My Life, My History

My ex-husband

1
My ex-husband was a control freak. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything without him breathing down my neck constantly. I couldn't even leave the house to go for a walk without a fight and me essentially having to make a run for the door to slip out into the hallway where I knew I would be safe. If I went for a walk, he would text me incessantly. Non-stop messages binging away in my phone until I responded. He demanded that I call him and just leave the phone on speaker in my pocket while I was out and about so he could hear what was going on and make sure I was "safe". But the only person I really needed to be safe from was him.

2
He had a bad temper and would rage around the house frequently whenever people didn't go along with how he thought or what he wanted them to do. Of course, this included me. He punches through the drywall a few times, busted a bookshelf, broke a CD/DVD rack, punched and concaved métal toaster, ripped closet doors out of their tracks, and so so. He wouldn't stop in an argument to allow any time to cool off. If I asked to stop talking or arguing, he just told me how I was too childish and immature to have a conversation and he told me that all I ever wanted to do was just run away from talking because I couldn't handle being an adult and having à conversation. But I just wanted to stop talking when it was no longer talking.

3
Sometimes, you just need time to think or a cooking off period during a conversation, especially if things are getting heated. He wouldn't agree to this. Ever. I would beg and plead to just stop talking for a bit and allow some time to just think, but he never agreed to this as this meant I couldn't be an adult and adults should be able to finish conversations, after all, and not "run away". I would run from room to room in the house/condo just trying to get a moment of peace and quiet to try and figure out why he was so mad and what the argument was even about. He would follow me everywhere I went and wouldn't let me just be. He wouldn't leave me alone. I tried so hard to run into other rooms and close the door. Sometimes, I succeeded, but he would just body check the door and overpower me and I would get squished in behind the door.

4
Sometimes, I would make it into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Curling up tight to the door with my knees up to my chin just crying while he kept body checking the door behind me. I was often amazed that the door didn't bust open as it often seemed like it was about to. I never had long moments of peace in the bathroom because he would just go and get à butter knife out of the kitchen and pop the lock on the door and slam the door until he got in the room or until I moved out if the way from behind the door. I sometimes would plead with him to stop slamming on the door because sometimes it really hurt me getting the door jammed into my back or side as I tried to hold the door shut behind me to just have some space and try to have a moment of peace.

5
Sometimes, I was successfully able to barricade myself in my video game/computer room. I used furniture and my big box of dvds to keep the door closed. Unfortunately, he would just do stupid things to irritate me when I locked myself in my room like putting the Bose speaker right outside on the other side of the door and he would blast music that he knew would bother me and play it at the highest volume until I would relent and talk to him or open the door. Or he would put the TV on and turn it up and loud as it would go and put on something he knew would drive me crazy to try and get me to open the door or talk to him. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Solace from the relentless beast. He never shut up or stopped talking. And if I said I didn't want to talk about à certain subject, then he would push it even more. I often just ended up agreeing with lots of things just to avoid arguments and these kinds if situations. It was easier Sometimes to just prétend I agreed with what he said or the viewpoints he had just so he would shut up and leave me alone.

6
Sometimes, I had get out of the house, but it wasn't easy. As I said, I was always having to run from room to room to get away from him yelling and screaming. He would go red and purple in the face and start sweating profusely when he got mad. His big forehead viens would bulge out and he often would punch himself in the head and say look what I was making him do to himself. Like it was my fault he had no control over his emotions, especially his anger.

7
I would try to escape into the hallway to get out of the condo and go for a walk to get some fresh air and just clear my head. It wasn't easy as he would grab my shoes and hide my keys and whatever else he knew I would need to leave the house. Sometimes, I would get the door halfway open and he would slam it shut on me. The main door to the condo was quite heavy so I always had to be really careful about that. I usually just kept running from room to room, one side of the hallway inside to the next and then quickly duck out the door.

8
Once I was in the main hallway, I was safe. He would change his attitude and manner of speaking 180 degrees in front of other people so once i was in the main hall, he would change his tone of voice so it would be more soft and would say things like, come on back in and talk to me, it's dark outside and cold, it's not safe. He would always make it like he was concerned for my safety when I left the house, but that wasn't it. It was just all about control. This happened over and over and over again throughout the relationship. I never really saw this side of him until we moved in together, just me and him. At first, we lived with his brother, and he was much kinder. I guess he had to behave m9re gentleman like in front of his family to keep them all fooled about what a controlling asshole he actually was/is.

9
I was miserable with him and I wasted so many years if my life. I tried hard to not get married and to break up with him. I threw the stupid fucking ring he gave me so many times, but he just kept convincing me to take the stupid thing back. I hated that fucking ring and I hate him too. I didn't even have an answer when he asked me to marry him. I thought the silence and my look of utter, holy fuck please god no, on my face would tip him off. But after a few minutes of me not saying anything, he said I had to answer. Everyone in the restaurant was staring and I felt so much embarassment and pressure that I just said, uh, yeah sure, ok. But I was not smiling and laughing. I didn't hug or Kiss him back. I just sat there like a stone statue, terrified of what was happening. Hoping it was just a bad fucking nightmare that I was going to wake up from at any moment.

10
We were engaged I think for a year? Can't remember exactly. I threw that stupid ring back at him so many times and told him I didn't want it and I didn't want to get married. I'm not sure why he kept getting all nice after that and apologizing and convincing me to take the ring back. He would keep telling me that I didn't really mean what I was saying, but I kept telling him that I did mean it and I didn't want to get married. One time, I remember getting in some random fight with him at Beacon Hill Park, likely over absolutely nothing more than me not agreeing with everything he said and thought (I wasn't allowed to have my own beliefs, thoughts, and opinions unless they essentially mirrored his). I threw that stupid fucking ring in the grass there. I was hopeful that he wouldn't be able to find the stupid thing, but of course he fucking did! I know there were a fair number of people around. Wonder what they thought of the whole debacle, lol!

