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Just another faded memory…

May 11th, 2010

This morning, @NuttyNewswire tweeted about a guy who made up a robbery to get a ride home.  I didn’t actually read the story (Sorry, @NuttyNewswire!), but it triggered two memories.  One I’ve apparently buried.  I at least haven’t thought about it in a good long time.  The other I bring up on occasion in conversations with M, but other than that, I don’t talk about it a whole lot.  I’m not sure my parents even know, and it happened when I was still at home.

I can’t remember if I was pregnant or if I’d already had my son.  I just remember him calling me and asking me to come over.  Ex had another fight with his stepdad before the guy left for work, and he “needed” me.  Translation: He wanted someone else to scream at since his stepdad was gone.

My mom said I couldn’t go.  I don’ t know why I listened.  This was long after I made it clear that I’d do whatever the hell I wanted, whenever the hell I wanted, and there was nothing she could do to stop me.  Probably because I really didn’t want to go listen to him scream.  Wasn’t interested in the “make me feel better” sex I knew we’d have whether I wanted to or not.  Just plain didn’t want to be there.

An hour or two after I told him I couldn’t go, he called back and said he’d been robbed.  Someone busted in his bedroom window and cut him over his grandfather’s watch.  A watch I’d never even seen, and found out later, from his mom, that he’d sold weeks before.  And like an idiot, I ran downstairs, told my mom where I was going, and took off to his house. 

He wouldn’t call the cops.  Wasn’t interested in paramedics.  My parents were both certified Red Cross trainers, so I had pretty much every bit of First Aid training possible.  He knew that and made me doctor his arm.

I knew, the moment I saw him, that he’d cut his own arm.  I knew, the moment I saw it, that he’d also punched out the window, which was probably how he cut his arm.  And if I wasn’t sure then, I was when he refused to call the cops.  But I pretended to believe him, ignored the implications, and went on being his on-again-off-again girlfriend like nothing happened.

Years later, after we’d both grown up (in the physical sense… definitely not in the mental/emotional sense) and moved out and moved to New York, we finally found our own apartment and started to make friends.  We both got a job at the same place, but I eventually had to quit.  With two toddlers and an infant at home, it was too expensive for me to work.  And when I quit, my ex started to fuck off.

He was calling out all the time, late just about every day, never got home on time… I was pretty sure he was cheating, but I left it alone because by that point, I’d had about all I could take.  The real end of our relationship (as opposed to all the fake break ups that never lasted more than a couple months) was coming soon, and I knew it, so I didn’t see the point in confronting him.  It would just end in another bar room brawl in the middle of my living room.

One morning, he was out shopping, supposedly, had promised me he’d come home before work to drop off the groceries, and then would head in to the factory.  His work day started at 1:30pm and by 4 I still hadn’t heard from him.  I called the factory to see if he’d bypassed the house, and he wasn’t in.  Mere minutes after I called the factory, he called me and said he was stuck in Vermont because some chicks on the side of the road had asked him for a ride and then hijacked him.

He really thought this story through, too.  Right down to pleading for the ability to come back to the house to see his kids one last time before they killed him.  And when he got back to the house, I made him call the police.

He asked the police for a note for work.  No lie.  They laughed at him.  He got fired.  Which didn’t really matter, in the long run, because he went to prison a few months later.

This (not these specific stories, but the whole bullshit situation) is driving me crazy, these days.  Our relationship sucked.  And probably both of us were to blame.  And it definitely didn’t help that I was crazy, couldn’t see it, and refused to get help.

But he’s managed to come out smelling like a rose.  Both of our families are convinced that I’m just nuts, and that’s why our relationship was volatile.  They think the real reason I don’t have contact with them is because I’m fucking up and I don’t want them to see.

No one has ever asked me what happened.  No one really cared why a straight A student who played sports and an instrument, and was in debate and drama, suddenly started failing classes, quit all her extra-curricular activities, and spent her whole life wasted.  Everyone –even my own family!– just assumed the worst about me and wrote me off instead of considering the possibility that I might be in way over my head.

I mean, my mom tried to get me to go to therapy.  But she was making comments about taking custody of my son and putting him up for adoption while I was in inpatient care.  What person in their right mind would willingly sign themselves into inpatient care when the only person they had to depend on was threatening to “get rid of” the only person who cared about them?

There’s a lot of anger and hurt and sadness and confusion here.  It’s possible that all of what I feel is a giant misunderstanding.  But no one’s making any effort to correct me.  The only response I’ve ever gotten when I try to tell my family how I feel, try to figure out a way to mend this rift between us, has been, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

And ya know, I’m not the only one to blame.  And I’m sick to death of being the only one who cares to fix it.  But most of all I’m just tired of the pain.  I don’t want it anymore.

I don’t get the “Just let the emotions run their course.” concept.  I don’t get it because I’ve never done it.  Ever.  I’ve always stuffed the emotions and thoughts to the back of my mind, and hoped that either I’d forget about them or they’d just go away.  But I think the back of my mind’s getting too full because things keep tumbling back out.  And I really don’t know how to deal with it.

No one (me included) understands why I can’t just let it go.  Why I can’t just accept it for what it is and move on. And that’s usually the first thing out of anyone’s mouth when I talk about it.  “Why can’t you just let it go? It’s over.  They’re assholes.  Move on.”  The only thing I can come up with is that I know everyone involved believes a lie.  And I know that trying to tell them what really happened will do no good because they all think I’m the liar.

And maybe I’m partially to blame for that because I always lied to protect the ex.  I helped paint this picture of perfection my family suddenly believes.  But they didn’t believe in the lie when I was telling it.  So how come now that I’m screaming that it was a lie, they believe it?

Maybe it’s just easier on them than realizing how deep in shit I was and how little they did to help me out of it.

Anyone know where I can get my hands on that pill that makes you forget?

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  1. alwaysHistora
    May 11th, 2010 at 13:54 | #1

    Drink from the river Nepenthe.

    Honestly, i’ve been here numerous times. Everyone mocks the idea of closure, but really, for many survivors of abuse, it’s a desperately desired dream. To have someone that was there say “Yeah, it sucked, i admit we all fucked up.”. To be validated on being hurt. To shoulder some of the blame and pain.

    Don’t let them hold you hostage to the memories. i don’t know how to tell you the way to move on, but you can, in time, i hope.

  2. May 11th, 2010 at 15:04 | #2

    @alwaysHistora Hell, I even mock the idea of closure. I guess there’s more to it than I realized.

  3. May 13th, 2010 at 23:08 | #3

    Rayne,

    Sometimes, there isn’t “closure” or “getting over it” to be had. I never made peace with my dad. The best I could do was to simply ignore him. Every contact with him, every supposed attempt on his part to mend fences ended at the same place; there was never any abuse, never any problems, and loving my mom is a betrayal of him. Reconciliation takes two people, not one. Getting over the past hurts requires that no new ones are being repeatedly inflicted. Sometimes the nest we can be is to survive.

    As for people and lies, people believe what makes them comfortable. It takes incredible strength of character to face an unpleasant truth and believe it. They believed you had a perfect relationship when you were lying because then they don’t have to worry (though they may not have had a clue, depending on how good the lie is). Now, they either have to admit to themselves that they were wrong back then, or that they’re “catching” you in the lies now. Moral laziness, that’s what it is.

    Dave

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