Wow, ok, I'm new to blogging so forgive me if things look strange. I do have another page to this that has a Strawberry Icebox Cake recipe link on it and I've been trying to test it but have yet to figure that out so if it doesn't work just let me know so I can do it another way.
The reason for this blog is to share a soul who, thanks to the Grace of God, survived trauma, strife, and poverty raising 3 daughters who have emotional issues as serious as her own. Of course, that soul is me... I just found that at this point in my life I needed a place where I could put my thoughts & feelings down which in turn will help me to work through them. Like many people my issues actually began with my parents but I don't know if I want to go there, lol! It's kind of a moot point now since they aren't here to defend themselves; however, I have learned that the reason I am who I am is a direct result of how my childhood was.
Basically what I want to do is just put it out there & try to let it go to what it will; what God's purpose was for it to begin with, because I obviously am just getting older & don't see any other ways to help anyone. Maybe what has occurred in my life or how I dealt with something might be of some kind of help to someone else going through the same type of thing. I would like to think so anyway. Otherwise, I just don't understand why God allowed it to happen.
So in a nutshell, I have 2 ex-husbands. Ex #1 I married right after I turned 19. After 3 months I found he was gay & he married me because he didn't want to be & thought he could change. We had sex all of 2x during our marriage which enough to produce my first daughter. Back then you couldn't get a divorce if you were pregnant so we had to wait until after she was born. Shortly afterward I met my 2nd husband when my daughter was like 2 weeks old. My divorce hearing was going to court and he served as a character witness for me along with another friend. Then 3 months later I married Ex#2. So my daughter was 6 months old when I remarried. Together we had 2 more daughters and were married for about 15 or 16 yrs. In the beginning he was a good and loving person, went to work, provided for us, all that shit. Then somewhere he short circuited showing the ugly side of himself, I don't remember when.
Somehow I became the main breadwinner, bill payer, housekeeper, cook, and mommy, decision maker, everything. I told him how much I needed from his paycheck in order to pay the bills and the rest was his to do what he pleased. He bought alot of weed, I knew that, but he, also, bought guns, cross bows, etc. for hunting. (Usually gifts to me were household items. I was never encouraged to grow in any way) Anytime I tried anything to better myself for the benefit of just me or the family even he would somehow work it so that I would fail. He never wanted me to succeed, in fact, in looking back I think he was afraid of success himself and probably because it meant he would have to be accountable & responsible.
I have to include here that Ex#2 had a history of emotional problems that I only became aware of after we were married. In fact, it seemed like every time things got seriously elevated between us arguing he would end it by doing something really dramatic like taking off in the truck for awhile to make me think he wasn't coming back or destroying the house or threatening suicide or knocking the shit out of me or going out & getting drunk & coming back & raping me. YES...husbands do rape their wives!
Let me just go on without getting to detailed...along came Valentines Day 1989. I received a call from the school about my youngest daughter who was being taken to Children's Hospital. I was told to meet them there. My other 2 were still in school and I was worried about them when they got home. I was told that someone was with them as well and not to worry. So after getting there I was taken into a room with Children's Services, a doctor, and the police. It was there I was told that my little girl had told a friend at school that her daddy touched her in private places and hurt her. I was immediately in denial, but it was surreal, like a dream, not really happening. But I didn't say anything, I just listened staring at nothing. I remember this so well it's like it happened yesterday. Then they told me my other girls told them it had happened to them, too. (OMG!!!!! I'm losin' it....I"m losin' it....) I couldn't think anymore. "my babies aren't innocent anymore....he needs to die..." I just seemed to shut down & go on auto function. The Children's Service (CSB) worker must have noticed because she was so very nice to me, gave me her card & told me to call her anytime I need to talk. I remembered saying I had to go home before he got there and she said he needed to call the police detective as soon as he got home & my kids could not go home until they were sure he would no longer be there. It was like... I heard all of that but my brain just heard "you just lost your kids & it's your fault" and before I could day anything she assured my my sister was contacted and said she would take them. That made me feel so much better, sooooo much I can't tell you how much!
It's a long story so I'll try to make it shorter. A lot happened that night and I didn't sleep well. He kept acting like he was going to kill himself, denying all of it. Even went out on the porch and fired a shot to see if I would come running. I didn't. I continued sitting where I was at the kitchen table, smoking my cigarette, trying to make sense of it all. Then he came in ranting about how he wasn't going to prison again, went straight into the bathroom and slammed the door.("do it, mother fucker....do it, just get it over with already & do it!") I just sat there & waited for the shot. I remember trying to figure out what I should use to clean the blood up out of the bathroom. I couldn't sell the house unless it was cleaned up. And I remember thinking how I wasn't sure if I could clean up blood & brains & all that yucky shit. Then mentally I meticulously went through my under sink cabinet trying to image each cleaning product in there & wondering if that one would work or this one would work very slowly checking off my imaginary list smoking one cigarette after another while I waited for that shot from his gun, frozen in my chair at that kitchen table unable to move.
After an hour or so he came out finally and called the detective, made an appointment for early in the morning to go in to see him & then he went to bed. I stayed on the couch awake most of the night. I was waiting for him to come in to kill me. I figured he was probably going to do us both in because he was too chicken to face up to what he did. I never once doubted what my girls said, I knew deep down that little girls don't know about that stuff! I knew I had to do something about it. I didn't know what was going to happen that night. I didn't know if I was going to be the murderer or the victim but it didn't matter to me, I just knew I had to do something! It was only for the Grace of God that I didn't kill him that night. It would have been very easy. But my girls needed me & I couldn't put them through that, too, on top of everything else. "my babies aren't innocent anymore....he needs to die..."
I have to stop this post right now. To be continued.....
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