Ghosts Of Relationships Past

Posted: April 20, 2009 in Drama, Just Me
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

WARNING: This is going to be a LONG post. I think it’s fair that I should let you know ahead of time in case you wanted an excuse to drink a whole pot of coffee.

“Satan’s Spawn” .. “Mindless Minion” .. “Simple Ass Mother Fucker” .. ”

Those are just SOME of the terms that describe my ex-husband. For the sake of time, we’ll just refer to him as THE JERK from here in.

I usually avoid even remotely thinking about the years that I was shackled to him but in all fairness, I truly believe that everything happens for a reason and while I may not be privy to God’s plan for me I know that He has one and my faith stops me from the TELL ME TELL ME TELLLLLL MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE mentality that would only drive me nuts.

I also firmly believe that I had to go through the bad in order to recognize the good.

I met my ex when I was 22 and looking back, there were enough red flags :: hell, NEON ARROWS! :: and signs that would make any semi-normal woman want to run far far away in the opposite direction.

Things like:

  • calling me at work and staying on the phone with me FOR MY WHOLE SHIFT :: I was managing a dry cleaners then and 2 days a week I worked a 12 hour shift alone ::
  • making sure I called him when I got to the super market
  • when I was leaving the super market. Driving me to work
  • picking me up from work
  • Not liking how my boss interacted with me :: I had a great boss and we had a really comfortable relationship ::.
  • making me feel guilty if I wanted to hang with friends. Especially because I had more guys friends then girl friends

Reading this now, I’m like ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS? but back then all I could thing about was


I really believe that I was “swooning” so much I must have hit my head somewhere because I still can’t believe all I went through.

The thing is .. outwardly I was a strong, take no shit kinda gal. Head strong, independent.. all the Cosmo terms. But the truth is, deep down I just wanted somebody to love me. Somebody to see my value.

There’s always a beginning to everything. Something big or sometimes small that puts us on a particular path. I didn’t have a “bad” childhood. Not like ones you hear about today. I mean, my parents were married until my father died. We had what we needed :: maybe not always what we WANTED :: food on the table, clothes on our backs, blah blah blah.

But the thing is .. there doesn’t have to be DRAMA to cause negative affects.

My brother was born after a series of miscarriages :: 9, I think :: and so my parents were literally over the moon when he was finally born. The other thing is that he was a very sickly baby.. prone to really high fevers and convulsions. He had “spinal-something-or-other” and they were told that if he lived past the age of 5 then he would definately be retarded.

NOTE: Apologies if anyone gets offended by the word “retarded” but get over it. It’s just a word and I’m just relaying the sentiments of 1961.

ANOTHER NOTE: My brother far surpassed anyone’s expectations. Not only did he live past 5 but he’s also very smart. No common sense, but very smart none the less.

Because of this, every little thing he did because cause for celebration. They gave him everything they wanted, bowed to every whim and exhaulted him at every level.

And look.. who’s to say that if I was in their situation I wouldn’t have done the same thing. It was what it was.

Then I came along. The Golden Child cast a big shadow and a very high bar. I always say that the reason why my parents had me was so that the Golden Child would have somebody to blame for the things he did.

I’m only half joking!

But growing up, I always felt that I was second best. Always felt like I was being cheated out of “something” because of my brother. Hell, I was born on my father’s birthday in June. My father who thought HIS birthday should be a national holiday so he got all the fuss and because my birthday is at the END of June there were no parties with my friends because school was out and most of them did the whole go-away vacation thing.

Looking back, I was always fighting. Fighting for attention, fighting to be heard, fighting to seen, fighting to be recognized, fighting for attention… fighting for approval..

Someone said to me years later that a parent will automatically try to protect their weakest child. Looking objectively, that’s exactly what my parents did because they knew that I’d be ok.

So now here comes my ex who wanted to be around me 24-7 .. who worried about me.. who wanted to protect me.. who loved me for who I was and I fell for it :: not necessarily him I think :: hook line and sinker.

My mother always says that when The Jerk was good.. he was very, very good but when he was bad? Watch out.

And through the 18 years that we were married, I suffered the Four Horseman of Abuse :: Mental, Physical, Emotional and Verbal :: there were fights in the beginning where I was so afraid that he would shoot me that I hit under the desk all night.. afraid to even reach for the phone to call for help.

