Namastay Outta Mah Face

In service of myself, I have to start saying a few of the things that pop into my head but I don’t let escape my lips.

When lab manager felt the need to touch me on my side to show me where his mother in law’s ribs had been broken, I didn’t say anything. Partly from shock and partly because I’m that girl that doesn’t make a big deal out of anything for fear of being perceived as difficult. 

Considering even having anyone in my bubble that isn’t in my tribe makes me nauseated, the touching thing is strictly verboten.

I should have said, “Don’t touch me, please. That makes me uncomfortable.” I was so shocked however, and he just kept talking and the panic that had momentarily sparked through my entire body had abated just as quickly as it came, so I didn’t say shit, as usual.

At my other job, I have a nemesis as well but we all sort of dislike her together. She steals sales from us and she lies and is generally just a shit head. She’s been in that department a hot minute longer than me but tries to tell me what to do constantly and dismissively. Not to mention, she’s young enough to be my child. I was headed toward a ringing phone once and she said, “No, I’ll get it. It’s for me.” So, I kept walking. 

Another co-worker asked if the phone was for HER and I said, “I don’t know. N said it was for her so I let her get it.”

THIS coworker said, “Oh, you gonna let her tell you what to do? N’s your boss now?”

Consequently, I find myself stuck between starting shit with the annoying coworker every time she tries to tell me something to do because the others are making fun of me for being amenable, OR telling the others that I’m a little too mature to start warring with someone over every little thing, which is actually how I feel.  I have confronted her when she’s stolen a sale because that’s money out of my pocket but when N throws a pile of shoes on the counter, she’s just priced and says, “Put these out on the tables.” I just grab them and do it because I know it has to be done. I don’t see why I need to start Bitchfest 2015 to appease everyone else’s need for drama.

Thus, the plight of the emotionally battered.  You are raised to be a wimp and a doormat, a people pleaser.  You don’t necessarily enjoy it, but oh my, are you good at it. You seek out those who will flatter and praise you for being their lapdog.

Once you realize what your life is becoming, you try to work hard to shed all those things and people who drag you down into such stellar subservience. You may eventually gain somewhat of a voice but it never quite surfaces in that moment when you need it.  You end up being a clown for everyone’s amusement but never daring to completely be the bitch you know you can and should be for fear that someone won’t like you, for fear of being viewed as a hysterical female.

While we’re at it, speaking your mind as a woman makes you a bitch, period. I’m going to just start owning that even though I’m still a people pleaser inside, I’m going to reserve that for people who deserve it.

I just have to find a way to walk the line, I suppose. I cannot keep popping a Klonopin every time Lab Manager makes me want to clear my desk and fling poo at him.  I’m sure there’s a way to calmly deliver my opinion even if it’s going to be an unpopular one. Maybe, it’s all in the delivery.  Zen bitchy.  I’m going to start that movement now.  Let’s get some T-shirts made and have a retreat. 

Zen Bitchy – How to tell people to go fuck themselves while remaining calm and centered.

TBone Reheated

I picked up my phone and stared at it with a bit of incredulity but mostly this feeling of satisfaction and smugness crept in unbidden, delicious but tinged with guilt because a good person wouldn’t be so arrogant. It was TBone.

There I sat, still reeling from Don Juan/Hypocrites and even though it’d been many weeks, I was still pretty torn up.  I had so loved him and thought we could make a beautiful life together and then he was gone like I didn’t matter at all.

TBone on the other hand was asking me to go to dinner with him.  I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t know what to say.  We were more than likely the same two people with the same differences we’d had last time.  I just couldn’t believe he was messaging me. He’d acted like our breakup had been a complete shit storm and I was more than just a little surprised at the contact.

I finally answered and said sure and he seemed really happy. He continued to sporadically text and I answered.  Don Juan had really ripped out my heart and TBone was being nice. Salve as it were. I knew though… way back in that place where you know things.

I went anyway. We had the dinner. He took me to a nice place and I had too many cocktails and he sat across from me staring adoringly.  At one point he said, “You’re so smart and beautiful and NOT crazy. Whatever I was doing that got on your nerves before, I’ll quit doing.”

I smiled at that and told him, “We are still the same people. With the same issues.”

He interrupted me with, “I didn’t have any issues.”

I clamped my lips shut and leaned back in the booth.  I had plenty of them and I wondered since he’d busted my Facebook blog page if he’d actually read the blog and then assumed he must have.   It wasn’t anywhere near complimentary and I felt he must’ve read it by now.

We started the dating. Again.  It was somewhat okay.  At first I was swept up in all the nice, all the feels as it were.  He was still handsome and accommodating and the sex was different.  Like not as bad at first but shockingly quick and he’d developed a habit of yelling out during his crisis in a loud extended way that made me cringe. Every time almost. I found myself frustrated for different reasons than before but still frustrated.  He had eased up on the kitty cat talking but told me he loved me immediately during our first time out.  It was disconcerting but after a while, I fell into it too. It seemed easy. The same shit we did before revisited and again, it was salve.  I didn’t recognize it fully or maybe I just didn’t want to. Don Juan/Hypocrites had just really taken me weeks to feel normal again and this was balm for the wound.  

So it happened that after exchange of love and a few weeks, we decided to go visit my parents, me and TBone and the Girl Child and a camper and his decrepit Bronco.  TBone exhibited nerves at the prospect of meeting my parents and I told him to calm down and relax. They’re regular peeps and they wouldn’t give him a hard time even if they hated him.  Tucker was proof enough of that.

He showed up with the camper and we loaded up.  It wasn’t too bad going up there. He had brought his boys to meet their mother to visit for the 4^th of July.  Most of the visit was okay.  He was trying too hard and I could see that he wasn’t content unless he was sitting still and doing not much and smoking a joint.  I mean, I knew he smoked but it was just so evident that he wasn’t happy at all unless he was high and to hear him tell it, he “never got high”.  Whatever.  So we had a fairly okay time but when we headed home the aforementioned decrepit Bronco started to have some problems.  It was overheating and exhibiting some electrical issues and he proceeded to grab his rosary and rock back and forth as he was driving.  Genuflecting like a lunatic, swinging those beads around with them knocking all over the place.  I am not a believer.  He knows this and I know he’s a Catholic and I accept you have to do what you have to do to get by. Believe what you like and that’s all cool but the display that he put on was discomfiting almost frightening. Even on my most fervent, prayer-filled days, I would not have acted like that in front of anyone for any reason. It bordered on mania that was more than a little unsettling. 

