Changing Times; Changing People part II

After moving back to Florida, things began to deteriorate. ExH started to reconnect with his old friends and his old bad habits. ExH would work all day, come home for dinner and then go right back out the door to hang out with his friends. There was always a good excuse - this one needed help with a car, that one needed help with remodeling - and it always kept him out till 2 or 3 am. By this time, I was pretty much raising our two young kids by myself. I was lacking sleep, depressed and overwhelmed; I'm sure I wasn't a bundle of fun for anyone at that point and I truly regret it....for the kids. My kids are amazing and I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself for not being a better mother to them; for not being more fun or happier. I wasn't allowed to work so I homeschooled the kids - despite everything else, this will always be a blessing for me: I got to raise my kids and teach them and I'm so proud of the adults they've become. You would think working all day then being out all night would be hard on someone, but ExH found a way around it. First he was diagnosed with ADHD and got a prescription for Adderall. It wasn't long after that before I found a tin full of pot remnants (which he vehemently denied were his....even though they were under the front seat of my car and no one else had been in it). Apparently those weren't enough; I caught his stealing pain pills from my disabled father and not long after caught him buying pills from a neighbor. Some of the pills made him extremely angry; coming down and dt'ing from others made him even angrier. He would pick fights with me and scream obscenities and put-downs in front of friends, family, the kids; I begged him to stop, told him I'd fight with him all he wanted, just please, could we do it in private. The worst incident was one night when we had an argument (about the fact that he was always out all night "with his friends"). He was angry and flew out of the driveway on his Harley; I was angry, sad and frustrated and I went out to the shed and got some old mismatched dishes that I was going to drop off at the local Salvation Army. I took the dishes and smashed them, one by one into the fire pit. When he came back, he came out to the fire pit and started pushing me around. He was out of control. He punched me in the right eye, turning me 180 degrees and fell onto my knees. He then came up behind me, put his forearm around my throat and pulled me up to where I was hovering off the ground - too high to rest on my knees, unable to get my feet under me and stand. He held me there until I blacked out; I woke up lying face down in the back yard in the middle of the night. Thankfully, the kids were with my parents for the weekend (he knew enough not to hurt me in front of anyone). This was the point where I decided that I would stay with him until the minute the kids graduated and then I was gone.

Changing Times; Changing People part I

He wasn't always a monster. When I met him, he was a sweet 18-year-old boy who hadn't had a great life growing up. Sure, he was too young to become a father but I was too young to become a mother...but he tried - for the most part. I watched as his parents treated him like garbage and ignored our children. although I wasn't in love with him, I did care about him and for a long time I loved him. I took my vows seriously and, even though it was becoming more and more apparent to me (and, to an extent, even him) that I was a lesbian, I fully intended to stay married to him forever. In the early days we even had some good times together. I think the downfall started when we moved to Florida - where he had grown up, where he had left his troubled past, where he had - at a young age - fallen in with a bad crowd. To be continued

Strong

I wrote this in September 2009 when my oldest child - Shaner - broke his leg during football two-a-days right before the season started.



I was strong as I sped to the football field. I was strong as I watched my husband carry our 6'1 230 lb linebacker son to the car. Strong as I drove him to the ER, listening to his screams and cries - this young man who doesn't believe in pain, who certainly never stopped for it. The young man who broke his nose the previous week while playing hockey and went to his doctor's office to get a release so that he could play football. My child - who won't even take a Tylenol. Strong through the exam and the x-rays and finally, as they moved him to his room. The room that he'd spend close to a week in while his friends started their junior year and prepared for the football season. Strong as I sat with him - night and day - trying to ease the pain as best I could, knowing it was useless. As they wheeled my baby, my first-born into surgery and through the four hours...shaking the doctor's hand, seeing the x-rays of his rebuilt leg. Strong getting him home and getting him settled; praying to find some magical position that would make him comfortable.

Strong until I stood in the middle of Dicks Sporting Goods looking for the only thing he wanted for school - new Nike socks. As I stood there, surrounded by football cleats, as I'd done so many times before with him, I stopped being strong. I cried. I sat on a bench and wept. It was so unfair; he should be standing there, excitedly picking out his new cleats, eagerly anticipating his first year of first-string on the varsity squad, explaining to me why he needed that $100 UnderArmour. Instead, he was home, in bed, in pain. I cried for the pain he was feeling, for everything he would miss out on this year, for the guilt I felt - when he came home on his break between two-a-days, he had said he didn't feel good...that he didn't feel like going back to his second practice. I wish I'd made him stay. I cried


Then, I came home, and again, I was strong.