something needs to change

Seven years ago, I was a strong, independent woman. I worked full time, I was a single mother of two. I had my dog, and my routine. I was losing weight, mostly starving myself because I’d forget to eat. But I made time for my kids on our days off together, and we were mostly happy. I didn’t need a man to approve of anything I did, or to support me and my children. Sure, my parents helped out a ton, financially and with baby sitting. I had no friends, but I had my books.

My Routine

Everyday I would get up, shower, make breakfast, wake the kids to eat, then they’d get dressed for the day. They were three and five at this time, and both in school. My son pre-K, and my daughter in Kindergarten. After they were ready to go, I’d pack them into the car, bring them to Day care, where they hung out with other kids, my daughter was put on the bus to school, and my son got the Pre-K experience my daughter had just “graduated” from.

Then, I’d leave there, and go to work about a half hour away. I’d be into work by 6:45am everyday, and I’d get done and pick my kids up by about 6 every night. It was long hours working in the backroom of a retail store. Unloading the trucks that came in twice a week. Folding, separating, hanging, sorting… stacking the shelves and wracks in the back room for the floor associates to find easily when they needed to stock up on something. As soon as I’d totally have one truck finished and organized and out of the way, another would be delivered.

After work, I’d go back and pick up the kids who were close to the last ones picked up almost everyday. It was usually about 11 or so hours later, at 5:45pm that I’d get them.

Next, we would go home, make dinner talk about what they did in school. Eat, Kids would shower and get ready for bed. The kids would crawl into their bunk beds, and I’d read a little story. They’d fall asleep almost never making it totally to the end, and I’d call my mom to come over and sit with them while I walked the dog one last time.

I’d get home, do a little cleaning, and picking up, and go to bed myself. It was simple then. I didn’t need anyone, no one was really there for me. My parents didn’t really talk to be about anything, just came when I wanted them to sit with the kids, or watch them, and leave when they were done. I would work sick, in pain, exhausted. It didn’t matter, I had no one to count on but myself, and that is just the way it was.

We lived like that for over a year. I lost about 90 pounds, and I was starting to get more confident in myself daily. I was also looking forward to getting a school bus driving job, because that paid a ton more, and I’d finally get to see my kids.

That’s how I was when I met Marc. I was excited because I was beginning to become someone better than I had been in years.

The years before that part of my life? I was broken at the beginning of this story. Let me jump back and review what did that to me.

When I was 16, I met my first boyfriend. I was naive to think we would always be together, and he could be my one and only. I loved him, trusted him, he was my world. He was the only person I saw on a daily basis. Even living with my parents, I didn’t see them, I didn’t feel they cared about me at all. It was my first relationship, so I did anything I could to make it work. I changed myself, for him, not realizing that’s what I was doing until later. I lost my friends, my family stopped talking to me, I ran away and worked for a carnival for a whole summer. Went to Planned parenthood when I started becoming sexually active, and had them give me the Depovera shot for birth control.

By the time summer ended, and the Carnival dropped me off “near” home, I was pregnant. I had been getting the shot every three months on the dot, they said it would work up to five, if for any reason I wasn’t able to get in on time. But I always made sure I was there. When the appointment came that I needed my next shot, they did a pregnancy test, per usual, and it came up positive. I was that less than one percent, that got pregnant using birth control that doesn’t fail.

This brought on a “new man.” Now I was convinced that we were meant to be together, why would the Gods give me a life to take care of, if that weren’t the case? I told my parents so they weren’t shocked when I showed up at some point with a baby, not knowing what might be happening in the next 9 months.

Our “relationship” changed alright. Suddenly he needed to find two jobs, and I should stay with my parents for a while because he’d never be around with him always working. I tried to make it work, we would hang out at night, and go for a walk around town. A few months later he was arrested for pulling a knife on his mother’s landlord when she wouldn’t pay her rent. He spent a few weeks in prison. There was more to the story than that, but I believed him at his word.

When he got out, we let him stay with us. After all, he was a changed man now that he “learned his lesson.” He would go out all the time, show up when I was sleeping, and leave again shortly after getting up again. I assumed he was working, but he never told me where he had a job. When the baby was born, he was there, showing off to all his friends I never met, the baby he fathered. Then he quit his job, or got fired, I still don’t know which, and became the man I eventually had enough of. He would stay up all night, and when I’d go to work, he was supposed to watch our daughter, but slept while she screamed until I came home and took care of her needs. I don’t know how long I let that go on before I told him to leave until he was ready to be a father to her.

