Holy shit this is scary. Deep breathe. No body likes to air their dirty laundry. However, often when we lie to others the lie is believed by ourselves. In order to stay connected to my authenticity, I am going to write some things that I hate to think about in hopes that the extra oxygen will help those parts of me heal. I'm officially releasing all this crap from my being.
First, my husband beat me on the morning after our wedding. We were married at the little chapel of flowers in Vegas June 8, 2002 by a bi-polar Elvis impersonator. We did a lot of drugs and partied separately all night long and he passed out before I did in the morning. We were sharing our suite at Caesar's Palace with Jimmy's paraplegic friend from Illinois. Jimmy's friend had been in a car accident because he was in the back of a pickup truck when the driver, who was on acid, crashed the vehicle. Jimmy's friend smoked meth to pass his time.
Jimmy's friend was lying on the bed and I realized that he had shit all over himself. I ended up lifting his broken, shit covered body and carrying him to the shower. I showered him, dressed him and cleaned up the sheets. He was grateful.
After that I decided I was going straight to the pool to lie out in the sun and I walked into the bedroom to get my glasses. Jimmy woke up suddenly. His eyes were normally blue but when he opened them they seemed black. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist hard. "You stole all my shit." He said gripping me tightly. "You've been taking my drugs and selling them, haven't you, bitch!"
I was offended. He hadn't realized that he was the one that took all the meth amphetamine with him last night. I told him he was being a stupid dick and to go back to bed and by the way, I just cleaned up your shitty friend, jerk.
He grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me on the bed. Then he wrapped his hands around my throat and started to choke me. I'm pretty strong and I fought back, full of rage, but he was still stronger than me. Not to mention he was a sociopath after a meth binge. I took out my hair clip which was one of those ones with the chopstick that you stick through the bun. I stabbed him with it on his arm. He grabbed me and lifted me up, and threw me into the jacuzzi bath tub, still full of last night's bathwater, now stale and cold. I screamed in rage and scrambled out. He grabbed me by the hair and straddled me on the floor but I landed a few good punches.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. It was the cops. I put on a happy face and Jimmy turned on his charm. We got them to leave. I flopped on the bed, crying, and tried to overdose myself on zanex. I don't really remember the ride home. Jimmy said I just cried the whole time. I didn't know it then, but I was 6 weeks pregnant. When I was eight months pregnant with her, Jimmy head butted me one time and I developed toxemia. That's when I swelled up like Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.
The main reason that it took me so long to leave him was because I had social workers up my ass for smoking pot while pregnant. I did and still do believe that it was not harmful to my baby. In fact, it was the only thing that aloud me to cope with a nightmare pregnancy with a nightmare husband. It really helped when I went into labor, it helped me stay calm when I was the most helpless feeling and in a complete panic. I looked for studies telling me the harmful effects but there were none. Anyway, I had a social worker come to my house for almost a year and I was adamant about keeping up appearances. At any time that social worker could decide to take my child away. I wanted her to think we were the perfect, little family and I played the part well. When I think back on all the things that happened that year I wish I had gotten rid of him much sooner. He was able to do a shit load of damage in such a short amount of time.
Well, believe it or not, my daughter is perfect. She is healthy, beautiful, smart, precocious and confident. The body is a miraculous thing. Her angels must have worked hard to protect her when she was in my belly since I wasn't able to. At times I can forgive myself for that.
As for me, well, I've come a long way. I still have PT SD from it all and deal with overwhelming anxiety at times. Hospitals give me anxiety attacks and even doctor appointments. I haven't been in a relationship since my divorce and that was over four years ago. Jimmy is not in our lives at all and I believe I have a healthy, loving home and a great family (me, my daughter, and my mom, oh and all the freakin' animals) all be it an odd one. We do just fine.
As for Jimmy, I actually can thank him now and feel love for him. He was the one who talked me out of getting an abortion. He was instrumental in my destruction, which was absolutely necessary in order to create the person I am today.
Reborn and awake. A conscious person. This person who believes in love, magic, Goddess, peace and quiet, compassion and justice. This person who mothers and nurtures, rages at patriarchy, writes, plays the frame drum and guitar, goes to college, weaves spells under the full moon, and does volunteer work. This Goddess who feels so alive even when scared to death, and is grateful for every moment of this freaky roller coaster ride we call life.
p.s. domestic violence is an international epidemic. The stats say 1 out of 4 women have been abused but that's just what has been reported. I think the number is more like 3 out of 4. Maybe if I would have called one of those dv hotlines, where one could remain anonymous, I could have received information that would have allowed me to have the courage to leave Jimmy sooner. If you are experiencing domestic violence, which includes verbal and mental abuse, I urge you to call, 1800-799-SAFE or dial 211.
Now I'm living in Portland, Oregon, from Roslyn, WA, after leaving Los Angeles, CA in 2010. Searching inside and out for a new paradigm is my major goal in life right now. The patriarchal, racist and classist world that we live in gives me complete and utter indigestion (literally); so I continue on my spiral journey, keeping my eyes open for other worlds and drawing inspiration from those who are also searching.
("Sloth Womyn," is a reference from, "The Womyn's Holy Book of Mysteries," by Z.E. Budapest.)