The Story of Praying

Well, you almost had me fooled

Told me that I was nothing without you
Oh, but after everything you've done
I can thank you for how strong I have become

He and I were separated the majority of our marriage, either by choice or because of his incarceration for various reasons. At one point while he was in jail, he would call me collect on my cell a lot, promising changes, a different life, how much he realized he loved me, how he would change. He wrote letters, sent them to my office. Some were love letters, and some were more threatening letters where he would address the letter to me using my maiden name opposed to my married name, his last name. It was just another way to mess with my head, my heart, push me like only he knew how.

As a Christian, I struggled with getting divorced and if I would be sinning. I read verse after verse in the Bible late at night as I lay in my childhood bedroom in my parent's house. Some nights convincing myself that it was ok to get divorced, other nights convincing myself it was ok to stay and what I SHOULD do. I did not want to sin against God, I didn't want to be considered an adulterer if I got remarried one day. I prayed daily, nightly, sometimes hourly - "GOD - WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO???" I would ask for signs. Play mind games with myself. If he says such & such tonight, I'll stay. If he doesn't say such & such I won't. If we go a week without him calling me a crazy bitch, if he hurts me one more time, if he comes home by 9pm, the list goes on and on. I just needed an answer, and I wasn't strong enough to make that decision for myself. Obviously, one day I made that decision, and that's for another story. 

I do believe that part of forgiving someone, or the real attempts to, involve praying for them. Praying for you. So sometimes I do pray for him. I pray that he turns his life around. I pray he quits drinking, that he realizes he is a child of God and he is loved and he is worthy of better. He may act like he is IT, but deep down I know he is a broken soul. Unfortunately it doesn't seem that way as of right now. I pray for the children he has had and left fatherless in the biological sense, for the women he's left to support children without the child support they deserve. I don't think I'll be able to ever completely forgive him. I just was telling Brian yesterday about how I was going to write this, and said - "How can I forgive someone who after 11 years of being divorced from, I'm still blogging about, having nightmares from, still healing from?" That's why Kesha's new song and her lyrics are so powerful - some things only God can forgive. 

I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin'
I hope your soul is changin', changin'
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin'

Oh, sometimes, I pray for you at night
Someday, maybe you'll see the light
Oh, some say, in life, you're gonna get what you give
But some things only God can forgive

The story of the unused razor blade

I was so stuck...do I stay? Leave? Can I fix him? I'm his wife...reading "Power of a Praying" wife. I could pray so hard that he would remember that he loved me and why he married me. Surely he didn't mean all those things he said. Those things he did. He's just tired. Just hungover. Just stressed. I don't love him enough, I don't show my love enough. What am I doing wrong?? Constant back and forth. I couldn't go on like this. There is so much shame. You feel so alone. You can't tell many people, or rather, you feel like you can't. It's such a lonely, lonely place.

I decided to try and get his attention. If I died, or almost died, then he'd feel so bad and straighten up. He'd really love me then. He'd feel bad...you see how sick this position makes you think. That it is your fault. 

I don't remember the specific day...but all of a sudden I found myself sitting on the toilet, with the lid down. The door locked - he was "recovering" on the couch. Razor in hand. I was sitting there, imagining how bad he'd feel - hopefully. I never made a cut, not even a scratch...but the point is that it drove me to that point. You can have so many people in your life that LOVE you...that if they knew what was going on, they would drag your rear end out of there. 

I know that now...but you're in a bubble. And only those that have lived in that bubble, can understand what I mean. Physical, verbal, emotional, mental abuse - alone or all together have such power. It's almost as if you become addicted to something you never meant to try. 

I know a lot of this post was just rambling, but I was back at that state in my head, where it was a bunch of scrambling around. 

If you are living that bubble right now, and feel like you are alone - you are not. First of all you're never alone because God never leaves your side. But I'M HERE. Even if you don't know me, I'M HERE. I've lived that bubble. Call me - 615-509-1539 - or text. 