He came back a few months later, saying he wanted to be her daddy, and work things out with me. I let him back in, I kept telling myself he was going to change, no matter how long it took.

Then he beat me up and broke my ribs because I wouldn’t let him leave with my daughter because he was going to a friend’s house, who I didn’t know, that also did drugs. How did I know they weren’t going to hurt my baby?

A month later, I let him back in, thinking he was going to change.

It kept going on like this. Until one day he asked me if I was cheating on him, which was an agreement we made at the beginning when my friends would tell me he was cheating on me. It was said that if He ever asked me such a question, it was his admission of being unfaithful. We were “over,” I kicked him out, told him to leave. He got a job at the same carnival we “ran away with” that summer, and needed a place to stay. I let him crash on my couch. I also asked him if I could have $20 for diapers, because I wouldn’t get paid for another week and I was almost out. He said he’d give me some money to help with the baby when he got paid the next day. Instead of sleeping on the couch, he Raped me, and left. A week or so later he told me I better not be pregnant, because it was in no way his. Shortly after, I discovered I was indeed. I called his mother’s house leaving a message to have him call me, and told him I was pregnant. It was my parents anniversary 2002. He yelled at me, made me feel dirty, and That was the day I finally gave up on him “growing up” and becoming anything.

I decided that day I would do whatever I could for both of my kids. I was already working full time, and taking some night course

s when I found out I was pregnant again. I finished out school best I could and missed final exams because he was born the week before.

I got home and the harassing phone calls started. “Take my name off that kid’s birth certificate! He is not my son!” he said many worse things. Finally his girl friend convinced him to file for divorce, since we were already separated according to DCF who I had in my life from when I had my daughter. Being I was 17, they had to be sure I would be a fit parent, and during the separation and divorce, they got many calls from that man and his friends saying horrible things about us.

Eventually I had to go back to work, I told the personal manager about my abusive ex, and how I’d have to be hidden so he didn’t know I was there. They did pretty good for a few months. One day he showed up, in my line, and told me to remove his name “or else”… whatever that meant. He also said he was leaving state, going to make something of himself, and come back and take my daughter. That there was nothing I could do about it, he wouldn’t be paying any child support either.

When it comes to the money, he’s right… he hasn’t paid a dime. But I don’t think he’s done anything good for himself either.

Back to the present

After being broken, and healing mostly. I met Marc, we fell fast, and its different than when I was 16. I truly love him, I can’t imagine my life without him. Most of the time, he makes my heart skip when he comes home from work. I enjoy spending time with him, it’s like he is my other half that makes me feel whole. Not because I was broken once, or he’s the dad to my three kids, or that he takes care of us financially. It’s more than that.

Lately though, I feel like when I need him the most, he only has time to think about himself. I’m reminded of that awful time in my life 11 years ago. I remember how much I relied on someone other than myself for anything.

The real reason I won’t get married again is that when things fall apart, because past experience says they will, I don’t want to go through the same ropes being cut. This is his house, it will stay HIS house. If I ever get my business up and moving, it will always be MY business.

I feel like we are in a one sided relationship right now. He works forty hour weeks, comes home, demands me make dinner, and goes to work out for a few hours. Comes home, eats dinner, and showers, then we watch whatever HE wants to watch, because anything I want to watch is “boring.” All week long he gives me a list of things that “need to be done.” Like vacuum, dishes, laundry, sweep… you get the point.

December 24th, I had my biopsy, I was supposed to “stay quite” for the rest of the day. He dragged me to a Christmas party, where I was miserable until a friend of mine gave me a ride home. Then he texted me to put wood on the fire. When he came home? He didn’t come upstairs and check on me. He stayed downstairs drinking more, hanging out with the kids watching football. Then at 10:30 (i think) brought me a screaming baby, and left. Still not asking me if I wanted or needed anything. So, I cuddled my son, got him to sleep and went to sleep myself. He managed to drink so much, he pissed the bed AGAIN! Making me have to get up, shower, and be miserable for now TWO reasons on Christmas. First my pain and discomfort, and second his actions and behavior.

It’s now been 18 days since the biopsy. Yes, the test came back “normal” and I’ll be “fine” but the pain is still there. He thinks it is because of my ovaries being covered in cysts and over sized because of the liquid inside the cysts. There is also nothing he can do to help get rid of them. They need to burst or heal on their own. My doctor gave me a script for pain relievers, something to take before bed to help me sleep, when I can’t just ignore the pain and do other things. Also something to “help me lose weight.” We’ll see if that works.

