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From the ghost land of the easy life.

22 August 2006

could this be the day i've waited for? :
Ok simply put I got divorced because things changed. The man I met and married bares little resemblance to the one I lived with afterwards, left and divorced. When I cam back to my blog I was almost a year out of my marriage. That year wass one of healing and trying to reconcile what was going on then with my past and figure out how not to let the future eat me alive while tried to fix whatever it was that makes me do these insane things to myself.

I got married 21 September 2002 after a whirlwind romance where we met and and got engaged and married in 10 months and 3 days. I didn't really know him, and he didn't really want me to. He was looking for a sugar momma, someone who he could kick around and control and basically use to supplement his income. My ex husband is deeply disturbed and has decided the best way to get through life is to drink heavily daily, take every kind of medication he can get his hands on that is meant to do anything but cure his depression and while he's at it he wants to forgo pleasentries like bathing, eating, brushing his teeth, washing clothes, paying bills and the like. If you get in his way he will destroy you. He starts with the verbal assaults and works into the physical stuff with great relish and abandon.

He stole my ocycotin when I broke my toe, he stole the percocet they gave me when a cycst burst, he would buy 300 ocycotin pills from his friends and take them all in a week. He smoked so much weed he smelled like a smoke house, it got to the point where he had to grow his own because his dealers wouldn't front him enough to keep going. He loved hash, ate gravol like it was going out of style and felt tums and gatorade were enough food to keep him going. His favourite was to take a sheet of robaxacet with a mickey of vodka and then try to hit on me. I just can't say how unsexy a guy talking out of only one side of his mouth is. It was the only way for me to know how fucked up he was. When he'd get to the point where half his face was paralyzed and could only move half his mouth. He refused to see a counselor, or go to rehab. He constantly threatened to kill himself. After a while I was telling him to do it already and get it over with, no one would miss him. I wasn't exactly supportive.

The long and short of it was nasty, we were feeding off each other in a bizarre and psychotic kind of terrorism where both of us made each other the worst versions of ourselves. That downward spiral was making me sick and making me realize that he really believed that is WHO he is, all he wants to be and he would NOT HEAR of change. It was just a matter of time until he decided to kill me. He'd already destroyed all the doors in our apartment because he could, he'd punched holes in the wall, thrown the furniture, cut himself up and ripped his clothes apart and when he took to hitting me I left. I may be many things, but I'm not a victim.

I decided then and there that staying wasn't an option, help he didn't want and I was just something to be used until it didn't function any more. I was already broken and reliving all the lowlights of my life with my drunken and hateful family all wrapped into one very spiteful and vicious man wasn't something I ever wanted to do. I told him I couldn't take it anymore and was going. He helped me move out. He really believed I would be back because he felt I was all Stockholm syndromed and couldn't live without him. I NEVER went back. It was pretty easy for me because I'd been leaving him for months. He made it easy by being a total dirtbag and totally unclean. I left 31 July 2004, after fighting the good fight for going to rehab and getting clean.

I wasn't gone a week when a new girl moved in. He thought he could keep it a secret but he can't keep secrets from me. She forbid him to talk about her to me but I don't really care. She can find out the hard way how not wonderful he is. He can put on a good show but it doesn't last long, and finally I don't owe that show anything. He can't come after me for squat and I better never hear from him again. That may be mean or whatever, but I don't care.

Any other questions? Keep blogging.
ghost writer Ambrrrr at 12:46 PM

MenTal fUrbAll