Surviving Bob: When to say ENOUGH

Bob text messaged me yesterday morning. His text was short and as always about him. It said, “I got so much done in the yard yesterday, I’m pooped.”

I looked at my phone, I thought to myself, why reply. A feeling came over me that said leave it alone, don't even talk to him. Some time went by and I sent a text back, “so.” His response to that was “?” Then a “never mind,” he wrote it as one word.

I wondered to myself why I was even bothering anymore. Our relationship is over, he said that on Palm Sunday late at night he sent a text, “its over.” No phone call, no admission that he was responsible in any way for events that led to his leaving. No mention of the last twenty-two years, no mention of all the “nice” things I did for him. Yet he tells me Keith does nice things for him, why do I need to know this? Is he playing some twisted game? My estimation is yes, he's playing a sick twisted game,

Anger spread over me, my anger is for twenty-two years of my life wasted, time that can never be replaced, gone. My anger is for the thousands of dollars spent to make him feel loved; five cars, countless pieces of jewelry, down payment on a condo. My anger is at my having to work two jobs because he lost his and didn't even try to get another at equal pay. He became a waiter and made barely $15,000.00 a year. My anger is at my having to give up my financial security because there was never enough money for him. My anger is at the years I paid the bills and never did he thank me or offer repayment for anything. My anger is at person who ultimately had so much control over my life that I had to ask for simple things I needed. My anger is at the years I stayed and supported him emotionally through very uncertain times for him. My anger is at the loss of the life I wanted because the focus always had to be on Bob Hunt.

My anger at Bob turning my life into a disintegrated mess; my life was fine when I met him. He never took his mental illness seriously. My anger is at his never trying to work on us as a couple. He wouldn't try, he wouldn't even try. My anger is at the lies he has told about me. My anger is at the picture he tried to paint of me as mean spirited unhappy alcoholic. My anger is at the way he ended up treating me the last eight years. My anger is at his having sex with other men and wondering why I wouldn't indulge him. My anger is at his complete lack of intimacy. My anger is at being treated like a piece of meat for his pleasure, sex was always about him and when he had an orgasm it was over, as in his everyday life, screw everybody, he got what he wanted. My anger is at his treating me as a fool without the brains enough to know what he was doing. My anger is at his co-workers and friends telling me what he was doing. My anger is at learning that he was meeting Mike Manhatton, a news anchor from Savannah at WTOC, at the Marriott to have sex with him when Mike was on his way to Chicago. My anger is at it having happened repeatedly, I am now convinced that Bob was having sex with Mike while we lived in Savannah. My anger is at knowing his wife would be crushed. My anger is at finding out that Bob was his gay sex site profile writer so Mike wouldn't get caught. My anger is at his double life, his sleazy double life.

My anger is at someone who has used so many people, who took so much from the people who wanted nothing more than for him to get better. My anger is at his not being remorseful, guilty or saddened by his behavior. My anger is at his shoplifting. My anger is at his breaking nearly everything in our home because of his uncontrollable rage. My anger is at the time I lived in fear, complete fear of what he was going to do next. My anger is at the physical abuse. My anger is at having to live with him in an irrational state, a state of unpredictability, the constant threat and fear of out of control anger that led to destructive behavior.

My anger is at my not having him arrested when I could have. My anger is at his doctors not insisting on hospitalizing him as they wanted to do. My anger is at mental health system that allowed our relationship, our 22 year familial relationship to go unnoticed because, as was said to me, “you don’t have a legal relationship.” My anger is at the countless doctors who filled him full of different medications instead of using the ones we knew worked. My anger is at those doctors for not intervening, but abandoning him in crisis when he needed their help most.

My anger is at Keith Allen Kelly, the person he has become involved with. My anger is at Bob not being able to see through the line of bullshit he has been fed by a nut, a nut just like himself. Everything Keith has said to Bob he has said verbatim to other men he “married.” Keith’s MySpace page is interesting; under hobbies he lists, “falling in love.” He targets older men. How he maneuvers them into an entanglement is beyond me, he is short, fat, and looks deranged. He is a Pagan, he worships the devil. He is an abuser and an alcoholic. He is, evil. Bob met him at his friend Stevens, all of the people Steven knows are criminals in some way.

My anger was learning yesterday that Bob has been using Twitter even though he told me he was not; my anger was at seeing this:

Aunt Bob Protected account

@NewAuntBob

Living life the way I want in #Savannah Ga. Getting married to my soul mate in July #teamgay

your back yard

My anger is at Bobs being able to live his life the way he wants when he has destroyed so much and taken so many people for so much money. My anger is at Bob being able to walk away without consequences for his behavior. Robert was able to walk away as if nothing happened.

My anger is at spending twenty-two years with someone I loved with all my heart, overlooking the terrible things he did to me and others because he was sick. My anger is at someone who after twenty-two years could in seven months throw away our life with no remorse and no guilt and not even an honest explanation.

My anger is at Bob for not trying, for not seeing his illness and its destruction. In the end, one must be responsible for one’s own destiny. Medication, therapy and support will only go so far. When the people who love you see that you are not invested in your own well being then they stop caring. At that point you allow the illness to consume you.

Bobs illness has consumed him and is now controlling him.

Bob sent me a picture several weeks ago. He is growing a long goatee. Bob is on the left. On the right is a picture of Keith and one of his “husbands,” Michael. Something tells me Keith had something to do with Bob growing the long goatee. These pictures are a good example of how twisted the relationship has become. A psychologist friend said it was clear Keith wants Bob to look like Michael.