i am updating again today, because I am right now counting down the minutes to something and this seems a lot more productive and healthy than staring at the clock and crying.
no, I don't want to talk about it yet. maybe later tonight or tomorrow, but not right now. right now, we'll talk about Husband. we haven't covered that really yet. so why the fuck not now?
after learning I was pregnant at 17, I didn't feel the things I thought I would. I stood in my best friend's house, holding that test, about to go to a party, and I already knew. and when it confirmed a tiny baby in my belly, I was kind of okay with that. I didn't really feel scared or panicked. because, despite everything, I was going to be a mother. I was already in the beginning of my senior year of high school. my dad was definitely going to have a heart attack, but when I told my mother, who had very recently rejoined the ranks of parenthood, she was totally fine. she asked me if I was sure and I told her I was. she sent me to get a blood test, which only confirmed it that much more. like 3 pee tests weren't enough, jesus.
I met husband that semester. I didn't pay him much attention in the beginning. it was my senior year and I was a pretty popular kid. people know me in this town. I literally started changing my hair so much to attempt to disguise myself but it never helps. I can't hide here. someone always recognizes me. he sat behind me in just one of my classes, but it happened to be the one I was the most outspoken and myself in. one of my favorite teachers taught it, so I had free rein to be silly and crazy. one day, I asked to use his hoodie as a pillow. he was quiet and young and sweet. I swear to you the bad part of me must have latched on at that point. we started writing notes and talking and talking on the phone. total adorable school romance.
the first time I met his mom, I hated her. and I continued to hate her every fucking second until we broke up for good. it was for good reason, I promise. because she didn't like me much either. she thought it was bad that I was pregnant, that I was older. all of those were valid reasons, but I was a young girl. and not just yet a parent. I didn't understand or comprehend what she was feeling, seeing her very young son trying to take on so much responsibility so soon. but he was a dream. so sweet, so innocent, so in love with me. and I loved him too. at this point tobin's dad was definitely not in the picture and we were both fine with that. this was our kid. I know, we sound total white trash silly, but whatever.
tobin was born and he turned 15. I turned 18. seriously, this really happened. god I feel like such a huge perv writing about this, but whatever. we were good for another year. but now I was out of school. and he wasn't. and I had an infant child. it put a lot of stress on us. and everyone around us. I am also not ashamed to admit that parenting took me awhile to get the hang of. I leaned on him, a lot. definitely a lot more than I should.
we broke up just before valentine's day. I had a dream about it happening the night before. every detail was the same. it was the exact same. that's one of two times that's happened to me.
that's when I lost my mind and my self-control and went bananas. the whole time we were split up, we still saw each other and talked on and off. by august, we were discussing getting back together. but he didn't want to tell his parents. by now he was 16 and I was 19. god, gross. then I found out I was pregnant. time to get serious. we had slept together near the time of my Nashville rape & the baby was conceived around then, so we had a 50% chance of the baby being his.
I thank god every day that it wasn't. that's correct. I would rather my child be the product of a rapist than my ex-husband. and it's not that he was bad. it's that after all the pain and agony I put him through, he definitely did not deserve that too. but he loved calvin just the same. and my son, my poor sweet baby, has lost every single father figure he has ever had. and it's my fault. I will never be able to make that up to him, ever. and the ways things are looking, I will never be finding one to stick around either. he has lots of males in his life, but he has never connected with them the same as he did with Loaf. he was just a baby with Husband, but there was a deep connection there too. and he lost both of those.
but anyway. we got back together, our families got the fuck over it, and sweet calvin was born. four months later, I had a job and my dad found me a place and sort of shoved me out and into it, so there was that. he was never meant to live with me, because he was just 17 by this time, but he was already homeschooling and almost done, so he just did anyway.
and for a while, we were kind of happy. we were both working and taking care of babies and it worked. but at the time, my mental health was probably the worst its ever been. I was constantly depressed, constantly suicidal.. it was a bad time. it didn't help that my boyfriend was a 17 year old boy, so he was lazy and messy and addicted to his xbox. >.< we got into a lot of arguments. we said awful things and did awful things. he was the first person I ever experienced domestic violence with. that house was riddled with holes and dents when I moved out, alone and divorced.
right after he turned 18, I turned 21. I had been going out with friends a lot for a while and being legally able to drink made it worse. i'd leave him home with the kids and go out and get wasted in Nashville. sucks for him, right? yeah, totally admitting i'm a piece of shit.
when I figured out a way we could get married and soon, I told him. he agreed. later, during one of our last fights, he told me the only reason he had said yes was because he didn't want to start a fight.
where did the love go? I wondered. that you would agree to marry me to keep a fight from starting.
the wedding was short and at the court house and it was so hot that day I couldn't breathe and I looked awful and was not surrounded by the people I wanted to be. but oh well. now i'm married. woo..
it didn't take long to break apart. the violence got worse, he started chatting up old girlfriends and talking to them for hours and lying to me about it, then he followed me outside one night and ended up slitting my wrist. at the time, I was incredibly messed up in the head, so upset and angry and hopeless that I had gone outside with a razor to try to calm down before I hurt myself. when he followed me, he grabbed my wrist and yelled at me and told me if I wanted to die, he would just let me. and he drew the blade across my left wrist. that's where my scar there came from.
less than two weeks later, we were having an argument. he was at work till midnight, so I talked to him the whole time, trying to fix things. I baked 3 dozen chocolate chip cookies from scratch, got the kids to bed, and waited. he promised me that when he came home we would have a serious talk.
instead, he packed up his things and told me he was leaving. and not coming back. that as soon as he could he'd have the divorce done. he never even said goodbye to the boys. he just walked away.
I found things out later. that one of his exgirlfriends and his best friend both had told him to leave me. she had promised him they would get together if he did. they never did. his best friend repeatedly cheated on his wife (she left him a while later) so he told him if he didn't want to do that too, then he should just leave. that he had cheated on me with his best GUY friend in our home. that after he left, he continued doing things with him for a while.
in the months that followed, i got worse. now i was alone, depressed, suicidal, and broke. after several months of being unable to find a job and the house I was living in slowly slipping away from me, my illness won. I stopped fighting. I stopped trying. I stopped living. and not for the first time.
I wrote letters to my friends and family. I stockpiled pills. I recorded a video and set up instructions. and I sent the boys to the my dad's house. it was my last night in the house we had shared together. I was 22. I had not seen or heard from anyone in days. divorce is a sickness. people are afraid to get too close and catch it. and many of my friends were married then. they are not now..
I reached for the first bottle. just after getting the cap off, my phone chirped. and again. and again.
it was Loaf. and that's where this story ends and that one begins.
husband moved on pretty quick, though we did have a small tryst once afterwards. he's engaged now. he seems happy. I've tried my best to help him and apologize to him and attempt to make up for the things that happened, but it's best when I just leave him alone. so that's what I do.
the boys are in bed and the time is nearly here. i'm going to go downstairs for a bit until it's time. then I will be ready. and hopefully, i'll feel better afterwards. and also have a helluva story to let you all in on when it's over.
toodles. <3
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