Lesson 3: The Past

When I first started this blog I had no idea where it was going (I still don't) I just knew I needed an outlet. I didn't know if anyone would read it, or like it, or care. But I knew I would need to write this. It's a hard one and I am still anxious about it and who knows how clear it will be. Maybe it will answer some questions maybe it will create new ones (ask away). I am sure I will come off naive and even stupid, to this I say ... rose colored glasses are a bitch.

I met my ex-husband when I was in the 8th grade. We started dating the summer before my freshman year of high school. Let me correct that ... we went from talking on the phone to being in a relationship there was no winning over process, no flowers at the door. He was older by a couple years. I had a couple very small very insignificant "boyfriends" before the EX but they were just how they sound ... schoolyard boyfriends.

At 15 shortly after I started my sophomore year I discovered I was pregnant. I was scared and weak. I had no idea what to do. The EX was too, he was afraid I wouldn't have the baby. I did. I learned a lot that year. How truly small I am in the grand scheme of things. But how strong I am too. I did a lot of thinking and got my shit together academically (I was never a bad student but I need scholarships if I were to go to college) and I needed to figure out what I wanted to be "when I grew up." I had a kick-ass year despite everything. And four days after my sophomore year ended on June 9th at 6:09 pm I gave birth to my beautiful daughter. The next two years of high school flew by I was an AP student at the high school, went to the Career Center and my senior year juggled those two and even a couple classes at the community college. I graduated in the top ten of my class and in the National Honor Society. I loved high school. I look back at all the things I know I missed b/c I had extra responsibilities and I won't say it was easy but I loved the experience I had. I got those scholarships I worked so hard for. A lot of them.

I married the EX two months after graduating. We moved to Savannah the following month where I planned to attend the Savannah College of Art and Design. We had the tiny little place in a horrible neighborhood but it was ours ... and 10 minutes from the beach (ahh the beach, I miss the beach). I thought after all the struggles we went through we had paid our dues and happily ever after was ours. We were in Savannah for six weeks. His mom had suffered a major stroke and with family is where we needed to be. I have never regretted walking away from the school or all those scholarships, a year later my dad was diagnosed with cancer we would have been home sooner or later.

We were married eight years. Separated for six months before the divorce was finalized. But we struggled for years. I don't want to make it sound like I was without fault, it takes two, but I stood by him as much as I could. I watched the man I married, the father of my only child become someone else. Someone who had no relationship with his child (still doesn't) and slowly no relationship with me. I watched him lose pride in his family and in himself and go from a provider to an addict. I showed support when I got none because I thought he would have the "light bulb moment" and realize what he had. I stood beside him while he was in jail and told him when he got out he needed to be active in our family or be out of it. He was using again by the end of the first week. But still I fought for the marriage, for the idea.

I told my friends "I am just waiting for my sign" (they priced the cost of a billboard). The city where we were married and lived had a higher divorce rate than marriage rate at the time so organizations were popping up to prevent this trend from continuing. I heard about one such program and told the EX we needed to do this workshop. After much convincing he agreed, I paid. It was a one day thing, 9-5, lunch provided ... he walked out by 10:30. That was August 11th. It was the day after the anniversary of my father's death and already emotional time for me. It took me another four months to ask him to move out. Over that four months we had hundreds of "talks." I was the sole income of the household and had to commute out of town for work. I would come home from a long day and sit for hours discussing our issues, where he stood, and where I stood. To me it was simple ... choose your family or your addiction. He couldn't have both and no matter how much convincing he tried to do. It was black and white.

legally I had to let him stay there ... I gave him the basement but really that means he just slept in the basement. Within a week or two of him moving back in our daughter (and dogs) began sleeping in my room.  And then I got my sign...

My sign came at about 4:30 in the morning. I was awoken by him saying my name asking if I was ok and shaking me slightly. Uhm for the record when I am jarred awake at 4:30 in the morning when I have to be at work in a few hours I AM NOT OK. He told me he saw hands and wires wrapped all around me and that people were yelling my name. He woke up my daughter too. I told him to get out of my room immediately. But I couldn't go back to sleep. I quietly got up a watched him for the next half an hour. He walked out one door went around the house and knocked on the other door. Over and over. He later went into my office and I followed him in there watched him talk to a corner, after seeing me he told me that they only wanted gas money, he saw two girls ... I saw a dark office. We fought and he forgot. He called his nephew and yelled at him for leaving (he was also never there). This went on till about 6:30 till I had to get ready for work. He came in after his nephew called him back to confirm what I had said, that he was never there, apologizing to me. But I had my sign and knew 100% without a doubt I was DONE. I called a lawyer that day.

Two weeks later, after my realtor refused to show my house unless I could guarantee without a doubt he was not going to be there (oh yes there is a story there), I had him at my lawyers office to sign the dissolution agreement. While there my realtor showed the house and I had an offer two days later. And I asked him (again) to move out. My house officially closed four years (almost to the day) that it was purchased. I even dropped off his last few boxes at his new place (it's hard to carry boxes on a bicycle). Three weeks after that I picked him up and drove him to the courthouse. Spent twenty minutes talking him out of the car so that I could get my divorce. Talk about an awkward drive to and from. It was one year EXACTLY from the day that he walked out on the marriage workshop.

That's part of my past ... in a nutshell. It is the part that took me the longest to sort through ... I continue to sort through it. I wish I could say that he has straightened his life up and gotten his priorities in order. I hear he is trying but actions speak louder than words. He has never followed the visitation order. Asked more about the dogs than his daughter. Pays no child support and only seen her once since Christmas of 2009.