he had to

he had to
it starts small
something little
showing up unexpected
when you’re sick
and don’t want company
and taking it personally
that you’re in your sweats
and don’t open the screen door
so he had to buy a fifth of jack
and drive across the county drinking it
and call to cuss you out
because you were sick
and so feverish
you don’t remember
he demanded to come in
but you closed the door
and went to bed with the cat instead
knowing he knew
to call first
because you have
two little kids
and two cats
and a house to care for

Another one for the first husband.  Yes, this actually happened.  Not only that but him being an expert manipulator by the time it was all done I did the apologizing.  For having been sick and gone to bed rather than catering to him.

My first marriage was over almost before it began.  For some reason I managed to forget this incident when he proposed.  So I said yes.  Foolish girl.  He played all my soft spots.  Crafted beautiful lies just for me.  Foolish girl.

It didn’t take long before it got ugly, only a few weeks.  He drank heavily and couldn’t hide it anymore.  One morning in hungover rage he went at me in front of the kids.  And I did the unthinkable – I drew a line and told him to leave until he could control himself.  I would not have my children frightened by that.  It was all downhill from there.  I tried.  I really did.  I wanted so badly for it to work.  And I hated the shame of admitting defeat.

One of his favorite games was to punish me for not reading his mind.  He was too immature to talk, to make a simple request.  I was always a failure at mind reading.  Somehow I just haven’t mastered that trick.  Like Billy Bragg says “and now you’re upset because I can’t read your mind.”  Only upset turned into punishment turned into rage.

And it was always my fault.  My fault he drove drunk.  My fault he broke things.  My fault he ate himself sick.  My fault his kid was a child molester.  My fault I could not read his mind.  My fault he lost his temper.  My fault his daughter’s wouldn’t talk to him.  My fault his truck slid off the road when he was drunk.  My fault he hid alcohol everywhere.  He had to it.

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
This entry was posted in abuse, creative writing, domestic violence, fear, poem, poetry, recovery, single mom, the ex and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to he had to

  1. Pingback: Love is Not | stories of survival

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