Originally published at Blogging Monique Renae. Please leave any comments there.
Before I begin, let me say that this post is not appropriate for the eyes (or ears) of any children. So if you are one, stop reading.
Also, this has the potential to be long so I am going to do my best to not make it a 300 page novel. If I omit something, or if something doesn’t make sense, ask me in the comments and I will do my best to clear it up. Also, I am sure I will have 101 typos. Sorry.
Many moons ago I was in a very bad relationship with a pig who not only cheated on me, but took the chance to beat the living crap out of me whenever things didn’t quite go his way. He was one of those guys people warn us women to stay away from, but I was young and naïve and he was a hood rat who toted a gun. I really enjoyed the sense of danger he brought into my life… mainly because I had never experienced anything like it.
As with most abusive relationships, he did not hit me right away. In fact, it was months into the relationship before any of that started happening. He was really good to me, and very attentive. I clung to him because my relationship with my biological family (who I was living with at the time) was not a good one. My birth mother was a crazy bitch who was such a liar that even asking her simple things like “Did you eat my cookies?” resulted in a 10 minute round-about of lies. Her children were no better… sadly. So, to have this thug take me under his wing was very welcoming.
When he and I met, he was involved with someone else, but began to pursue me anyway. He claimed their relationship was over and I will admit, my first mistake was believing him then. After a few weeks, the old girlfriend would come around and he would tell me to stay put while he “handled things”. I was never privy to their whispers, but whatever he said made her go away for a while…. But never long enough.
After about 2-3 months of this, she finally had enough and came up to our apartment complex demanding to speak to him. We lived on the 2nd floor, and he was on the 3rd, so I usually saw or heard anyone who came and went. Our living room window was above the exit door and faced out into the courtyard. She stormed up the stairs, and so I naturally left my apartment a few minutes later to go see what was going on. By the time I got to his door, he was standing there caressing her face telling her to calm down. My natural instinct was to jump on her and pull her hair out, but the common sense side of me said that might not have been the right thing to do. When he realized I was standing there, he didn’t change his behavior. He instead told her to go inside and sit down. He closed the door and came towards me and gave me a quick hug and told me to go home… which I did.
Several hours later, they came to my apartment to let me know that they were getting back together, and it was time for me to “move on”. That did not sit well with me at all. But I said ok. He and I agreed to remain friends and he asked me to not let things be awkward since you know, we lived in the same building.
Three days later I saw him in the courtyard and decided to go talk to him. It started off a little awkward but slowly we began to open up and laugh. A bunch of his friends joined us, and started asking questions about where I had been to which I announced that he had dumped me. They began being boys and started making remarks about hooking up with me since he was no longer interested. I guess this somewhat annoyed him because he pulled me onto his lap. I told him that wasn’t exactly something “friends” do. His reply was that we were a little more than just friends. Naturally, I took the chance to explore what exactly those kind of things those kind of friends did. He ended up doing some silly stuff like running his fingers through my hair, kissing my neck and things like that. I went along with it because honestly, I wanted him back. Maybe this would allow him to see he made the wrong choice.
As time passed, he and I began spending more and more time together. It was only natural since we lived in the same building and had common friends. His girlfriend was a rare site around the complex. He would take off to visit her across town every now and then, but always complained when he came home. And then one night, we all decided to go see a movie. It was one of those crazy ass late late late night showings; I was going with a guy friend and he was bringing her. I had an amazingly good time, laughing and just being me. When we got back home, he took off with her and the rest of us sat around talking in the courtyard. Next thing I know, he was standing behind me, rubbing my shoulders. When I looked up at him he bent over and kissed me. Our friends started laughing and cheering… I was in a bit of shock, but happy. He told everyone there that we were back together, so the boys needed to back off his woman.
I didn’t argue.
For the first 6 months, he was wonderful. It was a great relationship. He was constantly apologizing for the break up and other little things. He’d bring me a flower whenever he saw one. He’d go down the Chinese place and get me some french fries or chicken fried rice (never pork because these Chinese people were Muslim… I kid you not.) He’d even go with me to do laundry. He was just an absolute sweetheart.
As I became more comfortable in my new city, I began to branch out more. A lot of my adoptive family also lived in the area so I was catch a bus every now and then and shoot across town to see one of them. I guess my independence bothered him because he started being controlling. He wanted to know where I was going and who I was with. My answers were never good enough. I would ask him to come with me if he didn’t believe where I was going and he would then tell me that I should just keep my ass home. When I chose to go anyway, the end result would be days of him flat out ignoring me. He would give me the absolute silent treatment as if I was invisible. Then whenever he felt like dealing with me again, he would act like nothing ever happened.
One day I was having problems with my sugar. I usually can sense when my blood sugar is low and I can grab some juice or eat a cookie, but on this day, I just ignored all the warning signs. People tell me when I hit that very very low point it looks like I am shaking my head… I can’t feel it at all. Anyway, he and I had had a fight, and I was feeling like shit. We were out in the hallway and I told him I wasn’t feeling well and to please get the she-beast (aka my biological mother). I fainted, and he left me there. I woke up in the hospital. When I asked him about it later on, he told me he was pissed off, and I was stupid to think that he was going to help me when he was mad at me. Hmmm ok.
