TMI Thursday

Ok.. so this is going to be a new feature, which I KNOW I’m going to regret somewhere down the line… especially if my mother discovers these posts.

Guess who’s not going to get the super tiny laptop for Christmas this year!!

Anyway, my blogging-buddy Mark :: his blog is the reason why I have to wear Depends :: does this and I figured .. yknow.. with as much info as I give out already why the hell NOT just strip everything off and run down the street naked.

Sorry.. not a good visual this early in the am!

So here we go.. my 1st TMI Thursday post.. and thanks again to Mark for the idea.

So flashback about 20 years or so..

In my area, there used to be “976” numbers.

“976” numbers were advertised by scantily clad women with breathy voices cooing .. call me and I’ll tell you my deepest fantasies … or .. want to hear what happened to ME last night? Call me …

Of course, they would ALWAYS leave out the “… you degenerate fuck who really needs to move out of your momma’s basement”

Anyway.. so 976 numbers were big money back in the day. I think it was something like 75 cent a minute or whatever.

So back in the day I was living with the Spawn from Satan’s Ass :: I don’t think we were married yet.. in fact, I KNOW we weren’t married yet :: and since he didn’t work but had this unsatiable desire to live like he did, I had to get a second job.

So I looked in the back of the local community paper and saw this add to write stories for 50 bucks a pop! Hmm… writing? Something I can do at home? 50 BUCKS???

That was a lot of money back then.. especially when you lived with someone who doesn’t work and had a habit of going to the store to buy ONE THING and comes home with a blown out credit card and a lot of useless stuff.

So I call the number and this dude answers and tells me what KIND of writing it was. I think he used the word “erotic” but after meeting him, I don’t think he knew how to spell it let alone say it so it just might be me filling the gaps of old memories.

Anyway.. he tells me that it’s for a “976” number and asks me if I knew what that was. I said I did and he asked me if I had a problem with it. Nope, I said. He then tells me that if I wanted to RECORD what I wrote, he’d throw in an extra 25 bucks.

Heh.

75 bucks for indulging in the little freak that I am?

Perfect!

So I set about churning out these one page, single space stories. I think I must have wrote maybe 5 or 6 in one day. Let me tell you, it isn’t as easy as you might think. Being the perfectionist that I am, each story had to be different (characters, scenes, etc.) with no two “experiences” (read as: the erotic part) the same. The local library didn’t carry a copy of the Kama Sutra and this was WAY before the internet was at my finger tips so it was a challenge.

Finally satisfied, I called the dude and told him that I had the stories. He had told me that he started this phone line as a secondary source of income and in fact, he owned a jewlery store. He had set up a recording studio type thing in the basement of the store so we set up a time after hours for me to record my stories for the phone line.

Of course, The Spawn from Satan’s Ass wanted to come with.. for my safety, of course.. so we set out for the joint and pretty soon we were in the dusty basement “studio” which consisted of just a wooden table.. an old fashioned type microphone and some kind of recording thingy.

I sat on one side.. he sat on the other and the Spawn from Satan’s Ass sat on the end. Dude was wearing head sets.. gave me a cue.. and off I went.

Just let me say that I don’t know how porn stars do it… well, maybe that’s not the right analogy because after all, they ARE getting fucked.. maybe legit actors and actresses are a better comparison. I mean, here I am reading these stories and having to put in the “ooooohhhsss” and “mmmmmms” and “yes! yes! YESSSS!”s and make them sound convincing.

I didn’t think I was doing a particularly good job of it until maybe after the 3rd or 4th story, the Spawn from Satan’s Ass yells “YOU’RE GETTING A HARD ON!!”

Dude scrambles to turn off the recording machine as the Spawn jumps up from his chair. “You son of a bitch! You’re getting a hard on! We’re out of here.”

And being that the Spawn was the Spawn, I got up too. The dude shoved a wad of money in my hand and off we went.

Spawn was ranting and raving as we got to the car. The INDIGNITY OF IT ALL!! He thought Dude was PROFESSIONAL!! He couldn’t BELIEVE it! He should have PUNCHED IN THE GROIN SO HARD HIS BALLS WOULD BE IN HIS STOMACH… or some nonsense like that.

