My Girl – Another Chapter

I apologize I’m advance. I try to read and re-read to catch errors. For some reason this one was too hard to re-read.

It’s been a little over a week since the last major upheaval with my girl. I still don’t think I am fully comprehending what happened. What I saw, what I heard, what I had to do.

She went back to him after the last incident. You know, the one where he drug her with his car and beat her again. She signed a six-month lease with him for a shit hole apartment in an old house. First floor was my girl and drippy dick, second floor an old lady and the third floor was drippy’s uncle (shocking) and miscellaneous other derelicts. 


The last week of April I could tell she was struggling. The messages and texts she was sending were…..too happy. I wasn’tsure if she was trying to convince me or herself that she was happy.  Throughout that week she messaged that she was going to stop at some point during the week and also over the weekend.  She didn’t come during the week.  

On Sunday, May 1st, I was outside painting a piece of furniture. My other half was doing miscellaneous yard work. My phone rang, it was her. As usual the feeling of “what now” mixed with fear and angst shot through me.  I answered to hear my girl and drippy screaming at each other.  I had to scream at the top of my lungs to get her attention and get her to hear me.  She was pleading and begging me to come get her out.  He was yelling at her; she was yelling at him.  She found messages he sent to other girls, again.  That started the fight, but it always turns into much more.  She was completely out of control.  He kept threatening to call the cops because she was using “his phone”, the phone he got for her when he put her on his plan.  She was screaming at him to stop touching her stuff.  I asked her if she thought he would talk to me.  She asked him and I heard his response “of course I will talk to your mom”.  I can still hear his smug ass voice.  I said, “Hello, drippy dick (but actually used his name).  We are coming to get “my girl” and all her things.  This situation needs to end for your well-being and her well-being.”  He stopped me from continuing.  Drippy said to me, “please don’t pretend to care about my well-being, that is just disrespectful.”  I said, “Oh, I forgot you are all about respect.”  I couldn’t help it.  I asked if they could please stay away from each other until we get there.  He assured me that they wouldand hung up.

She called me back.  She was hysterical; dry heaving, crying, screaming.  I told her to stay on the phone with me.  We were getting ready to leave.  Just as a side note, it’s about a 35–40-minute drive to get to her.  I kept telling her to go to her car and get away from him.  Just sit in her car and ignore him.  She said she would.  I still heard them yelling and screaming.  

We are in the car headed to her. She is still on the phone, I have her on Bluetooth. She tells me she called the police.  I was actually shocked.  She was in her car waiting.  She was crying, wailing in emotional and physical pain.  Repeating over and over that she didn’t want to be alive, she can’t do this anymore.  This was the FIRST TIME my other half has had the experience of hearing her like this.  It’s not a fun thing to experience.  But part of me was glad, if I’m being honest. He needed to hear what I have heard for the last four years.  

She told us the cops were there.  I told her to stay in her car until they come and talk to her.  She is still hysterical.  I hear her talking to the cop.  She has her edge of ghetto girl in her voice and words.  I hate it.  The cop is trying to calm her.  It’s not helping.  There are two cops.  They go to talk to drippy.  She is screaming at drippy.  So much is being said and yelled it’s hard to hear everything.  At one point is sounded like drippy told the cops he didn’t want her there, and she quickly yelled back that she is on the lease and has every right to be there.  Good for her.  She was still yelling at drippy to stop touching her things and yelling at the cops to get him to stop.  I understood her side.  She wasn’t allowed to go into the apartment to keep things civil, but he could start removing her things.  

One cop stayed with her, one with.  I asked her if I could talk to the cop, he agreed.  I explained we were on our way and that I didn’t feel she would be safe if they left.  He asked when we would get there, at that point it was another 20 minutes.  I hear my girl yelling about one of drippy’s relatives now being there.  It was the uncle that lives on the third floor.  The yelling and screaming continue until we get there.  She was continually saying she wanted to die, she wanted to go to the hospital, she’snot going to make it, she can’t do it anymore.  Drippy was playing the victim card with the cops that were there, she felt completely defeated.  

