The First Beginning Part III

 My husband was arrested on domestic violence charges and false imprisonment.  He tried to get the police to arrest me for trespassing and adultery.  The police pretty much laughed in his face considering the circumstances.  He was sentenced to probation and was required to go to anger management classes.  He began taking medication for his mood “issues”, but didn’t stay on them for long.  The divorce went through without a hitch.  It was pushed through in 30 days due to the violence.  I was not able to keep him from visitation rights because he didn’t do anything physically violent in front of my little girl.  For the first year after our divorce, I didn’t have to worry much about his visitation time anyway.  It was a rare occurrence that he would keep her for the whole time he was allotted.  My little girl cried every time she had to go with him.  I knew he wasn’t paying her much attention; he liked his online video games too much.  She seemed to be too much of a distraction from that.  He just couldn’t handle her. 

     He was remarried a year later and that is when my little girl actually started wanting to go with him for visits.  His new wife, as much as I hate to admit it, was good for him and my little girl did like her.  I still feel a twinge of jealousy when my daughter talks about her stepmom, but I take comfort in the fact that she knows who her Mommy is.  My ex-husband and I have since developed a mutual understanding of sorts.  I tell him what he wants to hear, but still do what I am going to do regardless of what he says.  Now keep in mind, this doesn’t apply to life changing decisions or anything.  I’m referring to the little things that he thinks he should be in control of when it comes to her upbringing.  For example, when she gets sick, he wants her to take this medicine or that medicine.  I agree, and give her what I choose regardless of what he says.  You have to understand that even now he tries to control what goes on in my life and hers.  Down to the details of how I should cook her food, wash her clothes, and brush her hair.  The one thing that we will never agree on is the issue of child support.  I refuse to placate him on this issue, and really can’t agree to anything and then do what I want.  I don’t think any separated parents will ever agree on this issue.  This is why when there has been any question or disagreement; we have always let the courts decide.  This is one area where we are content in disagreeing and letting someone else decide what’s fair.  Surprisingly enough, we don’t even fight about it anymore.  So, this pretty much is the ending of the First Beginning on my road to being a single mother.  The next installment of my blog will be on the Second Beginning of my adventure, and thankfully is much less dramatic.  Is there anyone out there reading this yet? 

The First Beginning: Part II

Two days after Christmas I broke the news to him.  I was done.  I was done pretending we were this wonderfully happy family with everything in the world anyone could possible want.  I suppose my leaving was a bit of a nervous breakdown in and of itself. I just left, I packed a small suitcase and went to a friends house and got plastered.  Now, this part of the story I am not too proud of.  Yes, I left my daughter there with him.  I had to get out of there.  I had to run.  I was panic stricken; I had to get away from him and that house.  With unopened boxes littering the living room from Christmas Day, I bolted. I felt like I had to save myself.  My cell phone blew up from incoming calls.  My mother, my sister, my dad, and my husband were calling non stop.  They couldn't understand that the world was collapsing on top of me.  I eventually turned it off.  For all they knew I was dead in a ditch somewhere. 

     When I turned my cell phone back on the next day my voice mail box was full of messages.  My mother wanting to know what was wrong with me, why would I abandon my daughter.  My husband was threatening to take custody of my little girl with no visitation.  My dad was "sorely disappointed" in my behavior.  So, I caved, I returned to him thinking maybe it was just another breakdown, I would go back to a doctor and get a different happy pill and live the rest of my life as a zombie hoping things would work out for the best.  After a few days back at home, my resolve to leave him returned. This time, I did it right though, if there is a right way to do something like that.  This time I took my little girl with me.  We went to stay at my sister's house.  My husband threatened me with lawyers thinking I was cheating on him.  He couldn't grasp the concept that I was leaving him based solely on the reasons previously stated.  He also had seen me talking with a guy at work and of course that was simply not allowed.  Either way we were out and he was bound and determined to control everything.  He half heartedly attempted suicide in the hopes of getting me back.  What he didn't count on was the fact that I didn't care whether he lived or died.  In fact, had he died that would have made things a lot easier for me. Then the event that solidified our separation and pending divorce happened.