Then he started getting pissed at ME because I wasn’t bothered by it. Well.. DUH!!!.. I mean.. I would have been insulted if he didn’t get a hard on because THAT was the point of the whole thing, right?

Anyway.. of course, I wasn’t “allowed” to do it again and therefore ended my highly profitable career as an erotic writer before it even started!!

Lurkers and Email

I just wanted to say that I appreciate everyone who pops by and reads my posts.

I also appreciate everyone who leaves a comment. THANK YOU SO MUCH! It means a lot to me it also feeds that little narcissistic cell in the back of my brain!

And because I need a life, I’m tickled more then pink whenever someone adds me to their blogroll. OMG! I wish I could send you all a batch of Chief’s Russian Tea Cookies!! They freakin’ rock and you guys are so deserving!!

So if you stop by and hang back in the shadows, please leave me a comment and let me know you were around. I love reading other people’s blogs too and if you have one, I’ll definitely stop by yours!

Now.. onto an email I just read.

Someone.. who shall remain nameless because I’m not the bitch that everyone tends to think I am.. wrote me this email questioning the authenticity of what I write and went so far as to say that their thought is verified by the fact that I don’t use real names, never revealed where I live, or show pictures of me or my family.

Look.. I know that some times the things that happen to me are way off the scale of randomness but honestly, it’s all the truth. And think about it from Chief’s perspective or the kids perspective.. do you think they really want EVERYBODY ON THE INTERNET to know what slobs they are? How his oldest son is a lying, thieving, manipulative junkie drug dealer? That he was stupid enough to marrying a crack whore just because she was pregnant and because his fucked up childhood made him believe that they could be the family he always wanted and craved?

Do you really think that he would want his customers to read all about that should they just happen to stumble across this blog?

Or how about the fact that the kids are dumb as rocks and have so many emotional and mental issues that it will probably impair them way into adulthood?

You have NO idea how hard it is to keep remembering to type CHIEF or BUBBA or SPAZ. It’s easy, though, to type CRACK WHORE because I call her that anyway!! LOL!

Do you really think that I would want to give out ANY information that could cause my satanic ex-husband to find me and cause conflict and disruption in my life because I had the nerve.. THE NERVE.. to divorce him after he held a sword to my throat?

I have to think about those things. I write because it’s an outlet for me and even though something may sound harsh.. there are also a lot of fun.. funny things that happen to. I may not enjoy my life every day.. all the time.. but it is my life and let’s face it, it could always be worse. I also write because sometimes I need other people outside my box to set me straight.. to allow me to see things from a different.. non-personal perspective.

Ok.. that went on WAY longer then I wanted but I think you guys get the drift. But to appease someone who does, in fact, read my blog often.. here’s ME:

And if you think I swiped that from some where off the internet then come on! If I was going to do that, don’t you think I would have choses a picture where my hair was blonder and boobs bigger? Heh!

Just Another Thing That’s Wrong With Me

… so more then a few years ago, I had to get a plate for three teeth on the upper right side.

This because my psychotic ex-husband landed a good on.. shattering my already weakened teeth :: the result of a bout with hep B years earlier ::

I always had good .. strong.. straight teeth but after recovering from Hep B, I realized that even if I looked at an apple, my teeth would crack. But what are you going to do. Not eat apples, that’s for sure.. or if I do, it’s nibbling with my front teeth like a rabbit.

Anyway…

So I went to the dentist :: THAT was an experience all in itself :: but the bottom line was that he made a temporary plate for me to wear until the permanent one was completed.

Wait.. let’s back up a little bit.

At the time, I had a good dental plan. But regardless of how good your plan is, very few cover the cost for what I needed done. I knew I was going to have to pay out of pocket.

Rephrase: I knew I was going to have to pay BIG TIME out of pocket

And that was fine. Expected, even.

So at the start of my “care”, I tell both the dentist and the office manager that I was on a limited budget and I needed to know what any copays were due so that I could schedule the appointments around my pay periods… or at least monthly.. bi-monthly.. whatever.

I don’t like owing people money.. and I wanted to make sure that they got paid.

Understood.