Ironically, though, in between all the reverence to the lord, he was puffing on his one hitter with my kid in the car.  I just looked at him with murder in my eyes and he finally set it down with a look that was disgusted. My daughter was dead silent and bug eyed in the back seat watching everything.

We then drove the 3 ½ almost 4 hours without stopping because he was afraid the truck wouldn’t start back up.  We got home, we piled out stretching and I said, “Wow, thank goodness. I’m dying of thirst.”

Only to be answered by TBone with, “Yeah, well I haven’t had anything to drink since we left your parents’!”

I really couldn’t believe what I’d just heard and all I think was

 Congratulations! You’ve just won the Thirsty Games!!!

But … because I am the person I am and I knew that he was very stressed out even though the worst that could’ve happen was to wait on AAA, I went directly inside and made him a cold drink.  He was sitting on the couch and leaned back as if he’d just gone through complete hell…duuuh-raaahma.

I handed him the drink, and the winner of the Thirsty Games, who had had to go 20 minutes longer than me and the GC without a drink, took it and set it on the coffee table without so much as taking a sip. I stared incredulously as he then said with all the zeal he had in him, “I know you don’t believe it but the Lord got us home.” I felt a snap, an imperceptible hitch in my feelings.  That moment was the beginning of the end.

I thought,  Did the lord also tell you to toke up with my kid in the car so we could make it home?

I turned and grabbed GC and we left to get food. That night, after he’d fallen asleep, I got up and slept on the couch.  I couldn’t bear it.  The GC was on the other side of our sectional and I snoozed until about 9AM and got up and made some coffee. I got back on the couch with my blanky and coffee and snoozed off and on.  About 11:00AM, Tbone got up suddenly as if it were 6AM and he were the motherfucking poster child for early risers and began to bark at us.  I stared blankly while he growled orders, “WE NEED TO GET UP AND GET THIS DONE.” 

I said, “Uh, if you need to go, then go. We’ll figure out how to pick up her car if you’re in a hurry.”

He stopped in his tracks and looked at me. Let the back pedaling and martyrdom commence.

“No, it’s just that I thought we should get this over with and….” I interrupted and repeated myself in a very kind, even tone and he again refused to leave and I said, “Well I’m going to get breakfast and coffee and then call the shop and we’ll figure out when we’re getting it after.”

He went outside, presumably for his wake and bake and the GC and I again left. I called and the guys were at lunch and we couldn’t get the car picked up til 1.   We returned to find him sitting on the steps of his camper in what looked like classic pout pose.  I told him that they wouldn’t be back in the shop until 1PM and he could leave if he wanted and it’d all be fine.

I think he told me no but all I heard was, “Wah.  I’ll stay. Wah.  Poor pitiful me. Wah. Martyr. Martyr. Wah. Can you see my cross? Wah…”

Then…omg…then….

I’m trolling Facebook on the couch, waiting to head out and my son, who is the world’s BEST drama queen had posted:

Tired of no matter what I do it’s not the right thing.

Tbone had liked it and commented:

I know what you mean.

I absolutely lost my shit then and I told him about it.  I confronted him with the fact that you don’t put your shit all over Facebook much less on my SON’S page and what’s more he was relating to and commiserating with an 18 year old kid. Like I said before, that was the beginning of the end. It deteriorated quickly after that. He hadn’t actually read the blog and he did manage it a fit of pique to find it and read it. He sort of figured out what I really thought after that. In the end though, it was not so much a “you’re not good enough for me” judgment as an “I judge you to be too different from me for this to work.”

I have loved and been loved. I have not, however, ever been taken care of so completely that I didn’t feel absolutely alone in my skin at all times.  Normally, I’m okay with that …it’s just those times that you feel like if you have to be in charge of one more motherfucking thing without SOME kind of backup, you’re going to lose your shit in a special way. 

I never had that person there that was my lover and who understood me. I have my friends and I have my daughter and my family but it isn’t the same. It’s not the same as being skin to skin with someone, sharing breath with them and knowing that they cherish more than your body. I want that intangible feeling of having someone to fall back on when I am low.  Someone who will say, “It’s okay that you feel shitty right now because I’m here.  You feel shitty and we’ll take care of this together and you won’t feel shitty anymore and I won’t make you feel even shittier for feeling shitty.”  No scorekeeping, no I did this, so you have to do that.  No guilt.  No obligation. Just love and acceptance. Someone who would be there regardless and wasn’t trying to take advantage of me in any way. Someone I could feel safe loving and giving my heart to and would give theirs right back to me for safekeeping.

I had been very guilty in my younger years of rejecting anyone that seemed like they “loved me too much.” So much self-loathing abounded that I began to reject any club that would have me as a member.  I felt that had happened with Don Juan and his own feelings of self-worth were what got in the way between us.  I hadn’t wanted to be like that and had given people chances they didn’t deserve because I wanted to be sure I wasn’t doing that exact thing, passing something up fundamentally good because I was damaged. Enter TBone and my need to fair and think everything out instead of going with that thing that I know from that place where you store up the shit that you JUST know.

I can handle being by myself. It’s okay. I can do that. I can get through the times when I’m adrift in a sea of chaos and feel like I’m standing stock still in the middle of roaring bedlam.  After all is said and done, the only person I need to worry about being fair to, is myself.

State of Disgrace

The rest of the year continued like this.  Me going to court every month, occasionally the constable dropping by to serve eviction papers until Tucker bullshitted the landlord into taking yet another partial payment, me feeling sick all day every day wondering how to get the fuck out. 

November reared its ugly head and something miraculous happened.  Tucker somehow managed to come up with $10,000 and pay the court and all my charges were dismissed.  I couldn’t fucking believe he’d done it.  Where did he get $10,000? I don’t know and what’s more I didn’t give a shit.  He did it.  I was free.  Now I just had to make my escape and I was figuring that I’d be able to do it by the first of the year if I was lucky.  If I was strong.  I had since given up on god but they say there are no atheists in foxholes and I was fighting a war within that left me ragged and shadowy.

Christmas time came and Tucker gave me a Kindle.  Of course, I’d given him money from another stipend payment. That’s what he bought my gift with but whatever, he bought me something I wanted with my own money so I didn’t have to feel guilty about spending it on myself I suppose.  I was a little irritated by the act but I showed only gratitude and smiles when it came. 

