Tag Archives: abuse

But He Loves Me…


You have all read this post already, but it was from Black Box Warnings, which no longer exists.  So, I thought I’d go ahead and copy it here, too.

He is screaming at me so close to my face that I can feel his spit. I close my eyes and hold my breath.

He is wrapping his hands around my neck and squeezing tighter and tighter. I start to see spots.

He is grabbing my hair and shoving my head in the toilet. I try not to breathe, but I have to gasp for air.

He pulls the car over to the side of the road and demands that I get out. When I refuse, he comes around to the passenger side and yanks me out, leaving me standing alone on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with no money or ID.

He is tearing everything in my purse into shreds. I watch helplessly as my social security card, driver’s license, and photos of my babies float to the floor in hundreds of pieces.

He is cutting into tiny scraps all the homemade Mother’s Day and birthday cards I’ve collected from my babies since they were born.

He is breaking my cell phone into two pieces, ensuring I can never use it again.

He rips every signature from my high school yearbooks. I can only vaguely remember the memories my friends have written so fondly about.

He is bleaching all of my clothes in the bath tub. I panic inside, wondering what I’ll wear to work the next day.

He is burning the boys’ clothes in the fireplace in the living room. The boys don’t dare ask what’s going on.

He is shattering my camera into pieces, stomping on it after it smashes on the concrete.

He throws the kitten across the room and into the brick wall on the fireplace. It immediately begins to bleed profusely from the nose.

He tears the boys’ homework into tiny scraps the second they complete it.

He punches my car windshield in a fit of rage. My heart feels like the shattered glass, spreading over every inch.

Source: Madrid Law

Source: Madrid Law

But, despite all this, he loves me… He tells me how sorry he is – how it’s my fault that he loses his temper so often. I made a stupid decision that wasn’t good for our family. He can’t bear the thought of living without the boys and me. He promises that he’ll never put his hands on me or the kids again. All those times were mistakes. I’m the mother of his children and his wife. He loves me.

I stay. For years and years, I stay.

I’m scared of him. Terrified to leave.

If I leave him, he’ll find us. He’ll kill me, or worse, them. Or he’ll kidnap them, and I’ll never see them again. I can’t live without them.

How will I afford to raise two boys on my own? How will I work and pay for daycare?

Where will I go? Who will take in three extra people when they have families of their own to raise and support?

What decent man will ever want me – a 21-year-old girl with a two-year-old and an infant?

How will I ever swallow my pride and tell my daddy that he was right and that I had made one terrible decision after another?

How will it look if I get a divorce and have two young children? Divorce is bad, right?

What if I really am the problem, and I keep provoking him?

What if he really is sorry and will never lay his hands on me again? Will I be throwing away a potentially great marriage?

All boys need their dad, right? How will I ever successfully raise two young men without their father in their lives?

What if the fear that consumes my life is a healthy fear and proof that no one will ever love me as much as he does?

What if he really does love me, and I just have no idea what love is?

What if he really does love me?

Yes, these are really the thoughts that tormented me every single day of my 14-year relationship with my first husband. I was stuck – with no end in sight – in a vicious cycle. I was going crazy… I was literally going crazy.

I had myself convinced that he really loved me and was simply scared of losing the boys and me. I just knew that my family was no good for me and if they really loved me as much as he did, that they would support us and our relationship.

I genuinely believed him every time he swore to never put his hands on me again.

To protect him, I made all the excuses you’ve heard on TV: “I fell down the stairs.” “My son accidentally head-butted me.” “He threw something at me to catch, but I missed it, and it hit me in my face.” “Oh, it was definitely an accident.” “He didn’t mean it.” “But I made him mad.” “Oh, I don’t know where that bruise came from.”

The list could go on, but the point is that I covered for him every time. I even ended up in the emergency room once and lied to the doctors, even when they were quite sure I was being abused. But I refused to budge. I wouldn’t give him up.

Source: Wynn & Wynn

Source: Wynn & Wynn

 

 

Why?

FEAR, plain and simple.

Fear of his rage and temper. Fear of being alone. Fear of being judged. FEAR.

I thought I was alone. I thought no one would understand what I was going through day-in and day-out.