As the months turned into years, the abuse went from bad to worse. He decided fucking with me emotionally wasn’t enough and decided he needed to start hitting me. The first time he hit me, we were talking about our future because we suspected I was pregnant. I had an appointment the next day to find out for sure. I told him I wanted to go back to Georgia where my family was and he went off. He pushed me on the floor and started punching me in the back of my head. I didn’t know what to do so I just laid there trying to cover myself up the best I could. I was horrified. He told me I wasn’t going anywhere and to not bring it up again. He made me spend the rest of the night with him – I guess out of fear I would run away or something – and the following morning we went to the doctor. Thankfully, I wasn’t pregnant.
It never got any better… even though he promised it would. We moved back and forth from New Jersey to North Carolina over the years. When too many women would surface, his reaction was to leave town – with me in tow of course. Naturally he found women in North Carolina to screw with so we’d eventually move back to Jersey. We even tried getting married, which I bailed on at the last minute, thankfully. We would break up a lot when things really got bad. All that really meant I was his possession and so I had to stay faithful while he cheated endlessly. I would dare say he slept with almost every female on the street we lived on. Any sign of me acting up would result in him tossing me down some stairs or punching me.
One day we were at the local high school because he was trying to get some paperwork from there. I was sitting in a chair by a door, and this guy walks in, smiles at me, nods and says “how are you?” I smiled back and said “good, you?” Before dude could even respond, my own personal psycho was grilling him on why he was talking to me. He was shoving the guy and all in his face, telling him to never again speak to his woman. I was so embarrassed. He never got the papers he needed because he insisted we live immediately. All the way home he questioned me about how I knew that guy. He kept telling me I was lying because if I didn’t know him, he wouldn’t have been talking to me. I guess he never heard of people just being polite.
Finally, the She-beast decided we needed to move out of the projects and into a real house. I was excited about the move, and a chance to actually be away from him. Maybe he too would grow tired of the long walk or bus rides across town to see me. I felt that was my only hope for survival. By this time, no one in my family liked him. When he was around, I was miserable. I cried a lot and just gave up on life. They all knew this move was the key… because it was something not in my control… and he still lived with his mother, so it wasn’t like he could force me to move into their apartment. She was ok with the occasional sleep-over, but me there permanently? Never. He didn’t have a job either, so us getting a place of our own was out of the question. I was so relieved.
The day of the big move, the she-beast enlisted my boyfriends help in moving some of the larger items. My brother and he had an equally tumultuous friendship. They liked each other on Monday and by Friday they were enemies. It just so happened, they were getting along at this particular moment of their lives. All the stuff got moved to the new house, and for some crazy reason, my brother suggested my personal psycho stay the night with us. And the she-beast said YES.
And he never left.
He became a permanent fixture in my new home. He was now around when I woke up and when I went to sleep. He was there to listen to every phone call… to see who came to visit me… to watch what I ate. The only difference was that he stopped kicking my ass. I guess it was somewhat hard to do with the she-beast always around. He was kind of forced to be nicer to me. Which by then I was not used to.
My brother developed a liking to one of the girls who lived above us, and started asking MOPP – my own personal psycho – to join him when he visited. I knew exactly what that was going to happen… and it did. Soon the boys were up there 24/7. One evening I went upstairs to get them for dinner and I don’t know who they were expecting, but they yelled “come in” so I did. As I was walking into their kitchen area, I glanced into one of the rooms, and there on the bed was the asshole with this girl. I almost threw up. I don’t know if it was happiness or just shock or what… but I felt so sick.
MOPP eventually moved the few belongings he had up there to be with this other chick all the time. I could understand his appeal to her. She was older. She had her own place. She had her own car. She worked all day which left him time to “play”… all of it was perfect for him. I am not quite sure what she saw in him.
Of course, he and I were still seeing each other. He would come down during the day and spend time with me. One day she saw me leaving her apartment as she was coming home and came downstairs to make a huge scene. Apparently, he told her it was me harassing him… and just like a dumb bitch, she believed him. Even though 5 people tried to tell her that was not the case. She told me I was never allowed in her apartment again. Not that I wanted to be there anyway.
It was this chain of events that set the path for what I would consider the greatest mistake I have ever made in my life… as well as the best thing to ever happen to me in my life.
I kept on seeing him. I did. I saw him every chance I got. Always in her home. And I took a lot of notes. Literally. I wrote down dates and what was in the sink. What was in the medicine cabinet. What was under her bed. I did this for weeks. And then I made sure she caught me leaving her place because I knew she would ask him… and he would lie. But I was ready this time.
She came stomping down the stairs, and this time she didn’t want to speak to me. She wanted to speak to the she-beast. To my surprise, the she-beast defended me. She told this chick everything she knew, and then told her to talk to me. And that’s when I gave her my notes. A notebook full of fun facts. And I asked her how she thought I knew all of this? Because he was letting me in. Day after day.
