Yes, I am on my third (husband) and I swear my last one. Add to that the serious relationship with one of my daughter's fathers, and that's enough to make you either give up or go lesbian. Believe me, I've given both serious thought after all the BS I've put up with in the earlier days. Then, I had a lesbian friend who acted just like those male 'players' toward her girlfriends, yes... more than one, which totally changed my mind about switching teams and I like sex too much to give it up and would not ever have enough money for batteries to keep me satisfied, because who wants to use something plugged in to the wall in that area? *shudders* Plus, that makes it quite inconvenient for so many reasons.
Round one -
(By 'Round One", I mean these are going to be long, somewhat-detailed explanations of long-term relationships and feel I should break it up into portions for your safe viewing and reading pleasure.)
I was young (18), dumb AND naive. Someone should pass a law that you shouldn't be allowed to get married until you are 25. Unless they want to, say, jump a motorcycle together through 5 'Fiery Hoops of DEATH' and if they complete it successfully (alive) while managing to not break up because they argued over who was going to drive, whether to wear the sparkly outfit with sequins or the black leather-and-studded one, and how to do it the correct way. Although I know for a fact that I would've attempted it, back then, because I was that dumb.
This man was okay. We hung out with his friends, my friends, and all together. I could hang out with my friends without him, he did the same with his. It was all good. I ended up becoming pregnant. Not a shock because I was not using any protection, but because he claimed that he'd "had sex with many girls and none of them had got pregnant" so he "must be sterile". Now, those are his exact words. I had assumed that this is a non-manly thing to say. How many guys would admit to something like that, being only 20-ish? I took his word. Problem: I was only 17 and still in my Senior year of high school and did not want to tell my parents. After a month or so I told them. I know, it should have been sooner, but I waited until after I turned 18, which was also not long after Graduation. You can't change the past.
After that, I told this man that I informed my parents and it was his turn to tell his and that my parents wanted to have a talk with him. All that happened in a day or two and he suddenly wanted to marry me. I did ask him if it was just because I was pregnant and perhaps his, mine, or both of our Dads made him feel he 'needed to do the right thing', as per the old saying. He said it was not, and I accepted.
Nonetheless, within a month or so of that, the pregnancy ended in a miscarriage. I could not ever wish one of those on my worst enemy! It is the most horrible pain and suffering I have ever, even to this very day, gone through! I asked this man if, being that I was no longer pregnant and still wanted to make sure that was not the only reason, if he still wanted to go through with the wedding. He said he did, and we proceeded.
We had a dinner before the wedding day and all the people were invited. I had my three best girlfriends with me there, and we took off when it was all over. I was informed, later that night, by my soon-to-be husband that this was not acceptable behavior, as it was rude:
Me: "Why? Did I miss something important?"
Him: "No, it was just rude to run out while all the family was there having their first meal together."
Me: "I asked everyone if it was okay with them for me to leave with my friends as we had girly things to get done before the wedding and they said it was fine."
Him: "It doesn't matter, MY parents thought it was rude."
I didn't give a crap. It was MY wedding, too, and this was the last night before I would be married and I'll do as I please. But I apologized and called his parents to do so to them, as well, even though they said they were not offended in any way. I assumed that they were just being coy. I was apparently wrong, as I'd found out later.
The day OF the wedding, me, my little sister, my mother and my best friend, who was my Maid of Honor were all getting ready. My friend takes me aside:
Her: "We can get out of here, now."
Me: "What? What do you mean?" (with a giggle)
Her: "If you really don't want to do this, we can get out of here right now."
Me: "Why would I want to do that?" (still giggling)
Her: "Just so you know, if at any time, you even THINK about not doing this, let me know and we can run to my car, jump in and drive away. I just want you to know this."
Me: "Okay." (and I shrug it off)
We continue getting ready as if nothing had happened, although I kept wondering.
DURING the actual ceremony, my Maid of Honor and Bridesmaids kept making faces and we had giggled a bit. This man, during the ceremony still, told us to stop. We did not, as this only made it worse. He just stood there, straight-faced. Well, maybe I should say, pissed-face, in his ugly-ass white tuxedo WITH tails, during the rest of the ceremony. I should have taken my friend up on her option.
Immediately following that, he let me know that I was being childish throughout the ceremony as it was a serious moment, that giggling and cracking up during our own wedding ceremony was almost sinful. (Wow, so serious for a man who knocked up a 17 year old virgin, who was, at this very moment, recovering from a miscarriage. He's lucky I was able to stand the whole time!) Once again, I should have taken my friend up on her option.
The next day, due to his overindulgence of alcoholic beverages the night of the wedding, since HE was of age (another reason you shouldn't be able to marry at 18... and/or the legal age of drinking should be raised) and I was not, we consummated. Whereas a few weeks later I found out I was pregnant. Again.
