Well, before I go on with the whole sordid thing, I guess I should take a moment to explain the relationship between me and my husband. My husband is a meth addict. This was not always so, obviously, or I would not have married him, nor would I have had children with him. I have known him since the 8th grade (1985), so as anyone can see, I've known him quite well for a very long time. We were never romantically involved until 1999. I did date his cousin for awhile when I was in high school but it was never serious. So I've known him AND his family for awhile. For the most part, I always believed they were a good, stable family but like most, they too have skeletons in the closets. My husband and I were just friends for years, however, we lost contact after high school graduation, as most people do. He had went to Vegas to live with another cousin (not such a good part of the family, I later found out) and things had not worked out so he came back to Des Moines for a fresh start. As fate would have it, he applied for a job at the same company that I worked. The branch I worked in was very small, with maybe 30 or so employees total, so everyone knew everyone. I should mention that his mother worked at the same branch, so I guess it's probably not so much kismet as common logic that he would apply there. He did get the job and we began talking again right away, catching up on old times.
Now, it just so happened that a mutual friend was having a birthday party one weekend not too long after and I invited him to go with me (as a friend) just to see everyone else. A cousin of mine was going with me as well and they knew each from school and it was going to be kind of a mini reunion. He accepted and we all went and we all had a great time. After that we were pretty much inseparable, going out every weekend, mostly with other cousins of mine. One weekend though, I was invited to go with him to his cousin's wedding (the brother of the cousin that I had dated) and it was there that he asked me to marry him. As old as we were, we didn't see the need to have a wedding or to wait any longer. So we decided to put in for an extra long weekend and drive to Omaha (because there is no waiting period, you can apply for the license and five to fifteen minutes later a judge will marry you, no blood tests, either.) and we came back the following Tuesday as man and wife.
Things started off very well. I did notice that his drinking had become a little excessive but that was only on the weekends and we were usually together so no big deal. That slowed down somewhat as we settled into a routine. I should say that I moved in with him. He was renting a very small two bedroom house on the north side. It was probably just right for a couple starting out. About 3 months later, I was pregnant. Three months after that, I lost the baby. I was devastated. I had a lot of complications and it was a difficult miscarriage. I thought maybe I was being punished for an abortion that I had had when I was in high school. (Also another story for another time.) It took a whole week before I was actually able to expel the fetus and the pain I had to deal with that entire week was excruciating. I ended up in the emergency room every night that week. So it was a lot to deal with. I went into a deep depression that my husband did not seem to understand and he would get angry with me all the time. He seemed to turn into another person. I was hurt and confused and I felt like he blamed me. He refused to talk about it so I just decided it was best if I kept it all to myself.
Everyone kept telling me that I should just try to get pregnant right away again and that would make everything better. I was in such emotional pain that I was stupid enough to listen to their advice. I did get pregnant again, 3 months later. This time I carried to term but things weren't going well with my marriage. I thought getting pregnant again would help, like everyone said but it didn't. He was, at times, very cruel to me. It was almost more than I could stand. The things he said to me were so terrible that I don't even want to repeat them here. He was in the beginning stages of addiction but I didn't know. I've never done drugs. I guess I'm a square but I suffered from severe panic attacks from the time I was 18 until I was 25, so dealing with reality is hard enough for me without intentionally altering it! Again, another story for another time.
After my son was born things were a little better for awhile. Although he did not participate in any of our son's daily care. I guess I didn't really notice because my husband worked 2nd shift and I worked the 1st so we were only interacting on the weekends. As I said, things were alright for awhile and my son turned a year old. We had a little party for him, inviting only our parents, siblings and grandparents. After the party was when my husband first put his hands on me. He and his brother had been drinking during the party (which I did not approve of, but said nothing) and by the time everyone had left he was in a mood. I can't remember what the argument was about but I remember I had had enough of the verbal abuse and stood up to him. He threatened to take my son and leave. I was not about to let a drunk drive off with my only child so I moved to grab my son from his high chair. That was when my husband stepped in front of me and grabbed me by the throat. He choked me to the floor and I wouldn't normally have let someone do that to me but I was confused that someone I loved and trusted so much could do such a thing.