For any of you ladies (or men, I suppose) who are in the same type of situation, please listen and hear me when I say this:

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

You don’t need to be abused. You don’t need to be manipulated. You don’t need to be controlled.

Please, if you shrug off every other sentence in this post, just understand this:

You are NOT alone.

Don’t stay silent any longer. You are valuable, and you are loved. No matter what you’ve done, you will never ever deserve to be abused. Speak out. Get help.

You can start here:

HELPGUIDE.org

THE HOTLINE

Womenshealth.gov

Every lie – whether mine or his – that I believed, turned out to be just that… a LIE. I met a wonderful man who loves me and my kids. I can take care of my kids on my own. I am successfully raising two handsome, respectful young men. My family does love and support me. And most importantly – I will never be alone.

Remember, you are loved, and you never deserve to be abused. Stop the cycle.

Source: Dr. Phil

Source: Dr. Phil

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Please Excuse Me While I Climb Up On My Soapbox


What the hell is wrong with our society?

An innocent jogger murdered in cold blood by a few bored teenagers?

(Let’s see how bored they are as they’re being butt-f*cked in prison…)

A World War II veteran beaten to death by two teenage thugs?

A 20 year old shooting an AK-47 at a Georgia elementary school?

Please, someone, tell me what the heck is wrong with today’s youth!!! Oh wait, I think I have a good idea….

We can no longer give our kids a good, old-fashioned ass-whoopin’ as was acceptable back-in-the-day.  And before you freak out – NO – I don’t mean a beating.  I mean a spanking.  Yes, there is a big difference, in case you weren’t already aware of that.

I remember once when I was about 16, I was a complete snotty little B and told my mom that I hated her.  Loooord, child – She backhanded me across the mouth one good time, and I swear to you – I never uttered those words to her again.  Ever.  And no, I didn’t think she was the worst parent ever for it.  I learned to respect her because of it.

We have got to keep control of our children, or they’ll turn out to be exactly like the idiots mentioned in the stories above.  We wonder what’s wrong with our country.  Well there you have it.

We have kids who get in trouble in school for being disrespectful morons, yet their parents are the first ones in the principal’s office raising hell because their bad-ass kid got in trouble for a perfectly legitimate reason.

Source: Mamamia

Source: Mamamia

Even the father of one of the hoodlum thugs who shot the jogger refuses to believe his son could have done something so horrendous, even though the kid showed absolutely no emotion in Court, nor did he claim to be not guilty.  Um, hello?!  Your kid is a murderer!  And he deserves to be punished!

It used to bug the crap out of me that first person to come to my ex’s rescue every time he was arrested for domestic abuse of not only me, but several previous girlfriends and my kids, was one of his family members.  He deserved to be arrested.  How is it ever okay to bail him out of jail immediately and then blame the victim for “making him angry” and “pushing his buttons”?

And yet we wonder why our society is so screwed up?

Source: Business Pundit

Source: Business Pundit

People, please don’t misunderstand me – I am NOT saying to go and beat the crap out of your kids.  There is a big difference between abuse and spanking/corporal punishment.  Do NOT beat your kids.  Do NOT abuse your kids.  But yes, today’s kids need to be spanked just as much as we did when we were growing up.  Look at us – we’re okay.  We’re all pretty decent people.  We’re not murderers or rapists or kidnappers or sex offenders.  We’re just bloggers.

On a side note – Please join me in praying for the families of these victims.  It’s a sad, sad world in which we live.


Daily Prompt: Never Again


Today’s Daily Prompt:

Have you ever gone to a new place or tried a new experience and thought to yourself, “I’m never doing that again!”  Tell us about it.  Photographers, artists, poets: show us NEVER.

The very second I read today’s prompt, I knew immediately what I did and said I would never do again – get married.

I know that sounds harsh, but let me explain…

As many of you know, I started dating my first husband when I was only fifteen.  (That’s how we do things here in the south, I guess.)  I was “head-over-heels” for him.  At least I thought I was.  As I look back on it, I wasn’t really in love with him – I was in love with the idea of love.

Obviously, as a young girl, I wanted nothing more than to be swept off my feet by my very own Prince Charming.  Every boy I ever had a crush on had a notebook page devoted solely to doodles of my first name and his last name.  Pitiful, right?  Well, that’s what girls do.