Things after this started going weird. I had a job at a fast food restaurant that I had since 16, which I loved. He had a good-paying job, with great benefits, since before I knew him. After a while, I started asking him about the bills:
Him: "I don't pay the bills."
Me: "What do you mean you don't pay the bills? They have to get paid."
Him: "I mean, I give my parents the money and they pay the bills for me."
Me: "So, now that we're married, I can do that for us instead."
Him: "No. They've been doing that for me for years, now, and they like to do it so we'll just let them keep doing it."
What kind of "grown-up" man does this? The one I'd married. Yay. Mind you, I should have known, since I'd never seen a bill in the year I'd known him. But, who even thinks of stuff like that until it's too late? I also should have seen that all this leads to what happens in the near future. Which is, he starts staying out late, a lot. Occasionally, not even coming home until the morning after leaving for work. But, I assume he's having his fun while he can since sometimes I was not home, working some nights, and I, too, was still hanging out with my friends sometimes. But, being pregnant and working, I did not have the energy to stay out all night long. Nor, could I do anything which may hurt the baby like drink or put myself in possible danger.
Then, we had the emergency Cesarean section to deliver the baby, due to my high blood pressure and swelling (pre-eclampsia) which was not made better by the delivery, as per the norm. This just made my body madder, and went into full blown toxemia. I was pretty out of it while this went on for three weeks, I think. I recall seeing my father, once, (he lived a distance away and worked a lot, so it was nice). My mother a few times. And my husband, once. I had to get really pissy with the doctors and tell them to allow my baby in the room, or I'd leave. They felt forced to oblige, and realized when my son was in the room, my blood pressure, which was near stroke levels even with all the meds I was pumped up with, go down a bit. I had three organs fail, my liver, intestines and stomach. I had a procedure, known as the Swan, where they inserted a catheter to monitor my heart closer down through my neck. This was painful. I awoke during the procedure with a giant, white light above my head, about 8 people in surgery scrubs around me and blood gushing out of my neck, in PAIN! Whereas, they held me down with a horrified look on their faces, and I fell back asleep. I assume they dosed me again. My body held in so much water, from the fluids being given to me and my digestive system was not working so it was all done by IV, that I was over 300 pounds and they weighed me daily by using a bed with a scale built in. Those damn nurses, whom I now love every single one in the world, woke me up every hour, on the hour, to take my vitals, give me medicines, help me eat (later), and wash me as much as they could. Bless those angels of no mercy. My mother told me, years later, that the doctors had only given me a 15% chance of survival. I showed them! I was out in around three weeks.
THE DAY I got out of the hospital, my husband took me took his parents' house, where he was apparently living, unbeknownst to me. They insisted we live there until we found a place to live. I was given prescriptions for high blood pressure, pain, iron, and an anti-coagulant medicine. Upon arrival, he wanted to have sex. I was still in the middle of the 'pregnancy aftermath' (if you're a mother, you know what I mean) and was told to not do such, plus the fact I was on medicines for my blood pressure and just got out of the hospital. I made him aware if these things, yet he was quite persistent, still.
Him: "But, it's been so long since..."
Me: "Uh, yeah. It's not like I had any while I was in the hospital, either."
Him: "I would've asked you then, but you were always 'out of it'."
I'd attempted to help with our son as much as I could. This was my first time being a mother and, although I had a little sister, I really didn't know what to do besides change a diaper and wash him. My sister was breast-fed, as was I, and I couldn't do that since I had been in a medically-induced coma for my first couple weeks after giving birth and now on all kinds of medication and supposed to be on bed rest for a few weeks. He claimed that my so-called lack of help with our son was making his parents mad that they have to do it all for me. Even though I re-stated my doctor's orders to him, it was not good enough. I was supposed be doing it all, was my understanding of this conversation.
Soon after that, his parents took him to look at places for us to move into. (Thank goodness!) They decided on a *shiver* single-wide in a trailer park. I was not pleased, but went along with it. I had no choice since they'd already made the financial arrangements. Without any input from me. (Grrr!) Whatever. It had one of those garden bathtubs with fake French doors to the master bath, and I dug that, but that was all I liked about the situation.
A few days later, when he'd been out late with his friends. I got up to get the baby and noticed a very large roll bar with lights in our son's room:
Him: "I didn't think you'd find that. I was going to get rid of it today."
Me: "What do you mean 'you didn't think I'd see it'? It's sticking out from under the bed as I go to get the baby! (giggle) So, what is it doing here?"
Him: "Well, me and ------ were out having fun and broke into a few vehicles at the ---- and stole some stuff. After that we got bored and went to the ---- ---------- and saw the --------- van sitting there and took the roll bar off and stole (amount) wheels and tires off the vehicles."
Him: "Here. You can have the biker jacket, it doesn't fit me or ------ and take whatever CDs you want and get rid of the rest. We already went through them."