We finally get there after what seemed like hours.  She was in the apartment getting things, there was a copy inside and one outside.  We talked to the cop outside, he was very nice and obviously saw through Drippy’s attempt to be the victim.  My girl had her car packed full, and there was more of her stuff in the yard.  We started loading up, the cop helped us.  While loading up Drippy’s mom showed up.  Just as cynical and condescending as her son.  She made sure the cop heard that she was at church and her son was just blowing up her phone and she had to leave church early.  I can only assume it is a church that allows illegal drug use, carrying weapons illegally and beating women.  We introduced ourselves, this is the first time we met or talked.  She went into the apartment to console her son.

Drippy tried numerous times to get me or my other half to engage with him.  We both refused and ignored him.  At one point my girl wanted me to come onto a porch area, which leads into the kitchen of the apartment.  There are a few steps up into the kitchen and a man door at the top of the steps.  I was standing on the top step, refused to go inside.  But I could hear her and would know if anything was happening.  Drippy walked by, noticed me and used his foot to slam the door on my face.  He made comments to my other half, all to antagonize him into a verbal or better yet a physical confrontation.  

We have basically everything in the cars.  The cat was the last thing.  My girl was maybe a 7 out of 10 in the hysterics.  My people are in the yard area, his people are in the porch area.  Cops are basically in the middle.  Conversations are being had about Drippy not being allowed at our home.  He wanted the same for my girl, but whoopsie! She’s on the lease fuckhead.  She can come anytime she wants.  I loved hearing the cop tell him that.  Drippy feels he is very smart in regards to civil and criminal laws.  Drippy didn’t like it.  So, he says to the cop that he would like to discuss a matter in private with him, because he wants my girl arrested for Domestic Violence because he has a scratch on his hand from her.  And BOOM.  She is set off.  So I said, if that’s the case then my girl will press charges for Domestic Violence as well.  That is when Drippy’s mom stepped in and told Drippy they will discuss it and if he feels strongly about it, he can contact the cop later.  But my girl is completely out of control at this point.  She is now screaming and yelling about $500 worth of dab shit that she just bought for him, and she wants it back, it’s in his car.  He refuses to go in his car – for obvious reasons.  She refuses to leave; I can’t do anything with her.  I can’t get through to her at all.  

At this point I have no choice but to manhandle her.  I basically have her in a bear hug, walking her out of the yard and to the car.  She broke free a few times, throwing things, yelling and screaming.  Drippy keeps asking about his phone.  She wipes the phone, restoring it to factory and I hand it to the cop to make sure it is returned to Drippy.  She still will not leave willingly.  Still screaming it’s not fair he gets to play the victim after all he has put her through.  I have her wrapped tight in my arms.  I tell my other half to open the passenger door and then start my car.  I get her into the seat, he has to get her the rest of the way in and shut the door.  I am in the driver seat and as soon as her door shuts, I put it in drive and fly out of the alley.  She is thrashing, pounding on the dash, the windows, throwing her body front and back.  I was terrified she was going to jump out of my car.  Oh, I should add that my other half drove her car.

I try extremely hard not to cry in front of her.  I couldn’t hold it back.  I was so done.  I reached my limit.  Nothing I said was right, so I just had to stop talking.  She eventually held my hand.  Slowly began to calm down.  I think her body was just done; her mind was done.  She was completely spent.  She has no more fight in her.  

I call her one brother on the way home.  He can relate well to her.  He tells her he will be at home when we get there and will stay as long as she needs him.  I also call a friend who is an officer and ask him to come to the house and talk to her about the domestic violence side of things.  He agrees to.

We get home.  No one really knows what to do or how to act.  We talk to her about going to the hospital to commit herself.  She just isn’t sure that’s what she wants.  Yes, we can commit her.  She will answer all the questions correctly and be released in about two hours.  And I take a chance of ruining her being safe with us at home.  

It’s eventually decided she will stay home.  She wants to be in her bed, in a safe place, with her cat.  I take Monday off to be home with her.  We talk quite a bit.  With her beside me I set her up for an outpatient day hospital program.  She agreed to this.  Five days a week, 7 hours a day.  She is scheduled for in-take on Monday, May 9th.  We have to help her make it 7 days.  

Throughout the day on Monday, I get her a new phone number.  I call the landlord for the lease; I have to leave a message.  I get no call back.  

