IT WAS THAT BAD

IT WAS THAT BAD

When we were working on the basement last summer, he got some concrete work done. So there was  some time where the floor in the basement was all broken up.  He told me if I kept upsetting him he’d bury my body there and cover me up with concrete.  

No one would ever know.

Jesus has a place for me, a life of sin and infamy

When I met him, I was certain I had found my soulmate.

I was a miserable teenager; I was always unhappy and never understood why.  I think I understand better now, but that’s a post for another day or blog.

He presented himself as exactly what I needed. He had a shaved head, with piercings all over his face, a leather motorcycle jacket and chain on his wallet. When he found me I was in ripped fishnets and my catholic school skirt at a bar underage.  We were wasted, and convinced it was fate.

He introduced me to ‘real’ punk: Dead Kennedy’s, Choking Victim/Leftover Crack, F-Minus, Pistolgrip, etc.  He told me he found solace in punk when his home life turned sour in his early teens. This music aligned with everything I was feeling (angst, restlessness, anger) and hated everything I hated: in short, boo discrimination and establishment, yay liberty from the reign of old white men. 

I felt I had hit the jackpot.  I had met a handsome bad boy who was just my type at the time.  He was a rebel who’s views mirrored mine (so I thought), who stood for something.  And he was absolutely mad about me. He spent his last $10 on me. He would send me songs that he knew would tug at my heart  - “Who wouldn’t be the one you love” from the Pumpkins - and draw us bubble baths.  He scraped together what little money he had and bought me a ring - the one I just recently took off - and told me that one day he’d marry me. He wanted us to live for one another.  He called me his saving grace, “the one”, his beauty, his reason. 

I remember distinctly thinking that I would take a bullet for him.  I was inconsolably in love.

The first incident occurred within the first two months of us being together officially.  However, I chalked it up to a stressful home life, and with the stuff above, found it easy to ignore him screaming at me.

He was testing my boundaries.

Little by little it all ebbed away. All of it.  The kindness, the rebellious spirit, the spontaneity, the love, even the values I thought he and I shared.  

This all seems… so long ago, but I put on a song today that I haven’t heard in years.  It took me back.  Back to when I didn’t see him as a monster.

When you're reaching out for help, a " I'm sorry, the girl who leads that program isn't here right now, can you call back tomorrow?" will set me back at least a week.

It may seem petulant, but when you get up the nerve, it may be fleeting, and you need someone to catch you. Right then.

I don't think you'll understand this if you've never been in crisis mode.

I forgot, people under 30 in NA can’t read cursive at the best of times:

All the Things I Deserve According to {HIM}:

- to be gang raped - to have acid thrown in my face - to be murdered - various forms - the be gang raped (to death) by my exes and buried in a shallow grave bc that’s what shitty people deserve. - to get Aids and die - to get cervical cancer and rot from the inside out alone in my 1 bedroom apt after my parents have given up on me. - to be punched in the face - to be miserable forever - to have multiple kids w/ multiple dads and have the world know how much of a slut and loser I am. - to always wonder if {HE} sticks w/ me bc he can’t do better or if he actually loves me. 

He told me write out all the things I deserved to reference any time I deigned to feel good.  I kept it under my mouse pad at work up until yesterday when I brought it home.

I can’t date this specifically, but I’m thinking Fall 2016.  I remember writing it.

Excuse the handwriting.

One I’ll never get back.

He made me miss the wedding reception of one of my best friends.  He told me weddings were for hook ups, and I just wanted to go to get back to my “old ways.”

Here’s the real reason: He didn’t like that she, a white woman, married black man.  This aspect of him could be a whole series of posts on its own, but we’ll keep it simple for now.  

This is making me sick even to put into words.

My friend’s husband’s family is, of course, also black, and my ex was particularly intimidated at the prospect of me dressed up and looking pretty while in the presence of black men.

Because he thought once you go...   no, I’m not going to finish that sentence.  My brain can only handle so much stupid in one day.