11
I did nothing to make plans for the sham of a wedding. He kept asking me if I had made a guest list or done any planning or picked out à dress. My answer was always no. I didn't want to get married so why the fuck would I plan anything out? He eventually just went and bought me a wedding planner who arranged everything as I wasn't arranging anything.
The closer it came to the date, the sicker I felt. I remember starting to binge eat food à few weeks before the wedding because I was so sick and stressed about the whole ordeal. I think I gained 10 or 15 pounds in those few short weeks. I don't know how else to explain it, but gaining weight felt like a layer of protection. Like I could make him not like me or stop trying to reach me and/or touch me or something. It didn't work.

12
On the day of the wedding, I just threw on my fake happy face and acted like I was expected to for the day. I was fucking horrified during the ceremony when the one fucking request I had of the preacher/pastor was totally ignored: take out the word “obey” out of the meaningless and ridiculous illegitimate “marriage vows”. I nearly fucking vomited right than and there when he finished that fucking line and I stood there having to just answer in the affirmative as to not cause a fucking scene in front of 100+ people, most of whom were guests of the ex, because let’s get real here… this was the wedding of his dreams, this was NOT MY GOD-DAMN DREAM! Just like it was the honeymoon of his choice and his dreams where we fulfilled his childhood wish of going to Disneyland.

The whole wedding and vows was an exceptionally meaningless fraud show anyways as my ex had never been inside a church or an chapel prior to that day. He was never a Christian, never believed in any kind of God or higher power or greater purpose/spiritual entity. He couldn’t tell you anything about the contents of any bible, or of any other book for that matter as he doesn’t read. I never once saw him pick up and attempt to read a book in the 15 years I was with him (and only him—there are zero fucking exceptions to that statement despite my intense and pervasive sadness and misery during my “life” with him). My ex routinely trashed/trashes Jesus, religions, and all the names and incarnations of God. The stupid asshole loves the movie the Passion of the Christ so much simply because he enjoys watching all the scenes of Jesus getting fucking whipped and beaten to death. He even fucking cheered it on while we watched the movie, much to my disgust and chagrin.

Anyhow, I dreaded the end of the day as I knew I would not be able to get out of having to have sex with him. The thought of it make my stomach fucking turn over and over. I remember entering the hotel room and my heart fucking sank. I don't remember all the details as I tried to go somewhere else in my head. I stared at the ceiling and cried while he took what was "rightfully his". I couldn't stop the stream of Tears pouring out of my eyes and down my face, but I stayed silent. After all, this wasn't my first time dealing with an unwanted sexual encounter. I knew what to do. Just shut up and take it. Disassociate yourself from the moment. Disconnect from reality while remaining in it. It is almost like you just go outside of your body and float next to yourself, holding à vigilant watch while you wait for it àll to be over. Some people will understand what I mean by this and others will not. If you know, you know. Further explanations are not necessary.

13
After he was done, I remember him tossing me a box of tissue so I could clean up his nasty fucking mess off of me. Then, I remember him pulling up his pants and doing up his fly while he walked over the the sliding glass door to have a smoke. He said, "Aw, babe. I'm so sorry you are having a shitty day and aren't feeling great. I hope you feel better tomorrow." I just laid there and kept crying in silence. He saw my tears. He didn't give a fuck. Stupid asshole.

14
Now I am divorced from this stupid fucking Dick, but it sure was hard to get the fuck out and away. It took years of trying and begging for a divorce. I finally just demanded one. It took a lot of patience ôn My part to find the right moment and start the exit process, but I did it. I got out. I am dirt poor and drowning in debt, but I am free and at peace. I can do whatever the fuck I want when I want. Watch what I want, listen to what I want, dress how I want, and no one is there to tell me otherwise. No 9ne is there anymore telling me how I have to do my hair or how I need to dress or how I need to talk or anything like that. I get to be me. It's taken a bit to remember and to let go of the fear or having someone constantly watching me like à Hawk so vigilantly and telling me how I have to be, but it's all coming back to me. The real me was always there inside and now I get to be free. Slowly regaining my freedom and remembering how to enjoy life the way I want to enjoy it. Not like someone else says is the "correct way".

15
I would rather spend the rest of my life alone than spend another second in the presence of my ex-husband. Even if being alone meant sitting in a fucking solitary prison cell, I would fucking take that ever having to spend another sec9nd with him. I hope I never have to see his stupid face or hear his voice ever again. Not in this life or any other life.
The only exception to that would be if I got to burn or bury him alive... or preferably dead so he can't talk.
Wrap him up like a fucking mummy in a drop sheet while I craft up an obituary to à sick fucking beat. (Actually, I have crafted something like an "obituary" for this stupid motherfucker. It's saved on my phone. I think I wrote it while in Starbucks. I have a very special and descriptive death scene/script as well that I crafted on paper in one of my books of rhymes. Will have to revisit those soon and post them here.

Addendum:
The moment I knew I had to run for my life was when I saw him for what he actually was. Every sense in my body awakened and went into overdrive. I don't care what anyone thinks. He kept trying to make me out as the crazy bitch. The evening I knew I had to get out no matter what was at the condo in the master bedroom. No one will ever believe me, but I saw his face contort. And no, I wasn't high. I wasn't even smoking weed anymore at the time. And I'm 100% sure that I'm not crazy, nor have I ever been. But I've sure been fucked around by many men.
https://youtu.be/TAv3yujY15Y?si=Qk1mxWP68GxBAI2m