Ok, so they say “Confession is good for the Soul”, so here is my confessional. On my facebook account I had me as single, and I am, but I’m also divorced.
Divorced from a man I dearly love(d), but also hated at times – wrong I know.
I miss him every day and every night I lay down. I will catch myself thinking something and wondering what his response would’ve been, and just chuckle to myself to keep from crying. Or I’ll say something he would’ve said and laugh because I sound just like him.
Our marriage didn’t end well, I left to keep one of us from dying. He was mentally, physically, and financially abusive, and it came to the point where I told him ‘He had to go to sleep at some point.” It was after those words left my mouth I knew I had to leave, I couldn’t allow myself to be pulled down to his level – I wouldn’t allow it, nor did I want my parents to get a call that I was dead, courtesy of my husband.
Like I said, it wasn’t pretty, and my parents took me in under their wings, yet again, and protected me as much as they could from him. He sent word multiple times, via multiple people that “if he couldn’t have me, no one could”. He would ‘stalk’ me in other people’s vehicles, so I started praying, hard. I knew the next step, either I was going to die, or he was going to die – via my doings or my father’s hand. I didn’t want that to happen, so I prayed for God to move me or move him. I didn’t care if it was via the grave, or out of the city or out of the state, I just couldn’t fight anymore. (I’ll spare you my family’s suicide watch over me as I was going through all of this, but I will say, my Samson, saved my life. Thank God for chihuahua’s, smile.)
I left him on Halloween 2001, and the divorce was final January 2002. The judge asked me if I wanted anything, and I looked at him, with tears in my eyes, and said ‘my name back’. He asked me about my things at his house, I said, I have what I need, he can keep the rest, I just want my name back, as I had hyphenated my name only 6 months before because he thought I didn’t love him enough to change my name. Truth was, I just didn’t want to lose my daddy’s name, that was all!
During our marriage he had developed heart problems that required him to have a pacemaker and I was the perfect nurse, diligent with his food, his meds, his exercise, I never left him and promised I’d never leave his side. I promised him he’d never die alone, and to this day that promise haunts me.
Around Halloween 2002, I received a phone call from one of his daughters, she said “daddy had a heart attack and died last night”. I responded with no he didn’t, he couldn’t have a heart attack, he had a pacemaker for Christ sake. She said no, he had a heart attack, he’s gone.
I’m not sure if it was guilt, relief, sadness, physical pain, or what, but I went numb all over. What had I done? Why had I prayed for God to move one of us? This wasn’t what I wanted. Then it hit me, he had died alone. No one was with him, no family, no friends, no one. I’d lied to him.
I couldn’t go to the funeral, I thought his death was my fault and I didn’t want anyone to see me because I was sure they’d know, they’d see my relief, guilt. His daughter called me after the funeral and said they were cleaning his house out and wanted to know if I wanted to come get my things. I met her at the house, through tears of love and hate, I gathered my clothes, some books, stuffed animals, and a picture of us on his motorcycle. (When I finally took the picture out of the frame, years later, I found a receipt of the hotel where we stayed the first time we went to New Orleans. I know somewhere inside him he loved me, but something changed him, and I couldn’t fight it.) His daughter helped me load up my little Nissan and she asked why the doors wouldn’t lock properly and were, for the most part, off the hinges, I told her he was good at slamming doors – which sent my nerves to the moon. She just hugged me, and said I’m sorry. I left and that was it, I honestly didn’t look back.
I have since been out to the grave site, and at first the hatred for him just poured out, what he had done to us, what he had done to me, what he had caused me to pray, then I could hear him laughing, laughing at me. I turned and walked away and have never been back to his grave site.
Dreams, at first, I had them every night. Satan was definitely on his job, but so were my praying parents, and it seemed the harder we prayed the harder satan fought me, then one morning I realized, no dream about him. Had I finally won the battle? Yes, now if I dream about him, it’s not scary, on my end, but I see him in pain, fearful, hurting, and there’s nothing I can do for him. He’s always out of my reach. I want to help him, I try to reach out and he moves further and further away, and I wake up in a cold sweat calling his name.
My trail of abusive relationships ended with him. Mainly because I’ve never allowed anyone to get close enough to hurt me again. I’ve built a wall, so high, so thick, so invisible that only my family is allowed over into my world. I shut off myself to everyone and everything, he became so possessive that he pushed everyone away from us, from me. This, I know, is my fault. In this regard, he won, but eventually I’ll re-claim the trophy and move on with that part of my life.
One day God will put a man just where he needs to be in order for me to see him, watch him prove himself, as my ability to trust someone, especially a man, is at about 10%. Again, all my fault, I chose to shut down instead of stand up and fight. A mistake I will not make again!
This Halloween will be 10 years since I left him. I think I’m finally ready to move on. I’m deathly afraid I’ll fail, again! I’m deathly afraid I’ll not be able to tear down my wall, but I’m working on it one brick at a time, and maybe, just maybe, when I get a doorway clear, God will allow that someone to walk through who will take care of me, and not use and abuse me.
And to that end, I ask for your prayers, so I can continue with the deconstruction of my wall, so He can send me the man I’m suppose to spend the rest of my life with.
[I have purposefully left out my ex-husband’s name, as I don’t feel it behooves anyone to talk about the dead. May his soul be at peace.]