Anyway, back to my first husband – Shortly after we started dating, he became abusive.  You can read all the gory details of his abuse and the vicious cycle I found myself in here.  In addition to beating the crap out of me, though, he also did some other pretty psycho things.  He’s thrown a kitten across the room and into the wall; he’s thrown all my clothes into a bathtub full of bleach; and he’s cancelled my car insurance and then called the police on me.

He really was bi-polar, and he really did need help.  Regardless of what his issues were, however, the bottom line was that he made my marriage complete and utter hell.  I had two very young babies at the time, and he knew I had no money and nowhere to go.  I was trapped in a real life living hell.  And he knew it and fed off of it.

Marriage was terrible, and I wished I had never done it.

When it finally came time for a divorce, I was happy.  I thought that meant that my hell would be over.  I was wrong again.  He fought me for three years, tooth and nail, on everything.  He and his attorney refused to budge on anything, and they did all they could to drag it out for as long as possible.

I swore that I would never ever get married again.  It was awful, and I wanted no part of it.

It was smack-dab in the midst of my daily vows to never again get married that I became pretty close friends with Eugene.  He and I started hanging out and talking a lot about our lives and kids.

That’s when it happened: I fell in love with him.  Damn – this wasn’t supposed to be happening.  I loved being around him, and I hated when we weren’t together.  I was continually amazed at the fact that he wasn’t the same dickhead as my first husband.  I really had no idea that men weren’t all the same.  But he wasn’t.  He was sweet and caring and loving.  He was a good dad, and he also showed interest in my kids, which was a major issue for me.

I ended up really falling “head-over-heels” in love with him, a feeling that was so foreign to me that I wasn’t sure what was going on.  I had never felt this way about anyone, and I certainly never felt it about my first husband.  Eugene wasn’t mean to me, and he wasn’t abusive.  Was it possible that someone could actually love me for the broken woman I was?

It was possible.  And he did.  We ended up moving in together and talking about – you’ll never guess – MARRIAGE!

Wait, what?!  I never wanted to go through that again, but I also couldn’t stand the thought of not spending forever with him.  What was I supposed to do?

I’ll tell you what I did – I did exactly what I swore I would never do again.  I married the man of my dreams.  And I haven’t, to this day, regretted the decision to go back on my promise to myself to never travel back down that road.  Of course, I have no guarantees that this marriage will end up any different than my first one, but the difference is that this time, I want to try it, and I want it to work.

You have no idea of all the blessings God has in store for you, even when you’re broken and angry.  Never say never, friends.    

Photo by K&D Pro Photography

Photo by K&D Pro Photography

 


Poetry: One Blogger’s Pathetic Attempt


My first – and last – attempt at poetry…

I just really wanted to use my latest cool photo.

Big mistake.  I should stick to research papers.

 

Once again my tears have failed me –

They’ve given me away.

While I told you that I hated you,

I wished that you would stay.

 

I told myself I deserved better,

And I put on my bravest face.

I pushed you to the back of my mind,

But there are memories I just can’t erase.

 

You’ve stepped on me –

You’ve beat me down –

And you’ve lied a million times.

Why the hell is it that I still want you around?

 

I don’t want to be with you,

But I don’t want to be alone –

Why is life so complicated?

I wish I had a heart of stone.

Alicia Benton Photography

Alicia Benton Photography


“The whole thing becomes like this evil enchantment from a fairy tale, but you’re made to believe the spell can never be broken.” ~Jess C. Scott


You know I usually write about something funny or even stupid, but today I feel the need to share something serious and even potentially life-changing.  I hope it’s not the case, but maybe someone somewhere needs to hear it.  It’s not something I’m proud of.  Hell, it’s actually mortifying to even discuss it.  But it’s part of who I am now, I guess, and it certainly explains some of my overbearing control-freak personality issues.

I grew up with a mom and dad who loved each other and loved my sister and me.  We were a pretty traditional family, but my mom wore the pants in the family, for sure.  When she and my dad would get into an argument, she’d say what she needed to say, he’d just “listen,” and the next day, he’d come home with flowers.  Not exactly perfect, but it worked for them.  She was the Type-A control-freak, and he was the laidback, easygoing one.  Opposites attract, right?

