Ah yes… good ole Wile E Coyote and his nefarious shenanigans with Roadrunner. Funny story? My Papa’s nickname for me as a wee lass was “Roadrunner.” So it’s fitting that I use a special GIF from the cartoon… more fitting than before, as I realize just how accurate and relatable it is.

I promise I’m not squirreling this time! The title is misleading, if you haven’t read anything before now, so I’ll explain…

This won’t be some fancy scientific discussion about ACTUAL gravity. Nay nay. This is – yet another – nickname situation.

You see… when I was dating The Dementor (my last ex, more on him another time), my time was fraught with my son’s father being a whole douche-canoe (he IS a Narcissistic Twat-Face, and I don’t throw that term around willy-nilly). The Dementor commented one day, “You know… his nickname should be Gravity.” 🤨I asked why. He smirked and said, “Cuz he’s always bringing you down.”

And let me tell ya… it stuck. It stuck HARD. I’ve been using that nickname for YEARS now.

So yeah… now that you know, it totally makes sense that he is legitimately the Wile E Coyote to my Roadrunner, constantly trying to thwart me at every turn, yeah?

Oh… well, I guess that means I have to divulge WHY now… 😅

Now this is a story all about how
My life got flipped turned upside down
And I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there
I’ll tell you how I became the… divorcee of Gravity…

Heh. IYKYK. *high fives to the GenX’ers and Xennials*

The biggest problem with talking about Gravity is that I have SO MANY feckin shit ass stories of his Narcissistic shenanigans that it’s gonna be real damn difficult not to write an entire novel and (possibly) bore the shit out of you. *le sigh*

So, let’s go back to the beginning…

I met him while out “cruising town” (GenX/Xennials?!). The first time I saw him, my brain went, “I’m going to marry him.” It was a totally disturbing, invasive thought that came out of left field, but… it DID happen. Eventually. We dated for about a year before I decided to move to Kansas City and go to college. We eventually broke up and I started dating the Catholic Cowboy. Heh. And while on a broken-up-and-moved-to-Colorado-for-2-months hiatus, I met The Boyfriend (this was well over 2 decades ago). I moved back to KC, and some shit went down with the Catholic Cowboy (nothing major, just… e-MO-tion-al DA-mage) and I begged Gravity to rescue me. So he did.

We got an apartment and 2 cats, got pregnant, and then got married. When we got our own house, things started to change… subtly, at first. That’s how Narc’s do, though. Drop a thing here. Say a thing there.

The first major incident that made me start debating divorce was when I “asked permission” to visit my best friend (Granny Sídhe). I got the 3rd degree questioning, “How long will you be gone?” A couple hours?! She and I could talk forever and lose track of time. “What are you going to do?” Uh… talk?! The fuck? And on and on, until he finally granted permission. Now… this gets my blood boiling even now, because fuck anyone that’s going to try to tell ME what I can or can’t do… and fuck ME for “respecting” him to the point that I’d even ask. Blegh!

So, it took me maybe 10 minutes to get to Granny Sídhe’s house, and by the time I got there I already had a ton of texts from Gravity. I answered them, of course. And while hanging out, I would answer as quickly as possible to avoid issues, until I finally said fuck it and put my phone down, ignoring the intermittent buzzing. That is, until he CALLED me. Both Granny and I sighed and rolled our eyes, I’m sure. But I did answer, and the first thing I heard was, “Who are you fucking?!”

Yeah. Despite having answered all his interrogation questions beforehand, he still believed I was lying (I wasn’t) and out fucking someone. FFS.

Have you heard of the psychological term “projection”? I didn’t know that term way back then, but… I had been taught by my high school bestie’s mom (our art teacher) that cheaters are bad about accusing their partners of cheating, so… it was a bit of an instinctual/knowledge based thing. At some point, I confronted him about it and he promptly deleted ALL his text messages – right there in front of me. If that doesn’t scream guilty, idfk what does.

Soon after our divorce, while on the phone and making Thanksgiving plans on one of his weekends, Gravity told me that The Son (who was maybe 4 at the time?!) had smeared poop all over himself and his bed, so he put him in a cold shower to teach him a lesson…

Oooooh… mother fuuuuuckeeerrrr… this bitch gon’ diiiiieeee. He’s LUCKY he didn’t tell me that shit in person. OMFG. And this was the first time I’d ever been SO fucking angry that I got calm. I told him that this was straight up abuse and if he EVER did that again… and left that threat hanging (because I had sense, even in that moment, not to make a threat he could use against me later). The Mama Bear in me, y’all. RIP to him.

Fast forward many years (trust me, I reiterate there’s a LOT of stories), Gravity had told me that his deceased (when he was 3) bio-dad’s family was coming to visit and wanted to meet him and The Son. It wasn’t “technically” one of his weekends, so he asked if I’d be willing to let him take him for that. I agreed. The plans started to form. We would meet at the park nearby the restaurant they’d be going to, he and his mother would pick him up, and my mom and I would spend a little time at the park, just in case he needed any help with The Son (cuz ya know… autism and lack of time spent together).