Not long after that my husband started having trouble at work, sleeping on the job, drinking and doing drugs on the job. Blatant insubordination. Cussing out his boss. As you would think, he was fired. I became the sole provider for our family and that is the way it would stay. In 2001, I began looking to buy a house because the neighborhood we were living in was getting bad. One day while I was looking at a house, someone broke in and trashed the house and stole ALL of my jewelry except what I was actually wearing at the time. It really hurt me because my paternal grandmother's wedding ring was taken, along with my mother's class ring and my own. My paternal grandmother had just been diagnosed with alzheimer's and my aunt had put her into the Carlisle Care Center so that she could get the 24 hour care she needed. This devastated me but I now know that she did the right thing and my grandmother is still there today. I don't visit as often anymore though, because she doesn't know me anymore and it's a really tough pill for me to swallow. I try not to think about it because I miss our talks and the things we used to do together. Sometimes I wonder if someday I will have alzheimer's too. When I do visit, I usually end up crying all the way home.
I miss her so much.
Anyway, the odd thing about the break in was that only my things were disturbed. All of my clothes had been taken out of the closet and strewn about the house, all my drawers had been pulled out and thrown all over the bedroom. My husband's things hadn't been touched. To this day, I wonder why. It could have been him, but it might possibly have been an ex of mine wanting revenge. I guess I'll never know. I felt so violated and it just urged me even more to find somewhere else to live. I finally found a house and we moved in August of 2001. One day as I was taking some things to the new house a car pulled out in front of me and there was a bad accident. Her insurance company didn't want to pay. (She was on SR22) After months of faxing and fighting, they finally did. The car had been my paternal grandmother's and it was important to me to get it fixed.
Unfortunately, as well, my maternal grandmother, whom I was VERY close to and had practically raised me, was in hospice. She had had a stroke and the complications were killing her. She never saw my home. She died later that same month. As I write this now, I am crying. My grandmother was everything to me. I would not be who I am without her. I miss her everyday of my life, 10 years later, it still hurts me to my very soul. I think I would not be where I am today if she were still here.
When I was pregnant with my son, my mother bought me a puppy. A Jack Russell mix. She was the cutest thing in the whole world and I loved her with everything I had. I know some people think that's silly but in my family, pets are people too. So laugh and ridicule if you want but there is no other unconditional love on this earth like that from a dog. (or a cat, I had two of those too, who were starting to get aged by this time!)
Right away though, there was something special about this puppy. There was a crate full and she was the only one not playing. She was sitting in the corner by herself with one big tear in her eye. I picked her up and never set her down. When our eyes met, I knew it was destiny. She was my soul mate. Now, don't get me wrong, I loved my cats. They were my constant companions and had been for quite awhile but as anyone knows, cat love and dog love are two different things. Cats think they are equals with people (and they are) but dogs worship people. They adore you.
Anyway, a year after we moved into the new house, I found out that my 2 year old puppy had cancer. She would have to have treatment for the rest of her life. I was devastated but I learned to cope and she didn't seem any different. We fell into a comfortable routine with her meds. My husband continued to be off and on. Not working, not looking for a job, just alternately sleeping on the couch all day and taking off all night. I should mention that he had sold everything he had, including his car by this point, to keep his habit going, so he was driving my car, jumping into it before the engine could even cool down when I had returned from work. It wasn't long before MY things started disappearing from the house. Not only that but money began disappearing from my bank account and I found out he was forging my checks and stealing my ATM card at night when I was asleep. I started locking things up in my desk at work and sleeping with my purse at night. In the end I had to cut up my debit card. Many arguments were had from this. I was disgusted with him but truly believed that things would somehow get better. I have strong faith.
Somehow, I managed to get pregnant again. This may have been a bad idea. I really wanted a daughter though and I had been taking care of my son this entire time by myself, so in my mind, what difference did it make? About a year after my daughter was born, I got a call from the daycare saying that she was running a slight fever and I needed to pick her up. So I picked her up and took her home. She was just teething, not really sick and it was about lunch time, so as soon as we got home, I made her some lunch. I had just sat down to feed her when there was a knock at the door. I got up, wondering who that could be in the middle of the day, and went down to answer the door. I opened it up and there stands my husband between two VERY large, VERY scary looking men. They say they are police so I let them in. (I probably should have asked to see their badges but hindsight is 20/20) They were indeed police and had picked up my husband trying to sell them his "wares". They brought him back to the house because they wanted him to give up other people. They asked me about it and I gave them all my information, telling them that he was never allowed to bring the stuff into the house or do it around me or my kids. (He was true to his word on this.)
