Happy Un-Anniversary

It was 20 years ago, March 1993, that I met W.  Today I still question my judgment when I think about getting involved with him.  When I divorced him there was no second guessing that decision.  The last time I saw W, was in my rear view mirror as I drove away from the court house, a single woman with my maiden name back.  I know that sounds terribly cliché, but it's true.  He would call me from time to time after that, for what reasons I don't understand- most of the time it was to brag about the woman he had started to date, as though I would be jealous.  But once his calls turned into angry threats on my life (I’ll burn your house down while you sleep bitch!) I got an unlisted number.  That was the end of my contact with him.

W was wrong for me from day one, but I just didn’t see it at the time.  I met him when I was a temp at an office in my hometown, and he made little impression on me when we were introduced.  A few weeks later he hired me to do some personal paperwork for him, which led to our first date just days later.  A few weeks after that, we were living together.  It was a terrible decision, I really barely knew him at all outside a few dates that somehow always ended up at a hotel.  I was living with my parents, he was living with his parents an hour away.  I can vaguely remember the discussion about us moving in with each other, it was not romantic at all, except that we were on the beach watching a sunset.  He said it would be cheaper and more convenient for him, if we just got an apartment together.  Yes, doesn’t that just sweep a young girl off her feet?  Nonetheless, I fell for it.  (His marriage proposal was the two of us leaving the mall with my engagement ring- which my parents loaned him the money for and he never paid them back- and he threw the box at me and said here you go.)

Because he lived two counties away and commuted to my hometown for the job, I was the one who got the apartment, and on the day I moved in he was nowhere to be found.  My family and friends moved me into my very first place.  W showed up two days later, with some clothes and books, and that was it.  He claimed he had been sick in bed with a toothache and that’s why he wasn’t there on moving day.  Strange that he never bothered to call to let me know.  Of course later on, I found out he had been a few hundred miles away partying with college friends and was drunk as hell, sleeping it off.  This should have been the light bulb moment for me right away, but I ignored the signs.

My parents were very disappointed and unhappy that I was going to be living with a guy I had just met.  My mom and sister hated him from day one and never changed their opinion during all the years we were married, my father wanted to give him a chance to prove he was a good man for his daughter.  But, I was in my twenties, out of college, working full time for the government at this point.  My younger sister had shacked up before me, but by then she was married to the man and still is to this day.  I was supposed to be the sensible oldest child and not do stupid or crazy things, and I think it hurt my father more than he let on.  Lesson learned, father does know best.

W and I did get married not long afterwards, but I am shocked we even made it through the first year of our relationship.  I suffered traumas that I won’t even post here anonymously, because of him.  No one but J knows 100% of the awful story- too terrible and painful to even tell a sister or best girlfriend.  And I had to grow up, quickly.  I wasn’t sheltered or naïve before I met W, but I had never known anyone like him before.  A misogynistic, egomaniacal drug addict.  I did know about his drug addiction even before we moved in together, and it’s something I managed to hide from my family and friends the entire 13 years I was with him.  I did not know he was such a hateful, abusive asshole though.  No one knew about any of this until I had filed for divorce, when I realized I didn’t care about “protecting” him anymore.  My family was shocked when I announced we were splitting up, my girlfriends all said it was about friggin’ time I kicked him out.  My mom said I never loved him, I was just looking for an excuse to get out from under my parents’ roof, and quite frankly that was the truth.

It was so bad at the end, every day I prayed he would come home to announce he had been having an affair and was leaving me for the other woman, and I would shriek “Thank God!” I would finally be rid of him.  But he was predictable in that when he wasn’t at work he was sitting on the living room couch stoned and watching cartoons.  The short time when we were dating, our intimate life was good.  Not long after we married, sex became a once or twice a year ordeal, with me begging and him so uninterested in anything but pot, that he couldn’t even “finish”.  Makes me cringe to think about that now.  The part where I actually begged that creep for sex, not the part about him rolling over in the middle of it saying he was too tired to keep going.

