During the time that I was going through all this, I was sort of in a daze; caught in the confusing space of ” what the hell is happening?” I was going through so many emotions, that some days, I didn’t even want to speak. Some moments, of some days, we were really great, and I believed we could go the distance. On other days, I just closed my eyes and tried to pray it all away. As I lay next to him, I begged God to just make him fall asleep. And sometimes it got so bad that I prayed for him not to wake up. I know how that sounds, but this became a daily struggle of tactical survival.
I was stuck with someone who was very much entangled in the dark underworld of heroin and methamphetamine, and all the junkie-gigolos and tweaker-whores that come with it. Dirty females willing to do anything for a hit, not even a whole sack; and sweaty, greasy guys, roaming around in the night like wild dogs. This little group of drug addicts, do whatever it takes from morning to morning (the night never ends, evil never sleeps), trying to quench their insatiable thirst for dope. Their nights never seem to end because sometimes going on the mission for it lasts all night until 4am, then come 7am, it’s time to do it all over again.
These are “men” who slap, punch, disrespect, cheat on, and abuse their significant others; and “women” who make themselves available, happily leaving their kids at home while they run wild, and haughtily get in-between families as willing side-pieces who pant like animals at the thought. I walked up on one such female, who still hit the foil with a sizable baby in her belly, with my son’s father, after we experienced the loss of our first son.
They’re stare blankly; no emotion, no care.
Equally, all of them, have no manners, no sense, no boundaries, no class, no respect. Collectively, they make a big black hole. The name ‘black tar heroin’ is befitting.
They do whatever it takes to feed their habits. They’re always wheeling and dealing, something is always for sale, and they trade their drugs for work and favors. They smoke dope with their kids crying on the other side of the door. They’re dirty, not showering for weeks sometimes. They don’t sleep. They have extremely poor diets, if they’re eating at all.
They all leach off of each other and anyone who comes in their path. They lie, and they take anything they can. They cover for each other, they make up stories, they twist things around, they enable each other, while talking trash about each other at the same time. They gossip, they butt-in, they give their opinions on how real events take place in their warped reality.
I had a hard time waking up from this. Since I was pregnant, I was way more emotional, and tired, and since I was being fed the lines, I had way more heart on the table than I ever wanted to put out there. He was playing off my biggest thing…. my feelings and my love.
There was a time when I really didn’t care what anyone thought they knew, because I, myself knew the truth. But the more I witnessed him lying about me, about what was going on, about my character, about everything, the more I couldn’t just sit back and take it.
There was so much that happened, so much still happening, and I’m really done letting his few family members and this group of lost souls make judgements about me based on my son’s father’s lies and deliberate exploitation and humiliation of me. It’s funny to me that they all hate me and bad-mouth me, for calling them out, and trying to keep my family together by getting help for the man who was supposed to protect us from such evil. He wasn’t supposed to place us in it, dressed in our Sunday best. HIs family loved me, until I started reacting to the shit-storm.
It is absolutely maddening to me, they still run their mouths, when none have a righteous bone in their bodies. Most of their own family members don’t even speak to them and make them leave when they come around. I know they’re all trash to the core, so it makes it particularly disturbing to me when they’re running their mouths. Vermin who have the least amount of room to talk, try to make themselves look good by gossiping, fabricating details, and getting in the middle of things they have no business in.
I’ve been a writer since I was very little, writing a variety of subject matter. But this writing, is something else. It’s so personal. It’s sickening sometimes to even write, yet so necessary for me to pour it all out honestly. It’s hard reliving it all even for a moment in order to get it out and release it. It’s so hard to talk about it out loud. But true to form, I’m gutting it out and telling it; writing whenever I need to, for my peace of mind, and to tell my youngest son in case anything ever happens to me. His dad is the only person who has ever scared me, because there is something just off about him. I always told him, “you’re missing the feel-factor, you have no empathy for others”.
He has been losing his mind a little more each day that I won’t go back with him. All that being said, the son we share needs to know, from my heart, what really happened and why I stayed, as well as why I left and stayed gone. I feel like I got snowed, no pun intended, and I was fooled into this fake life by a man who can’t even get out of his own way. I’ve had a two year, 6 month trip through a bizarre true story that continues daily.
It’s important to me to set the record straight, and through my writing, I’ve found my true self again, after feeling quite lost for what seemed like an eternity.
The best part is, I have the right to speak on all of it, because I was there, to see it with my own eyes and hear it with my own ears. I was entangled in this web because I was purposely placed there by my ex. I was thinking about how I was going to write about certain things, because there is more than one character in the cast of clowns that involved themselves in the circus between myself, and my son’s dad. In the end I decided that I really don’t care about calling them out by name where they enter themselves into the story. Everything I write is the truth about how it happened, and I will tell it accurately because I’m writing what I personally experienced in my hit-and-run dealings with them. My name is in all their mouths constantly, and telling the truth about what happened makes the playing field much more even.
PTSDDiaryPartII 