Her Charmed Life

There was this guy I used to “date”. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned him here once or twice before. It was years ago, but he has been in my thoughts a lot as of late. Strange. I was 18 years old. He was 31. Everything went swimmingly, as you can imagine. 

So I’ve been around the block with assholes, people with a lot of emotional issues who take their unhealed problems out on others, all that kind of bullshit. I’ve been on both ends of that tug- of -war, being the “evil doer” and the “done to” victim. To this day, years later, this relationship still haunts me. My mindset and the general theme of our time together is still so confusing to me. I have so many questions for myself after all this time. I was without a doubt on the victim’s side this time.

I was 18, barely making 800$ a paycheck, a broken down car, living in some random guy’s house using sex to pay my rent. I was hooked pretty seriously on some scooby snacks this guy shared with me. Thanks Dick. One day as I was laying in bed watching netflix on my shit computer and wishing I was dead, I got a snapchat. I fucking hate snapchat honestly.I didn’t know who it was from. Turns out it was a recruiter I had spoken to a few times when I was in high school, he used my phone number to add me. I was so desperate for something, anything, to get me out of the shithole I was in. I needed to get away from the scooby snacks but I couldn’t shake them while I slept in the same bed as the supplier. I was living with three felons and fucking a guy who didn’t even know my last name. I was barely eating because all my money was going to fixing my car, I was getting picked up at the trap house by my upper leadership who I begged never to step inside. I was drunk every night, hungry. I had wandered into one too many places I shouldn’t have and some real scary guys with real scary guns learned my face and name on sight. So when I got that “Hey it’s me” blah blah blah message I thought I had finally gotten a break. Maybe I could make a friend. I literally was so desperate, all I could think of was someone to talk to about all the shit I was in, someone who would listen. I was so naive that I didn’t even expect help. So I went to meet him.

During the time I was sort of seeing him but mostly just fucking him and enjoying the “attention” he gave me when he rolled off of me and immediately got on his phone, I also enjoyed the distraction he provided. As I worked to find an apartment, and new car, I clung to him for support. He made quite a bit more money than I did, he occasionally bought me dinner. By that I mean, he stopped at xyz fast food place on his way to throw off my Ph balance. I finally got an apartment, the rent was 700$ a month. I bought a 75$ futon from Walmart, fucked the landlady within an inch of her life so I didn’t have to pay first, last, and the deposit, then moved in. I was so proud of myself. For the first time in forever, I had my own house over my head, my own bed, my own food. For a whole month, at least, I was totally okay and I did it all by myself. Well then the devil himself came knocking. Literally.

Asshole was “in love” with me and kept calling and calling me, so of course, 18 year old me, high on life rather than something else for the first time in a year, I fucking told him he could stay with me if he helped pay the bills. Idiot. To this day, that is the worst decision I have ever made. Of course, now he wasn’t in love with me, he was just a douchebag who burned every bridge he had, he saw me and knew I was an easy target. He used the conversations we had when he was trying to recruit me and knew how to sweet talk. I mean it wasn’t hard. I had no idea what I was doing. He “helped” me kick my bad habit. He “helped” me pay my bills. He “helped” me navigate the new world I was suddenly thrust into from high school and into my job. He divorced his wife that he was separated from “for me” and he “proposed” to me over the phone when he was accusing me of cheating on him all while he was drunk. He groomed me.

He was a raging alcoholic (wild turkey, the plastic bottle) and he was an emotional drunk. The cops showed up on more than one occasion, asking if I was okay. Of course, I said I was fine. I mean we were going to get married. I was moving across the country for him. I was perfectly happy. No no, he didn’t hit me. He’s not that kind of man. The fourth and last time the police came to my house, it was an officer who had somehow been to three of the calls. His partner took me outside and talked to me, I could still see through the window into the kitchen though. THe cop shoved Asshole against the wall so hard, the microwave door popped open. I don’t know what he said but Asshole laughed in his face. They left and when I went inside, I was cornered against the kitchen counter. He banged his fists on the cabinet behind me and screamed at me. “Stop flinching, I’m not going to hit you. I’ve never fucking hit you. Maybe I should, then the cops would have a fucking reason to come here.” I think it was more scary because he didn’t touch me. He never did. He would come out of his rage and suddenly love me again. Hands gently on my hips, kisses pressed to my head, “I’m so so sorry, baby. You know what this stuff does to me. I’d ever hurt you. I love you so much. I’ll never buy another bottle.” Then the weekend came. Then a long day in the office came. Then I came home without telling him I’m on my way, even though I got home within the same 30 minutes every day.

On my 19th birthday, he locked my phone in my own car and wouldn’t give me the keys because he knew I was going to cheat on him at my birthday party that a girl from work threw  for me. I missed the party. Instead, he took me to a strip club. How exciting. The one place I’ve always wanted to go. He tried to take one of the girls home with us. People started to call me a brown noser and a drama queen at work. I don’t exactly blame them. I was crying all the time. I was talking to my leadership a lot. They were scared I’d try to kill myself, I think. They didn’t know what was going on, but they had a pretty good idea. 

I tried to kick him out. I told him he scared me and that he needed to find another place to live. I gave him a week. He got drunk and told me that if I tried to “break off our engagement” he would kill himself. I told him I didn’t give a shit what he did, as long as he was gone. He jumped off my second story balcony and broke his ankle. I let him stay. Fucking moron. I got an eviction notice. He was throwing his cigarette butts off the balcony and onto the open walkway. My landlady was cleaning them up and tired of the cops coming over. I talked her out of it and bought an ashtray. He piled them into the railing instead of the ashtray, that he could move anywhere. He lied to his friends about how old I was. He liked to share, I think some of them even paid him for it. One of them was nicer than the rest, he was gentle. I think he figured out what was going on, and in our time together, he just talked to me. He eventually was the only one I had to see. I think he was paying more than the others or something. I don’t know. I liked talking to him though. He did always run his hands over my arms, he brushed it off as a greeting kind of thing but I think he was checking to see if I’d flinch from a bruise or something. I went to his house once and found out he had a 17 year old daughter. Maybe that was it. Asshole spilt his drink on me that night. Poured actually. Said he hated me and that he never wanted to see me again. I took my opportunity and with the help of the friend, I ditched them and drove as fast as I could home. Two days later, Assole kicked my door in. Now, I install the long screws in every door I have and religiously use my dead bolt. The little screws are easy to break if you have a good kick.

He got stationed in Hawaii. He took about 1200$ from me for “safekeeping” and left. The next day, I woke up to a knock at my door. Taped to it was a card that said “Keeping you in my thoughts and prayers” and handwritten said “thank god the bastard is gone”. There was a 25$ gift card to target in it. I bought a green coffee mug and new bed sheets with it. I don’t know who left the note. I delt with him tracking me, calling me and texting me day and night for months.

I was deep in whatever “I can fix him” mentality I had. A hurricane happened and I lost everything I owned. Again. I met JR and we became friends. JR came into my hotel room one day, took my computer and googled “signs you need to leave an abusive relationship” then left. A few weeks later and many confusing conversations, It was time for me to get on a plane to move. I was fucking moving to go live with that fuck. JR was driving and the whole time I was panicking, sweating and hyperventilating, I was a wreck. We came to a stop sign and he said, very gently and calmly, “I can turn left or right. Left and we go to the airport, right and we go get ice cream then take a nap. I’ll be your friend no matter what. Tell me what to do.” After sitting in the car for 7 minutes, I made a choice and we turned right.