The best part of our relationship was when I decided to end it, and told him to move out, and I was filing for divorce.  We’d had those stupid fights where I would scream at him to pack his shit and get out, and he would sit there and laugh at me.  But this time, it was for real.  I joke today and tell people about my “divorce diet”, and how it was the easiest way to get rid of 185 pounds of ugly unwanted fat.  Everyone laughs.   It was a rough time though, he took four months to finally move out and that was after I got an attorney to show him how serious I was.  Then he tried to blackmail me for alimony, seriously (that is a long story).  My dad offered him a lump sum of money to just leave me alone, but he was greedy and refused.  The state we lived in required us to be separated for an entire year before we could even file for divorce.  I asked him for a divorce in December 2003, and it did not happen until May 2005.  Sadly we had to have constant contact with each other throughout the separation- the only legal rule for separation was that we were not allowed to spend a night together under the same roof (even if it was spent not speaking and sitting in different rooms)- the "year" would start all over again if that happened.  Such antiquated bullshit, I can't even believe it was the 21st century.

There is a lot more to tell, like the stalking episodes, stealing my diary, the insanely disgusting and perverted letters he sent me while we were separated.  I know if you read my last post, you are doing the math.  I was with W for 13 years, but I’ve been with J for 10, yet I only met W 20 years ago.  Math doesn’t add up, does it?

And that story is for another day…my happy chapters.

MISS GEE

Honesty

I am really disappointed in my blog, in the content.  I intended it to be a good hard look at myself, a self-analysis into my misery and depression.  But I seem to automatically revert back to the people-pleaser in me.  Instead I'm talking about vacations and my garden, happy days.  Those are posts better left to the family & friends blog, where I put on that sunny face so everyone will think I'm okay.  I don't know why I can't put all the dark or sad thoughts out there, even anonymously.  I know I love J and he loves me, I know our life is awesome.  And that's the point.  Knowing this and still being so unhappy that some nights I go to bed hoping I don't wake up in the morning.  I know J is the only reason I want to keep going, he really is my only purpose in life.  If something happened and he was no longer here with me, it wouldn't be worth me drawing another breath.  But he's here, and he comes home to me every day, and we both wake up together every morning in the same bed, usually with a snuggly kitty or two.

My father has always- even now- treated me like his princess.  W cast me to the wolves every chance he got.  And now J protects me from my biggest enemy and threat- myself- it is a tiring and futile struggle.  That period of my life when I was with W, in my early twenties to my mid-thirties, was a crucial time for my development as a woman.  It was the first time I'd lived outside the walls of my parents' home, W was the first man who had ever been duty-bound to take care of me besides my dad.  But W was irresponsible, cruel, selfish, and insecure to the point that, for him to feel better about himself, he had to squash me under his boot repeatedly.  I went from listening to a father who told me I could do anything in life that I wanted to, that he would support me no matter what, that I was smart and beautiful and accomplished- to suddenly living with a man whose favorite nickname for me was Fat Lazy Whore or Stupid Bitch, both of which he would scream at me frequently for the smallest infractions.  You may read this and think, I would never let anyone talk to me that way, especially a husband.  I thought I was one of those women too, who would never take that crap from a man.  But until I was actually in the middle of such a relationship, I didn't know my own weaknesses.  After 13 years of listening to that, I became all the things W told me I was.  Whatever dreams and hopes and aspirations I'd had as a single girl, I lost all of those and instead became a bumbling, incompetent wife.

That's why it's so hard now, to have such a wonderful man who loves me and appreciates me and adores me, and believe that it could be possible now and for the rest of my life.  I have many days that I tell myself, J just says and does the things that he does, only to be nice because he's stuck with me now.  In my heart, I know that's not true, I know J does really love me and cherish me, and I believe him when he tells me everything he does, he does for me and because of me.  I believe him when he says I'm the best part of him, that he wouldn't survive without me, when he tells me the only thing he wants out of life is for me to be happy.  But in my head, the parts that W lobotomized with his hate, I can't understand why anyone would love me.  I don't even like myself, and if I could bust out of my body and crawl away somewhere safe, I would.  I still feel stupid, I still feel lazy, I still feel fat.  W spent 13 years convincing me that this is who I am.  J has spent the last 10 years trying to undo the damage.  I know it's not fair to J- he didn't break me, he shouldn't have to fix me.