You could say that… While I was in high school, I was extremely shy, polite, and soft-spoken.  I was smart and ran track and had my tight-knit group of friends, but I wasn’t crazy preppy popular.  Well, what do you know???  I get hit on by one of the most popular seniors in the school when I was only a sophomore.  Go me… go me!!  I ignored him and blew him off, which I guess in weird guy language, means “Try harder.”  So he did.  I finally gave in to him and agreed to go out with him.

Boy, was he charming.  In fact, he was the most charming sweet-talker I’d ever met.  He knew just what to say, and I was a stupid naïve and innocent 15-year-old.  You may imagine where this is going.  I eventually ended up spending every second I could with him.  Of course, there was no way that we were going to mine or his parents’ houses… Could you imagine??  So we’d go to the park or the movies or the mall.  I guess those are the usual places where teenagers used to go.

Source: someecards

Source: someecards

It didn’t take long before I found out that he had not one other girlfriend, but TWO.  But by that time, it was too late.  I was IN LOOOOVE.  He told me he loved me, that I was the only one for him, and that eventually he wanted to marry me.  Okay.  Sounds good to me.  And if you tell me that things are over between you and her and her, then that must be true, right?  Wrong.  Right.

Source: That is SO High School!

Source: That is SO High School!

Anyway, I laid off of the accusations about the other girlfriends and “dated” him throughout high school.  During my junior year, I was shopping at the mall, and I happened to run into one of these other non-girlfriends.  She asked me a million questions about the love of my life, trying to figure out whether we were in fact an item or whether I was just making it up.  After I kept insisting that he and I were going to be together forever, she decided that the best thing to do was for us to confront him since he was obviously lying to both of us.  After all, they were going to be together forever, too.  Hmm… how is this gonna’ work?

He happened to work in the mall at the time, so we walked down to the store he worked in, he took a break, and we all went outside to the parking lot to get to the truth of the matter.  While we’re standing in the parking lot, he looks at her straight-faced and tells her that he hardly knows me and that there’s nothing going on between us.  WHAT???!!!  Are you kidding me?!  Of course, I call him out right then and there, and he becomes furious with me for not lying for him.  What does he do, and how do I know he’s so angry?  He backhands the crap out of my face.  Yep.  You read that correctly.  He hit me!  Now keep in mind this son-of-a-bitch was 6’4” and 275 pounds, and I was 5’4” and 90 pounds.

Needless to say, when he hit me, I landed on the hood of his car that we were all standing around.  I was floored.  I couldn’t even believe what had just happened.  I was in shock, and like an idiot, I didn’t call the cops.  I didn’t know what to do!  I had never seen anyone get hit before in my life.  Ever!  My parents fought occasionally, but they never even came close to getting physical with each other.  I picked my jaw up off the ground, snapped out of my shock, and left and went home.

Of course, I didn’t tell my parents about what happened.  They already hated him because he was a cheating liar, and I always stuck up for him and made excuses for him.  I knew they would skip the whole police thing, too, and go straight for the part where they killed him themselves.  So… I kept it a secret.

I ran what happened through my head a million times over the next few days.  I was devastated, but what’s worse is that I still “loved” him.  What the hell?

A few days later, I was at work, and I turned around, and he was standing right in front of me.  My instinct wanted to punch him in his fat face, but I reminded myself that I was at work and to act professional.  So I just glared at him instead.  You know… that “I hope you die” stare?  Yeah – that one.

Source: Cheezburger

Source: Cheezburger

So he begs me to just hear him out and says, “Off the record, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for what happened the other day.”  Off the record?!  What?!  I was livid, so I just walked off and went back to work.  He called me that night and begged me to meet him so we could talk.  Like a sucker, I did, and he begged and cried and pleaded for my forgiveness and swore it would never happen again.  He didn’t know what came over him, blah, blah, blah.  Like an idiot, I believed him.  It sounded good, he was crying, and again… He told me how much he loved me and wanted to marry me and all that “good” stuff.

To make a long story short, this was the beginning of my battered woman syndrome.  I know it’s a controversial concept, but believe me when I tell you: IT’S REAL!!!  And terrible.