Tuesday, I have to go to work, pulling out of the driveway is the hardest thing ever.  But she promises me she will not hurt herself.  Oh, shit.  I should mention that while my girl and drippy were fighting, before anyone got there, she was cutting herself with a scissors.  He actually told the officers that he “eventually” took it from her for her own safety.  E-V-E-N-T-U-A-L-L-Y.  

Anyway, I end up talking to the landlord, she is fine with releasing Hannah from the lease if Drippy agrees to sign a new lease in his name only.  She said she would talk to him.  My girl sends me a text, she forgot a motorcycle jacket and a picture of her cat that she took, edited and spent quite a bit of time on.  I get Drippy’s mom’s number from my girl and text her asking if I send a box with a prepaid label, would she send the items.  She said she would need to check with her son.  Before she responds about the items, she asks me if I am going to pay the rest of the lease or pay for the phone that he bought for her on installments.  WHAT? We had a back-and-forth text conversation for a bit.  Nothing was resolved.  

Called the landlord back on Tuesday. She answered.  Explained the situation.  She said she would talk to Drippy and see if he would be willing to sign a new lease in just his name.  This will shock you; he did not agree to this.  And he let the landlordknow if my girl didn’t pay her part, he would sue her civilly.  I fully believe that he would do this.  The last thing she needs is to be served with paperwork from him.  So, I am paying her half of the rent for the next three months.  Sent Drippy’s mom a text advising her, along with a picture of the letter and check I sent to the landlord.  Apparently, that isn’t enough for them.  Now Drippy also wants me to pay or the phone that HE bought, that is in HIS name and doesn’t have my girls name anywhere on the paperwork.  It just never ends.

I’m backtracking here a bit.  The evening of May 8th, my girl gets a call from the therapy group she is going into treatment with.  They are short staffed and cancelled her in-take for Monday, May 9th.  I did confirm this.  The next available in-take date being May 20th.  Awesome.  She got yet another call last week to cancel the May 20th appointment, again due to being short staffed. She actually stood up for herself and said no, she needs this, needs to get it started.  She had to settle for an in-take via zoom on May 18th.  My fingers are crossed this pans out and she follows through with it.  

I have no way of knowing if she is contacting him.  I check phone records and don’t see any of his numbers. But there are so many other ways.  I know that.  I ask her almost daily if she has talked to him, she says no.  There are days she wants to.  I can imagine after almost 5 years it would be difficult.  

I now have to figure out how to get my girl on disability.  I can’tkeep paying for everything.  Her car insurance is $280 a month, plus the rental payments, plus gas (which she needs to drive to her therapy and doctor appointments) and then there will be all the co-pays for the actual treatment and medication.  I have heard attempting to get disability take months, if not years.  I am still paying off her last commitment. And of all times, I decide to take a new job, and a 15k yearly pay cut.  

Anybody have any advice? I did contact a lawyer and got some basic information.  She has to apply, she will be rejected, she will have to appeal, will be rejected and then we have to get a lawyer.  We are now working on getting all her medical records to send along with the disability claim. This is not an easy task.

None of this is easy.

Okay

I’m confused.  I’m torn.  I’m trying.  I’m failing.

My girl moved out (again), yesterday.  She was home for 6 days.  She caused disruption, angst, turmoil, and a flood of emotions I can’t begin to describe.  I say she caused it.  That makes me feel guilty.  Did she cause it or did her disorder cause it?  Or is it both? How do I separate that?  How do I separate her from her disorder?  Can I separate it?  As much as I tell her that she can’t let her disorder define her; I feel like that is what I am doing.  

When I think of my girl, the first thing I think of, and feel is chaos.  I no longer think of my little pink princess.  I hate that.  

How do I know when I have done enough for her?  I don’t think I have.  Should I be making appointments for her to psychiatrists and therapists? Should I be picking her up, taking her to appointments, watching her walk inside, waiting in the parking lot until she is finished and then take her back to him?  Should I take her to another state?  Will distance help?  Should I stop working to care for her?  How far do I go?  How much is enough?

