A Bittersweet Destruction….

So as me and Jo were getting on each others nerves, I tried to make more “girl time” between my friends and I. We went to this local bar that held a dj, cheap drinks, fine looking men and women, great friends, good conversation, and the occasional interesting bar fight which exposed girls tits now and again.  There was never a dull moment at this place, and there was always an after party to follow, with plenty of booze and cocaine for everyone. It was only a matter of time before someone caught my eye. Now, I wish he hadn’t because he was trouble from day one when I heard the word “Vegas” come out of his mouth…lol!  A friend of mine knew this guy…. we’ll call him “Carl”.  Carl was a smooth talker, but too arrogant for me to tolerate. However, he was full of adventure, so I thought, that drew me to him. Yeah, I still had my own scenario that was dwindling down which I discussed in my prior post, but I had no idea where I stood with that, so it was pretty much free game. It was like teenage years all over again. Endless nights on the phone with countless hours of conversation. Debating back and forth between baseball teams, the latest trends, the dating scene, all while counting the minutes until he had to leave for work at 5 a.m.  How could I possibly resist this? Here’s a complete stranger that thinks I’m important enough to sacrifice his own sleep just to talk about bullshit. We definitely had a connection. He was from a troubled family, and I had thought he had a lot to offer since not only did he have his own vehicle and I wouldn’t have to transport him back and forth to his job, and he actually HAD a full time job. A GREAT job at that.  And his own place.   But you know that joke about the knight in shining armor turning out to be a loser wrapped in tin foil? Well that’s what I got. This guy was driving his car on a Cinderella license because of a default in child support, lived in a studio apartment that was about as big as my walk in closet, and had two kids.  Now, when it comes to me, I’m never one to judge anyone from their past. How can I? You’ve all read my previous blogs right? I’m no one to judge on the fucked up shit people do. How can I fault someone that has as much as they CAN have in that part of their life. As long as I’m happy right?   Right???

The first incident that I couldn’t let go of was on my birthday.  Two months after we started dating. It was New Years Eve and we were at his families house. He was so drunk that in a middle of a conversation about us to his brother in law he proceeded to say that I “was the biggest girl he’s ever been with”.. Okay, well, now “Jo” who I discussed in my prior post was a cook. Whatever, I got comfortable, and yeah I put on a bit of weight. Not disgustingly heavy. I definitely carried it well, but really??? How could he say that. I’ve seen a few of his exes and to even say something like that totally crushed me. And from the looks on the faces of his family, they weren’t too impressed with his comments either.  As he continued through the next two months of resisting calling us boyfriend/girlfriend, it was like I was a child all over again, trying to prove myself like within “daddy issues” to prove that I was worthy enough to be loved and cared for. He resisted, and I persisted. 

 

We ended up being together for three incredibly long years. With bruised faces and egos, arrests, and restraining orders later. It’s still so bittersweet. There were so many instances in regards to other women, lies, friendships that developed so much turmoil along the way.  On the lighter side of it all, this guy showed me a lot of smiles. We did a lot of things together, and I grew very close to his kids. It’s so unfortunate that he became a pathological liar, or so I think. This guy became so bad that he accused me of sleeping with everyone under the sun. I had never cheated on him whatsoever, no matter how much crap he put me through. Well….. except for ONE time, when I woke up on my own couch, in my own apartment, after being tormented all night and then getting a phone call from my mom the next morning telling me to get my ass to her house. Jo had came to Massachusetts to visit. He showed up at my moms house in his brand new car, and told her all about his job, and said “Your daughter told me to get my shit together. And so I did. And I want her back.”  THIS was probably the hardest thing in my life. Here’s the guy I believed was my soul mate telling me that he got his shit together to better his life and to build a life with me, and here I am dealing with with an abusive asshole that I couldn’t understand how he could be so bad to me when I was so good to him.  He told me to quit my job and move out there and that he’d take care of everything until I could get on my feet out there, just so we could be together.  Unfortunately, the town I’m from is all I know. I hate it. But I’m an only child, who’s mom is my best friend, and this is where my family is. I was very nervous about that choice because of how independent I’ve been over the years, which is probably the only thing I can be proud of. I didn’t have a choice. Everyone I’d been with has been broke, or “in a bad spot” that never seems to go away, which leaves me no choice but to fend for myself. Like a cub in a pack of wolves playing the game of survival of the fittest. This really sucks. This isn’t a life a female should live. Yeah it’s taught me some great skills, but for it to be a way of life??? No effin way. 

