No one gets married to become a statistic, I certainly didn't... When I met my husband I thought I had found the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with, I was done, so all the guys and the clubs and drama, I didn't care about any of it. I cared about him, I cared about building our future and I cared about our hopes and dreams...
He said 'no amount of time with you would be long enough, so let's start with forever...forever is only the beginning'. They were dangerous words...for me (and for Bella!)
Its been a few years since I became a statistic and I think at the time I buried the truth, I lied to myself and friends and family and I hid from it...I never wanted to believe that all those good intentions, all those hopes and dreams had vanished. I never wanted to believe that the man who had promised to be there forever...had vanished!
The signs were there from the beginning, but to a young girl blind with love (or the excitement of a different life) they were easy to ignore...
This is not a story about forgiveness or how i moved on. There was never a day where I let myself think about the reality, the hopelessness or the pain. But now as i begin to bandage up my heart..this is what I remember...
It was 10 p.m and he still wasn’t home. Dinner was cold, I was trying to distract myself, but every time I heard a noise in the hall or the flicker of light through the window, for some reason i got a glimmer of hope that maybe tonight would be different, he'd show up because he loved me...It was our date night. He was due home at 6. Now his phone went straight to voicemail and as I sat in the dark with only the flicker of the silent tv on my face, eyes glued on the driveway...I felt forgotten and alone.
We’d only been married a few years and already our lives were spiraling out of control. Whilst we were still having passionate sex and cuddling up to watch our favourite TV shows, we were also fighting each other alot. Most of the time out of frustration that neither of us had any control over the life we were sharing or the fact that we never seemed to have any money. There never ever seemed to be a middle for us. The more distant and hard he became, the more determined I was to be a better wife and to save our marriage. The funny thing is, I honestly believed I could.
I couldn’t figure out where the misstep was. How had we gone from madly in love to just mad.
I laid down on the couch that night crying and then jumping up every few minutes to wash my face, so as to still look desirable for when he walked through the door, the ads on the TV flicked over and as show after show ended the tears kept coming, until my exhausted eyes finally closed.
The door creaked open at 3:30 a.m. My eyes were nearly swollen shut from the nights tears of loneliness. He leant over and sloppily kiss me. He stunk of cigarettes and alcohol. And as I opened my eyes wider, I saw it. He had the look. The look that speaks of hard liquor more than the smell and the stumbling. No amount of charm or smiles or kisses could wipe away the evidence that he was drunk off his ass. Again.
All the tears I had shed in those last few hours boiled to the surface, spewing out me in rage and hate.
“get off me, You are drunk. where were you?"
“I just had a few beers with the boys"
“Right, a few beers. You’re a drunk and a liar. You forgot about me, I've been waiting for you, you promised me you'd be here tonight. You forgot me?"
“Get off my back, who do you think you are! I didnt come home to this. I’m gonna do what I want, when I want and with whoever I want.”
“And me? What about me or us, what am I supposed to do, just wait around for when you've got time for me”
He swayed, grabbed the keys from the table where I'd left them after work and started stumbling toward the door.
“I don’t have to take this shit. I'm done with you, I don't deserve this. This is why we'll never work, your always trying to control me..."
He was planning on driving? Was he crazy? I didnt even know how he'd made it home. He would kill himself. Or worse, someone else. I reached for his arm, tried to stop him from leaving.
He shook me off.
I forced myself between him and the door.
“You can’t drive like this. You are drunk. Give me the keys.”
“Get away from me bitch”
He tried to force me from the door. He was drunk, but still stronger. I started losing ground. He slammed me into the wall, the sheer force of his hands felt like my ribs were cracking one by one. His hands pinned me to the wall, his face centimeters away, yelling at me, profanities and names too disrespectful to repeat.
I’ve never had an out of body experience, but this was close. Some part of my mind broke away, its like i was an angel hovering above the situation and I saw myself become this victim. Helpless. Abused. I fought him. Pushed him. Tried to get away. I couldn’t move.
Before I could complete the thought I felt my body slide down the wall, Then the pain eased. Almost as quick as he had turned on me, it was over. the door slammed shut and tires screeched. He was gone.
That first time it happened, I don’t know how long I stayed on the floor trying to catch my breathe. Trying to replay what happened, trying to find reason, trying to comprehend, and then shamefully trying to find justification for his actions.
He was gone for three days. I waited. Worried. Thought. Agonized. Apologized.
I did everything but leave.
I didn't know then what I know now, but this was the first of many nights...Nights interspersed with passion, love, comfort, hate, apologies and sadly...depression.
Excerpt from Melissa Rhodes upcoming memoir 'What I Know Now'