I feel myself breaking a bit more each day.  I get annoyed at things I wouldn’t have a year ago.  I don’t like it.  I drink too much, and I eat too much.  Why am I so weak?  Why can’t I get a grip and control both?  I need to feel in control of something.  With everything else that is happening around me, why do I sabotage myself by doing things that I know are not healthy for me?  Yes, the drinking makes me forget for a bit; makes me fake happy, makes it easier to pretend I’m okay.  The food is my comfort, as fucked up as that is.  

I’m not okay.  

I AM NOT OKAY, but my girl is worse.

And then there were none…

I never thought it would happen this way.  I never thought my girl would move out to be with drippy dick.  To be with the person who mentally, emotionally, and physically abuses her.  But she did.  It happened today.  She told us last night.  I haven’t let it soak in yet.  I took a sleeping pill last night, so my mind didn’t go berserk.  Wrong way to handle it, I know.  Ironic thing is, a few nights ago – I believe it was Sunday night into Monday – I had constant nightmares about my girl and drippy dick.  I was fighting to keep her; he was fighting to take her from me.   My nightmare came true.  And I hate it.  I HATE IT. I HATE IT. I FUCKING HATE IT.  How did this happen?  How is this the life she wants?  When she told us, I asked if she was sure.  I told her I am scared for her mental and physical wellbeing.  I told her she needs to do what is right for her. I told her I will always love her.   My door will always be open, my light will always be on.

Scattered

Scattered. My brain is scattered. My world is scattered. I’m trying to sit and get it all out. I can’t seem to find a place to start. There are so many places, so many things that keep rolling through my brain. The things that keep me awake at night. The things that scare the shit out of me.

I don’t know why I haven’t put anything on paper recently. Maybe because it makes it all too real for me. If I write it, it’sreal. If I don’t, I can pretend. Pretend everything is “normal.” What the hell is normal anyway. Normal, a preconceived idea of what life is supposed to be like, what you want life to be like. If only it were that simple. 

I apologize in advance it there are errors in the following. It is hard enough to write, its even harder to try to go back and proof and re-read.

My girl child. It happened again. February 6-7, 2022. He beat her again. She went to see him on February 6th, messaged me to tell me she was staying over that evening. I was at work (a new job that I have been at for only about a month). My cell phone rings and it’s my girl. I couldn’t answer immediately because I was talking to someone. She called back, I answered. She was crying and close to hysterical. She said they had a fight. I asked if he touched her. She said not as bad as last time. I asked where she was and she said she was in his car, driving to where her car was parked. I asked where he was, and she said she had no idea. They fought and she left. I pleaded with her to be safe, get to her car and lock the keys to his car in the car. I called my husband, told him what was happening and asked him to go to the parking lot where her car was parked and watch for her. He did. She never showed up. I tried contacting her with no luck. She called again, screaming, yelling, hysterical begging me to help her, begging me to save her, she was throwing up and dry heaving while she was talking to me. I got from her she went back to his house, they fought again, she ran outside and was at a convenience store and scared that he would find her. I have her on the cell phone and call 911 from my work phone. I give all the information I have to the dispatcher; he sends police. Her phone goes dead. She calls back from the convenience store phone. Still crying and begging me to help. The dispatcher tells me the officers are on scene. I hear them talking to her. She is beyond rational thought. I can hear the officers now yelling at drippy dick who found where she was. They were telling him to get away from her and stop talking and to listen to them. Drippy yelled at her for calling the cops. She blamed me. The phone went dead. I hear nothing for hours. I finally get a call from her saying she needed to figure some things out and she would be in touch with me, but she didn’t know when she would be home. Deep breaths. Trying to stay in “control,” trying not to freak the fuck out, trying not to let my new employer know what’shappening.  

She calls again on my cell. Upset, but not hysterical. She tells me that drippy dick was driving her back to her car, and he got stopped by police for expired inspection. The car smelled strongly of weed (shocking), and drippy was put through Field Sobriety Tests and then taken for a blood test. She now had to drive his car to the police station and wait for him to be releasedbefore she could come home. I offered to get her an Uber, she refused. 