There were times when the tirade was so bad that I would sneak out of the apartment, jump the fence and run home to my mother’s.

There were times of complete and utter selfishness and uncaring. Like the time I was released from the hopsital after a 10 days stay with Hepatitis B and he drove right to Radio Shack so that I could open a line of credit for a 2500.00 computer. This was.. um.. 1991, I believe. OR the time when he was trying to win a bid for a job and I was in the process of having a miscarriage :: I didn’t know I was pregnant :: and he continued to try and find the site of this job while I was doubled over in pain crying my eyes out. Of course, he blamed me for getting lost.

Everything that happened in HIS life, he blamed me for. He’s alot like the Crack Whore in that he believes that the world owes him something.

He never really worked but wanted the best of everything .. he banked on winning the big lottery and moving to the country.. the whole time, I worked. And worked. And cleaned. And worked. And catered to his every need, whim, idea.

When things didn’t go his way or there was some little infraction that he perceived that I did.. he became a monster.

The alcohol and pain pills he popped didn’t help matters… nor did the fact that I honestly and truly believe he is bi-polar. He would get violent.. evil.. say the most horrible things to me that knew would push my insecurity buttons. I’m not going to repeat the things he said to me because that would just give them more life and even now typing this I’m reliving the pain of those feelings.

So why did I stay?

Well.. that’s a deep one. I’m not one to play the victim card :: hate that :: but I believe that on some level, I understood him TOO much.. I knew his childhood was rotten. I knew that he didn’t understand what a “family” really meant.. knew that he was continuing the cycle of abuse that he witnessed as a child.

At one point, HE wanted a divorce. It happened when I reconnected with an old friend :: male :: that I knew from my teenage days. The beauty of the internet. At the time, I didn’t have a computer. I had something called WebTV :: ‘member them? :: and it just so happened that this guy popped up in a chat room I was in. We were never romatically involved.. I just got along better with guys growing up then girls. I was a major tomboy and didn’t get into all the catty-nasty-bitchiness that girls are into. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret but I did because I knew how he would react. He would automatically assume that I was having an affair.. even though this guy lived across the country. He happened to have been in a bad marriage also so we would commiserate over emails and in private chat.

Eventually, The Jerk found out. And began reading my emails. Again, there was nothing in there even REMOTELY sexual or subversive but that didn’t matter. The demons in his head told him otherwise. I didn’t know it then but he would follow me.. had tape recorders hidden in my car.. in my bedroom. Near every phone.

No matter what I said.. no matter what I did.. he believed what he believed and that meant it was the truth.

On top of that, he was in a rage because we were getting divorced .. a divorce HE wanted.

Because of financial reasons, we still lived under the same roof. We had just bought a house that neither of us could afford on our own and for reasons that can never be justified, I stayed under the delusion that we could be and act like adults.

Menatally, I was drowning.. suffocating. No one knew what went on in my house because I was embarassed. I had all this emotion.. all this pain inside of me that I needed to purge.

I couldn’t write in my journal because he would find them and ripped them up. I couldn’t :: or so I thought :: tell anyone and so I began to self-mutilate ( aka: “cutting”).

I’m not going to lie. It tempered my emotions the same way that I imagine drugs and alcohol do for people who need the numbness. My only addiction was a sharp pointy object that would bleed out the pain.

I hid it well. Nothing obvious or nothing that couldn’t be easily explained but when The Jerk found out, he used it against me in a major way.

I’ll never forget the date. November 8, 1998. It as a Saturday and unbelivably, we were getting along in the sense that there had been no long, drawn out fighting. But that happened. I mean, he was always on one side of the spectrum or the other.

Anyway.. a song came on the radio. Aerosmith’s “Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” and he went ape shit because in one of the tapes he had of me talking to my old friend, the video had come on VH1 and I commented on how much I loved it.

In his mind, he took that to me it was me and my friend’s “song”.

I don’t know what switch went off in my head. The term “enough is DAMN enough now” comes to mind. But it what was pivitol is that I started to fight back. Hard.

I matched him word for horrendous word and punch for punch. I hit him as hard as he hit me and pushed his psychological buttons the way he was pushing mine.