As you now know from yesterday’s post, I left home when I was still pretty young.  I was 17 when I graduated from high school and moved out the very next day.  Not because I hated my parents or my life, but just because I’ve always been independent like my mom.  (I’m definitely my mother’s child…)  I couldn’t wait to start college, I had just found out I was pregnant, and I didn’t think I should stick my newest responsibility with my parents.

Considering the fact that I was pregnant, scared, and had no idea what I was doing, I moved in with him.  It was the right thing to do, right?  I didn’t want to raise a new baby as a single mom, and abortion sure as hell wasn’t an option.  I felt like it was my only choice.  And things with a baby would only make our relationship better, right?  It had to.  That’s how things were supposed to work.

NOT!!!

Things got worse while I was living there, before I even had Gerald, and continued to get worse as the years went on.  He hit me countless times after that, including while I was pregnant.  As always, he would cry afterward, promise that was the last time, and beg on his knees for forgiveness.  I would blame myself and had myself convinced that I did something that deserved what I got from him.  I even covered for him on several occasions.  I was that dummy who used the excuse that I fell down the stairs or bumped my head.  All while this was going on, he was also having multiple affairs with the underage girls who worked for him and didn’t know any better.  So why the hell did I stay with him?  That’s what you’re dying to know, right?  Why the hell I would stay?

Well, my reasons were classic textbook, actually.

– As effed up as it may sound, it gave me something to make him feel bad about.  And whenever he felt bad about it, he would be extra sweet.  Psychiatrists call this being positively reinforced by the “honeymoon” phase.

– I was financially screwed without him.  I was working full-time and still only making enough to pay daycare, which I had to do so that I could finish college and get my degree.  I was terrified of being homeless with two babies.  And, like the moron that I was, I was terrified of going to my parents for help.  My pride forbade me from allowing them to tell me, “We told you so.”  I didn’t want to hear it and face the fact that they were right.

– I honestly believed that I could keep the peace as long as I was doing everything right.  So I went to work, went to school, took care of my babies, and still managed to cook dinner and clean the house… the stuff I thought would keep him happy.  And calm.  I didn’t understand at the time that the bastard was bipolar, and nothing that he did was any reflection of me.

Source: Positive Outlooks Blog

Source: Positive Outlooks Blog

– Probably the biggest reason I stayed was because I was truly scared to death of what the psycho would do if I took the boys and left.  He seriously was the type of crazy who would pick up the kids for visitation one day, and then I’d never see them again.  I really thought he would either kidnap them or kill us.  I was terrified of him, and he knew it.  He used it to his complete advantage.

– Sadly, by that point, I had also felt so badly about myself that I thought that I’d be a burden to anyone.  I thought I’d be alone forever, with no help and no support.  I mean, who would want to support a naïve girl, who’s still nearly a baby herself, plus two little boys?  I had rejected myself before I even gave anyone else the chance to do so.

– In hindsight, I also recognize that I was severely depressed.  I had no idea of that at the time.  I’d never dealt with anyone who was depressed or had any emotional issues, for that matter.  I just didn’t have the psychological energy to leave or to fight back.

Pretty pitiful, right?

So what made me finally grow some balls and leave?

The day he beat my kids.  Yep.  I’m serious, sadly.  I got out of the shower one day, and he was beating the crap out of the boys with a belt or a cord or something because they didn’t clean their rooms good enough for his standards.  I freaked out on him, so he stopped.  Then, I told him I was taking them to the water park for the day, and I drove them to the police department.  I was shaking like a leaf, and I had no idea what I was doing.  It was a Sunday, and the police station in the small town we lived in was “closed” and the doors were locked.  I had to call 911 and tell them that I was outside of the station with two kids and couldn’t go back home.  They let us in, took pictures, and wrote a report.  When they told me it was safe, I started driving the boys and me back home.  On my way, we passed by the police car that he was handcuffed in the back of.

I’ve never been so scared in my life, but I knew, even in that moment, that it was the best decision I would ever make.

Source: someecards

Source: someecards

You may think that this crazy battered woman cycle is just a bunch of psycho-babble crap, but please believe it.  It’s a vicious vicious cycle.  And it’s real.