I go home at the end of the workday. I message my girl a few times and finally hear back that drippy dick is driving her to her car. This would be about a 30-minute drive from where drippy lives to where her car is parked. She messages and says she would like to talk when she gets home. We wait and wait. We go to our bedroom because it’s getting later, and she isn’t home.  Again, my cell phone rings and it’s her. Again, screaming and crying for me to help her. She fears him. She got to her car, they continued to talk, and she drove away. He was now following her, and she did not know what to do. I told her to keep driving home, told her to drive to a police department. Again, she really isn’t hearing me. She stops her car at a gas station and tells me where she is. The phone again goes dead. I call 911, again. I tell the dispatcher the details of what has happened throughout the day and ask him to send officers to help her. My husband also leaves to go to the area where she is. Officers call me back. They can’t find her. I tell them the events of the day and what happened. I call my husband and relay to him that the officers can’t find her. He is in the area and sees the officers, so he stops to talk to them. I get a call from a strange number and answer. It’s her calling from one of drippy’s phones.  Her phone is turned off so we can’t track her. She will not tell me where she is but tells me she is safe and okay, and they are talking. But he is sitting in his car, and she is locked in her car and they are talking via phone.  We have an idea where she parks her car and my husband, and six officers are in that area searching and find nothing. She calls me numerous times from drippy’s phone, and the calls just keep dropping. I have no idea what is happening. Eventually, the officers must respond to other calls and my husband comes home. She eventually gets home sometime after midnight on February 8th. 

I don’t see her until the evening of February 8th because I had to work. 

Sorry, back up a minute. As the things were happening the previous day, I was advising my sons, so they knew what was happening. 

My girl messaged me at some point during the day on the 8th and said she would like to talk when I get home from work. I told her yes, we would definitely be talking. I asked my sons to be there as well. That way everyone hears what I have to say in case she isn’t thinking clearly, and she decides to go to one of them for help. She initially wasn’t happy that everyone was. I told her she needs to be honest and no lies about what happened. 

Drippy dick decided it would be a great idea to get them Xany-bars for Sunday evening (the 6th). She said she had never tried them before. They ate them. Apparently, they ate a lot.  She has little memory from Sunday evening at around 11PM to Monday evening around 6PM or 7PM. She knows they fought almost none stop. She showed us a few bruises on her legs. She was still very……. on edge. She said she could still feel whatever was in the bars was still in her. We asked that she tell us what she does remember. She knew they fought both inside his house and outside his house. She told him she was done and wanted to leave and was getting some of her things out of the back of his car. He was in the driver seat and when she reached in the back seat he started to drive away and drug her with the car, hence the road rash all over her ankle/leg. She remembered him punching her in the back of her head when she was trying to walk away from him. She said she knows at one point she was fighting for her life and had his skin under her nails when she came home. We all talked for about an hour. I could tell she was reaching her limit. She just repeated over and over that she wanted to sleep forever, she was tired of this, tired of making mistakes. She wants to be dead. We encouraged her the best we could. Knowing if we push too hard, she would flee. 

She has been at home since this happened. I know she has been in contact with drippy, but she has not seen him. Will this be her rock bottom? Will she want help this time? Will anything change? I am trying to get her to talk to a Domestic Violence hotline. I am trying to talk to her about maybe trying a wilderness program where she has no contact with anyone. Will any of it help? I don’t know. 

Watching her is hard. Hearing her words is harder. Not knowing how to help is beyond words. Seeing her beat up body is debilitating to me. She took a video of her body. The bruises are unbelievable. Her neck, throat, shoulders, arms, legs, feet, and head all have bruises. But I am sure that her brain is the most damaged. That damage doesn’t fade like a bruise. That damage is deep and permanent.

My walls

Each day my walls grow stronger, taller, impenetrable; my walls are my power

Reinforced by the hurt, the sadness, the loneliness, the fear

My walls keep me safe; they keep my heart safe

Safe from feeling too much, safe from giving too much, safe from caring too much

My walls make me a cold-hearted bitch

Walls help me pretend, help me keep going, help me disappear

Behind my walls I can show you want I want you to see; not what is really me

I dare you to get inside my walls

Self – part II

I will make this disclaimer on any and all posts titled Self. I do not know many of my followers personally, but I do know some. And all of the followers I know are from different realms of my life. If you feel you may be uncomfortable reading personal stuff – STOP HERE. If not – let’s go.

I feel like talking about personal relationships, like very personal relationships. There might be sex talk. Correct that, there will be sex talk. So be warned.

