When we last left the couple, they were happily married. After the honeymoon, D started to work a lot of hours. We needed the money with the new house, and his spending habits. He always had to have Tommy Hilfiger, or Polo clothes, jewelry, and shoes. Oh, yea, and drugs too! I was oblivious to this for a long time, because I trusted him. How did we afford such things? Credit. To make up for his spending, I would wear hose with runs, and socks and shoes with holes in them. I never bought things for myself. I was kinda the joke in my group of friends because I was so pathetically dressed. I was the only one who had any sense with money. Although, I didn't handle the finances. He did it all. In fact there wasn't much that I did do without him. Huge mistake.
I was a good wife. I made his dinner, I packed his lunches. I did his laundry, I clipped his toenails, I SHAVED HIS BACK! Had sex with him every single day. I went to all his family functions. I cleaned the house, and went to work full time on top of it all. He got me another cat, to keep me company. Fizzgig. My precious, who I still have. I might interject that he got me a cat, and stepped on it when he was high on something or other, and killed it. And I made him take it back and get another one. That devastated me.
I got myself a dog. My shih tzu Little Hill. I really did it just to piss him off because he was never home, and how was he gonna stop me? He made me get rid of my bunny, and one of my cats had feline leukimia and had to be put to sleep. So I had 2 cats, and a dog. The more time he spent away from me, the more desperate I got for him to pay attention to me, and that was when it got worse. I stopped liking myself, because I based my self worth on what he thought of me. He started lying to me about where he was.
I started to follow a.k.a stalk him. Once he told me he was at a bar that he wasn't at. I tracked him down, cus I was crazy like that. I always had to spy on him to see where he was at. This time, he was at a dance club. We never went out together. So, I took the car and moved it to another parking lot, and drove my happy ass home laughing all the way ha, ha, ha... He called me at 3 a.m. to tell me that someone stole our car, and that I had to go pick him up. When he realized he'd have to tell me where he was, he got a ride home instead. I didn't tell him I moved the car until he was home. After he told me he was at his friends, when I knew he wasn't. I thought it was hilarious!
Another time he told me he was at 'some bar' he couldn't think of a name, so my friend Katie went with me, and we tracked him down at this real classy joint, Bottoms Up. We saw the car and sat in the parking lot waiting for him to come out. When that didn't happen we went up to the door, and she asked this guy if girls ever went in there. "All the tiiiiiime" he said. So, after she bit it on the pavement, (a little fall never hurt anyone) we went inside. I found him, having a lap dance when we walked in. The look on his face, was priceless.
I took the car that day too, and stranded him and his friends. I'm sure they were real sad they had to stay at the tittie bar all night. I kicked him out numerous times. I'd pack up his shit, drive to his friends, and throw his stuff out the car. He always came back. He was always sorry. He was spending ungodly amounts of money and I didn't know where. Drugs. He always lied, and I always found them. I use to burn his weed in an ashtray and wake him up to show him. I got a kick out of that. Until he would get so pissed at me that we would fight, and it got physical. That became the norm, and it wasn't just him, I fought back.
The whole time he was sneaking around to bars, he called me names, and started to tear away at my self esteem. I loved him so much, that if he thought I was horrible, I must be horrible. I stopped being the me that I knew. I look back at those times and think I was pathetic. I let him tell me who I was, and I became it. I stopped having a life outside of him. He became my life. I couldn't function when he wasn't home. All I could do was think about where he was, and what he was doing. It consumed me. I have entire journals that span only a few months, filled with "poor me's" and "why doesn't he love me's". I don't know that girl anymore, but for a long time she sucked my will to enjoy life.
I became obsessed with my weight, even more than I was before, because it was the only thing I had any power over. I popped laxatives like candy. I took them every couple of hours. I never went without crapping, or throwing up anything I ate. I ate to stuff my pain, then hated myself for doing it, and threw it all up. I didn't eat for days, so I could eat what I wanted. I got obsessed with exercise. I would run on the treadmill starving, until I started to dry heave. And I kept going until they became so bad, I couldn't breathe, and my entire body was so weak I shook. To me, it was an accomplishment. I had pushed myself to the limit. I did it. I controlled it. No one else.
I thought if I were just thinner, he would love me. Nevermind the fact that he was 5' 9" and 250lbs of pure fat. And I was perfectly fine, being a size 12. He made me feel like shit, so I thought he was a God.
He left me a couple of times without my kicking him out. He stayed gone for a week one time. I never left him alone, and he always came back. I made him feel bad for me, it wasn't that he missed me. That started a pattern. We could do whatever we wanted to each other, and we'd always be together. That was when it started to get ugly.
To be continued....