Image by Jeff the Trojan via Flickr
(cont'd)
The years that past after my mother died, were years I lived in numbness and platitudes, hanging on for dear life, with no idea what I was doing. Completely unaware that the man I loved had been having an affair with my so-called “best friend” for about two years. He issued me an ultimatum in regards to our relationship, marry him or he was leaving. Unable to think of losing another person in my life, I felt the only answer was yes. I half-heartedly prepared for a wedding I never should have had, and a life that I would regret for many years. The day of the wedding that same friend stood up for me as my matron-of-honor, (yes she was also married) and moments before the ceremony she asked me why I was marrying him, and I told her the reason I just mentioned. I was not ready to be alone again with my nine year old son (from my first marriage) still to mother. She told me she thought I was making a mistake an even tried to tell me about the two of them, but it cast upon deaf ears. Within the first year, I was pregnant again and had my daughter, and then 15 months later my son. The marriage was a horror show; he cheated with her and so many other women that I forced him in to counseling and a diagnosis as psychosis and sexual addiction. After many false promises, it continued and I knew I would have to leave him.
As soon as I was able, I got a job as a server, so I could work nights and he could stay with the children. What was I thinking? Within a few months of me working, he called me one night to tell me that he could not handle taking care of the children, so I needed to quit my job. I didn’t, and he continued to complain until one night after putting the children to bed with their day clothes on, my daughter woke up and needed to go to the bathroom. When he couldn’t open the shorts she was wearing, because the other hand was holding the telephone, he ripped the shorts off her in anger and sent her to the bathroom and to bed angrily. When I got home that evening, I found the clothes in the trash and hid them in the basement. Two days later, I went to the courthouse with the shorts and some pictures I found of him with my friend, and got a restraining order. That afternoon I watched as the police escorted him from the property. His anger came in so many ways, and when I became oblivious to one, he would move on to another. Life became even more dangerous when I didn’t know where he was or what he was doing.
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