A Christmas Story
It's been nearly a month since the last time I updated this thing. It's not that I'm hesitant to talk or that I have nothing to say (those of you who know me know that's not true). It's more that I think I have maybe three readers, and I've talked to all of them via email or face-to-face over the past few weeks, so there's not much left to tell them. So I thought I might tell a story about my past. I think I'll tell the one about the last Christmas I spent with my ex-husband.
It would've been 1985, I guess, since we formally separated in June of '86. I had been working lots of hours in my store manager's job, and one night, as I was driving home from work at about 11PM or so, I missed seeing a red light on one of the major intersections in town, ran it and hit a car (actually, later I think they told me I hit two cars, one a direct hit and then we slid into another one). I never found out if the people in the other cars were hurt badly; I guess if they were, I'd have been told by the insurance company, right? Anyway, I ended up with a broken left hand (I'm left-handed) from gripping the steering wheel tightly upon impact, and a small cut on my forehead from hitting the rear-view mirror. This car, btw, was one my dad had got me and had cut the seat belts out of (he did that a lot in those days). So I was lucky, I guess.
This accident left me unable to drive for a while, due to the hand being in a cast. At the time, my ex and I lived in a neighboring town, so the drive into town to work took about 1/2 an hour or so. So my ex had to take me back and forth to work, which I'm sure pissed him off, but I was the sole breadwinner at the time. My ex had gotten out of the Army and was going to school on the GI Bill, or whatever they call it now. So, anyway, one night close to Christmas (and about a week or two after the accident I had) he came to pick me up and was drunk off his ass. My coworker who was there too tried to get me not to go with him because of that. (Understand that at this time, I was in pretty poor shape self-esteem wise, and was into all that "stand by your man no matter what" stuff.) Anyway, I told her that I had to go with him--his truck was standard shift, which at that time I didn't know how to drive, and I had no other way to get home. She offered to let me stay at her house, but I couldn't even think of the drama it would cause if I refused to go with him. So I went.
My ex was in rare form that night. He drove around the main artery of town (which has a speed limit of 55) at about 80 mph, darting in and out of traffic. I started to really get seriously scared at this point, and started to pray out loud, something that, in those days, I reserved for times of extreme stress and danger. My ex asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. I told him that I was praying for our safety and that we wouldn't die that night. He said something about maybe he wanted to die. I said, "You can kill yourself if you want to, but I'm in here, too, and I don't want to die tonight."
So we kept going, driving at breakneck speed through the town. Where are all the cops when you really need them? At one point, my ex ran through a stop sign and side-swiped another car. These guys started following us, so of course the ex stepped up the pace a bit more. Finally, we got to a part of town where there was quite a bit of traffic, and came to a red light at which there were cars stopped in all the lanes. The ex would either have to stop or just plow through the stopped cars. Fortunately, he chose to stop. At that point, I chose to grab my purse, wrench open the door, and jump out of the truck before he could start up again. I figured I could find a phone and call my parents to come and get me.
The car we had side-swiped was just behind us; one of the people from that car saw me jump out and got out himself. He offered to take me to a phone, so I got in the car with these complete strangers. We pulled off the road at a restaurant and I called my parents, while the people in the car called the police. The police arrived and I gave them my information and what little I knew about where the ex might be headed. Then my folks arrived to take me home.
I found out the next day that, not only had the ex been driving his car so horribly, but that before he had come to pick me up, he'd been in Richmond (where he was going to school) with the car we had bought to replace the one I had wrecked the week before, drinking at the bars there, and then had totaled my new car on the way back home, running it into a semi truck! Not only that, but I found out later that he wasn't going to be charged with a hit-and-run on the folks we hit that helped me, because I had been there to give his info to the police! What injustice! I stayed with my parents for a week, until the ex finally called and wanted to talk to me. He promised to get counseling if I would come home. You see, he was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder from some stuff that went on while he was in the Army (a story that I may tell at another time). So I went back to him. We had our Christmas then. I had saved and paid on layaway all autumn to buy him a really nice leather coat for Christmas that year. Know what he got me? A $15 "boom-box" from WalMart! I could tell it was a last-minute, "shit, I gotta get her something" gift. It disgusted me that he thought so little of me when I had been willing to forgive him. I ended up staying with him for six more months, because I really was trying to be a Christian (with no formal training), and Christians don't get divorced--they work things out. Well, after six months of waiting for him to get the counseling he promised me he'd get, and lots of verbal and mental abuse, I finally confronted him about it. I knew that he was hesitant to get counseling because he thought they'd "put him away" (like, in a mental ward). When I confronted him about not getting the counseling, he said, "I don't need counseling. I know what the source of all my problems is--you!" Well, OK, I thought, let me solve those for you. Within a few days, I had contacted a lawyer and was on my way out the door.