Ladies, if you’re in this situation, get out!!!  Get help.  I didn’t know at the time, but there are so many abused women’s shelters and safe-houses that can get you help.  You’re not alone.  And please, don’t ever be as prideful as I was.  I was too ashamed to open up to anyone, including my family, because I was scared of what they would think of me.  I’m a strong person, and I didn’t want to be seen as a victim.  In fact, I still hate that part, and the only reason I’m sharing this is because had someone shared something like it with me, I may have built up enough courage to get out of my situation years before I did.

My concern that I would never find someone who would love me and my kids was ridiculous.  My second husband loves those boys more than their sperm donor ever did.  Unfortunately, our problems stemmed from outside stressors and things we had never dealt with before, and we just didn’t know how to handle them.  But I can say, without a doubt, that he accepted the boys like they were his own.  He still does, as a matter of fact.  (He’s “Father Figure” in my posts.)

Our fears are exactly that.  Our fears.  And sometimes they’re not nearly as big and unsolvable as they seem.  If people don’t know that these fears exist, they can’t help.

Having gone through all this has definitely affected who I’ve become.  I’m [obviously] no longer that shy, soft-spoken little girl.  If I think something, I’ll tell you.  And I’ll be damned if I’ll allow anyone else to hurt me or my kids again.  Hopefully someday I’ll find the perfect balance between the two.

Yes, I still hope Sperm Donor steps off a curb in front of a bus, but I’m past the point of actively plotting his death.  I’ve finally learned that wasting my energy and emotions on him only allows him to keep that power over me that he once had.  No more, buddy.  Never again.  He’s not worth it.  I’m better off focusing that energy on my raising my boys right and helping others.  And for that… I’m a better person.

Source: Your Daily Enlightenment

Source: Your Daily Enlightenment

“Once you tell your first lie, the first time you lie for him,

you are in it with him, and then you are lost.” ~Anita Shreve

May 2008

May 2008


“You can’t make decisions based on fear and the possibility of what might happen.” ~Michelle Obama


Life is full of decisions.  Decisions that can change your life in a split second.  Decisions that you’ll either be proud of or spend the rest of your life regretting.

Unfortunately, I’ve made several of the latter in my 31 long years of life so far.  Maybe not necessarily ones I’ll regret forever, but ones that I’ll spend the rest of my life at least wondering about and questioning.

Source: LolRiot!

Source: LolRiot!

I’ll bore you to death and share with you some of those decisions that I still wonder about.  This is probably more than you’ll ever want to know about me, by the way, but I don’t care… It’ll make me feel better to make you listen to me.  Remember, free therapy and all…?

Source: Your Face is Stupid!

Source: Your Face is Stupid!

1. I got accepted to NYU but went to Charleston Southern instead.  Whaaaat???!  I know, I know.  But they didn’t have a Criminal Justice major.  And I didn’t want to major in Gender and Sexuality Studies or Jewish History and Civilization.  Bummer.

Anyway, now I always wonder about how cool living in NYC would be during college.  I’d probably still live there and work at some kick-ass law firm.  Oh wait.  I do work at a kick-ass law firm.  But not in the middle of NYC, so that doesn’t really count.

Oh, I forgot to mention – it probably didn’t help that I was pregnant before even starting my Freshman year.  THAT would’ve been fun.  Living in NYC by myself, going to college, going to the best parties, being knocked up.  Yep.  Sounds like a blast.

Wait, wait, wait.  Before you judge me [some more], let me explain.  (And move on to decision number two.)

2. I married my baby’s daddy.  Yes, I really just used the term “baby daddy” and promise to never ever use it again.  Shame on me…

This, folks, was a BIIIIG mistake.  While I don’t run around condoning unwed pregnancies, let me be the first to say that getting married is NOT the answer.  It actually makes things worse.  (You can’t just up and run from the bastard.)

Source: someecards

Source: someecards

I got married when I was 19.  That is much much too young.  I should’ve listened when the entire planet told me that.  But noooo, I was 19, and I knew everything!  Sound familiar?  If not, just wait until your kids turn 19.  Then you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

Even after getting married, I will still virtually a single mom, so I would’ve been just fine on my own with a new baby.  I still worked full-time, went to school full-time (and took 18 hours each semester), made the Dean’s List every semester, and was still a damn good mom.  No, it wasn’t easy, but I did it.  And well, I might add.