The story of the jail cell "tenant"...

I can't believe it's almost been a month since I wrote out a story! A busy few weeks with moving back into the house, a sister-in-law's wedding, deadlines and several sicknesses! I've thought about what I'd write next. There is still so much to write out. And I'm happy to report that writing these stories have proven to be very therapeutic to me. I especially hope by now one of these stories has reached someone that led them to help.

What to tell...what to put out there...

How about the story of the jail cell "tenant"...

One of the times that he got out of jail, I picked him and his new friend up to bring them both home. He had said he made a friend "inside" that really was a good person just needed a starting place. I remember those jail cell phone calls. Every few minutes you get a ding to put in another quarter so you can keep talking.

Where did these 2 want to go eat? Amerigo's downtown Nashville. I took them. I took them both, and I paid for both. Of course his friend didn't have anything. No clothes, shoes, boxers, toothbrush. I bought it. We had an extra room he could sleep in; my stepson's, since we only had him every other weekend.

They were going to look for a job together. The first week was about resting and "recovering" from being in jail. Second week was scanning the classifieds while watching a little TV. Third week was to decide which places in classifieds they were going to actual apply to. You get the idea.

The original agreement was that he could stay up until a month, maybe 2, just to get back up on his feet a bit. I like to think of myself as a giving person. I want to help others, always. Everyone deserves a second chance. We're all one decision away from having a totally different life. 

He ended up staying for about 3-4 months - as my memory serves me. 

So, they never got jobs, but they got along just fine in the 3400 sq. house with a bonus room TV and sectional we had that I was struggling to keep the lights on for. I picked and chose each month the bills that were going to get paid. I finally told our new friend he had to leave. I couldn't afford to feed him anymore (he was a very muscular, large guy!).

He moved out. He really was a kind guy. I don't remember if I took him somewhere or if someone picked him up. But I got the silent treatment for at least a week. Or little "crazy bitch", or "cruel ass bitch" every here and there. But I was made felt as I had done something wrong. I housed a homeless guy for a month - who I didn't even know his real name! Who knows what he could have done... But there was no way I could actually say "no" to - what did I say I was going to call him? Ha! (Do I have the right to use his real name because of freedom of speech???) Didn't matter he still didn't have a job and still managed to have cigarettes to smoke. Sigh...take a guess at who drove to the gas station to buy said cigarettes for him. 

Belittled. Deceived.

The story of the high speed chase

He had been missing, gone, for at least a week this time. He wouldn't answer the phone. Wouldn't text back. Not even an "I'm ok". The timeline of our marriage in my head is so blurred I don't even know what month this was. I'm pretty sure it was after tax season though, so possibly May of 2005. But those are just minor details.

I took the day off of work to stay home and attempt at focusing enough that I could study for the part of the CPA exam I had coming up. I was sitting at the dining room table. We had a bay window & the house sat up on a hill so I could easily see down to the culdesac. I remember the sound of the garage door opening and I looked out the window and there was his truck. That damn truck I had to pay the note on because it was in my name.

However, he wasn't expecting to see my car when he opened the garage door - he thought I'd be gone to work. I ran out the door and they were backing out of the driveway & closing the garage door. The girl he had been sleeping with. I had never seen her face. AND she was driving! Driving THE CAR I PAID FOR. I saw red.

If you can imagine, you see your husband, who you haven't seen or heard of in over a week, finally show up. Then he tries to run away. I flew down to my car as fast as I could. I don't even think I put shoes on. I flew down my driveway, it bottomed out at the pavement, and I started chasing them. Out of the neighborhood, down the street and up to the on ramp of the interstate. I'm honking the whole time. We get on the interstate, and I pull up next to them, and I see her. Why her? What is she doing that I'm not? What is so wrong with me?

I'm yelling PULL OVER! PULL OVER NOW! They're both flicking me off and I see him laughing. We get up to almost 100 mph on I-24. She's mouthing "CRAZY BITCH" at me. Who knows what lies he told her about me. But she was right, I was crazy. It makes you CRAZY. Do things you would normally never do.

