Nope, not shitboy nor pinhead, though I have been called both at one time or many.
Yes Milo, they would make great band names. And I for one would go see them. You may not be able to judge a book by its cover, but I can just fine, thank you.
Sorry Ayesha (about the imagery). I just couldn’t help myself. 
Zaphod, thanks for the back-up. I was actually going to begin my (condensed version) horror story with a quote from you, “You know, you should write a book about this. Of course, you’d have to change some things so that people will actually believe it.”
Anyway, recounting this just pisses me off and get’s me all miserable, so I’m going to take a deep breath and get this over with.
Hold on a sec…
Cunting cunt.
Ah, that’s better. Ok here we go…
We were married 4 months. Four of the longest months of my life. Precipitating factors in the separation: Constant emotional and mental abuse. Insults, put downs, you name it. Once she pulled a knife on me. I will state for the record that she never advanced on me with it, but she brandished it in one of her tirades. Good thing too. I’ve never ever hit a woman or engaged in any form of verbal abuse. But if she’d come within 3 steps of me I think I would have snapped.
During the ‘honeymoon’ she got pregnant. She was about 3 months along when we split. I’ll admit I’m perverted, kinky, anarchistic, chaotic, stupid at times, naive, but one thing for sure, I have a great respect for parental responsibility. You don’t just create life and then fuck off. Anyway, I don’t.
Anyway, so my mean spirited ex is pregnant and sick. She actually lost weight during her pregnancy. I’m being supportive. I swear I made every effort. I helped her move more than once, took her food shopping, cleaned her house, brought her stuff she needed, took her to doctor visits. In other words, I was involved. I was there. I hated it and got treated like shit, but I stuck it out. I was there when my beautiful son was born. She made Rosanne Barr look like Mary Poppins. I got some seriously sick pleasure out of watching all this, of course. I almost had an orgasm when the anestheseologist (spelling is at best a guess today, deal with it) fucked up her epideral like 5-6 times. But it was quiet joy. I kept that one to myself. It was worth the broken fingers.
Once boyo was born, I pretty much lived there anyway so we decided to give it another shot. Ok, ‘fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me’. I know. I had a son. I was a Father and willing to do just about anything for him. So I fucked up and learned something. Sue me.
Things deteriorate from there. And by deteriorate, I mean constant bitching, put-downs and regular doses of just plain old abuse. She still thought I was an asshole for ‘abandoning’ her and had no trouble expressing that sentiment. Constantly and without provocation. (my son, 9 yrs later, still hears about it.)
Ok. You want examples. How about this: She withholds sex. Dresses like a slut acts like one, but then says no. Then, when she’s sure I’m not in the mood, she’d demand pleasuring. But it wasn’t like making love. It was tainted by her venomous personality. I’m pretty sensitive about some things and um… er… ahh… shall we say had trouble… umm… you know ‘had trouble’ and she’d say things like “What kind of man are you?” This of course relating directly to the shall we say intimidated penis. I don’t have this massive male ego or anything but sheesh. This kind of gets to you eventually and it escalates.
The upside of this is that I spent a lot of time at work and got quite good at it. (sales) So I made some pretty good money and she had fun spending it.
So we split again. I’m paying cs (child support) as I can some times lots, sometimes not. Depending on my sales. Off the books. She’s on wellfare, not declaring my payments. Boyo is in daycare while she does whatever, sits at home, worked as a model from time to time.
So it doesn’t last that long. But to me, it was fucking long. That was when I got my tats. Bad state of mind. I’m glad I got them though. As shit as it was, I learned lessons and have indelible reminders.
Holycrap this is getting long. I’m going to try to condense more and give juicy details;
I ended up burning out at my sales job. I was going through a break down and losing money like mad. She chooses this time to take me to court with her fuckbuddy lawyer friend. I go get legal aid. She promptly decries foul, claiming I’m making too much money. (She knows I’m not) So they yank my lawyer from under me, insisting that I prove how broke I am.
This I have the pleasure of doing in court. Without a lawyer. She’s asking for almost $3000/month in child support. (Doesn’t ask for spousal. heh heh. She prefered to hide behind the child in her arrogance, saying “I don’t need any of your money, it’s for boyo.” Heheh, has that ever come back to haunt her.)
Anyway, I’m basically as disorganized as a guy can get, and way too focused on making a living and getting laid to become a lawyer overnight, but I did ok. The judge awarded her an amount slightly surpassing my entire income, but I did ok. He basically had to assume that I could pull off my previous year in sales. Didn’t really buy the breakdown thing. She timed it pretty well. Bitch.
I tried to keep up my cs as best I could and paid pretty well. Didn’t live very well. She refuses to give receipts. She explains that she’s ok with the lower payments as long as she doesn’t have to declare them. You may feel free to groan now, because you must by now know that I’m a sucker. Fortunately there were time when she had to accept a check from me or I deposited directly into her bank account. I even managed to keep a few receipts so that when we next ended up in Family Court I could disprove a number of her allegations. That saved me many thousands of dollars, but I’ll still be paying back my supposed ‘arrears’ for another 9 years. Not to her, thank whatever God may have been on duty at that time, but to the government. See, child support is deducted from the wellfare check. So she’d be collecting on a nice little scam for a few years. Bitch.
