The problem came, when after 2 weeks of marriage, he revealed to me that he was a member of the KKK, and a prospect for the Hell’s Angels. The fact that he was trying to be a better person and move on from these things gave way for the compulsion to overlook these horrifying confessions.
After picking up my jaw from the floor, he declared yet another unspeakable revelation. “I almost killed my ex-girlfriend; I was choking the life out of her and my brother broke a Pepsi bottle over my nose to get me to let her go. But she was a crazy bitch; she attacked me first and talked trash about my daddy.”
He went on. “Please believe me, I’m a changed man. I will quit the KKK and the Hell’s Angels and I will never, ever, ever, put my hands on you in anger. My father used to beat me like a grown man when I was a child, I will never forget what he said as he beat me with clothes hangers and drop cords, ‘son, I am going to beat you as hard as God will let me.’” “ I will never do that to my children and I could never do that to you.”
My heart broke into pieces for Jon as I imagined him a small, defenseless, child battered at the hands of a full-grown man. Jon’s mother left his father after 19 years of marriage, and proclaimed the whole time that his father had never struck his mother. I, in turn hated his mother, who had already passed, for allowing her son and herself to suffer such abuse and I hated his father for perpetrating it. I had no idea I would be Jon’s mother one day.
I could not understand why a neighbor did not tell someone, or why family members never intervened, or why his mother did not leave long before 19 years had gone by. I wanted to help Jon. I wanted to make him better. I wanted him to know what it felt like to be loved by someone who would never hurt him. I believed in the power of God to heal his wounds and so I proceeded on the rescue mission facing me.
I ignored the red flags, I turned a blind eye to his shenanigans and my children and I paid a hefty price that will likely haunt us for the rest of our lives.
Upon realizing that no amounts of love, assurances, yes sirs and no sirs, perfect housekeeping, or perfect “wifing” would ever make a difference with Jon , I felt destitute. He continued to berate and abuse me; several times, he actually slapped my face while getting ready for church and loved me like a princess in the presence of the church family.
Alone in the bed, I had made for myself, destitute and suffering both physically and emotionally, I made the fateful decision to medicate not only my physical pains but also my emotional pains. I found that my painkillers worked wonders for numbing the insatiable anguish dwelling deep within. I no longer belonged to my children, my husband, or myself. I now belonged to a new lover. One that was always present down that dark desert highway.
The world continued to turn and I sank lower than I could have ever imagined. Angrily, I survived many attempts to end my life and after two coma’s and a final decision to do it “right” this time I called the pharmacy to inform them I would be there the next day to pick up my bottle of 240 pain pills. In my mind, I had twelve hours to live, therefore, I curled up in a fetal position underneath my blood red throw. However, as fate would have it, a tiny hand touched my shoulder and the words, “I need you Mommy” pierced my heart (See “I need you Mommy”).
The following day I took myself to rehab, detoxed my drug-ridden body, and hashed my plans to escape the streets of hell that Jon had so carefully constructed just for me.
If I could do it all over again, I would have pulled myself up by my bootstraps, flushed the drugs down the toilet and I would have run, and run hard, and I would have never looked back.