The entire time I was struggling to get by for Gerald and me, the bastard husband was physically and emotionally abusive and ran around constantly with one whore after another.  (But that’s a post for a different day…)

Source: King of Humor

Source: King of Humor

I wonder pretty often about how much different those nine years would’ve been with just Gerald and me.  And possibly an actual nice guy to join us.  Damn, why did I have to be so stupid???

3. Obviously, because I had a kid at such a young age and another when I was 20, I had to put my law school plans on hold.  The original plans were that I would start law school immediately after graduating from undergrad.

That would’ve been fine and dandy, except by that point, the boys were playing peewee football.  And man, were they CUTE!!  I couldn’t stand the thought of missing the chance to watch their games, so I put my plans for law school to a screeching halt.

You can see where this is going already, can’t you?  The problem comes in with the fact that they haven’t gotten any less cute or less talented.  Gerald’s now a damn good defensive end and catcher, and Ronald’s a hell of a guard and pitcher.  I can’t stand the thought of missing out on watching where their talent and hard work is going to take them.

Their practices and games requires a lot of time and dedication, and obviously until they can drive [God, help me], that’s my job.  I refuse to make the boys suffer for my poor judgment, which we’ve discussed many times, if you remember.

I hope to still go to law school once they’re both in high school, which is terrifyingly right around the corner.  Then, at least, they can drive themselves [yikes!!!] and they’ll have practices right after school.  Not to brag, but I think I can be a pretty damn good attorney, so I definitely don’t want to let the opportunity pass by forever.

4. Since moving to Charleston to go to college, I’ve been convinced that I wouldn’t leave this area.  I love it here, despite the morons who’ve given South Carolina a bad name.

Now mind you, I hated living in Myrtle Beach, better known as the Redneck Riviera.  My family moved there when I was in the 7th grade, and I hated it.  I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.  Once I moved to Charleston, though, I had myself convinced that I didn’t hate the whole state.

Source: Fits News

Source: Fits News

The only problem with living in Charleston since college was that I missed my mom and sister terribly.  They’ve always been amazing at coming to visit, but it’s just not the same as living in the same city.

So, hubby # 2 and I decided it would be a good idea to up and move back to Pawleys Island (in Myrtle Beach) to be closer to my family, especially my granddaddy who was sick with lung cancer.  Two words: BIG. MISTAKE.  As soon as we moved, I remembered every single reason why I hated it there so many years ago.  Traffic.  Tourists.  Dead winters.  Obnoxiously busy summers.  Crappy law firms.  Crappy salaries.  Tourists.  Traffic.  I hated it!

Source: My Horry News

Source: My Horry News

Stress about money, jobs, the step-kids visitation with their mom, and things like that led to one problem after another.  Long story short, hubby # 2 and I separated (ugh – here we go again), and I ended up moving back to Charleston.

I can’t help but wonder if whether I hadn’t moved back to begin with, if things would still be just fine and dandy like they were before I moved.  Fortunately, I got a great job at an amazing firm, after having left an amazing job to move, so that worked out.  I love where I live now, and I love this area, but damn… I didn’t realize that the cost I’d pay to be happy again would be so high.

Source: The Meta Picture

Source: The Meta Picture

This is only the beginning of my questionable decisions, but they seem to be the ones I think and wonder about the most.  Of course, there’s that one time I went out with some girlfriends and woke up in the hospital, but I don’t think that affected me for the rest of my life, other than to say that I no longer trust bartenders who give me free Purple Hooters all night…

There I go, getting off-track again.

They say hindsight’s 20/20, right?  Well now I know what that means.  If I hadn’t made the debatable decisions I’ve made up to this point in my life, I may be a rich, happily married attorney, who’s not stuck with doing all the work and making none of the money and spending all my time in divorce court.  At least I’ve got Gerald and Ronald, though.  They’re my life.

I guess it’s true what they say: There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.  My tunnel just seems to be really damn long.

What decisions do you wonder about?  Any that you would go back and change?


Tiffany Kleiman ~ Author

“I don’t care if a reader hates one of my stories, just as long as s/he finishes the book.” ~ Roald Dahl, WD

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