     Through telephone chats, he and I had come to an agreement to seek help through a marriage counselor.  He was trying to suck me back in.  Through peer pressure from my family I had agreed to try and work things out with him.  But it was going to be on my terms, which included my little girl and me staying with my sister until we had worked things out.  He had called one night after my little girl was asleep; I had left my wallet at the house after stopping by to grab a few things.  He needed me to come by and get it because he was headed to see his mother at the hospital.  So, I left my daughter under my sister's care for the short 20 minute trip necessary to retrieve my wallet.  When I arrived at the house, my husband was fuming. His mother wasn't in the hospital; he had lied to get me to the house.  He wanted to discuss a message he had found on my computer from me to my guy friend at work.  Now before I go any further maybe I should explain the relationship between me and this guy at work.  Yes, we were friends.  No, we were not sleeping together.  He was a friend who provided me with support through a very difficult time in my life.  He himself was going through a divorce with his wife and we had a common bond.  The message my husband got upset over was this, "I think I am going to give marriage counseling a try, thanks for all you've done for me."  My husband evidently took the "...thanks for all you've done for me" part as secret code for thanks for having sex with me.  I told him that I was going to head back to my sisters house and that we could discuss the message, along with other things during our first counseling session.  That didn't conform to his plans for the evening.  He refused to let me leave.  I grabbed my cell phone from my purse to call 911.  He broke my cell phone in half.  In the process of struggling for the cell phone, I scratched his hand with my car keys.  I ran upstairs to call the police from our bedroom.  My heart sank when I realized the base for the cordless phone was downstairs.  He ripped the phone cord from the wall rendering the lifeline I held in my hand useless.  Before I went upstairs he had wrestled my purse and keys from me.  After I had locked myself in the bedroom upstairs and after he had ripped the phone cord from the wall, he took my purse and keys and locked them in his truck.  He also blocked my car in with his truck further limiting my chances of leaving.  When I saw that he was outside in his truck, I ran downstairs to bolt the front door and reconnected the house phone.  Thankfully, he didn’t damage the cord when he ripped it from the wall.  Right as I got the cord back in the wall, he was at the front door pounding, demanding to be let in.  He then started to try and kick the door in.  The idea of slipping out the garage and hopefully to the safety of the neighbor’s house occurred to me.  While on the phone to 911, I went to the kitchen door that leads into the garage and opened the garage door.  The pounding and kicking at the front door stopped.  He had heard the garage door opening.  I quickly hit the button to close the garage door, but he caught the sensor with his foot.  It started rising again; he was on his way back to me.  With the phone to my ear screaming to the operator that I needed help, I slammed the door from the kitchen to the garage, bolting it.  Unfortunately the lock on that door was not as strong as the one on the front door.  He kicked it in.  Wood from the door frame splintered sending fragments of wood flying.  He knocked the phone from my hand and grabbed my right arm and told me that I would never get away with what I had done to him.  I had never seen what true evil looks like until that night.  I glanced at the phone on the floor; it was then that he realized I had gotten through to the police.  To be continued....               

The First Beginning: Part I

So what does one write in a blog?  I've seen movies about them, I have read them, but when it comes down to it, I have to wonder what exactly am I prepared to share with strangers?  Part of me is fearful that folks I know may potentially see what I write.  Am I prepared for them to see it?  I suppose I am overreacting a bit since I doubt anyone will read what I have to say.  Then again a part of me (the narcissistic part) thinks that the whole world would love to read about me and will become hopelessly addicted to every word; checking in day after day for updates on my riveting, wonderfully ordinary life.  Either way, here it is, the first post of my blog on being a single mother.

      Should I start with the circumstances under which I became a single mother?  I reckon that is the beginning of my "adventure".  There are two beginnings to be honest.  You see, I have two children, with different fathers.  I have endured quite a bit of scorn for this bit of information, mostly from my family.  But I am getting off track a bit.  The first beginning came out of a divorce.  I was married when my daughter was born.  The picture perfect setting I suppose.  At least that is what my husband wanted to believe, what he wanted to show.  He was a well meaning type of guy I guess.  He loved to be the hero, would give the shirt off his back if it got him attention.  He also liked control.  He liked his laundry done a certain way, always facing to the left when they got hung up so he wouldn't have to flip the shirts back and forth when he was looking for something to wear.  Dirty dishes needed to be placed in the sink, not beside the sink.  Don't get me started on going out in public. If we were able to make it through a dinner at a restaurant without the manager being called over due to an over cooked piece of meat I was thankful.  I had a nervous breakdown every year for the five years we were married.  I am not here to bash my ex-husband, which is an entirely different blog, I just wanted to give you a bit of history. At the same time, I know I am not the perfect, docile little house wife, not by any means.  I am not the neatest, easiest person to live with.  But I also didn't send my spouse to a mental facility once a year for five years either. 

     Anyway, my little girl was born and I was overjoyed.  She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.  I knew my husband was controlling before she was born.  What I didn't realize is how it was affecting me, my family, and how it would affect my daughter. I decided to leave the relationship when my daughter was two years old.  My husband had started in on me for something; I can't even recall the reason.  My daughter, at two years old, flung her little body over me as if she were trying to shield me from him.  My two year old little girl was trying to protect me.  She was inconsolable, yelling at him that I was her Mommy and for him to leave me alone.  I was devastated. Had I become such a weak, defenseless being that my two year old little girl felt like she had to stand up for me because I couldn't?  I decided then and there, no more.  To be continued....