When I was Foolish

Past is what our Present looks back at and laughs saying, God, you were silly back then.

Two months shy of my 21st birthday I was standing in my grandparent's church getting married. I look all of 15 in my wedding pictures. I looked like a foolish, doey-eyed teenager. I wasn't one strictly speaking, but I probably was still thinking like one.

There are a few underlying reasons why I got married young. The simple one: I was in love. This was before I realized there are two different kinds of "love" - real love vs. emotional connection. More complicated reasons that I didn't even have a grasp on until later: 1) I was running away from a shoddy home life 2) I was young and emotional and Christian-guilt stricken from having premarital sex.

My mom and step dad skipped my wedding. Claiming God wouldn't let them come. My grandpa walked me down the aisle -- he was pleased because he doesn't care for my mom or stepdad (mostly my mom). I should've known we were doomed. Not because of my parents, but bc for different reasons a majority of my closest friends couldn't come. It should have been a red flashing lighted sign blaring "OMEN!!!!" But I didn't see it. I couldn't see it. I wish I had seen it.

We married. We moved across country. To his folks and away from everything of mine. I'm sure it's skewed this many years later, but I don't ever remember being happy for long periods of time... even for a full week at a time. And my happier memories are when he wasn't around. Two months after our wedding day, in July, was the first time he hurt me. We were arguing about goodness knows what, and he ran at me and tackled me like a football player. I laid in the hallway under him, dizzy from hitting my head on the carpet and so confused.

He was confused to. He sat up quickly and asked if I were okay. I didn't say anything. When I was able. I went into the spare bedroom and climbed in bed, crying. Seeing all the WE channel's made-for-tv movies flash before my eyes. I wasn't going to be one of them. In the morning I would call my grandpa, tell him my mistake, and have him fly me home. Away from this.

But then he'd come and beg me to go to bed, cry, tell me he was sorry. I'd go back to our bed. My feelings hurt, but still loving him. This happened twice that month.

We did two sessions of counseling. Then once, when our counseler was on the way to our house for a session, my then-husband called me a whore and a slut for liking the show Sex and the City. People, he was the only person I'd so much as kissed (since I was 5 like stated in an earlier post lol*)... obviously a whore. When the counseler (who was also our friend) got there I refused to come out of the room, because I was embarrassed for crying so hard.

That ended our sessions. It always bothers me the counseler didn't try to further our sessions. I feel like he dropped his Christian/family friend duty.

By September I had decided I would stay for a full year. Everyone kept insisting the first year is the hardest! I could give him one year of my life. Easy peasy. Maybe he would get better. But in January we found out I was pregnant. I cried for a month straight. I was tied down now. He was ecstatic. I never wanted to be a mom. I'll be honest... I fully believe that he wanted to be a dad more than a husband. I was just a means to having a baby.

So I didn't leave. May came and went. I stayed and he got less physcially abusive. You sigh a breath of relief, but don't exhale quite yet... In September we had a beautiful, healthy, tall baby boy. The. Love. Of. My. Life. We were a happy family of 3... for about a minute.

I was very weak after having our son. I passed out a lot, because I have low blood count and lost a lot of blood. My husband turned to video games and wouldn't even help me with bath time. I'd wash my son and carry him to the changing table. I'd leave him naked and have to sit in the rocking chair next to the changer and hope he didn't pee. I couldn't stand long enough to even diaper him. But my husband only wanted to play shooter games and talk on his headset. I was alone.

It wasn't until New Year's Eve that it turned physical again. I decided I wanted a NYE party. I cooked and cleaned all day. He sat around video-gaming and complaining. He told me about an hour before our friends and family arrived that I needed to vacuum the basement steps. -- They were steep and I was still weak. I was still cooking. So I refused to do them. It was snowing, so stuff would be tracked on them anyway, if it were so important he could do them (he hadn't helped with anything all day!!) He threw a folding chair at me - I barely dodged - and came and had me by my throat against the wall - twice. All because the stairs had cat fur on them!! I was a new mom, I had cooked and cleaned, I am sure our friends and family wouldn't judge our stairs. And if they did I did not giving a flying wasp's hoot! I looked at him, crying, "I thought you had stopped, you've been so good. You didn't hit me at all when I was pregnant." He looked at me, "That's because I didn't want you to lose my baby." He walked away. I believe he did vaccuum the stairs.

His mother could tell I was upset. But I lied, because I didn't want to ruin everyone's holiday. I just told her I had never hosted a holiday party and I was nervous if everything tasted okay.

After that night, I stayed two more years.