Christmas came and went.  The New Year came and things were the same.  He was solicitous, kind and constantly giving me attention and almost doting on me.  I couldn’t understand it really. I have a recollection of lying in my bed playing on the Kindle and him lying across the bed fists balled under his chin staring at me asking me if I loved him and if I was happy.  With a bit of dismissiveness, I told him that yes, of course I loved him.  The revulsion inside me was barely contained though and I think he sensed it.  Hell I know he sensed it.  He suddenly had money to give me for my account.  We didn’t have to worry about the landlord either; he said he’d taken care of it.  Things were still tight but not so bad and he said he’d have to buy cattle to cover the order advance money he’d taken. That sort of explained things but then I began to worry how he was going to pay for cattle if he was giving up the money he had taken in advance but then I thought fuck it.  I’m not worrying about his shenanigans as long as I wasn’t involved. Things were smoothing out somewhat and I thought I could start to hide money soon.

I was continuing to go to work every day and so it was that I went to work on January 13, 2012. I had been dropped off by Tucker at the HQ building so I could attend a professional development class.  My car had blown up the week before and I had a loaner from the dealership and Tucker was happily tooling about in it all day every day.  I just knew that work was my escape and I relished it.  I was about an hour into training when my phone began to display missed call after missed call from Tucker.  When we got a break I went into the hallway to call him back and it was ringing again.

Tucker’s desperate voice came over the speaker, “Come get me! Come get me! I’m in the next town and they’re arresting me!”

I was dumbfounded and asked what he was talking about.  “They’re taking me to county, just come get me!!!”  The line went dead and I stood in the hallway still stupefied. I know I looked an idiot standing there staring at my phone. What was I going to do? He had my car and I was stuck more than an hour away from where he said he was. Tucker, Jr. happened to be at the house and his call was the next one I got. 

“Dad’s been arrested in the next town and I got no way to get to him. He’s supposed to taking me to the airport in a few hours.”

I sighed, heavy and deep.  “Call someone and make arrangements because it doesn’t look like either of us is going to get you.  He’s got my car and I have to figure out what’s going on.”

Tucker, Jr. said he’d work on it and for me to just get his dad out and he’d find a way to get where he needed.  I sat there and really all I was worried about was the fact that I had no money on me and I needed that car.  I called the only person I knew that could come and get me and that was my boss.  He was my friend as well as my boss, he knew almost everything that had gone on and he would come and get me.  He did and I told him everything I knew then I wracked my brain further for what to do.

I called my brother’s girlfriend.  My brother is a sheriff’s deputy in the county where they’d taken him and though he was out of the country in Iraq, I knew she’d be able to help me.  I hesitated as I dialed.  What was I going to say? Hey Helena, it’s me and um I need you to help me with my fucking criminal husband…? I didn’t know but I knew I needed a plan when I did get there.

“Hello????” She answered cheerfully but cautiously.

“Helena, it’s me.  Tucker apparently has been arrested in town there and I have no clue what’s going on.  My boss is bringing me because Tucker had my car and I’m not even sure if it’s been impounded or parked somewhere.”

“Wow…okay.  Let me call the jail and see what I can find out and I’ll call you right back.  Meet me at the jail, okay?  We’ll get this all figured out.” She was calm and self-assured and put my mind at ease.

“Thank you so very much.” I answered in what was my smallest voice I’m sure but I was trying so hard not to crumble.

“No problem, girl.  Just meet me at the jail.”  She rang off and I again sat staring at my phone. I looked over to my boss who was staring at me with concern, “I need you to take me to the jail in the next town and Helena will help me then.”

He was solicitous and kind and I’m sure full of pity.  Here we go again with jail and a criminal asshole husband.  I sat rocking slightly and freaking out a lot.  We pulled up to the jail and Helena was outside talking to an officer.  I thanked my boss and assured him I’d be back on Tuesday after our long weekend and I’d call if I needed him.  Helena walked over and hugged me and said, “Well, it was checks.  He was writing hot checks and they set him up waiting for him to come and do it again.”

I just took out a cigarette and lit it and sat down on the curb.  The officer came over and said, “Ma’am?” I stared up at him.  I exhaled and blew the smoke out of my lungs long and hard and willed myself not to cry.  I stood up and threw the butt down and stepped on it.  I smiled brightly instead of bawling and said, “You’re not going to give me a ticket for that are you?”

He snickered, “No ma’am.”

“Good, what’s going on in there with him?”

“Well he was writing checks on an account for an F&H Ranch account to himself apparently but he signed your name to the account.  Did your last name used to be Waltham?”

I nodded as he continued.  The blood was draining from my head or swirling towards it, I’m not sure. I was getting dizzy and had to sit back down on the curb. The officer came back around in front of me as he talked.  “Well he was saying they were payroll checks and he’s cashed about 10 of them in the last month.”

I sort of felt as if I were going to vomit at that point as I asked, “Um, you know I didn’t sign those checks don’t you? I mean, that’s my old DBA those checks were in a banker’s box in the back of my closet with tax records.  That bank doesn’t even exist anymore. I mean…”

He interrupted my worried ramblings and said, “Look, he said you had nothing to do with it.  If there were any doubt in my mind, you’d be sitting right there next to him.”

I slumped forward and held my head in my hands.  I gathered myself and got back up.  “What’s next?”

“Well it’s about $5,000 and he’s here until Tuesday at least to see the judge and be arraigned. He’s asked that you pick up his belongings.”

“I only want my debit card or anything he has with my name on it.”

The officer walked me inside and went to the back.  He came back with Tucker’s wallet.  The wallet my children had picked out for him the year before for his birthday. I opened it and got out my debit card and an old ID he had of mine.  I handed him back the wallet and told him that I didn’t need it.  I asked about the car and was told that it had been impounded and where it was.  I walked out to meet Helena in the sun and told her where the car was. 

“Oh shit, I thought I’d be able to talk them into letting you have it if another lot had picked it up but he won’t turn it loose without the full fee.”

I got in the car with her and checked my bank account on my phone.  It was $3 overdrawn.  I looked through my wallet and found $2.  Helena told me not to worry that we’d figure it all out one way or the other.  She took her car to get it serviced and we walked from the garage towards Dairy Queen.  She bought me a hamburger and we sat down with our drinks.

It all began to sink in and let loose right then. The tears were silent but profuse and I could not stop them.  Helena reached across the table and handed me napkins. I cried for my wasted life, for my son, for my daughter. I cried because he couldn't have loved me...not really if he'd gone right back out and put me in jeopardy again. I cried for all I'd given for no goddamned good reason.  There I was, sitting in a Dairy Queen, crying noiselessly and unable to control myself. The waitress brought our food and I turned to look out the window but she began to try and console me.