Except, come to find out, this wasn’t some random weekend… it was Mother’s Day weekend… and it was too late to change those plans. Go fucking figure.

When they showed up to the park, he parked well away (cuz his mother hates me for some reason?!) and walked over, handed me $70 “for gas and my trouble” and asked if I wanted to ride with them or drive separately…

Uh… this was NOT part of the plans that were discussed?! I didn’t even have time to respond. He told me he would buy my dinner. So, to avoid a scene, I had to tell MY mother what happened and that I would only be gone for maybe an hour, at best. She let me take her car so The Son and I wouldn’t be trapped there with no way to leave. I was pretty pissed because the manipulative asshole decided my Mother’s Day would be best spent “babysitting” his own child while he socialized with these people he never met (bc his mother is shit).

It took an hour for the food to arrive. I kept my mom informed. A comment Gravity made during this time: “I’m surprised he’s so well-behaved! Usually with me, he runs around, flapping his arms and making a ton of noise!” His mother agreed.

Fuck. You.

Thing is… when you spend enough time with The Son, you learn how to distract him. You teach him how to stay seated for a while, and when he starts to get antsy, that’s when it’s time to change distractions. The Son was well-behaved (“for an autistic” – ugh, hated that shit opinion of theirs) because that’s what good parenting does. That’s what someone with patience and understanding for their special needs child does.

2.5 hours later after leaving my mother stranded at the park, I gathered The Son and left. I was fuming by then, but outwardly keeping my cool. This was NOT how I wanted to spend my Mother’s Day, let alone treating my OWN mother like that.

Over the many years during our marriage and after our divorce, through my relationship with The Dementor, and to this day… Gravity has been an oppositional, argumentative, and wholly manipulative, Narcissistic asshole. He has talked to me in ways that any normal person would punch him in the throat for. He’s disparaged my parenting at every turn, all while talking himself up. Oh, YOU taught him how to cut his own nails? Good for you! I taught him how to manage his emotional outbursts in public, what real love and patience means, how to use a toilet (he was 9 when he finally became fully potty trained), how to accept himself for who he is and how he chooses to present himself to the world (because he loved to wear dresses and have long hair), how to bathe and take care of himself, how to do LAUNDRY, how to prepare his lunches for school… the list of things I’ve taught him is endless. Around 13 years old, I had to consult an autistic friend on how to talk to him about masturbation and other such things! I had zero qualms about that, I’m not embarrassed in the slightest to teach important things like that to my son, but the fact that Gravity saw such things as shameful?! Pfft.

Never mind that I was the one right there by The Son’s side his entire school life, seeing and supporting him to actual Graduation…

And you know what? Despite how deeply I hate that asshat, I never ONCE let my feelings for him affect how The Son felt about him. I never talked shit about his father while he was around or to him. And it wasn’t until he was about 16 or so that I had to tell him the truth – and why I would never make him feel like my opinion had anything to do with his – about how his father treated me. And I did so with proof, but not because I wanted him to share in my feelings. We talked about this in a way that showed the truth and how he felt about it. Mind you, at this point he was “ok” in communication, enough that he could tell me he was disappointed in how his father talked to me and treated me.

And now… he lives with Gravity. It was his choice. I didn’t want to GIVE him that choice, because I knew how it would go – and it wouldn’t be in The Son’s best interests. But I respect my son and his autonomy as a legal adult, even if his mental/emotional maturity is behind from what’s “normal.” I’m not disparaging him, either, it’s just how it is. He is very instant-gratification oriented. And Gravity feeds that. He is what we call a “Disney Dad.” He never says no, buys him everything he wants (well… not so much any more now that The Son has his own money and Gravity is jobless, living off his mother), he does not teach him how to do anything or enforce proper bathing… he also doesn’t accommodate him in the ways he needs to grow as a person.

So yeah… Gravity is one of 3 people I have actual hatred for, and not just because of the many, many years of abuse he put ME through… but because of his inability to understand who his own son is, to be an actual parent that teaches him how to properly function in society (I taught him how to budget after I moved to Colorado) – or even just on his own… he is ill-equipped and truly inadequate and I hate him for playing the “good guy” all these years, while I took the brunt of his abuse (protecting my son from all that entailed) and the “burden” of being a single mother to a special needs child.

I also have to admit that I wish my son could have a REAL and proper role model in his life. His father isn’t that and never will be, unfortunately. I’d love to have a Trans or Gay friend take him under their wing and teach him how to flourish as himself. A community of people like him that are fierce in their own power and love others… ugh. He will not find that in Arkansas, unless he struck out on his own and went to Little Rock.

Anyway… I miss The Son something fierce and worry about him so fucking much. He’s slowly pulled away from me, no doubt at the behest of Gravity (and whatever bullshit he whispers in his ear about me). And all I can do is watch.

It sucks and I hate Gravity so fucking much.