After a few miles I just let them go. What was I going to do? Wreck us? I went back home. Cried. Yelled. Screamed. I felt crazy insane and completely alone and helpless. I don't remember when he came back after that. 

But apparently I forgave him and believed his "I'm sorry"'s, because this story continued on for at least another year. That's one of the things about domestic, emotional, psychological abuse. It's a cycle. A vicious cycle. And so so hard to get off the merry go round. 

The story of the 1 year anniversary

As I stated in one of the earlier posts, our mind has a way of protecting us from painful memories. Just blocked. I know that within 6 months I was already staying at my parents house, which luckily was only about 3 miles away. But for some reason, I took him back and we tried to move forward.

It never crosses your mind to ask the person who is driving, if not you, if they have a legal drivers license. I mean, you'd just ASSUME if they're an adult driving a car, they are legally allowed to do so. Well, I didn't ask Bart when we were dating if his was legal. Much less ask how many DUIs were on his record. He never even had a car while we were dating. He just always had a ride. I did end up signing for him a very nice black SUV. But, that's for another story.

Anyway, back to this story. Bart was in jail during the last few months of our first year of marriage. Apparently he got pulled over driving a friend's car while drunk. Apparently he had a very long list before I met him - mostly DUIs. After several weeks in a way-too-nice-and-expensive-for-me home all alone I picked him up on the day he was released...our one year anniversary. I was SO EXCITED. Y'all. I was under his spell. I was EXCITED - to pick up my husband for our anniversary from JAIL. I should've been so pissed that I let his ass walk home from the jail that day.

But, I didn't. Instead, a friend loaned him money for us to have an anniversary dinner. We had like, NO MONEY. I was the only employed one. Y'all know where we went...THE PALM. Ha! We looked so good too. I remember sitting there feeling so special. My husband took ME to THE PALM for dinner the day he got out of jail! I'm sure he would've rather gone out with friends or just sleep in the bed, but he humbled himself to borrow money from a friend so he could TAKE me to dinner... (it really makes me gag now)

That's what the emotional abuse does. I mean, it takes away so much of your self worth! My worth depended on whether or not he WANTED to sit by me on the couch at night instead of sitting on the back deck, in the same clothes he slept in the night before, drinking Captain and Coke, on the phone smoking cigarettes.

I didn't feel like a domestic violence victim. That was the women whose husbands punched them every day. We'd make it days that he wouldn't abuse me in any way! It was fiiiiiine. I could make him better. Nicer. Get a job. If I love him harder, he'll love me more. "He was just tired today." "Just hungover today." "Just stressed today." I can change him.

Even another big slap on the face like this one, wasn't a big enough, flashy enough sign for me. I still went back. And HOPED he'd CHOOSE ME.

The story of the missing newlywed

If you knew my ex-husband in real life, you'd understand that "to know him is to love him". He had one of those personalities that just draws people in. He's funny, charismatic, life of the party, and knows how to make everyone feel at ease. As you've read in previous posts though, that's not the same behind closed doors.

For our honeymoon we took a cruise to Mexico. I was 23, about to turn 24. Very young! We were ready to have a good time -  drink, lay out by the pool and party. We made some friends, as he always easily did, with a group of guys that were on a guys trip I suppose. I mainly remember just hanging out at the pool with them.

One of the nights we went to their cabin to pre-party. We had dinner as normal then went on to the clubs they had on the cruise ship. Next thing I know, I wake up in our cabin and he's gone. I yelled his name, no answer. Not in the bathroom. No where. It was like 3am I'd say.

I got out of our cabin and went up to the deck where the pool and hot tub were to see if he was up there or possibly passed out on one of the lounge chairs. Nope. I remember stumbling around yelling his name. I was so afraid he had gotten drunk and fallen off the side of the boat. Terrified. I probably walked that ship for over an hour.