I was humiliated and the nicer she tried to be, the less I was able to stop crying. I had nothing.  Less than nothing and I would have to beg and borrow to make it better and I gave up my life in exchange for disgrace. It was horrible and Helena finally convinced her I was fine and to go away.  I eventually stopped but I wasn’t hungry.  I was desolate. I kept thinking that I didn’t know when the next time I would eat would be and I’d probably better load the hump anyway. Then I thought of Harlow and how when and where I’d fix any of this shit. I knew this was it. I could get gone right now. Somehow, some way I would erase him from our lives. I would fix the ragged edges and fill in the shadows and try to forget how much of myself I’d given up for someone who never really even valued who I was. 

Just Like a Boomerang, Baby.

Shortly after my release, Tucker got the money together to go check himself in and be bonded directly back out of jail.  The thrill of the chase evidently had died down for Ranger Rick and he didn’t endeavor to keep him locked up.  I began to be sick all the time.  My stomach hurt, nothing stayed down or agreed with me and within a month I began to get sharp stabbing stomach pains that were incessant.  I dealt with them thinking that it was just stress and I’d get over it soon enough.  Tucker knew how pissed I was but he also alluded more than once that we’d only get these charges dismissed against me if we “worked together”. 

I took this to mean if I left him, he’d screw me over.  I had a court appointed lawyer and had to show up for court once a month for them to set my court date off since Tucker was apparently working on something with the DA.  My lawyer didn’t know who I was, didn’t care really and had been forced into working my case in the first place.  Month to month, I worried whether he’d even recognize me when he walked into the court room. 

I was dealing with that, still trying to pay bills, wondering how to survive on the salary I was making and how to just get up and leave. Tucker still had a hold on me.  He was still able to work me over and most of all I was worried about him taking the blame for the fiasco and getting my charges dropped.  I didn’t need a trial and a record. I formulated and discarded hundreds of plans. One night I approached Tucker and showed him a listing for a place in town that we could afford with just my paycheck.

“Why do we need that?” he looked at me warily.

“Well, I just thought that if we could cover all the household bills with just my check, then you could take care of the rest of your business with what you bring in and things might be a little easier.”

He looked perplexed somewhat and then angry and then just simply said, “There’s no place for the horses there and no place for cattle.”

I very carefully suggested then that we didn’t need the horses and cattle when we could barely feed ourselves. He got pretty pissed then.  He got up from his desk and started to pace. “Are you trying to say that I can’t support my family?! Are you saying that you just want to take everything over and run it now? Is that what you want?”

What I wanted was to be able to throw him out and still be able to live and I had a feeling that he knew it or at least suspected it. 

“Of course not, I’m trying to relieve some of the stress around here.  I’m always sick and it’s probably an ulcer or something.  My stomach hurts all the time and you have all this … this legal mess going on. I just thought if we reduced our budget some that it would make things easier.”

He flatly refused.  He said no place we could afford on my salary would be worth a shit. He wasn’t living in a shack in a bad neighborhood. He was better than that.

I felt so defeated and hopeless and just left him standing in the living room.  I distinctly recall his “making love” to me that night.  It was the way I could tell him that I’d accepted him and his decree and that we were fine.  It’s how he gauged our whole relationship. I acquiesced even though I felt sick and tired because I knew it was easier than arguing.

Soon after I decided I’d better go to the doctor. The pains in my stomach were becoming very regular and everything I ate made me sick.  The doctor said he thought it was my gall bladder but I needed some tests which he scheduled for 3 days later.  I went home and went to bed and curled into a ball but the pain would not stop.  I soon started vomiting so violently that I just cried and struggled to breathe.  Only Freddy was home with me and I told him I thought I’d better go to the hospital.  I told him to drive me; I knew I couldn’t do it. I called Tucker on the way and Freddy had to pull over several times so that I could throw up.  There was nothing left in me but it still kept coming up.  I called my doctor’s office and told him what was happening and he told me to go straight to check in instead of emergency.

Tucker showed up and seemed very agitated.  Whether it was concern for me or from something else, I couldn’t tell.  I got checked in and hooked up and was scheduled for some tests.  I made Tucker leave and tend to the kids.  Freddy refused to leave the hospital and Tucker went off to take care of Harlow.  He took my debit card and I lamented the state of my bank account on top of everything else.  Once I knew my girl was taken care of, I asked for the pain medicine they had tried to give me earlier and simply passed out.

Tucker returned a few hours later with a phone charger and some pajamas for me.  He had sent Harlow to the neighbors’ so that she could get on the bus the next morning and had pulled money out of the bank with my debit card.  Money I had earmarked for bill paying but by that time I was like what the fuck ever…I felt like I was dying and didn’t care if I did perish at that point.

I woke up to be wheeled off for testing.  Tucker was insistent on staying and so was Freddy.  He seemed so attentive that I wondered what was up.  I thought that maybe he really did love me and was worried about me.  He certainly was staying by my side.  He was hardly even going outside to smoke his beloved cigarettes.  Freddy even noticed and asked what was up with him and all his ministrations.  I told Freddy that he was wrong about Tucker and that though he was gruff most of the time, he really loved and cared for all of us. I thought in that moment that the crisis and the unknown and the worry and love for me had made him show some true colors.

Freddy wasn’t buying it and so I just shrugged and slept some more.  I was subjected to a ton of tests to find out that indeed my gall bladder was operating at about 15% and it would need to come out.  I am phobic about surgery.  In the extreme.  I don’t think anyone likes it but it terrifies me.  Usually that is.  I was hurting so much and by this time had been without food for 4 days. I didn’t care anymore I just wanted to not hurt.

I went in, they yanked it out through my navel apparently and I came out none the worse for wear.  I was out of recovery and back in my room so groggy and out of it and there were Tucker and Freddy.  I slipped in and out of consciousness and heard Tucker on the phone.

“No she’s fine.  Yeah, I guess no one knows. This really turned out pretty good considering.” He paused while whoever was on the other end said something before he continued. “I’m not sure but I’ll wait til we’re home and then I’ll just go book in and out.” 

My brain was muddled and I struggled to understand what it was he was saying. Trying to piece together whether I was hearing this or was just dreaming about him talking over going in and out of jail in the next county over where I’d been forced to spend the night.

“No, no she doesn’t know.  I’ll tell her when I get her home.  It’s the same as in the other county and I’ll be in and out in a few hours but this has been the perfect place to lay low til I got the money all together.”

