I had been married twice and had two children. I had managed to not only survive, but thrive. I had a great job with a bright future and was looking for an apartment where my kids and I would have peace finally. I swore I would never make the mistake of marrying again as I seemed to do it very poorly. I did have friends that were men. I was determined that was all they would ever be. Then, a man called and left a message on my machine. I barely remembered the man. Someone I had been in only the slightest contact with at a former job. I was confused on several levels. I called him back and confirmed he was who I thought he was. For the next two years, he and I developed a relationship. Long distance and at my discretion. I was brutally hard on him. I accepted nothing less that everything I required. I made HIM jump through the hoops, not me this time.
On a trip back home after visiting him, I came to the absolutely horrid realization that I had fallen in love with this man. I had to pull off the highway. I screamed, I cried, I swore, I bellowed at God. No … please … no. I finally managed to pull myself together enough to finish my drive home, with the firm intention of breaking it off with him the next moment I spoke with him.
When I got home I called my best friend. Who told me I would absolutely NOT break it off with this guy. She told me he had been the best thing in my life other than my kids in almost fifteen years. She convinced me to not run. I should have.
We married in July. I remember I nearly fainted when I was saying my vows. For the third time. I moved my kids and myself and any life we had to a place four states away from anything I knew. I had come to believe he was my answer to a long asked prayer. Hard working, dedicated, successful, funny, my best friend. Then, one night, the downfall began. Understand, I lived and breathed for him. He made me happier than I had ever known. My children were loved by him. Our live together was like a dream that I didn’t want to wake up from.
He came home from a sporting event and was acting a little odd. I didn’t think too much of it, as I trusted him heart and soul. I asked what was up, and he sort of grinned. He pulled a small bag with some things in it from his pocket. I was absolutely clueless. I wondered out loud to him and he laughed. “You don’t know,” he asked. “No, tell me,” I replied. I wish to God in heaven I could erase the next few months after that. What he had, was crack. Cocaine! I had never messed with anything like that ever in my life. I had never WANTED to. Now, here in my living room, in my home, in my husband’s HAND … here it was. I was scared. “Get it out of here!” I told him. I was so stupid. So, totally, completely stupid. He managed to convince me that it was not as bad as all I had heard. I tried it. It honestly, TRUTHFULLY, did nothing for me. I felt a bit more awake. But that was it. I told him so. He, however, seemed to be on some sort of sexual overdrive. I thought it was really because of his love for me. So, totally, completely stupid.
He would get it from time to time. I never really got into it. It didn’t seem to do any harm though. He always seemed to want me, and the intimate part was not bad. Finally I had to insist that he quit. I put my foot down, and hard. Months went by. I got pregnant, had a beautiful, healthy baby. But, with the good, I had also had some very terrible, horrid personal things happen as well. I felt like I was failing.
Then, it happened. One night, my husband completely betrayed me and I let him. He came in with another bag of that evil. I was so upset. He told me it was only to pick me up a little bit and that it was just for this one last time because he was tired of seeing me so depressed. Again, fool I was … idiot I was … I did it. But, it wasn’t the same. Something made me feel weird. I felt removed from myself. I heard him suggesting we invite a friend of his up. This late? I wondered … barely. I heard myself agree. The next moments of my life have plunged me into a hell I cannot come out of. He and that man … made me have sex with them. Both. At once.
I wanted to kill myself when I came out of that haze. I wanted to die. I cried for weeks and weeks. I hated myself. I was so sick I couldn’t even look at myself. I was angry at him. I wanted to run away. I wanted to disappear.
I see a doctor now, for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Bi-polarism, and OCD. I am still with my husband. I have no where else to go or to be. I am so trapped by my own hand … my own stupidity … I can do nothing about it.
I live with the humiliation and burden of the things I allowed to happen. I can barely lift my head to meet people in the eye. My husband tells me I need to just get over it and go on like he has done. He doesn’t realize that every time he says that I die more. It was nothing to him. It was everything to me. And, now, it’s gone. No happiness, no laughter, no smiles, no joy. I have died inside. And it was all my doing.
We have never done that disgusting stuff (the drugs) again. He has barely even touched me since. I just walk around feeling invisible, going to my doctor, taking my meds and never forgetting. I guess it is the price I pay for being stupid.