The long and potholed road....

A few weeks back I began a little story... about a girl... an awkward girl... her young marriage.... her loss. A story about me. This is not a pompous arrogant narcissistic biography. Far from it. I just always felt like I wanted to put things down on (paper), and there were times that I couldn't, but now I am. This is serving as a bit of catharsis for me with a bit of closure on the side. I had planned to continue where I left off sooner than this but life got in the way. Regardless, and without a subtle witty segue....


It's always darkest before the dawn, right? I know that is some sort of somewhat famous quote from some sort of place. The where and the of who of it is not important right now. The fact is, after I lost  my first set of twins I entered a dark place. I moved through days simply because I had to. I went to work and came home. We moved into our new home that was supposed to full of optimism and it felt empty. He worked non-stop, even got a promotion. There was no talk of what happened, only me crying over the littlest things and him shaking his head and walking away. Four months of utter darkness. I recall doing things like getting into the shower with my clothes still on. Pouring the coffee until it overflowed. Burning dinner constantly, which earned me nothing but chastisement from him. It was like a dark fog for me, and it turned into an excuse for him. An excuse that he used when his confession finally came as I knew it would. He wasn't just working at work, he was cheating, with his co-worker.
I believe he claimed my depression alienated him and pushed him to it. I don't recall the exact words really. Just the feelings. The anger. I raged. I threw things. I told him to get out. Basically what you would expect. He went away, for a week anyway, to his sisters. And while he was gone, the most bittersweet thing happened. I found out I was pregnant.... again.

The act that led to this pregnancy, sadly it was not the expression of love and devotion as it should have been. It was an act of anger. It was a violation. It was a moment that I will never forget because I had never felt so used, so betrayed, so empty. He openly admitted to a few friends that it was a violation, he even used the term.... rape. And despite all of this I panicked, for several reasons not the least of which was the fear that he actually would leave and I would be alone. Again, I begged him to stay. He did.

With the rest of the world looking in at us, we had a healthy baby boy 9 months later and pretended to be happy and normal. Six months after that, I became pregnant again. Initially I thought it to be a huge mistake. I now know my second son was a gift. He came early, and there we were a happy little family of four. But not really. We were broke, due to his career change and subsequent drop in pay. I spent those days robbing Peter to pay Paul just to keep a roof over our head where the checkbook was concerned. He insisted we refinance. He applied for credit cards. He bought man-toys. I cooked, cleaned, and took care of the littles, and he was never there. If he was, I cringed. The cooking wasn't good enough. The cleaning wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough. I should dye my hair this color or that color, or lose weight. The cars broke down constantly, because apparently I was a bad driver. I don't remember exact phrases, I just remember these thoughts. He made me feel and think this way. He was snide, and snarky. Resentful. Critical. He pointed out every fault. Every mistake. Resentment built around me like a cold hard iron wall. He told me to find a job. I did. It was part time, it was trivial, and it didn't pay a lot. But it was close to home and convenient. And then he changed jobs again, worked more overtime and told me to quit so we didn't have to pay a sitter.  I did.

I looked around one day and thought... this? This is my life? What the hell happened? And why is it okay to be treated this way? Nothing was ever good enough. Nothing was ever right. Apparently the only thing I was good at was making babies and even that was questionable in my mind. I mean, I had two beautiful little boys. But my first pregnancy, my twins... I thought about it as a failure constantly. I quit my jobs, I quit college, I quit having a social life. I was caregiver, a housekeeper, a cook, a mother.... but somewhere in the short time we were married.... I ceased being a wife. It became painfully clear... I really didn't want to be there anymore. Not in that marriage. There was no love. There was only duty. I was so empty. I began to fantasize about leaving him, about finding someone else, about loving and being and loved.

Shortly after our youngest son's first birthday.... something happened. A friendship with a mutual friend of ours... it changed... I knew, I just knew it was morally wrong. Of course I did. I was raised to believe that. But this friend, he was listening to me. Listening like no one else had ever listened to me. It started with daytime phone calls. Checking in, checking up. Discussions about life, and goals, and dreams, and all the things that had gone wrong or gotten lost along the way. Then there were stolen glances at gatherings... eyes that saw into my soul. He was far from perfect but he was everything that my (husband) wasn't. Kind, sincere, honest, strong. It all sounds so poetic, and 'Twilight'-like. (btw- hate 'Twilight'- just throwing that out there... fyi). One moment in particular.... a moment etched onto me like a tattoo... when this friend turned to me and said... 'I wish I could kiss you right now'....

And then came my inevitable betrayal... my heart-wrenching decision.... and ultimately.... after the smoke cleared and the acrid dust settled.....

My greatest happiness......