I got a couple messages that were very kind, saying that you were glad I made it out, and that I’m so strong.
Please believe me, I was so not strong. I was a hopeless mess, literally had no hope, all I wanted was to get shitfaced and wake up somewhere else, and I knew I didn’t deserve anything other than exactly what I had gotten. This was where my best life planning had gotten me. I got a little stronger after I was sober awhile and had therapy, and decided to help people, and saw that I made better, harder decisions sober, that I was capable of being a better person. But at the time? Nope nope nope.
I swear to god, the only reason I even tried to get out at all was so stupid. I thought, well I’ll be damned if I die at the hands of some fuck in overalls. That’s what bothered me. I’d die again, just out of embarrassment. I don’t think I had one sane thought in that whole four months, but four months is one long fucking time, and that one stupid thought got me motivated enough to get my ass out of there. I put my shady manipulative asshole skills to work for good for a change, convinced him I was trustworthy and bided my time.
Crazy is as crazy does.
I could just lay on the floor in exhaustion and relief that the day is over.
It’s more exhausting to have emotions than to dig a ditch.
Anxiety fucking blows. It’s lurking, hiding behind things in my head, and I’m doodling around, going about my bidness and it pops out with !exclama!tion poi!nts like BOING! o hai it’s ME! and then I go through the whole “shut the fuck up, you, nothing to get excited about, it’s friday and you talked about some shit yesterday so you think you’re all that” thing and I guess I’ll constantly be keeping my head in check today.
I can live with it. Plus it may be too busy for anything today which would be even better.
It happens. I have days like this sometimes even when I haven’t talked about it or thought about it in any way.
Whaddaya gonna do.
Some anxiety this morning, but manageable, and it’s Friday, so fuck that shit.
Rock and roll.
for #mrsevilvixen and her little one.
I have this saved to my desktop. Way cool.
He was 56 when it happened.
He has the same birthday as me.
I saw him drive a nail in one shot.
He was fond of saying things like “Shut up with that book learnin shit” and “Smart whores get what they deserve.”
He was trying to get me pregnant with twins “cause then you cain’t run away.”
He killed my dog with a hammer.
I met his family and his one sister had shot and killed the other sister to marry her husband, who she was fucking too.
It was a nightmare that I had to go totally numb to keep walking through.
But I watched everything.
And I plotted.
At night I’d pretend I was telling people about it (Philly people I knew) and how jaw droppingly astounded they would be.
It was periodically horrifying, but sometimes it just sucked.
The thing is, that would never have happened if I wasn’t drinking. He was only able to pull off something like that because I was flailing about with no direction from drink to drink expecting hoping that things would “work out.” I had no inner strength, just some limited ass-kicking ability, and no self.
For the longest time I didn’t even think about leaving because duh, I had no money, no life, what the fuck would I have done that was so much better?
Holy shit, I don’t know if I can’t believe I was there, or I can’t believe I’m NOT there.
How long ago was this? Did he go to jail? Is he in jail now? Will he get out? I hate him and I like you.
Really scratching my head on this. Ummm 8 years give or take. And I’m 6 years sober plus a few months. So you do the math- this shit did NOT stop me from drinking- not for any length of time, anyway. You’d think it would, but nope. Alcoholism is weird. The worse it gets, the worse it gets. He was in jail- for a little while, which is why the shelter got me an apartment. Unfortunately he got out on bail. He’s been in & out of jail, all the police know him, he stalks his ex-wives, kills their pets, vandalizes their shit, does all sorts of things, but they’ve never been able to get proof. He’s pretty slick- goes and takes cars on test drives when he does stuff, so his car is always home and the vehicles he’s seen in are never tied to him. I don’t know what he’s up to now. I swore I’d never set foot in Kentucky again, not to testify, not for anything, and I haven’t. I told the prosecutor he could arrest me or bring the trial to Philadelphia or forget it. He left it alone.
Weirdly, once I was back here, I was given an opportunity- by someone that I had not known was “connected”- to a) be taken back to Kentucky, have him tied to a chair, and have a gun put in my hand or b) have him brought here and the same scenario. I suppose I entertained the fantasy briefly in my mind, but I didn’t take advantage of the offer. I could have killed him while I was there, in theory, anyway, and I chose not to and just got the fuck out of there. Not because he deserved to live, because he certainly did/does not, because it’s just not my call. I didn’t want or need it to be my call. Which is not to say I wouldn’t take a baseball bat to every inch of his head if circumstance had our paths cross.
I don’t know if he’s in jail. I know he’s been in & out periodically for the various crap he does, but not over my case. I have to let that go because I’m not going back there, but I gave both his ex-wives tons of information for them to pursue.
Thank you for hating him and liking me.
My life is awesome because you’re in it.
And in general.