Fast foward a few years. Assume a maintenance of constant abuse, threats and more abuse. One day I suggest that if her life is so difficult, I could take the child temporarily. Bad move. “If you try to take boyo, I’ll kill you!”
Now this is it for me. I decide, that it’s time, after 6 years to put my foot down. Enough is enough. So I get off the phone and call the police. They laughed at me. I swear this is true. They fucking laughed at me. Then told me to call the police in her jurisdiction. This call was met with thinly veiled disbelief and contempt. I was, after telling my story to like three different people, informed that I should call the police in my jurisdiction. So I called them back (the laughing cops), and finally had to insist that they at the very least file an incident report and call her to explain that this matter was now on file.
Two weeks later I get a call from the police. The ones from her jurisdiction. A constable wants to ‘talk’ to me. No groaning. I didn’t fall for this one. I drove down to the station (8-10 hours at this point- for 2 years I was in another province making bimonthly drives to visit my boy)and brought me a lawyer. There I was officially arrested and charged with verbal assault and uttering death threats. I was interogated, printed, photographed and released with a promise to appear. You should have seen the fucking show when we finally got to court over this. The was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. She was crying and making such a big deal of how she was afraid of me. Me, who she’d walked over, abused and generally shit upon for like 5-6 years. Me who’d taken every iota of it, so that I could remain in my sons life. My $1000 for one appearance lawyer told me to plead guilty; the judge would go easier on me.
Did I mention that a restraining order in place kept me from getting any news or word of my son for 4 months. Pleading guilty might have extended that restraining order to 2 years. Nice eh?
I chose not to plead guilty. I thought, Fuck that shit. If I’m found guilty anyway, what the hell. I can’t fight that or change it but I’ll be fucking goddamned if I go in front of a judge and say I did something that I didn’t do so that I can miss 2 years of my boy’s life.
She never showed up to testify on the final date, so I was aquitted.
Why did she never show up? Because after that phone call and my subsequent arrest, I started taping conversations. hheheheheheheheh. I never goaded her. I never had to. I had evidence of abuse against me, threats, threats against my son if I try for custody, etc. And she had been informed that I was taping. I was in fact launching a custody case based on some of her recorded admissions and other factors. Her sanity being one of them. She offered to drop the criminal case if I dropped the civil. I never answered her offer, and had no intention of dropping my case until the Fucking judge looked at my stack of transcripts and documentation and said “I don’t want to read all this, go into a room and work this out between you.” Something to that effect.
Here I learned 3 valuable lessons. I will share them with you.
- If ever you have to go to court, get a lawyer.
- Get a good lawer.
- Don’t get a lawyer you like. Get one you hate. You should hate him because he’s pushy, rude, insensitive and efficient.
I had the first two under control, but I had a lawyer I liked. She had a bitch. Almost as big a bitch as herself. All I walked out of there with was a reduction of cs, which I hadn’t wanted anyway. They just have these guidelines. Ex wanted more money, (Ya, I don’t know how that came up either. Like I said, she had a good lawyer) and so they pumped my income through their judicial calculators and presto, cs cut in half. They just made a tactical error and it actually works out because I only send her a little bit of money (which I like, because it feels good) and spend the rest directly on my son. (clothes, school fees and books, etc)
There’s more, but this is getting ridiculous. You get the idea.
Recently she really flipped out and physically attacked me. This she did in front of my son, her mother and my friend. There was no provocation on my part, but her threats over the phone warned me that something was up and I was prepared. I called the police and she was arrested. In the end she plead guilty and was given a discharge.
Did I mention that a restraining order was placed, and that somehow she managed to turn that around? This time my son and I only had no contact for 1 month.
Anyway, there are all sorts of official agencies involved now (thank god) and she has to watch her every move. My son is on a waiting list for psychiatric evaluation and treatment.
Funny. A child acts in the manner that she does, and gets a mobilization of social forces to help him out. She acts the way she does and gets the support of the civil and criminal justice system to try and destroy someone’s life.
If any of you think this is a pity party, you’ve misread my intent. It’s not. It began to dawn on me, 5-6 years after the fact that I had, in fact, married a bona-fide psycho. 9 years later, I’m pretty much resigned to it. Only 9 more years to go.
When the boy turns 18 he’s going to get a stack of documents. Everything, from start to finish will be placed on his lap. For now, he’s the most important. He is too young to handle the truths about his mother and father. But you better fucking believe he’ll know the truth. I had to wait until my mom died before her sister told me the truth about my dad. I would have prefered the knowledge sooner.
I guess I got kind of carried away there. Sorry. Hey wait a sec, this is the pit. I don’t have to say ‘sorry’ here, do I? To all those who made it through, my hat is off to your patience. There’s lots more. Enough to fill a book, but the last thing I want is to end up on Sunday night TV. Yuk.
Also, if the spelling is bad, my apologies. I’ll apologize for that, even in the pit.
[Edited by Lynn Bodoni on 07-17-2000 at 08:06 PM]
As for the sharp pain, well, you kinda get used to it. And, Bear… flaming her ass would give me a pleasure so profound I can’t even find words for it. I’d use pure Naptha and a propane torch.