I don't remember what time he came back to the room, but he refused to tell me where he had been - "just hanging out" - is what he said. I never did find out where he had been. Yeah, he could've just passed out in the guys' room, or he could've been in another girls' room. Who knows.

All I know is that my new husband didn't come "home" during our first week of marriage, and I was just supposed to accept that. That was the first of many nights I would spend alone, wondering where he was and who he was with.

The story of the twins

Saturday, October 4th, 2003. I went into the ER with severe pelvic area pain. They did a pelvic exam (which I had never had by the way), and an ultrasound. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but your baby is ectopic. We have to do emergency surgery right away. Tonight"

Let's go back about 2 weeks prior though. The last story, where my car was stolen. You can read that post here Stolen Car entry.

After that night, I started to have really sore breasts. My friends convinced me to get a pregnancy test. Positive. Which is ironic considering my infertility issues I dealt with later in life. You can read about that here Infertility story.

I was going to take care of the baby myself. I decided that day. Then my friends chipped in and said they'd help me raise it. I had just turned 23. Junior in college. I could do this.

A few days went by, I decided to tell him. He deserved to know. I told him. He wanted proof from a real test. He knew I was coming to pick him up for the test. He was still passed out when I got there that morning. I had to pull him out like a child and get him dressed. We went to a free clinic somewhere in a small town. Or maybe, it was in town. I don't know. But I felt far away from myself.

After that confirmed test, I went back to my car and smoked a cigarette. I knew it would be my last one in 9 months or more. I just needed one more.

We told my parents that weekend. Looking back, I'm really surprised my dad let him in the house. After we told them, I just remember Daddy saying, "We'll see if the cream will rise to the top". My parents let him sleep on their couch for a few nights. He had no car. No job. When I look back and think about this time, you know what he DID have? ME. F*cking me. Y'all, DO NOT be a door mat. Do not be the girl that falls for the boy then does EVERYTHING. You are worthy. Worthy of much more.

I had a job at Cingular (the cellular company that turned into AT&T) part time while I was in college full time. I had moved back to my apartment, and he followed me back there. It was Friday night and I have having the worst cramps I had ever had in my life. I got in the shower and let the hot water, as hot as I could stand it hit my stomach while I lay on my back in the tub. He never got up once to check on me. I went in to work Saturday morning and told my co-worker about the pain. She had 2 kids. Of course she'd say, oh that's normal! But I was sore! I felt like I had done an intense workout on my abs. She told me to go to the doctor. The ER. That wasn't normal. She texted her nurse friend.

I went back to my apartment to get him. We drove to Southern Hills hospital. Next thing I was having my first "girl" exam by a red headed ER doctor whom I had never met. I was scared to death. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but your baby is ectopic. We have to do emergency surgery right away. Tonight"

He hugged me. Told me it was going to be ok. He was here for me. He had to call my parents. My parents and sister got there right before surgery. If an ectopic pregnancy ruptures you can die. Hence the urgency. I remember my sister crying.

Next thing I know I'm waking up to Daddy and him trying to get the UT game on in the hospital room. It was probably the only thing they had in common. Ever. That was another HUGE SIGN. Donitka came. Donitka always came. She was always there. Erika came. Bless her.

We were released the next day. No sex for 6 weeks. He made me anyway THAT DAY. "I'll be easy. You'll be fine". Bastard.

I had to keep going to get my blood drawn to make sure the pregnancy hormone, HCG, was going down. It wasn't. "Ma'am, we need to do more tests"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. They didn't check your other fallopian tube. The baby has already passed though, so we don't need to do surgery. We can just give you some chemo shots in both your hips to kill any remaining living cells." Cells.

Those babies weren't meant to be. I have another baby in heaven too. We had a miscarriage between Kenna and Everly. We don't understand God's way in the moment, sometimes decade. But we just have to trust he knows what he is doing.

This story's picture is of me and Donitka at a UT game. Seemed fitting :)