I knew then.  I pieced it all up in my drug fogged brain.  He was wanted in this county as well and had been hiding out in my hospital room the entire time.  All of his attentiveness and staying by my side had only been a side effect of him hiding from a warrant for his arrest. I gave myself up to the fact that he’d been genuinely concerned enough to stay by my side nonstop.  I clung to the nice things like an alcoholic to his bottle. I wanted to not be stupid. I wanted it all to not be the colossal disaster it was. It all came back to me like a boomerang in that moment. My heart broke a little more right then and I slipped back into unconsciousness and hoped I just wouldn’t come to.

The Wisdom of Stabby Marie

The first tearful phone call was followed by a barrage of others in which I found out that my brother had attempted to secure my release only to be told I was to stay put at least until the next morning because they were attempting to flush Tucker out.  I knew that wouldn’t happen and wished they would understand that it was fruitless. I resigned myself to spending the night.  One of the other ladies in the cell said she’d overheard my phone call and said she was being held for the same thing, organized crime. After we talked, we discovered that both our husbands knew each other and she knew even less than I did about what was going on.  The difference between us however was that they came and got her and she got to see the judge because they’d managed to nab her husband.

The other “lady” in the tank with me was scratching her weave with the 2 fingernails left on her hand.  She stared at me and said, “Honey don’t worry bout nothin.  You’ll be out in the mornin, your folks’ll getcha.”

I stared at her and said, “Thank you but no one I know has enough money to get me out except the man that put me here. Who knows when I’ll get out.”

"Honey if you have to depend on a man, you're fucked.  You better figure out how to do it yourself or you'll be fucked for the rest of your life.  In more ways than one!!" she chuckled and scratched her head again and stared under her fingernails.  I wondered what exactly she was looking for under those 2 long red fingernails. 

The door opened and we were bid to come and get our supper.  I don’t even remember what it was except there was an orange on the tray.  I know I didn’t eat anything and the cell mate asked for my orange and I gave it freely. I started thinking, You gonna eat yo cornbreaaaadddd? I almost laughed but didn't want her to think I was making fun or had lost my shit. I pulled out my mat after that and laid down determined not to cry anymore.  My cell mate followed my lead and proceeded to tell me about how she’d gone out for cigarettes and had been pulled over and arrested on an old warrant.  She showed me her scars from stab wounds she’d gotten from her ex old man and regaled me with tales of domestic abuse.  We both eventually fell asleep. 

More phone calls from me the next morning found that one call to another back to one yielded that Tucker had come up with the money to bail me out, had sent it via carrier pigeon to the bail bondsman and that someone from that office would come and get me eventually.  We were taken out of the cell long enough to see the judge where I told them I definitely wanted a lawyer and signed my arraignment papers.  We were taken back and fed breakfast and Stabby Marie was let out shortly after that and I had the luxurious suite all to myself.  I finally felt free enough to use the facilities in the corner blocked by the half wall and willed myself not to call my parents and run up their phone bill any further.  I tried to wash my face and hands and then laid back down. 

There was no clock. I had no clue as to the time.  I thought if I get lunch then I’ll know that it’s midday and I’ll call after that. I had nothing but time to think, my mind was a game of ping pong back and forth from one thought to the next.  I had time to plan and scheme and time for my anger to grow.  I was charged with organized crime.  I had no part in it but I’ll get a lawyer and I’ll figure it out.  Of course it’ll have to be a public defender because I obviously have nothing.  I was so relieved that Tucker had done what I knew he’d do and sent the money to get me out and simultaneously furious because he had to get me out in the first place.  The time crawled.  Watching a clock may make time drag but not having an indicator of what time it is at all is maddening.  I laid on the bench, I laid on the mat, I tried to put my hair up with no implements.  I washed my hands and face again, I tried to make the mat stay on the bench, I napped but soon figured that I knew even less about the time when I slept because I had no way of measuring it and so I played with the phone and again willed myself not to call the parentals.  I knew it had to be after lunch when suddenly the door opened and the jailer called out my name as if the room were full to capacity with femme fatales and I got up and just looked at her.

“Get your mat and come on.” She walked away as I scrambled to grab the huge mat and drag it out.  The jailer droned, “Place the mat here, here are your things,” she handed me the box full of my stuff, “Go in the bathroom and get changed and hurry.”

I threw the box into the bathroom, shut the door behind me and shrugged out of the accursed striped jumpsuit. I got my bra back on and pulled my makeup bag out of my purse.  I was trying desperately to look like I hadn't just been sprung from county.  I scraped my hair into a twist and clipped it. I got the rest of my clothes back on in time to hear the jailer rapping on the door and calling, “Hurry up!! I have to feed and if you don’t come on, you’ll be here for 3 more hours.”

I opened the door at that moment and smiled brightly.  “All ready!” I said.  She stared at me expressionless, extremely unimpressed with my transformation.  I signed paperwork and walked out into the lobby.  I powered up my phone and saw a young man that looked like he was waiting for someone.  I asked him if he was from the bond office and then got in his car with him. He asked where to and I indicated my office so that I could get my car.  As we drove, I called.  I called my parents.  I called the rest of the people in that I knew had had a hand in the phone relay that ultimately got me released.  I called to check on my kids and told them I’d be to get them shortly.  Harlow said she wanted to stay put one more night, oblivious to the goings on.  I assented and we arrived at my car.  I thanked the young man and then got in my car and searched for my cigarettes.  I lit one and inhaled so deeply I got a head rush.  I kept the tears at bay and put it in gear and headed toward my son.  I picked up my son and my brother didn’t have much to say and I just didn’t have any words except thank you for him.  Freddy hugged me so tight and asked me what had happened. I told him not to worry about it and that I’d handle it.

“It was all those checks, wasn’t it?” He looked at me with murder in his face. 

“You don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of all of this.”

“No, Mom you won’t do anything about it.  You won’t do anything, you’ll just stay with him and let him do whatever he wants.  You always do.”

I started crying.  “Freddy you don’t know what all is involved this time.  Just stay out of it and I’ll do what I need to do.”

Freddy just sat there fuming and finally said, “I’ll kill him.” My heart was filled with terror and sadness and frustration.

“You can’t do anything.  I promise you, I’ll handle this.  Two more months or so and you’ll be off to school and you won’t have to deal with him at all anymore.” He said nothing and stared out the window.

