve got to be kidding me.  The amount of therapy and gut-wrenching work I have done in this time is miracle level, and THIS is what has been fucking me up? The Universe is a fucking jokester. Don’t get me wrong, all the work is important, but this is ridiculous. 

Because ewww.  

And because saying that to myself took that bullshit and poofed it.  It is amazing how differently I feel, and how I feel like I can finally take a breath. I think I was afraid of admitting that, even to myself because of how badly he fucked me up.  Waiting for him or even missing him in the beginning felt like a betrayal to self. Like I was dishonoring myself for admitting I could love another monster… right after the last one almost killed me. It is amazing what shame can do to a person.  How it creates dishonesty with SELF and with others.  And you know, I always seem to find shame is usually being carried by the wrong person.  The “victim” feels shame and guilt, while the accused feels nothing.  I’m not going to carry that anymore.  That isn’t my shame to carry. 

I am so fucking glad to be done.