I am currently 50. My significant other is 51. We have been together since 1987. That’s a loooooooooooong time. We have been married 29 years. As with everything in life, relationships change with time. And I think that’s supposed to happen and it should happen.

We basically grew up together. We learned from each other, we hurt each other, we grew apart, we grew stronger, we learned what buttons to push and when to stop pushing those buttons! We had loved ones pass and shared the miracle of child birth. We have shared life’s triumphs and life’s failures. And we continue to love each other.

It’s a love that changes and grows with us. One day it’s the rush I feel when he walks out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. One day it’s the feeling of wanting to throat punch him because I’m tripping over him while I’m trying to make dinner! And it’s all those feelings in-between.

So, I will admit that it has been way too long since we have….you know. I don’t know about you, but there are so many words and ways to describe “it”. In my humble opinion, being intimate doesn’t always have to be about sex. There are so many different facets to both intimacy and sex.

The intimate side of the relationship is a feeling for me. It can be his hand on the small of my back. It can be a look that makes me feel desired. It can be a kiss that makes me warm in all the right places. It can be his arm draped over my hip when we are laying in bed.

Now, the sex part – there are just so many directions I could take on this topic. I think that in any adult relationship there various types of……….you know. We can have sex. To me, that is when we are both into it, let’s go, and we go from point a to point z. We might skip some points, but we are both getting what we need. We can fuck. That would be the wham, bam, thank you ma’ma. That might be one of of us just needs that release – NOW, and the other is more than happy to oblige! It’s really a win/win for both participants, again, in my opinion. Who doesn’t want to have their lover look at them with that wild desire?! And last but not least, we can make love. That slow, touching, feeling, tasting, licking, love making. We pick the pace, we pick the way, we are one. It’s like I can’t get close enough to him. I need to find a way to crawl inside of him to get just a little closer. It’s languishing in the afterglow. It’s complete togetherness.

Let’s not forget about self-love. Why this is a taboo topic for so many people I don’t understand. Who knows you better than you? Who doesn’t occasionally need the release without all the extras? It is okay to say the word – masturbation. It’s not a bad word! Now, I will say that solo play should not take the place of or have a negative impact on your relationship togetherness. I mean, if you are having alone time multiple times a day and there is nothing left for your partner – that’s not cool. And don’t pretend it doesn’t happen! What is hotter than (again, in my opinion) hearing from someone that they were thinking about you and just couldn’t help but touch themselves?!

And yes, I know there is much more to a happy, healthy sexual relationship. I think I could honestly write page, after page, after page on the topic. It’s something I enjoy doing, as much as talking about it and writing about it. I have written many stories for my significant other. And I will tell you, they are damn good. However, here is where I ALWAYS fuck up my mind regarding sexy time. Try not to get lost in my mind on this one! I wish you all the best.

Let’s take last night, for example. I have been feeling particularly amorous recently. As I stated before, we have had a bit of a dry spell. It’s no one’s fault, there is no blame – it’s just life. Anyway, in my mind I create this scenario of what/how I would like to seduce him. Who doesn’t want it to be like a movie scene, what could go wrong (LOL)?! Last night was just one of those nights where I felt like I needed a shower before bed. I know TMI! But, it gave me a great scenario in my mind. So I shower, smell nice and I am squeaky clean. I didn’t dry my hair, I let it wet, and sexy in my mind. I put on a men’s v-neck white undershirt and nothing else. That would certainly get him! In my mind it played out like a soft porn. In reality I looked like a wet manatee in a white undershirt. And nothing happened. Which is okay.

I keep overthinking this and trying to delve into why things aren’t happening. This is where my self-doubt enters. It has to be me. I’m not appealing to him anymore. I am too fat for him to want me. I am too ugly for him to want me. My super short haircut makes me look like a she-man. (This is no joke – prior to my shoulder surgery I had my hair cut very short, like basically buzzed short. I needed it to be something easy. I have always had short hair, but not this short. Negative comments from people made me so self-conscious that I paid to have eyelash extensions put on the week after my surgery so I would look more feminine. The joke is, I had more positive comments than negative) And then my favorite go to thought is that he found someone else.

Am I seriously the only person who undermines their own sex life?