Me: still speechless
Me: "So, do you do this often? Is this why you're staying out late all the time? Doing stuff like this?"
Him: "Not usually. This is the only time I've done that since we got married."
Me: "So, now that we have a child... is this something you will continue doing, or what? Because I don't really want to raise a child in that kind of environment."
Me: "I just think I have a right to know and I'd like an honest answer."
Him: (Long pause) "No. I promise I won't do it anymore. It was a one-time thing. I'd done it before now, many times, but not anymore."
You see, this man was/is a felon. THIS, I already knew. Convicted of Grand Larceny in another state that he'd moved out of years ago, which was done while in the service. Therefore getting him kicked out of the service, too. (I'm sure he'd moved there because he was sent there FOR the service, so he moved back with mommy and daddy after he was no longer IN the service.) I just shrugged it off as stupid-kid stuff and moved on. Apparently, he'd never stopped being a criminal. I had no idea. I took his word on this, though. We should have had a good talk about that before going this far into the relationship, first. Sigh.
It only got worse from there. Soon after that, he started staying out after work, more and more. I was still in my recovery from the birth of our son. After a couple weeks, I guess, he was pretty much only coming home to sleep and shower, if even that often. He'd be gone all the rest of the time. I was pretty upset about this, since I was still recovering from the toxemia. I quit taking all the medications. All they were doing was making me tired and nauseous, unable to care for this child who needed all my attention since his father was just never around to help me.
I sucked up my pride and started asking my mother for help. After a while, I was only home for a bit, when he was supposed to get off work and if he didn't come home in a couple hours, I went back to my mother's house. She was the only one nearby that could give me any help I needed with me being a new mom. I wasn't getting any sleep before, as I did not know how to care for a crying infant. When the baby was sleeping, I couldn't sleep because then I'd wonder if my husband was cheating on me, or just out partying like an irresponsible father, or out stealing stuff, again, and possibly in jail. I had no one else to call, no one to turn to. I could have asked his parents, but he'd led me to believe that they pretty much hated me and thought nothing of me and my handling of being a mother.
Then, came the day, one day before my son would have turned 2 months old, when I walked in to feed him, and he was dead. He'd died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. In other words, no matter what people tell you, do NOT lay your infant face down on any bed.
While we were at the hospital, it had taken hours to get hold of my husband. I had to finally fess up to his parents that I had no idea where he was, and he'd hardly ever come home anymore which is why I was at my mother's house all the time. This made them very upset at him, since they thought their son was being a complete angel of a son and father to their grandchild.
For the next couple months, I was constantly berated by my husband, always accused of it being my fault our son died. I accepted the fact, to him and everyone else in the world, that I could have prevented it, but it didn't help that he was never around and the only reason I was in that predicament was because I had no one to help me take care of our child. I'd never had to do that before. Not 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, without any sleep, without taking care of myself at all, all the while wondering if my husband was cheating on me, out partying, being an irresponsible father without regards to my needs to get out, too, or out stealing, again, and possibly in jail. He claimed it didn't matter what he was doing, it was none of my business.
I ended up trying to commit suicide but I chickened out and asked my husband to take me to the hospital. As soon as I got out of there, within a few hours, I was driven up to his father packing my stuff into my car and my husband told me he wanted me out. Needless to say, I was then served with divorce papers. He forced me to sign them, saying that if I didn't he'd "make my life a living hell until I did". So, I did.
Just when I thought it was all over, tax season came. He needed me to come over to sign the check, since we'd done our taxes together earlier in the year. I asked him how much I'd get out of it.
Him: "None of it."
Me: "Why not?"
Him: "You either sign it all over to me, or you don't get the title to your car." (with a smirk)
I was not aware, at the time, of getting another title. I was scared he'd sign off on it (because I'd signed the damn thing out of stupidity years before) and take my car, that he (and everyone else) knew I loved. So, I signed the check and left with my title.
I knew he hated smoking, so I started smoking. Which I am still addicted to. Since we still hung out with the same people, although they all looked at me with sadness and/or disgust (since they knew his side of the story) and he'd constantly taunt me by taking them. One time, he even took out his rather large, yet still legal in size, knife and stabbed my pack of cigarettes right in front of a group of about 10 people and just laughed. No one did anything. None of them said anything. I did not hang out with any of those spineless bastards and bitches ever again.
I hate that son of a bitch. I still remember that his penis was barely bigger than our son's.
I love my son. I think of him every day. I talk to him. I miss him. I didn't get much time with him, but the time I had, I recall every minute of it. He is the reason I know what real love was supposed to be. He is the real reason I'm still here today. He is the reason I decided to have more children, even if the dumb doctor told me it would probably kill me because she was sure I'd have the same problem. Well, bitch, you were wrong, too. (Do NOT go to a General Practitioner for being pregnant. What can I say? I was dumb!)