I’ve noticed I’m extremely emotional right now. I don’t know if it’s because of the constant pain I’m under, or maybe because I feel hurt by the one man I trust more than anyone. Though he has only let me down once in the past 6 and a half years, its got to be the biggest let down I’ve ever experienced. Usually, when he is sick or hurt, I take care of him, feel bad for him, whatever he needs to a degree. But this time, when I needed him, DEPENDED ON HIM, he wasn’t there. Even when I broke my leg, I had someone to help me. We lived in the apartment just him, me and the two kids. I managed to get up and down stairs, watch tv. My kids made sure I had anything I might need until I was able to carry it myself again. It wasn’t bad, I just couldn’t use my right leg for anything.

But this was different. I couldn’t count on my kids, I couldn’t count on him. I was alone. I have been alone since I found out I had a second mass and knew I needed another biopsy before he ordered it. Marc was on vacation the week before school let out for Christmas break. Sure, he watched the baby during my runs, but he didn’t actually help me with anything. He spent all his time watching day time TV, and playing video games. The pain I’ve had for months. I finally called the doctor, and everything went through hyper speed from when I called him to January 3rd when he gave me my script for this hunger suppressant.

I’m supposed to go on with my life like I don’t hurt. Like my feelings aren’t broken when he chose to ignore the facts that I am in pain. REAL TRUE PAIN! And there is no end in site! I need to go on everyday knowing that I might not be able to give him another baby. That he wants desperately. Don’t ask me why, because I haven’t the slightest clue why he would want ANOTHER baby now.

I have to live on this reduced calorie diet, eating right, and staying motivated. Where everyone around me can eat whatever they want and not worry about it. They don’t care if I’m feeling hurt when they get to down a whole pizza, and I’ve got three bites on my plate. Or when they make Biscuits and Gravy, and I have to make a salad just so I remember to only eat a little bit. They get Reese’s and Oreo, and I have to say “pass” because I know that will just add to the battle inside myself. Yet they’re all adding fuel to the fire of my pain. Not even realizing it, I’m more miserable everyday because I can’t have that soda, or chocolate milk, or beer! I can’t have the Ice cream, cookie, or treat.

I try to make sure I get the biggest meal in the morning, the most calories. I also need to be sure it’s healthy. I cheated yesterday. I had a handful of peanut M&Ms twice. Once before I went back to work in the afternoon because I didn’t want to eat lunch, or have the apple and peanut butter snack I’ve had all week. The second time, when I went upstairs to watch TV, because I couldn’t stand everyone else getting whatever they wanted. I tried to justify myself by saying it’s better than grabbing a pint of Ben & Jerry, and downing that when I’m sad, or grabbing the Oreo package and finishing whatever might be left with a glass of milk.

The thing is, I wasn’t hungry, it was an emotional thing I fed. I know that. Even when I caved and ate those M&Ms, I knew that the only reason I wanted them was because Marc had gone out with his Grandfather, uncle and cousins, and decided to get drunk. After I had a day

from hell! I knew that the M&Ms wouldn’t and couldn’t make me feel better, but I ate them any way. Somehow thinking they might help. They obviously didn’t.

I keep saying I need to go take my pill, and eat breakfast today. I’ve been up for 3 hours. The house is quite, only one other person is stirring now, and he just got up ten minutes ago. But I can’t find the strength inside me to continue on this diet. I can’t seem to find the motivation to care enough about myself to lose weight today. Or even to try and lose weight.

I don’t want to invite the window guys in to perform the pre install in about an hour. I don’t want to wake the kids. I don’t want to go to the birthday party that I’m somehow OBLIGATED to go to, when I didn’t get the invite.

The past three hours I’ve been reflecting on myself. I’m going to continue to try to change the physical me, because I want to do thing with my kids. Not because I care what HE thinks of me. I want better health because that will make me feel better, and hopefully will make the pain stop. I really just want the pain to stop. If I could keep my job, and be high all the time? I’d probably give it a go ’round. At this point, I’m about willing to do anything.

I end this entry now, because I do have to return to the real life, where nothing ever goes our way, and we have to suck it up and deal. In the real world, I guess the only person you can REALlY count on is yourself.