I allowed them to search the house and they found nothing. Of course the idiot wouldn't give any names and they eventually left, taking him with them. He was in jail for quite awhile, much to my relief. I figured this would be the thing that would finally set him straight. During this time I bought another dog, a hybrid half Boston Terrier half Pug, called a Bug. I don't know, maybe I was trying to fill my life with the love I wasn't getting from my husband. After four months he was released with the promise to go to an inpatient treatment program. He went directly into Powell, which was paid for with MY insurance.
During this time, his stepfather was helping me with "man" things around the house which, I was grateful for. Unfortunately during one of the times that he was over fixing something, he finished and then hung around a little longer than was comfortable for me. I kept trying to politely make excuses and saying things to get him to go but he wouldn't. At one point he sat down next to me and started rubbing my back, I was VERY uncomfortable with this and I got up and moved across the room and started doing things and acting very busy. He finally left. He was NOT invited back. As an honest person, I felt that I had to tell my husband what had happened. He used it as an excuse not to finish treatment and to come back home. Things were uncomfortable with the in-laws for awhile but it finally settled down and the man has not touched me to this day. Maybe I was making a mountain out of a molehill but I know that feeling and when you get that "feeling", something is not right.
Shortly after he came home, I was driving to work one morning and as I was passing the airport a very large industrial snow blower began throwing snow into the street. The street was VERY icy and I could not slow down fast enough. The next thing I knew, I was engulfed in an avalanche. I continued to slow down and I was scared to death because I literally could not see anything outside the windows. It was pure whiteout. After a moment the cloud lifted...too late. I became the tail end of a five car pile up. How the man did not see five cars in a pile on the road below him is beyond me. The man who's car I hit got out and his head was bleeding and he said he had his two grandchildren in the car who were also injured. He told me that the people who he had hit, had an elderly man with them who had a heart condition and that everyone needed an ambulance. He asked if I had a cell phone and I did so I tried to call 911 but at that moment the snow blower started up again. We were instantly buried, blind and deafened, as the monster continued to throw unimaginable amounts of snow at us. Somehow I was able to communicate to the 911 operator, who told me we would be safer if we got back into our vehicles. I relayed the message and told them help was coming. As I had slowed considerably when I hit the pile up, there was hardly any damage and I was not hurt. My airbag had not even went off (this time) although there was some slight damage to the front end. I would have to get the car fixed again. However, the US Airforce paid for that one.
Anyway, things went pretty well for awhile and I got pregnant a third time. Not planned, but I was alright with it. I was a little worried but I figured I was taking care of two children, how hard could it be with one more? At any rate, it was too late to take it back now and abortion is NOT an option for me. Nine months later my second daughter was born. The day I brought her home, one of my cats got sick and after being my companion for 18 years, he passed away. This put a huge damper on my homecoming but I knew he was very old and it was time for me to let him go. I still miss his gentle face.
My daughter had some complications with her birth and there was excess fluid in her lungs. They tried to get it all out but she ended up getting an infection from it and from there started a long cycle of breathing problems. After more than a year of no sleep and constantly cleaning up vomit, they put her on steroids via a nebulizer. I still had to get up in the middle of the night for the breathing treatments but I was finally getting SOME sleep. Because of all of the doctor's bills and the time off work, I began to have financial problems. My husband still was not working and the money strain was starting to show. We began arguing constantly again but it did no good. There were actual fights too but by now, I was fighting back. I didn't care anymore. I was tired of being pushed around and called names. Let alone being taken for granted and used. I was doing all the work. Working a full time job, taking care of the house and raising 3 children by myself was starting to wear me down. The taxes on the house were constantly going up and it wasn't long before I could no longer handle things on my own. At one point the power was shut off and for two weeks my husband took off and ran the streets while his wife and children sat alone in the cold, dark house. I had to rig up a double boiler to heat bottles and I read to the children by flashlight for entertainment. That worked well until they shut the gas off too. After a week of that, my mother had had enough. She stepped in and paid the bill. We changed the locks on the house too but one day I came home to find my husband had broke in. He wouldn't leave and we got into a physical fight. I called the police but they wouldn't make him leave. They said I should stay at a shelter with my children while I went through the process of evicting him. What a joke.
Well there was no way I was leaving him with the house so he could rob me blind while me and the children were displaced. I thought about it and it didn't really matter anyway because I was losing the house by this time. I figured I would just bide my time and when I left he would be stuck with no where to go.
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