It never failed that he’d add fuel to the fire of my turmoil.  It was just his way.  I loved him and reviled him all at the same time but knew he was right. Everything he was feeling was right and I was the ultimate let down.  He had no one to trust and respect and it was my fault.

We pulled into the driveway at home and I told him to feed the animals so that I could shower.  I still had not called Tucker.  I knew he wouldn’t be at home since he was wanted. I showered and crawled into bed.  My phone rang and it was him.  I debated not answering but gave in before it went to voice mail.

“Hey, baby.” His voice was tentative and filled with suck ass. 

“Hi.” I said nothing else and left it to him to fill the silence.

“Are you okay?”

“How do you think I am Tucker? I spent 26 hours in county jail because of you and your bullshit.  My parents know, the kids’ other grandmother knows, my brother knows, Freddy knows.  No amount of your tap dancing is going to let you coming out of this looking like a shiny penny.”

“Just stay with me baby and I’ll make this all go away, I promise you.  You had nothing to with it and that Ranger is just trying to ruin everything between us so you’ll turn on me.”

“Well maybe he’s not a total dumbass then.” I shot it out before I even thought about it.

His voice took on an edge then, “Maybe you should just let me handle everything baby and then you’ll be fine. I can’t clear you if you’re not with me.”

I knew then what was happening. It dawned on me as if the sun were rising on my blind stupidity.  I was stuck and had to trust him to do what he’d said he’d do or I was fucked. OR I  could get a lawyer and pack all this shit up and try to start over with nothing.  Whatever I was going to do I felt like I had only that moment to make the decision.  I was tired and broken and I had Freddy’s voice ringing in my head and I didn’t know if I’d still have a job on Monday. I finally acquiesced and said, “Okay.”

I could hear the breath whoosh out of him over the phone. He told me he was “away” for a little longer until he had the money for his own bail together so he could walk in and out of the jail.  He wanted me to meet him somewhere and bring him some clothes and I suddenly felt like a gun moll.  I just thought to myself, Do what he needs and get to work Monday and figure it out.  I agreed once again to do what he wanted and told him it’d be the next day and that I was exhausted. He told me that was fine and that he loved me. He apologized again and told me I was “the most perfect thing in my life and that I can do anything if you’re by my side.”  

All I could think was fuck you. I told him I loved him too and hung up.  I rolled over in my bed and turned on the TV. I looked at the cable TV, the house, the big bathroom, the huge bedroom. I wondered if I'd still have any of this in a month, a week or a year.  I thought about Stabby Marie and what she'd said about depending on a man. I wondered how long I was stuck in this life and how I’d break free.  All I knew at that moment was that I would break free, I had to.

Keep Calm and Follow Directions

I went to the dollar store as instructed then proceeded to drive around.  After what seemed like hours but was really only about one, I called him.  He answered, “Just come home.”

“Is everything alright? Is he still there? Are the kids ok?” I rapid fired the questions at him as if he would actually answer me. 

“Just come home.” He repeated.

I turned off the back road I was on and headed for the house.  When I pulled up the long driveway from the road, I saw an unfamiliar pickup in front of the house and I tasted pennies.  The adrenaline surge told me all I needed to know but I pulled up and got out of the car.  I walked in and there, in my house, stood a Texas Ranger.

He called be my name and greeted me and I felt ill.  I ignored him and asked Tucker, “Where are the kids?”

“Freddy is out feeding the horses and Harlow is in her room.” I turned from them standing in the kitchen and went down to check on Harlow.  She jumped up from her bed and ran to me and wrapped her arms around me.  “Momma! Is everything alright?”

“Of course it is baby.  It’ll be fine. Just stay in here awhile and then I’ll start supper.”

I unwrapped her arms from around me and she smiled up at me like I had come to rescue her.  You could see the relief in her face as if the cavalry had arrived.  I wished I felt like the cavalry. I felt like a pawn in a fucked up game of chess.

I left Harlow watching the Disney Channel and went back to see what was going on in my home.  Tucker was sitting at his desk with the laptop fired up and the Ranger said, “Show me how you make a bogus check.”

Einstein, FTW!!

Once the wedding was over, I almost shrunk into myself even more if that’s possible.  My relationship with my son was deteriorating and his problems at school were coming to the forefront.  Freddy had been held back in first grade because I was moving jobs and he had gone to three different schools that year.  When we landed where we landed the teachers and counselor recommended that he repeat the first grade for his own good. At the time, it didn’t seem like a huge deal but it came back to bite us in the ass when he failed 7^th grade and summer school was not an option because he couldn’t make up the necessary work.

He came to me with tears in his eyes and was so ashamed of himself for failing.  I tried to tell him that this was just as much my fault as it was his.  I had been so wrapped up in the disaster we were living that I’d let my motherhood duties slide.  Although we had fought through his ADHD with no medication and I had spent so many hours advocating for him at school, it just quit being as effective in middle school. 

I tried asking the principal for a 504 representative to help with a special education plan for my son but was told that wouldn’t make a difference, he’d have to repeat the 7^th grade.  The principal and my relationship had declined into an adversarial association. Freddy had gotten into trouble for fighting and for being restless and disruptive in class and the principal had little to no people or management skills and there was no gray area to him. Kids were either good ones or bad ones.  It should be noted he took a demotion the following year and was no longer the principal.  It didn’t help us however, Freddy was doomed to repeat the 7^th grade and what made it worse in a tiny town with the entire K-12 in one building, he’d be in the same classes all day with his little sister. 

I was cleaning the bedroom and hanging up clean clothes and I had pulled Tucker in to talk to him privately about Freddy. When I told him what had happened and how upset Freddy was and he could see my obvious upset, he told me that Freddy was playing me.  I looked up at him in complete disbelief, stopped in my tracks with hangers in my hand.  Of all the reactions I thought I’d get, this one did not occur to me.

“Playing me?!”

“Yeah, he’s playing you.  You’re his mommy and you always rush in to defend him even when he’s wrong.  You’ve turned him into a first class momma’s boy pussy that comes crying to momma when things don’t go his way.”

“You know even if that’s the case, even if I decide he’s being a little player and pulling the wool over my eyes, what do you suggest I do? Put him in the same grade with his sister?” I looked at him with what I know could have only been interpreted as disgust on my face. 

He studied me and was silent for a tick and then quietly said, “It would teach him a lesson.”

“Yeah,” I said. “What lesson is that...that I don’t give two shits about the fact that he’s been struggling and he’s been affected by our lives being drastically and systematically flushed down the toilet over the last four years?”