This is all pretty much a bare-bones, Reader's Digest version of what went on in my marriage. There are oh-so-many other stories I could (and may) tell, but that was 18 years ago now, and life is so much better now. I still hold out hope of finding that right one, but my self-esteem level is such now that, if I don't, I'll be OK. I have a wonderful church family, who are closer to me than my biological family could ever be, and great friends, both new and old.
It would've been 1985, I guess, since we formally separated in June of '86. I had been working lots of hours in my store manager's job, and one night, as I was driving home from work at about 11PM or so, I missed seeing a red light on one of the major intersections in town, ran it and hit a car (actually, later I think they told me I hit two cars, one a direct hit and then we slid into another one). I never found out if the people in the other cars were hurt badly; I guess if they were, I'd have been told by the insurance company, right? Anyway, I ended up with a broken left hand (I'm left-handed) from gripping the steering wheel tightly upon impact, and a small cut on my forehead from hitting the rear-view mirror. This car, btw, was one my dad had got me and had cut the seat belts out of (he did that a lot in those days). So I was lucky, I guess.
This accident left me unable to drive for a while, due to the hand being in a cast. At the time, my ex and I lived in a neighboring town, so the drive into town to work took about 1/2 an hour or so. So my ex had to take me back and forth to work, which I'm sure pissed him off, but I was the sole breadwinner at the time. My ex had gotten out of the Army and was going to school on the GI Bill, or whatever they call it now. So, anyway, one night close to Christmas (and about a week or two after the accident I had) he came to pick me up and was drunk off his ass. My coworker who was there too tried to get me not to go with him because of that. (Understand that at this time, I was in pretty poor shape self-esteem wise, and was into all that "stand by your man no matter what" stuff.) Anyway, I told her that I had to go with him--his truck was standard shift, which at that time I didn't know how to drive, and I had no other way to get home. She offered to let me stay at her house, but I couldn't even think of the drama it would cause if I refused to go with him. So I went.
My ex was in rare form that night. He drove around the main artery of town (which has a speed limit of 55) at about 80 mph, darting in and out of traffic. I started to really get seriously scared at this point, and started to pray out loud, something that, in those days, I reserved for times of extreme stress and danger. My ex asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. I told him that I was praying for our safety and that we wouldn't die that night. He said something about maybe he wanted to die. I said, "You can kill yourself if you want to, but I'm in here, too, and I don't want to die tonight."
So we kept going, driving at breakneck speed through the town. Where are all the cops when you really need them? At one point, my ex ran through a stop sign and side-swiped another car. These guys started following us, so of course the ex stepped up the pace a bit more. Finally, we got to a part of town where there was quite a bit of traffic, and came to a red light at which there were cars stopped in all the lanes. The ex would either have to stop or just plow through the stopped cars. Fortunately, he chose to stop. At that point, I chose to grab my purse, wrench open the door, and jump out of the truck before he could start up again. I figured I could find a phone and call my parents to come and get me.
The car we had side-swiped was just behind us; one of the people from that car saw me jump out and got out himself. He offered to take me to a phone, so I got in the car with these complete strangers. We pulled off the road at a restaurant and I called my parents, while the people in the car called the police. The police arrived and I gave them my information and what little I knew about where the ex might be headed. Then my folks arrived to take me home.
I found out the next day that, not only had the ex been driving his car so horribly, but that before he had come to pick me up, he'd been in Richmond (where he was going to school) with the car we had bought to replace the one I had wrecked the week before, drinking at the bars there, and then had totaled my new car on the way back home, running it into a semi truck! Not only that, but I found out later that he wasn't going to be charged with a hit-and-run on the folks we hit that helped me, because I had been there to give his info to the police! What injustice! I stayed with my parents for a week, until the ex finally called and wanted to talk to me. He promised to get counseling if I would come home. You see, he was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder from some stuff that went on while he was in the Army (a story that I may tell at another time). So I went back to him. We had our Christmas then. I had saved and paid on layaway all autumn to buy him a really nice leather coat for Christmas that year. Know what he got me? A $15 "boom-box" from WalMart! I could tell it was a last-minute, "shit, I gotta get her something" gift. It disgusted me that he thought so little of me when I had been willing to forgive him. I ended up staying with him for six more months, because I really was trying to be a Christian (with no formal training), and Christians don't get divorced--they work things out. Well, after six months of waiting for him to get the counseling he promised me he'd get, and lots of verbal and mental abuse, I finally confronted him about it. I knew that he was hesitant to get counseling because he thought they'd "put him away" (like, in a mental ward). When I confronted him about not getting the counseling, he said, "I don't need counseling. I know what the source of all my problems is--you!" Well, OK, I thought, let me solve those for you. Within a few days, I had contacted a lawyer and was on my way out the door.
This is all pretty much a bare-bones, Reader's Digest version of what went on in my marriage. There are oh-so-many other stories I could (and may) tell, but that was 18 years ago now, and life is so much better now. I still hold out hope of finding that right one, but my self-esteem level is such now that, if I don't, I'll be OK. I have a wonderful church family, who are closer to me than my biological family could ever be, and great friends, both new and old.