She took my proof and went upstairs with it. They fought. I could hear her yelling and his pathetic ass “listen baby” over and over. And then she left. And I was pleased. He had no one now… not even me.
Several hours later, I heard him outside screaming. He was punching and kicking the cars along the street. I watched him from the window for a while, and I could tell he was drunk off his ass. It was such a sad sight. I didn’t want to help him… but I wanted to help him. I had to help him. Nothing in me was ok with watching him be that crazy and not helping.
As I went to leave, the she-beast told me if I went out there, I was never welcomed back in her home. As if I cared. I left anyway.
Eventually the police came and an ambulance. The bitch returned home and went upstairs. MOPP was wasted and they needed someone to ride with him. I didn’t want to go but no one else would. I thought at least the bitch would but she stuck her head out of the window and said he could fry in hell for all she cared. So, I went.
I stayed all night, and called his family. He had alcohol poisoning and was in and out of it. He would wake up and smile at me every now and then and then pass out. He threw up so many times I couldn’t even count. He pissed himself… and there I was. The only one. His mother told me to call her when he was ready to be discharged. I really felt bad for him.
When it was time to go, we piled into his mothers car. He smelled so bad… We went back to the projects and stayed with her for the night. I slept on their couch, him in his old bed. That afternoon I woke up and went to check on him. Surprisingly, he was awake. Before I could say anything, he asked me to sit down because we needed to talk.
He then proceeded to tell me that he never loved me. All those years were a joke… a phase. He liked me because my parents had money… and he knew he would benefit from it. I just sat there in shock, like what the fuck. I told him he was talking crazy and it was fine if he wanted to end things… I had done some sneaky shit, but there was no need to be cruel. He told me he was being honest. He never loved me. It was all a game to see what I would put up with. He then picked up a cell phone and called the bitch and said “it’s done” and handed me the phone. She told me I was out… she was in. Deal with it and leave them alone.
I left there angry and hurt and confused. I walked for miles until I got to my cousins place. I half told them what happened through my ridiculous crying. I had no where to go now and I felt so alone.
My aunt is a nurse, and at that time she had a ton of those little packets of aspirin and such. I was in her bathroom and saw them and decided right then and there I was going to kill myself. I filled my pockets and my purse with as many of the packets as I could and took a bus ride back to the she-beast. By now, she was giving me the silent treatment because I had disobeyed her orders. I didn’t care though because 1) I knew she had a medicine cabinet full of every medicine I could think of and 2) I wouldn’t be there for long.
When I felt I had enough pills, I went into my bedroom and began taking them one by one. One, two, three… five… ten… twenty… twenty-three… All the while I could hear MOPP and the bitch above me giggling with the sound of Silk playing in the background. By the time I got to 200, they were going at it. I was taking each pill to the sound of the headboard hitting the wall.
I ran out of pills at two hundred forty-seven.
And then I laid down and waited.
I awoke to the sounds of voices talking about food. Someone popped in to ask me if I was going to be finally join them for dinner. I felt paralyzed, and could not move or speak and that is when panic set in. What the fuck had I done?
And then it hit me. I had tried to end my life over a man who made me fucking miserable. I instantly began to pray and I asked God or whoever was listening to help me. I promised that I would never again take my life for granted and do something this stupid again… I begged for life.
On what I believe was my 3rd day of laying in that bed, I was finally able to move. My mouth felt like someone had shoved a million cotton balls in it. My jaw hurt so bad when I tried to open it.. and my throat was tight and painful. I deliriously made my way to the bathroom and stuck my fingers down my throat. Nothing happened. My little sister began screaming for the she-beast, who in all her motherly love responded with “Just leave her the hell alone”.
I figured I needed to get some food in me, and that would trigger something so I could get this shit out of my system. I grabbed some bread, and some collard greens I saw on the stove. It triggered something… which led to me immediately throwing up what I just ate. I went back to bed.
Two days later, I heard the she-beast leaving along with the rest of the family. I got out of bed and called my parents. I have no idea what I sounded like to them, but they began to cry… All I could tell them was that I was in trouble and I needed their help. My mother had family who lived a block or so away and she just kept telling me to get my stuff and go… they would fly up ASAP and get me, but I had to leave the she-beasts as soon as I could.
The following morning I got up and put on my coat. I was still weak and out of it, but I grabbed a bag and put a few items in it. Wouldn’t you know it, there was a damn blizzard happening outside. But I didn’t care. I walked down two blocks to my aunt’s house and cried the whole way because I was in so much pain. She fed me chicken soup which I could not keep down and then put me to bed. She just assumed I was just sick.
A little less than a week later, I was finally aware enough to realize my parents were there with me and I was safe and going home. He was out of my life for good… I was finally free… or so I thought.
Sadly, it would take another trip into darkness before I would completely wake up and find myself sane enough to know what being free really meant.
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