I find fault with myself for even the most mundane, "it's just part of life" issues- clothes coming out of the dryer wrinkled, crumbs on the kitchen counters, coming back from vacation five pounds heavier, letting plants die because I overwater them.  You name it, if it's in any way negative, I take the blame personally.  I can't help it, and I can't stop it.  I remember pleasant afternoons in my sunny kitchen in my first house, cleaning, mopping the bright white and blue tile floors- and W suddenly coming in and yelling at me that I shouldn't use a mop, I should be down on my hands and knees scrubbing.  I don't know if that was his cleaning tip, or his view of women in general.  It's just one of those moments where I felt like, no matter what I did, it wasn't right, it wasn't good enough, and I sucked as a human being.  It stuck with me, I don't know how to shake it off.

J never gets mad at me, about anything, ever.  But I know he gets disappointed.  One thing that upsets him is my constant need to apologize about everything. He says, please stop saying you're sorry, there's nothing to apologize about.  If the chicken is a little overcooked, if I get a sinus infection, if I cry over a TV show, if I forgot to bring the coupons to the grocery store, if I come home from work with a backache, if I accidentally hang a shirt backwards in the closet.  Every illness or pain, every forgetful moment.  Just stupid insignificant shit.  I'm sorry, honey, I'm sorry.  J doesn't care about any of these things, he only cares about me.  I'm the one making them into issues and failures.

I see how he gets frustrated over my near groveling, and my low self-esteem.  Some days I know he has to tire of always lifting me up, and I know I would grow exhausted of hearing someone apologize twenty times a day, like a favorite mantra.  I don't know why he bothers with me.  It's like those movie stars or athletes, and you see them on the red carpet, and their wives are plain and dumpy.  You think, wow he is so hot, he could have anyone, why is he with her? And you say, he must really really love her.  It's how I feel about J- he deserves so much better and I know I can't give that to him.  He is so very handsome, he's so intelligent, he is an executive, he's incredibly energetic, he is a leader, he's funny and upbeat.  To me, he's a perfect man.

Why is he with me?  Really....

MISS GEE

Need A Break!

Focusing on the positive again!  Vacation is only a few hours away, just waiting on J to get back from a Saturday morning meeting at work.  We’ve not had a true vacation since our California trip last October.  This trip, we are going to a very small coastal island in Florida, where there is nothing to do, and where we’ll take a car ferry just to get there.  No driving, no interstate, no traffic.  Just walking the beach, strolling the quaint downtown when it’s dinner time.  It will still be somewhat chilly this time of year, and I’m hoping that means not many other vacationers will be around.  J and I are not much for crowds.

J and I decided we are not going to take any “big” vacations this year, to try and save money but also to try and relax more.  Our normal vacation schedule every year is one week in Florida, one 7 day cruise where we always get a big cabin, and then one huge blowout vacation week, normally California or Vegas.  This year, we’re not going any place where we have to fly, where we will be staying at a casino, where we will leave the country.  This year it’s going to be all about slow getaways, relaxing, unwinding, peace and rest, being alone but together.  Usually on our vacations, we try to cram in as much activity and sightseeing as possible, and we come back utterly exhausted and in the hole a few grand.  We drive from here to there all day long, every day.  Or we buy too much/eat too much/spend too much in Mexico or Atlantic City or Los Angeles.   I am happy we are going to downsize our vacations this year.  I think this will work out for us well, and it’s just what we need.  Mostly, I hope J will be able to relax for the week, instead of getting even more stressed out trying to keep up with a self-inflicted non-stop vacation itinerary.

I told J, I’m hoping that we’ll find we don’t need to take the big glitzy trips every time our vacations roll around.  I am hoping that we’ll discover that having nowhere to go in the morning besides getting coffee and taking it down to the shoreline, is just the right pace.  Our hotel is just two blocks from the beach, that’s the most hustling and bustling I want to do on this trip.

No matter where we go, J has to work, dragging his laptop along.  I wish I could save him from it, but that’s out of my control.  He says he prefers to work while we are gone in order to keep up, instead of coming back to a thousand emails to catch up on.  I understand the concept, but secretly I resent it.  Not J, because I know he’s doing the right thing.  Just resenting the situation, the phone calls, the urgent texts, the issues that no one else can take care of but J, and how it cuts into my time with him, our time together that is supposed to be a vacation from work.  Then I remind myself that work is paying for the vacation. 

On the other hand, work is WHY we need the vacation, what we are trying to get away from in the first place.  Vicious cycle.  But this time it leads to blue ocean views, clear skies, and sun on my shoulders.

MISS GEE