My wife has been through so much. I think it’s important her story be heard.. She deserver’s to have her story heard…
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We’ve been apart nearly 10 years and there’s apparently still a piece of me that is afraid of you. I used to be so strong before you. My Granny taught me never to fall for a guy like you. I still don’t know how it happened. Well, that’s not entirely true. I thought I could save you. I thought I could save you from yourself. First, from the gang that didn’t exist in the end. Then from your parents because they didn’t understand you. Little did I know that they didn’t understand you because you were stoned all the time.
I wish I had known how much of my life was based upon lies. How do you keep your life straight in your head? All the lies you tell? Or did you only tell them to me? Did everyone else get the truth? No, that can’t be right because I know you aren’t Autistic. You’re a Sociopath. So you lied to the doctors in Columbus, those are more lies to keep straight. Unless you just don’t go back now that you have the diagnosis.
This whole “I’m a changed man” crap. Is just that, crap. You don’t just change from what you were. Not who you were but what you were. You were a monster. You are a monster. You always will be a monster.
I don’t know how you treated your other fiancées. Do they know how you treated me? Are they aware of how you used to sit on the couch and obsessively clean your swords? Especially while we fought? Or how you used to sleep with the swords under the couch, thereby under you, because you refused to sleep in bed with me?
To this day, I don’t understand why you never wanted to sleep in bed with me. You asked me to marry you. It was your idea. And yet, even when we lived at your parents house and they were on vacation, you wouldn’t sleep in the same bed with me most of the time. I didn’t understand it then. I don’t understand it now.
You said you loved me. Yet you did everything you could to sabotage our marriage. You wouldn’t sleep in bed with me. You abused me. You misused me. You were hurtful. You neglected my son. You abused him. You sabotaged marriage counseling. You continually brought your mother into our marriage. Every fight. Every misunderstanding. Every time I told you “no”. Every time you wanted beer. You called your Mommy and pulled her into our marriage.
Should we discuss your treatment of me throughout our relationship? I think we should. The technical term is Domestic Violence. Let’s call a spade a spade shall we? Since if I remember correctly, you just love the Ace of Spades…so a spade a spade…
YOU. ABUSED. ME.
You screamed at me. You tormented me. You mistreated me. You threatened me with your sword collection. You called me names. You threatened me, in general. You threatened to take Gavin from me – then you would lie to the courts and see to it that I “never saw Gavin again” if I ever told anyone how you treated me. You cheated on me. You pushed me down the hallway. You showed me how you would plot your abuse case against me – so you could tell the police how abusive I was against you if I ever tried to leave. You sabotaged marriage counseling – my last-ditch effort to make our marriage work. You denied me affection if I sought it out. One night when I tried to connect to you by partying with you and your friends (including your mistress), you raped me. You pinned me to a door by my throat with Gavin clinging to my left leg. You tried to put your fist through a table over a childhood milestone – an over-reaction because I had company over for once. You tried to put your fist through the side of the refrigerator. Drugs? You did those. Alcohol? You drank those. To excess? Yes, you had that covered too. You are an alcoholic, addict wife-beater. You stole my social security number in order to obtain social services after I’d left you. You ran up massive charges in my name at Hollywood Video renting movies I already own after I left. You also ran up large bills in all the utilities – gas, electric, cable, phone – and left them in my name but refused to pay them. (That one is okay though because I just had your electric shut off on you.)
Let’s talk about Gavin for a second. Gavin is mine. Now he is ours – mine and Rob’s. Then, he was mine – just mine, not ours. You may have had a slight part is helping to create him but that’s it. You didn’t help to care for him. You never truly loved him. You skipped his 1st Birthday Party! You say it was to work. I say it’s because you’re an ass. You could have requested to have the day off. They would have given it to you. You didn’t ask. So you missed the party. You slept through his 1st Christmas morning! You were sleeping on the couch and I tried to wake you up. You yelled at me and said, “He’s not going to remember. I’ll see it all later!” then you passed out again. (Never mind the fact that the gifts for his 1st Christmas were purchased by your parents because you took the money out of our checking account and spent it on drugs. But who’s counting, right?)
Were those not good enough examples of your horrible parenting skills – or the complete and total lack there of – with Gavin? How about this one then? How about my first day of work at HH Gregg? Remember that one Nicholas? I had to be at work at 9am. At 8am I was getting ready and I woke you up – again from where you were sleeping on the couch. You woke up and smoked a cigarette. You promised you would stay awake and not go back to sleep. I left at about 8:30am. You were still awake. Gavin was asleep and not due to be awake until about 10-ish. I called from work at 11am – no one answered. I wasn’t too worried – yet. By 1am, when you still didn’t answer I was worried. I called repeatedly. Finally, I called the neighbor. She went to the Apartment Complex Manager and got the spare key to the apartment. Do you remember what she found when she let herself into the apartment? Do you?! She found you – passed out cold and totally unresponsive on the couch. She found Gavin – in his crib, where he had been for over 19 hours at that point! He had cried himself hoarse. He was soiled through his diaper, through his sleeper and onto his crib sheets. He had attempted to finish his bottle from the night before – the one with spoiled formula in it. (Formula because you made me wean him because you were jealous of the fact that he was breastfed when he was 6 months old. Let us not forget that.) When she found him he had no tears left to cry. Which means he was dehydrated.
All that happened because you had to get stoned while I was at work because you couldn’t and wouldn’t hold a job and couldn’t and wouldn’t stay sober. Just out of curiosity, do you remember what happened to the job you had right before I got that job? You were working at Check Smart and $300 went missing. The way I hear it, it went missing on your shift. They can’t prove it was you but they also can’t prove it wasn’t you either. So they just let you go. Interesting…
You know, when I started this letter I didn’t set out to bash you. I also didn’t set out to word vomit everything you did, or said, or thought. I was aiming to be more graceful and eloquent with the whole thing. I guess somethings you just need to get down and out. At least it’s out there though. Now I know that I’ve finally said my piece, or part of it, and I’ve been heard.
Good, bad or indifferent…I’ve been heard.