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 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 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 :)

The Story of bar hopping

*Ben had a knack for just not coming home at night. This is before iPhones. Before you could "track your friends". These were Blackberry days. He worked downtown and a lot of his line of work would be to wine and dine. Funny I was never invited to these events.

One night we were supposed to actually have dinner at home. Together. A rarity.

5:30 came. Then 6. So I called. No answer. 

7 came. 8 o'clock passed. No calls. No answers.

It MAKES YOU CRAZY. They warned me. There were bets on how long the marriage would last. 

We lived almost to Nolensville. I was tired of being the waiting wife that night in particular. A lot of nights when he did come home, I'd be lying there just waiting into the early morning hours. When I heard the garage door, I'd turn out any lights and get still as a mouse. I didn't want him to know I'd been waiting. Pathetic he'd say.

So this one night in particular I was determined to find *Ben. I went alone on a Friday night downtown Nashville to at least 7-8 bars. All these happy, dancing, laughing people. Couples. Friends. They had no idea. I'd search every room. I probably looked like a crazy woman. Crying. Just desperate.

I never did find him that night. He never came home either. One of many. So so many. Not counting the nights he was sleeping in a jail cell. But that's for another story. 

The story of the unfurnished room

Our brain has a way of protecting ourselves by keeping us from remembering all pieces of a traumatic experience or time in our lives. A lot of parts of my first marriage are blurry, just glimpses of time that sometimes pop up, just little bits of certain moments. Not knowing when it happened, why or where along that part of my life it was. Some of it is such a blur...but there is one moment that is played over and over.

We had this nice house, with almost all of the rooms furnished but one. It was to the left when you walked in the front door...I guess what you might call the sitting room. It was carpeted, with a railing around the wall. The rest of the house was furnished with little decor but nice furniture. 

I don't know what I did to set him off in the middle of the day, but I was thrown against the wall in that unfurnished room. My whole body going up in the air and across the room until I hit the railing on the wall and then slid down. Before I could get up I was being kicked. In the stomach. In the back. I fought for him to stop, but he just yelled "crazy bitch" at me and some other things I don't remember.

The next moment his hands were around my neck, choking me. I do remember thinking, this is it. He's going to kill me. I fought and I scratched for what seemed forever. I don't know why, but he let go. Walked upstairs and went to bed. 

I was too scared to call anyone. I may have not been able to. One time he broke my phone on the kitchen floor - but I don't remember if that was this same day.

I went upstairs and laid on the bonus room couch, blankly watching TV. After he woke up, he came in, laid his head in my lap with his pillow, like nothing ever happened. I was too scared to move. The only thing that lingered were the bruises on my neck.