So after each appointment for the root canals and extractions and whatever the hell else I had to get, I would ask the office manager what I could be expecting money-wise. And after each visit she would say “… oh, nothing right now. But I will certainly let you know in plenty of time.”

Cool.

So I get the temporary plate :: which isn’t really a plate. It’s just three pretend teeth formed and shaped out off “teeth” material and popped into the space where my real teeth were :: and as I’m making my next appointment the office manager INFORMS me that before the dentist could insert my permanent fake teeth, I need to pay the $1600.00 balance.

Um.

Excuse Me?

I mean…

WHAT?????????

What do you mean BALANCE??

This caused a whole big bruhaha that I’m not going to go into :: mainly because it’s been so long ago that I can’t remember verbatim and secondly, I just don’t feel like reliving it :: but the bottom line was that I wasn’t going to get the permanent one’s until everything was paid up.. Remember, this does NOT include the permanent teeth/plate/bridge .. whatever the hell you call it.

I didn’t have that much money to give to the dentist. In fact, I had asked if there was a way to make installment payments and she said there was but that by the time I paid it off, my gums were going to change.. meaning the permanent plate already molded wouldn’t fit and I would have to start the process over again costing me more money.

I realize it was her attempt to get the money as soon as possible. And I don’t really blame them.. but I still feel that if they would have done what I had asked from the beginning, they would have had their money.. I would have had my teeth and I would sitting here writing about something else.

Or maybe not.

That whole “Butterfly Effect”, yknow…

All that to say that since I’ve gotten the temporary teeth/plate/ bridge :: can we just refer to them at TEETH from now on? It’s starting to get confusing! :: they’ve been in my mouth.

They weren’t suppose to last this long but knock wood, they have. Although I don’t do any hard chewing or grinding on that side so there isn’t alot of wear and tear but still.. it’s been at least 9 years or so?

The thing about them though is that they don’t come out. Well.. that’s not all together true. They DO .. but only at inopportune times or when I forget and since my teeth into a doughy bagel. But it’s not like I can take them out daily and soak them in that stuff like you see the old people doing on commercials.

Because of that, I’m always diligent about making sure my teeth are brushed. Especially since the psychotic ex-husband knew it was my weakness and played on it constantly.. giving me some sort of a little complex.

Fast foward to the day of my grandmom’s funeral.

Me and Chief stopped at a local convenience store to get cigarettes and I bought a pack of Strawberry Mint Orbit gum :: because it don’t stick to my fake teeth! :: and he bought a thing of Tic-Tacs.

Roughly 4 or so hours after we had woken up that morning, he leans over to me in the church pew:

HIM: Here, take a mint

ME: No thanks

HIM: No. Really. Take a mint

ME: (gasp) Do I really need one?

HIM: Yea. Badly.

ME: (gasp again) But I was just chewing on Orbit!

HIM: Here. Take. The. Mint.

Needless to say, I was mortified. Beyond mortified, actually. But I thought that maybe it had something to do with the Strawberry Mint Orbit Gum because I never thought there was an issue before and the only gum I chew is usually NOT fruit flavored.. so I let it pass.

This morning, around 4:30am, Chief rolls over on top of me and one thing led to another and we did what married people usually do early on Sunday mornings.

Well.. maybe not everybody but do I REALLY need to spell it out for you :: wink.. wink!! ::

Afterwards, I walked around the bed on my way to the bathroom and he started to say, “.. Don’t take this the wrong way or anything..”

My immediate response was, “.. here it comes”

I don’t know why I said that.. it literally just slipped out of my mouth.. but he went on to say that sometime today, “.. you really should clean your plate. Your breath is atrocious. It’s been that way”

Atrocious?

ATROCIOUS?

BEEN THAT WAY?

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD!!!

Punching me square in my chest wouldn’t have taken the breath away that much.

Mind you.. in his defense, he didn’t say it to be mean like my psychotic ex would. But OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD!!! We just did the nasty and our faces were less then an inch apart!! OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD!!!

I was mortified. Felt horribly embarrassed. I immediately went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth SO hard and with SO much toothpaste that I’ll probably end up with chemical burns. I was literally almost throwing up brushing my tongue so hard.

