Karma: #metoo

Karma 

by Anonymous 

I watched my mom be abused for many years—seventeen to be exact, so you would think I could spot the signs ten miles away, but I was wrong.

I met him April 15^th, 2007. It was like those story book moments where you’re with a friend but connect with someone on such a higher level. We talked for hours, had a couple drinks, and I forced myself to go home. All I could think about was him. His eyes. His smile. And oh, the way his lips tasted when he kissed me good night. Three minutes is all it took—three minutes to steal my heart and three minutes to begin the worst nine years of my life.

The abuse started June 21st, 2007. He called me a dumbass because he wanted to be single for his 21st birthday. Now mind you I had moved me and my son who was just over the age of one into his tiny apartment because he wanted me around all the time (that’s the first sign, control). Fast forward a year. I stopped contact with him for about eight months. I moved away and changed my number. And made sure only my parents knew where I lived. Hid my car. Then he started calling, driving by, sending messages. He was obsessed. And when I didn't answer he would call me names.  Slut. Bitch. Dumb fuck. The list goes on.

I gave in on Jan 25^th, 2008. I picked him up from the bar. It was three weeks since my miscarriage. I didn’t tell him about losing our first baby. I lost her because of him. And he found papers from the hospital stating I needed a DNC. He freaked out and questioned me for hours. Cried because I didn’t tell him and that I killed our baby from moving my entire life away from him. It was four months later it happened again. I was living with my dad and had found a place of my own. I had his best friend help me move and my son was with his dad, so it was a great time to surprise him and give him a wonderful night alone with me. I will never forget his words when I asked him to come over. "Oh so now you’re fucking my friends!? That's okay, I'm done. I found someone new," as she giggled in the background. Three days later I found out I was pregnant.

Four months into my pregnancy he came knocking at a late hour. He stunk of booze, begging forgiveness. I gave in. I was pregnant with his child, emotional as hell. And of course, I missed the good times. I sat there all night while he degraded me. He called me fat. Told me I was nasty and that no one would want me. While he was passed out I cried. For hours I cried over this poor excuse of a man. The next morning it was like nothing happened. He took me to his parents for dinner. And we spent the night there. It was amazing. The next day I read his text messages. He was still with her. The sixteen-year-old he left me for months ago.  I made him take me home and the entire time I just sat there not talking.

I got home and locked him out. Then he really freaked out. It wasn't only name calling this time. He broke things, yelled, denied my child. I threatened to call the cops and he left. I was stuck—pregnant with his son. It was two weeks later he came crawling back—literally crawling, begging for me to take him back and like the idiot I was I did. We were amazing once again for months. I had our son. We had our little family. Then he became secretive, hiding things. That was the first time he cheated on me. (Second sign, being unfaithful). Our son was five days old. Five fucking days old. I locked him out and threw his stuff out the window. I was done. He could have the minor. I was wrecked as he called me. Used and nasty. The abuse only got worse from there. Always verbally. And sometimes mentally.

In 2013 I took him back. He was changed. He had a good job, stopped doing drugs, had a good house. Everything was different—wrong. Three weeks after I came back he screwed the minor (she was not a minor this time, but it's a good name). I forgave him. We bought a house four months later. Then it started again, mentally more this time. Verbally came later. He wouldn't come home. Started drinking again heavily (third sign, drugs and alcohol) and doing coke with his friends. I caught him texting six girls—yes, six. His response? If you would suck my dick more and let me fuck your ass I wouldn't need to text other girls. I took care of two kids, a house, both inside and outside, and had two jobs. He worked fulltime and did nothing for me. Getting him to touch me was like pulling teeth. I knew he didn't feel attraction towards me anymore... We began to fight a lot. I knew I needed to leave. But then I started having medical issues and things got one hundred times worse. Daily abuse. Daily I was doing everything wrong. Daily he was not coming home at a decent time. I found out I was pregnant August 24th. I cried. at work. I cried in the bathroom because I was so scared to tell him. I knew it would be all my fault. I knew he would deny my baby and say I was cheating. Even though I never left the house without him. Even though he was calling and texting every five minutes if I was at the store.  I was right. It was my fault. It wasn't his baby. When I found out she was a girl I bought this cute onesie that said “back off boys my daddy works out” and put it in a box as a gift to tell him we were having a girl. He had no response. Nothing, just looked at it and walked away. I knew right then I was done. He stopped coming home for a day at a time. Drank from the time he was off work until four or five in the morning and went back to work. Three women messaged me pictures of my boyfriend's “parts.” February 20th, 2016, he fell at the bar and broke his leg in two places. I laughed. I was so pissed, but I knew it was karma. I began packing my things. Set up a place to live. And left him February 27th, 2016. I was six months pregnant. It was the best day of my life. Now most say births of children or marriage, but for me escaping the grasp of an abusive relationship was the best day of my life. That day in February 2016 I started the journey to get myself back. It took me about a year. Don't ever let a man hurt you to the point you believe everything he says. Abuse comes in many forms, not just physical.  Mental abuse and verbal abuse were his choice. I believe karma truly helped the day he broke his leg. It was like God's sign for me to be able to safely move on.