He came unglued then.  Seriously unwound.  I could see it coming and I knew as soon as the words were out that even though I meant them, it was the worst possible thing I could have said. 

He got up off the bed where he’d been sitting and came towards me, “You think I have ruined your lives? You think that everything is MY fault when all I’ve tried to do is support my family and take care of them?!”

I just looked at him, I couldn’t speak. I was paralyzed between wanting to say, “Yes you egotistical, maniacal sociopath.” And “Honey, that’s not what I meant.” 

Grape Jelly

So I quit my job, my good, state, government job.  Thus began my indentured servitude at the barn.  I got up, got the kids to school, went to the barn, fed everything, saddled what needed to be saddled and then went back to the house to pick up Tucker.  He was either ready to go or sitting at the computer playing internet poker, chain smoking and scratching his balls.  If I rushed him, he told me he was in no hurry and that meant, obviously, I shouldn’t be either.  I lasted about 2 weeks before I wanted to run away again.  Once we did leave, we’d go to the barn and work cattle for hours and then ride what needed riding. Come home exhausted in time for the kids to get home. Feed everyone a snack and head back to the barn for more. It really wasn’t much better than when I was working except I got all his work done for him in the mornings.

Tuckerette was blowing her paycheck on God knows what and we were still paying her truck notes and insurance every month.  I was at the bank every morning begging the bank officer to cover checks and making deposits etc. etc.  The whole bank account thing was getting more and more out of control. The checks were either being paid and then we were paying the overdraft fees or they were going back and we were paying the overdraft fees.  I sat down and figured up the all those fees in a six month period on both accounts when I got my hands on electronic statements and it was thousands of dollars.  THOUSANDS.  In overdraft fees. 

Sugar Doll

He called today and I answered it because I needed to tell him that when the divorce papers came, he should just let them go or sign them uncontested.

“Why baby? Why would you do that?” the sob was in his voice and it was the same thing I’ve heard for months. The same thing I heard when he was picked up once before and called me from lockup.

 

“I need to do this to move on. I have nightmares and wake up yelling at the dark.  I need to file my taxes without all your bullshit weighing me down.  I need help and can only get it if I’m not married and mostly because it’s just…over.” I let it hang and didn’t follow it up. 

He immediately came back with the pleading, “I’m a changed man baby, you’re the one that’s done that for me.”

Swish. Swish.

Tucker and I talked about marriage all the time and when he would make love to me sometimes he would look into my eyes and call me his wife. When we made love and I actually wanted to, it was wonderful.  Even wonderful doesn’t cover it, I suppose.  It transported me. It made me feel like we belonged together.  When we were just making love and nothing else weird was involved then it was precious to me.  I would cry when I climaxed from the sheer joy.  It’s one of those things that made me think I shouldn't be without him, along with the money and the how the fuck am I going to make all this better?

When we were alone together especially in bed, I had that feeling that we did belong together.  All the other shit just didn’t seem to make a difference.  The kids, the money, the accounts, the no vehicle…none of it mattered.  It just felt like it wiped away all that stuff when we held each other.  Maybe he was just so good at holding things in the balance and maybe he loved me as much as he could love anyone.  I don’t really know but at the time I felt completely loved, at least at those moments and they seemed worth the tradeoffs.   I guess I thought all the thousands of dollars he had flowing in and flowing out would eventually stay in and that we’d all be happy and set.  He told me that’s what would happen often enough and I so much wanted to believe it.

He used it against me.  He knew when I was at the breaking point and then chose that time to wrap me up and tell me he loved me, to adore and worship me.  I craved that and he knew it. Shortly after I got “my” new truck, Tuckerette’s truck was starting to act up.  Tucker got the brilliant idea to take it down and trade it in for another for her.  I was picked up from work and promptly taken to a tote the note dealership where I found Tuckerette waiting with a new truck.  All they needed was for me to co-sign the note since I was the only one there with a real job.  There, in front of me, were many sets of eyes expectantly waiting for me to sign my life away yet again. 

I took Tucker to the side, “She needs to go to work and be responsible for making those payments before I’m signing anything. We can’t afford another payment not to mention the insurance.” She had been living with us and doing little to nothing else except asking for money up to that point and I wasn’t about to pay her insurance and truck note when I had nothing to drive. 

Tucker shushed me, I mean God forbid we hurt her feelings.  “It’s all handled; just sign the papers, Sugar.” He knew what it did to me when he called me Sugar. 

I knew better, I so knew better.

I signed those papers and not only was I a co-signer; I was a co-owner because that’s the only way they could work it out. 

I told them both as we left the lot, “I will not hesitate to take the damn truck and drive it for my own if you don’t get a job and start making payments.”  Of course they both looked at me like I was a complete bitch but I just didn’t care. 

The next day much to my surprise Tuckerette got a job; a good job at that.  I told her that her dad and I would be more than happy to give her spending money if she were taking care of her responsibilities. 

She was shiny and happy and enthusiastically agreed with me, “I’ll do it, I promise.  I know it’s hard enough around her without me doing my part.”

She made exactly one half of one insurance payment.

That’s it…and Pops had nothing to say about it. Of course he didn’t because the other thing that I come to realize was that he was steadily trying to buy his children’s love.  He had been separated from them during his unfortunate incarceration and if he showered them with whatever they wanted then they would stay by his side and love and adore him.

When I had mentally whipped myself into a frenzy one day, I cornered him yet again. “I’m sick of being afoot and it’s not fucking fair that I am the only one going to work every day and I don’t have a goddamn vehicle.  I’ve got TWO trucks with my name on the titles and I don’t drive either of them!”

To which Tucker replied with the next phase of my isolation. My friends and family were already holding me at a distance because they could not understand this twisted relationship I sought to keep in a death grip.   You see, a sociopath will understand your weakness and exploit it maximally.  He will seek to charm you, hold you, love you while he deceives you and then remove slowly everything that makes you independent from him. Making no sudden moves but subtly sweeping each little piece away. Swish. Swish.

He told me he was sick of me leaving him every day to go to work too.  He said that he wanted me to be with him instead of us being separated all the time.  He declared his undying love yet again and I started to think.  Why should I keep going to work when everyone else wasn’t? I could ride horses all day and even take some in to make money instead of having to do it PLUS the office. I’d have more time to work on school and be there when my kids got off the bus every day. When summer time showed up I could stay with the kids instead of worrying about daycare.  It would be awesome.  Yes indeed that sounded like a great idea! I know what you’re thinking. It’s too late to kick my ass now.  I did it. 