Anyhow, as I’m in a relationship with a complete douchebag, and here is my god’s gift begging for another chance, I tell Jo that I can’t, because I have to respect the current relationship that I’m in. What a fuckin idiot I was. 

Still didn’t stop me from going out to Connecticut during a huge PowWow in my apartment…..  That was a crazy emotional weekend. I knew where I was suppose to be, but I couldn’t leave my family and my job behind. That’s all I had. I couldn’t trust him while in midst of our conversations he’d be scrolling through his phone. What kind of disrespect was that? It just brought me right back to where I was when I was 27.   How could I possibly have a relationship for the time being with my “soul mate” who lived two hours away, where my jerk boyfriend at the time lived now 30 seconds from my house.  (Yeah I forgot to mention I kicked him out after a long night of fist throwing).  I don’t know what kept me with Carl for so long.  Like I said, maybe it’s a crazy complex that I feel like I need to conquer to just prove to people that I’m really worth loving and that I’m a nice person. It just take a real strong person to claw past my harsh exterior to get to the real me. To show my true self will take a lot of dedication from the person that wants to see it, and it’s not an easy task, but I just can’t afford to put my heart up for gamble anymore….

So the end result with Carl, it got to the point where I didn’t even want to sleep in my own apartment anymore. This was MY place. It was MY name on the rent. I got two bedrooms in case I needed a roommate if things didn’t work out between him and I. We went through stupid endless nights from best friends, to arguing, to sex, to arguing, to distance, to best friends and all over again the next day. This was the true definition of a bi-polar relationship.  After three years though, I really did love him. Maybe not a healthy love, but there was love. The more he accused me, the more of the “tough guy” persona I unleashed, showing that he wasn’t going to bring me down no matter what he said or did. I wanted him to see the strong side of me, not the one he could break with a word or a fist.  Our routine got stale, and we no longer did all that fun shit. I hated that he had to pay so much child support, but respected that I, we, wanted to build memories that brought us close for the things we shared that he would always no matter what put money aside to spend time with ME. It was amazing. He made me feel important in his life. Is that why I stayed and put up with the bullshit? 

There were stories of other women that I turned my head to. Maybe because I knew of the secret sexual encounters that carried over from my guilt between me and Jo throughout that weekend in Connecticut, or when he came to Massachusetts to find me.  Maybe I didn’t see such an issue with the physical aspect of the abuse because I dealt with it so much already and I wasn’t going to let him get away from trying to make this work so easily. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.  Either way, after spending countless nights being faithful, sleeping at moms, sleeping at friends, sleeping in my car, just so I don’t have to face the verbal assault while I walk into my own apartment, I had to end it no matter how I did it. 

That week that he was to move out was the week of our anniversary, and the local govenor issued a warning for everyone to stay indoors due to the storm weather outside. I tried to make the best of it by agreeing to watch a movie and have him stay in the room, because in the meantime he was sleeping in the other bedroom. Which was quite okay with me. It was weird, because I was already past the point of being “okay” with how things were going. That’s just how I am. Once I get to that point, good luck getting me back to the way I once was.  Anyway, here came the trials. Let’s go to the casino. No. Let’s go to the movies. No. Let’s go to dinner. No.  I wanted no part of it, I was done. There was no turning back after everything he had done and made me feel. I couldn’t take it anymore, although I still had love lingering along.  He knew four days from then, he needed to be out…..

Four days later, his shit was still all over the place, unpacked, and he was passed out on the futon in the other room, hungover from the night before filled with his favorite bar with a side of cocaine. I stormed into that room and forced him to go. I had given him a whole month and a half to find a place from the last time we had gotten into a physical altercation and I wasn’t letting him milk it any longer.  He called his sister to stay in her building and a group showed up to move his stuff out. I stayed in my room, and cried. My mom and aunt came over for emotional support, and he was gone…. until a few days later… and then the torture began…..

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