All this while fighting back tears.. which made my nose run.. which made my sinus’ leak into the back of my mouth.

Wonderful.

Simply wonderful!

I went back in the bedroom and got back into bed.. with my back towards him and not opening my mouth. At all.

But I couldn’t get back to sleep.

So at 5:30am, I got in the car and drove to the 24hr Walgreen’s. :: Thank GOD for 24 hour Walgreen’s :: and bought a HUGE bottle of Listerine.

When I got back, I stayed out in the living room because.. I don’t know why exactly. I just couldn’t go back into the bedroom. About an hour or so later, he comes out and said something about me not being able to get back to sleep.

I shrugged so that my dragon breath wouldn’t sear across the room and singe his bald head.

He said, “.. you know, I have the stuff to clean the plate with.”

I said, “.. I can’t take it out. It only comes out once in a while by accident.”

He said, “.. I wasn’t trying to be rude or anything.”

I said, “I know you weren’t.”

He said, “I’m going to go back to sleep.”

I said, “Ok”

So off to the bedroom he went.

Now I have this phobia. And the worse part is … since being laid off, I don’t have any dental coverage now. Not even crappy dental coverage. So even if I did have extra money hanging around to go to the dentist, it would cost me even MORE.

Since I don’t, it’s a mute point.

Just add THIS to the list of things that make me feel inept.

Wonderful.

God’s Plan For Me

… it’s no secret to anyone reading this that I’ve been struggling with some pretty heavy feelings about my relationship with Chief.

Make no mistake. I love this man. More then I thought I could ever love anyone. Sometimes I stare at him sleeping or secretly watch him doing something mundane and my heart flutters and I get this rush of love that envelopes me.

And regardless of how horrible I’m feeling .. no matter mad I am at him or the kids or annoyed or angry or frustrated or feel like throwing in the towel.. all he has to do is so absent-minded and simple :: like draw a heart on my coffee cup:: and he can just turn my mood around.

I both dated and had relationships with other men between my divorce and meeting Chief and although some of them were great :: other’s were just downright freakin’ bizarre! :: no one had ever filled my heart so completely.

Excuse me if I posted on this before but the first night we talked :: for about 3 hours :: I remember asking him what he was looking for, relationship wise. His answer:

Just to be loved

And I knew when he said it.. the way he said it.. that I could do that. That I wanted to do that.

The first night we actually met, I drove to his :: ours now :: house. The boys were home so he suggested we go for a walk and grab a cup of coffee or something.

So I went in and sat down on the couch. He sat on the chair next to me and when our knees brushed accidentally, I could tell that he was nervous.

NOTE: I also caught him staring at my cleavage and when I said Like the boobs, huh? He had the good sense to blush!

He was the first guy that I met who didn’t make me feel nervous.. who I felt immediately comfortable with. No pretense.. no “best behavior”.. I was just me.. with all my dry sarcastic wit and randomness and he loved it. In fact, he was just as random and dry and sarcastic as I was.

While we were walking to get coffee, I felt his hand keep brushing against mine and I told him he could hold my hand if he wanted to. He did and after walking another few feet he stopped.. pulled me towards him and kissed me.

It sounds cliche… it sounds like something from a bad movie script.. but it felt like time stopped. Like there was nothing else in the world but the two of us kissing in the middle of a suburban street.

We may not make out like teen-agers like we used to but I still feel the same way everytime he kisses me.

Okay.. enough tripping down memory lane. But the thing is.. all that means something. How he makes me feel means something. All the good memories in our relationship mean just as much as the bad ones… it’s just that the bad ones stomp on the good ones a lot.

In trying to sort things out in my over-active mind, I made a comment that for whatever reason, God has put me here.  I have a firm believe that nothing is random :: except my sense of humor :: and that I am where I am suppose to be at this moment in time.

I also firmly believe that not only does God NOT give us more then we can handle but He gives us the things we NEED as opposed to the things we WANT.

I don’t profess to know what God’s plan for me is .. only that He has one and my internet angel Auroracoda suggested that maybe I think about why God gave me this relationship and situation.

And so I did. All day in fact and I believe I grabbed onto something that I may have buried deep down in the back of my brain.

