You can imagine my comfort level going into this house. We were there for about four months. AZ and daddy reconnected on many levels including their love of Metallica at all hours of the night in decibels close to that of jet engines, their love of drinking until they both passed out, their love of belittlement to both Granny and myself. I have no idea where I was mentally at this point in time to have stayed, but I did... until New Year's Eve of 1997.
I remember that day so clearly because everything changed for me. I had asked AZ for twenty dollars that afternoon for formula and diapers for Amanda. He gave it to me, his last twenty. Then he went into the other room with his father and disappeared for about eight hours. I was asleep with Amanda next to me when he came in and demanded the money back. I told him no and rolled back over. He again demanded, I again refused. He was incredibly intoxicated. He sat down on the bed and sat me up and made it very clear that he needed that money and now to which I made it very clear that his daughter needed it far more than he did.
The twenty was in my pocket, but he didn't know that. Physically, he could have taken it in five seconds but I wouldn't tell him where it was. When he hit me, I never even saw it coming. He hadn't ever hit me before. He hit me two or three times, by the second I had my arm up and was blocking his repeated punches. Then he stopped. He stood up in front of me and told me to stop crying. I kicked him in the balls harder than I have ever kicked anyone in my life--twice. He fell to the floor. I got up and started to push him out of the room while he was lying on the floor. I kept thinking that if I could just get him out, I could lock the door and I would be safe. But, at the last second, as I was closing the door, he regained his composure and was on my faster than I could comprehend. He threw me onto the bed, knelt on top of me and started to choke me.
I don't remember being scared of being choked, I just remembered that Amanda was under me and I was having to push my body up to keep from hurting her. I don't know how long this went on, but suddenly his grandmother appeared with a baseball bat and chased him from the house. His father slept through the entire thing. It was a little after midnight (Happy New Year) when I called my mom and asked her to fly me home. I talked to her for a very long time and before I hung up, he had come home... He was of course as apologetic as he could be, but I didn't care. Fuck him, he had hurt me. I was leaving, I told him as much. He slapped me, slapped me so hard you could see every single one of his fingers bruised into my skin. I was on a plane at 7:30 the next morning.
I would love, right now, to tell you that was the last time I saw him. I would love to tell you that I wasn't stupid enough to take him back again. I can't though, because I did take him back. As your typical statistic setter would, I took him back less than a month later. Emilee was born three months later and he swore she wasn't his. Whatever. I had no hope by then. My life was shit, it would always be shit. He was shit and I was a fucking idiot for allowing myself to love this man. When he said we should move back to Phoenix, I went because I didn't care where we lived. When he started doing drugs again, I didn't care because I was merely existing. When he hit me again, I wasn't surprised. When he burned all of his bridges again, I packed all of our things and we came to live with my mother. To be honest with you, readers, I don't think I had it in me to leave him. I don't think I could have. I had become so dependent on him that if the cards hadn't fell the way that they did, I would probably have spent many more years with him in that hell.
But, the cards fell. He made the idiotic mistake of taking a car for a test drive and not returning it. He had to leave town to avoid being arrested and for the first time, I was alone. For the first time I was faced with the reality of supporting both of my daughters with out help. Oh god, I was scared. Scared beyond belief. But, I did it. I got three jobs. I got some self esteem. I got my fucking shit together and realized that not only could I raise my kids, but I could do it better with out him. However, I was still living with my alcoholic mother and I had to find a way out... That's for lesson #2 though...
~Kate
Labels: History Lesson
