During those alcohol/drug driven days, I became more and more afraid of being around my husband. He would come home from work and before anything, walk over to the liquor cabinet and pour a rum and Coke or Jack and Coke. Then alternate between that and beer for the rest of the night. It became an everyday thing and on the weekends, from about noon til bed, it was a non stop drunk fest. I hated it so much. I got to where I would dread 5pm since that is when he got off work. My days at home, a stay at home mom, which I hated, I would spend the day cleaning, watching after my son, watching TV shows I liked that I didn't get to watch when he was home, and running errands. It was the same routine everyday. I was bored and depressed. I was always angry and looking for a way out.
It was when we lived in North Carolina and he worked out of state was the only time I was happy. He came home on weekends, which I hated. I would have preferred him not to come home at all. I was free to go out with friends, have a job, and do what I wanted. But when he was home, it was nothing but drugs and getting drunk. It was the night of a Nascar race in Concord, NC was the first time he physically attacked me. We got drunk, went to the race, had a great time, walked home (Across the street from the track) and there was a party with young drunk college kids in our yard. He instantly started inviting them over to take shots and hang out. I was trying to get the kids in bed but there was no way that was happening with young drunk guys and girls flowing in and out. He LOVED hanging out with young college aged people, especially if there was young girls there. He knew I hated it. We were 10 years older than them. He still had the thought he was gonna get lucky with a young girl in our bed. After about an hour of this, I got mad and went off on him. That as you can imagine, did not go to well. He snapped on me, didn't say a word, pushed me down on the couch, jumped on me and started choking me, saying, "die bitch." The door was wide open, no one bothered to come in and help me. My kids were about 8 feet away, awake and scared. I couldn't breathe and was getting dizzy. He still had his hands tight around my neck, holding me down with all his weight. I kicked him hard in the chest, throwing him backwards onto the floor and off of me. I didn't even regain myself, I jumped up and grabbed the kids and ran to the neighbors house, who happened to be his sister. I hid out there that night trying to figure out things. That idiot didn't even bother to come after me, he just passed out. The next morning he realized what happened and I was an idiot and forgave him. I was very stupid before. I ALWAYS forgave him for all the abuse, and the mean words, all the women chasing he did. All the, inviting young girls over to hang out, hoping to get me drugged up for his own personal gain. I despised this man more than any person I have ever hated, but I always forgave him.
Why do we torture ourselves like this? For love? Because we are afraid? Because we don't think we could make it without the other? Because we fear what they would do to us if we left? All of those I felt. I took years for me to get the courage and strength to act. Years of agony, pain, depression, loathing, and anger. It makes future relationships hard. I have been with my new husband for almost 3 years. I still have a lot of trust issues. I get overly jealous when we see a young beautiful woman flaunting herself. I get highly angry with him over just the small things, because that is what my ex would do. My husband is not abusive, he doesn't use drugs and rarely drinks. He is a wonderful man and he has made my life so happy, I just can't help but push him for fear of being hurt.
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