And then he got scared. He wasn’t controlling me anymore.. his words didn’t matter anymore.. I didn’t care what he thought of me… so he called the police and told them that I was the police code for a mentally unstable, suicidal person.

NOTE: The important thing to know about this is that he used the actual police code. His oldest brother returned from ‘Nam a mental head and so he had first hand knowledge of the local mental health system. Using the code apparently gave him more leverage of believability.

The cops showed up and asked what happened. I told them my side.. he told them that I was a cutter. At the time, there really wasn’t much known or publicized about cutting. It was automatically assumed that a cutter was suicidal when in fact, the opposite is true.

So they take me to the local crazy house and at this point, I don’t know what’s going on. The cop had said that based on the way HE was acting, she didn’t feel comfortable leaving us in the same house so why didn’t I just take a ride with her to the hospital to talk to someone and maybe set up some outpatient counseling for abused women or something.

I didn’t want to be around him either so I was like “… yea, sure, whatever.”

But when I got there.. and wouldn’t sign admission papers :: Look, I’m not that dumb. I have really good health insurance and because I am in the hosptial field knew that my insurance would pay actual dollars. So yea, I figured I was looking at a good 30 days! :: the floor manager told me that the cops were signing papers saying that I could potentially harm either me or someone else. I had no rights .. at all.

The first thing I thought of .. and it really should have stayed in my head because saying out loud probably didn’t do me any good .. was OH, HE’S SO GETTING HARMED FOR DOING THIS TO ME.

I stayed a week. I’m way over my word limit now so I won’t go into details in this post. Maybe another because really, when you’re the only sane person in a ward of insanity it’s really pretty funny.

Anyway.. to move this along. You would think that after going through all that, I would have never let him back in my life again. But I did. I did because he had already contacted my friends commander :: he was in the military :: told him SO many lies that not only did my friend lose a stripe but was in danger of losing his career. Him losing his career meant he couldn’t provide for his kids.

And like Rock Of Love’s Season 1’s Rodeo says, “.. it’s all about the kids”.

Don’t ask me why I referenced that. Just popped into my head.

Another part of me thinks it’s because I didn’t want to be failure .. because I believed all the negative things he said to me .. because my self esteem was so low that I didn’t think that anyone would love me.. or want to be with me. As much as I inherently knew that it was all bullshit.. that one little cell of self doubt over took common sense and believed him.

Another 8 years go by and by this time, the drinking has increased.. he’s a major alcoholic and chewing valium and percs like M&Ms. My infraction this time is that I had the AUDACITY to go to a major league baseball game with a woman I used to work with.. who brought along her son and nephew. I had been given the tickets which were third row seats on the first base line but because it was a day game it was hard finding people to go with. The Jerk HAAAAAAAAAAAAAATED all sports so he was out of the question. I knew this woman loved baseball so I called her.

Her nephew was in the Coast Guard and when asked if they could give me anything for the tickets, I said no. They pressed and I saw a Coast Guard baseball hat in the back seat of his car and asked him for that.

NOTE: I love baseball hats

When I got home that night and put the cap on my night table :: we slept in different bedrooms :: he basically stuck an electric cattle prod up my ass asking me all these questions and calling me a liar. Funny thing about it is that he KNOWS this woman also.. all he had to do is talk to her. But yknow… when dealing with a psychopath…. !!!

I mean, he even stole the had and brought it to the police station wanting DNA testing on it.

But I was the one in the psyche ward!

So basically, everything started all over again but multiplied by 10 and the night he was so blacked out drunk and held a sword to my throat is the day I walked out of my house.. took the dog and went to my mom’s.

His world crashed and he got desperate.. angry and dangerous. He harassed me. My mother. My 90+ year old GRANDMOTHER.

This time I held to my guns. I knew where it was going and I didn’t want to be a statistic. I had been beaten down SO much.. so so much .. that I had not place to go but up.. so what if I was alone.. so what if I’d never find the love I truly wanted. I was safe.. I had my dog.. my family..

The divorce was final that September and the last piece of business was selling the house.

THAT’s another million word post that involves a 77 day stint in jail for him… forgery charges being brought against me… and a house load of funiture loaded up on my mother’s 3X3 front pavement!

I promise I’ll get to it one day!!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s