Given the way I grew up.. given my first marriage.. I think that I try WAY TO HARD to have things in neat little packages. It’s probably why I rock at being a revenue analyst.

In my first marriage, I had to make all the decisions. About EVERYTHING. Literally.  Big things like what kind of car to buy to small things like what type of deoderant he should wear. Honestly, the man never bought his own clothes or shoes… couldn’t dress himself :: I mean, he could put the clothes on but I always had to pick them out :: .. didn’t even know what size he wore.

I was always the “go to” person.

That goes for my mom also.. after my dad passed away, she needed to make certain important decisions that she wasn’t used to making so she would ask for the Golden Child’s advice :: aka My Brother :: but everything else, she would ask me to make a choice for her.

I didn’t realize it then.. but that’s alot of pressure.

And when my marriage was going south and I was trying SO hard to keep my shit together and cement and mortar the facade .. I would see other couples and wondered why I couldn’t have what they had.

Why couldn’t I have my family over to MY house for holiday dinners? Why would I always be sent on the guilt trip of hell if I wanted to do something for ME that didn’t include my mother or the mindless minion? Why couldn’t I be with someone who wouldn’t tell me to buy my own birthday gifts or Christmas presents because “.. I don’t know what you want anyway” even though you’ve been married to me for XX years? Why couldn’t I be with someone who I could just be me with? Why the hell do I have to feel guilty for liking reality shows for Pete’s sake and NO, I DON’T LIKE GUNSMOKE, DAMMIT!

What’s all this have to do with Chief?

We all carry scars of one kind or another.. we all have damaged psyches to some extent and I think if you’re really honest with yourself I think you’ll find a time or instance where you’re self esteem took a serious blow. And although the new person shouldn’t have to pay for the sins of the old person… they do. It’s unfortunate.. but it’s a fact of life.

NOTE: Sorry for being so long-winded here but everybody else is asleep so this is my quiet time and I’m taking FULL advantage of it

So here’s the thing…

When I met Chief.. and when I knew that I would be a lot more then “very willing” to spend the rest of my life with him I promised myself that I would not repeat the mistakes I made with my previous relationships. I would not sacrafice myself or my likes / dislikes.. I would do what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it without guilt. I would be me and allow him to be him.

But old habits die hard and what I’ve been doing is reverting back to the mindset I had when I was married. There’s a fine line between putting the needs of others before your own unselfishly and putting everyone else ahead of you.. if that makes sense.

It might not. It’s late.

This past year and half I was trying to have the perfect relationship.. the perfect house.. the perfect step kids. I’ve been busting my ass to prove to everyone else that not only is MY life better but THEIR life is better because of ME.

And what dawned on me earlier is that I’m trying so hard to prove it outwardly that I’m totally missing that important thing.. and that’s what’s inside.

I honestly believe.. right now.. that God didn’t put me here for THEM.. he put me here for ME. To show me that I am too controlling at times.. and I am more focused on making things “perfect” that I am discrediting what IS perfect.

Chief.. and Bubba.. and Spaz are people. They have personalities and feelings and faults and baggage and damage. They’re not puppies that need to be trained.

NOTE: That would be Ernie, The Terrorist Puppy in need of training

I’m missing compromise. I ‘m missing the joy of time. Chief was right when he said that sitting down to dinner was more important then worrying about the kitchen being cleaned becaues the kitchen is going to be there.. the time spent as a family wouldn’t be.

I was SO intent on being “right” .. that I completely blew off the sentiment of togetherness. Nothing should be more important then the people I share my life with.

To put it simply… Is it more important to spend the 10 extra minutes in the morning snuggling OR using that 10 minutes to get up and make the bed?

I hope you get what I’m saying because for me, it’s almost as if the clouds parted and the angels sang. Actually, it was more like the Wil E. Coyote Acme Anvil falling on my head.

Tonight.. for the first time in a long time.. I feel truly at peace.

Ghosts Of Relationships Past

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

OMG.. HE LOVES ME SOOO MUCH! HE WANTS TO SPEND ALL HIS TIME WITH ME! HE WANTS TO MAKE SURE I’M SAFE!

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!!