  I quit my job.   Swish. 

I Don't Know

I gave up on my personal life being my own anymore.  I tried desperately to figure out what would make any of this shit better.  I decided that I would try to improve my professional standing during all of this personal drama and applied for a position at work. I got an interview and my qualifications and work history recommended me for it so I thought I had a very good shot.  It seemed at the time that I managed to excel at my work because it was the only escape I had from the rest of my life.  After a nerve wracking interview and agonizing waiting, the job was given to someone that has a tenth of my experience and a twentieth of my professionalism but who was the proud owner of an Associate’s Degree.  A. Fucking. Associate’s. Degree.   I was beyond crestfallen. I felt so hopeless.  I had NEVER gone on an interview and not gotten the job.  I thought that this would be the springboard to freedom with a higher paying salary. I had already counted my money up from the raise.
 I’m trying to convey to you the desperation that led me to my next decision but it’s not working so I’ll just tell you, I decided to get my degree. 

Now my days went something like this. 

Get up at 5:30.

Get a shower

Get the kids up with some semblance of breakfast

Ensure that they made it on the bus

Wake whoever up that was going to take me to work that day

Or

Take the stinking ass truck to work and then it would be picked up later

Or

I would take my break or my lunch break to go and pick Tucker up so that he could drop me back off.

He wasn’t an early riser you see and his waking early was out of the question.

Work all day with numerous interruptions and phone calls to run to the bank, call the bank, look up directions and give them over the phone yadda yadda yadda.

Get off work at 5, wait for my ride

Change into barn clothes

Grab the kids

Go to barn, saddle horses, ride horses, unsaddle and groom, feed horses and calves after I’ve waited interminably for Tucker to get done roping with all the 1800 yahoos that he has out at the barn. 

Get everyone loaded and get home at roughly 9pm…cook supper…do dishes…do a load of laundry.

Get the kids bathed and in bed.

Go to bed and perform before I can go to sleep.

So tell me where the hell I thought I had time for college in all this?

I picked online college so that I could at least try and keep up. My newest incarnation of the brilliant plan included getting a degree so that I would not be passed over for any more promotions at work ….um just two long years later.  Wow.  I’m smart. In any case, it was part of my master plan.  I was never going to get ahead without a degree and it was time at 37 to figure out how to do it. 

I had one desktop computer in the living room I had to share with everyone but I still used it.  I started school. I did well. I mean of course I did.  Have you met me?  Even with the screaming kids and the TV blaring and having to cook supper and do dishes and laundry and feed horses and ride horses and haul feed and work full time and everything else.  I managed it.  I sort of blocked everything out except what I had to do and soldiered on day after day.  I was taking 2 classes every 5 ½ weeks.  It set a brutal pace with papers and tests and lectures and discussion groups and my resolve and doggedness began to slip. 

I started to just get sick all the time, my stomach hurt, I had colds, I was just ill.  I finally went to the doctor one day after I just couldn't function any longer.  My ears hurt, my stomach was heaving, I was congested and miserable.  I was weak and tired but couldn't sleep comfortably.  He told me I had an upper respiratory infection, two ear infections and very likely a stress induced ulcer.  He he sat me in comfy recliner in a darkened room after giving me a breathing treatment and had the nurse hook me up for a liter of IV fluids and some anti-nausea medicine. They tucked a warm blanket around me and said to call someone to come get me. I called Tucker and told him he’d have to wait awhile longer and then come in and get me when I was done.  He didn’t want to come inside.
You see Tucker could sell religion to the Pope or smooth talk you out of your panties, but he HATED groups of people or new situations. I should have let this be another warning.  He was a puss when it came to stuff like this and it showed his weakness.  Lots of people are shy or phobic but the fact that he refused to come into the doctor’s office to get me and get me to the truck alright showed how little he cared to overcome anything in order to see to my wellbeing. I have a fear of stepping anywhere outside my comfort zone but I slept in little better than a chair for most of a month by his side while he was in the hospital.  I talked to countless strangers and doctors and nurses and washed his ass when he couldn’t.  I went above and beyond to care for him and stepped way the fuck outside any comfort zone I had previously set for myself to do what he needed and demanded. I was a little pissed but the medicine they had given me was making me fuzzy and I had no comeback for him. I snapped my phone shut and just laid back.

The doctor came in and sat in a chair across from me.  Are you feeling a little better?” He looked genuinely concerned with his eyebrows all squinched together and I remember thinking I must really be sick because he looks anxious.

“I am, actually.” I pulled the blanket around me and said, “This is cozy and I feel relaxed and not puky anymore.”  He reached over and patted my hand and asked if anyone was out front that he could bring in to sit with me. I told him that my fiancée was in the parking lot and didn’t want to come in but that I’d go out to meet him when I was all done.

He asked why he was still in the parking lot and did he need to go out and get him. I sat up and said, “No. Just leave him be…he won’t come in here.”

He sat back in his chair as if literally taken aback and said, “Well then why is he your fiancée?”

All of everything in me that shouted and railed against everything I continued to let that man get away with cheered the good doctor at that moment. Why indeed?  Why was I letting my health, my mental health and my financial health be ruined by this excuse for a man? For the sake of money? For the sake of a clean getaway?

I looked at the good doctor then and blinked and blinked again and simply said, “I don’t know.”

Freddy

There is time to explain now the powerhouse that is my son.  Again, we must name him for the interest of storytelling and though I do so love his name, we’ll call him Freddy.  My Freddy is an enigma wrapped in a mystery shrouded in controversy...yah not really but he is a handful.  When he was 3 ½ and his sister was 1½, I left their dad.  He worshiped his dad but couldn't understand what was wrong with him either.  He wasn’t the attentive Daddy he’d always been and was often hateful and angry.  He had descended into a very real, very frightening meth addiction.  There has been much talk swirling in the family about "whose fault it was" and blah blah blah but let me just come clean right now.  The first time he ever did that shit, I was with him.  Some friends of ours we’d gone to dinner with had stopped and picked some up when we'd gone out one night and he asked me had I ever, and I told him I had. He asked, “Is it ok?”

I said, “I guess so if you want to party.”  We did it together.  We did it every other weekend then every weekend then the weekends began to stretch over Thursday to Monday and I chose to pull myself out of that headlong descent into fucking madness.  He did not.  I realized it was too much and my children needed me.  So after a year of trying to get him to quit and trying to give him help he didn’t want, I left him. It made my little man upset that Daddy wasn't there anymore and he blamed me.