Everyone is aware of the old wives’ tale that breaking a mirror will bring you seven years of bad luck. While I don’t remember breaking anything, I definitely suffered every bit of seven years, and then some, of bad luck, misery and unhappiness. A lot of people have said “just let it go” and “just get over it.” That’s easier said than done when you consider I was basically robbed, held hostage and mentally and emotionally abused for seven years. And things only got worse once I got out of that mess. It’s a story that deserves to be told.
So, for the first time in it’s entirety, I’m going to talk about the last seven years of my life and everything that happened to me during that time. Everything in this post is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help me God.
I had to do this. I had wanted to do it long ago, but legally I couldn’t until after July 8. Since then, I have been piecing it together, brainstorming, digging deep within my memory for every detail I could come up with and basically “interviewing” friends that knew about the happenings to help jog my memory. I wanted everything to be exact.
In order to put the last seven years into any kind of perspective, I need to first wind the clock back to 2009 in order to set the stage. In November of that year I got out of an unhappy relationship with a woman who was nine years older than me and that I had not gotten along with at all. I was ready to live my life differently and I became very anti-relationship. Now, don’t misunderstand, I was all about dating and hanging out and sleeping around, I just had no desire whatsoever to get into another relationship after that one. I liked the concept of going out to dinner and going to a movie, then going back to my place for some adult time, and then escorting her to the door and going to sleep or whatever I did at that point.
I made a point of making sure every woman I went out with understood this was how things were. There would be no relationship. Most girls understood this and the few that didn’t learned fast that I was as good as my word. And other than one six-week exception, this was my life from November 2009 to November 2010, but I need to delve into that six-week exception in order to explain how my seven years of misery came to be.
In June 2010 I began seeing a woman exclusively that I had known for about four years. She lived about an hour away. I knew this was going to be problematic. But I also knew there wasn’t going to be a lot of time invested in the relationship either.
I basically went into it knowing it was not going to last.
Six weeks later, I gave her an ultimatum: We can break up amicably or we can be in an open relationship. I told her, point blank, that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life sleeping with one woman. It made no sense to continue turning down women I was attracted to that were willing to have a one-night stand to be in a lackluster relationship.
So, we split up but remained on speaking terms and I went back to my carousing ways. It continued for another three glorious months. Then, the girl I had spent six weeks in a relationship with told me that I would be happier if I settled on one woman.
She meant herself, of course, but I decided to test the waters elsewhere. I’m not sure what I was thinking in terms of being “happier,” because I don’t know how I could have been any happier with the way things were going. I had four girls on the schedule for November and each one was hot, single and willing. If that isn’t happiness, what is?
As November unfolded, I continued to think about what that girl had said. Maybe I would be happier if I actually applied myself in a real relationship.
And right about this time, I made a mistake of ultimate dimension that changed my life forever. I met a girl who lived about 15 minutes away from me and talked to her on Facebook Messenger. Then I invited her over to my house. I even canceled on a former coworker I was incredibly hot for in order to bring this local girl in and see what happened.
Location was extremely important to me as I began to put together what it would take to keep me interested in a relationship. No one I had met or went out with or slept with lived closer than this girl. I had dated some as far away as 90 minutes. Some as close as 20 minutes. But this one was the closest. And while she wasn’t beautiful, she was perfectly acceptable. At least, she seemed to be acceptable on the surface because I knew nothing about her.
And somewhere, at that point, this mythical mirror broke. The devil had entered the lexicon of my life and everything was about to start going downhill. Fast. We’ll call her “A” going forward, the idea of using her name would only give her publicity she doesn’t deserve. Those who know me personally know exactly who she is. Those who don’t, well, does it matter?
In September of 2010 I had suffered a pretty serious broken ankle. I was in a walking boot and walking without crutches by the time November rolled around but I couldn’t take stairs very well and really wasn’t supposed to be doing a lot of walking. “A” lived in a trailer park and there were at least 11 steps to climb on her front porch to get to the door. Therefore, most of our early time together was spent at my house. This meant she had to get a babysitter, as she had two kids, so our time together was further limited because of that fact.
Most of the girls I met I couldn’t wait to get into bed. Oddly enough, “A” and I did not have sex until our THIRD visit. I was trying, but I couldn’t get invested.
I found out why soon enough. Within the first five visits, in fact.
On her fourth visit, she arrived and was talking on her phone when I answered the door. And she proceeded to STAY on the phone for between 30 and 45 minutes. We had plans to go to Walmart and due to the fact that she couldn’t get off the phone, I was ready to just tell her to leave and I would go to the store myself, which I was used to doing. She immediately hung up and informed me that she was talking to her son’s father. I learned that she had a son and daughter, neither had the same father and both of the guys involved were ne’er-do-well’s.
I had a tinge of “you’re making a big mistake” but I let it pass. We walked out to get in her car to go to Walmart. Her car was a car only in the strictest sense of the word. It was a rusted heap, full of garbage, and when it was started, would make an almost “howling” sound that required her to hit it somewhere in the engine block with a hammer to make the noise stop. Lovely. She shoved some of the garbage off the passenger seat so I could find a place to sit and we started out of my driveway. I was on the cusp of a legitimate panic attack.
As we were about four miles down the road, she lit a cigarette. It’s November. The windows are up and the heater is on. Or what passed for a heater. She takes a drag and then proceeds to literally BLOW THE SMOKE right into my face. Now, I don’t think she did this on purpose, I think it was just a reflex reaction. I had no desire to deal with smokers in the first place. But the fact of the matter was, I wanted to say “can you just pull over, please?” Then I could have gotten out and walked home and my life would be a lot better today than it turned out.
But I didn’t. I let it slide. By the time we got to Walmart and she went to check how much she had on her EBT card, I was at the point that I was almost catatonic.
And it must have been obvious, because she asked me what was wrong numerous times. I replied with “nothing” because I had to be able to get home after this.
But did I blow her off when we got back? No. I continued to see her. For reasons I can’t explain. Love? Not even close. In fact, it took me months to utter that word. I don’t know if I was trying to prove something to myself or something to the woman who had challenged me on relationships. But I stuck it out. I could have done better 50 times over, but I just continued to beat my head against the wall and figured eventually it would get better.
Instead, it got WORSE and I still refused to walk away.
In December, we had plans to play NASCAR 07 on the PlayStation 2 because she as a NASCAR fan (she said) and I thought that would be something fun we could do together. She said she had to attend a birthday party before she could come over but she would slip out and come over. I had expected her around 8:00 PM. She didn’t show. Then 9:00 came. Then 10:00. Then 11:00. It wasn’t until midnight that a girl I knew through Facebook messaged me and said “A” was at the bar and was so drunk they had taken her keys away from her. The rage that shot through my mind at this point was palpable. I was done. But I wasn’t.
She had the gall to have some guy CALL ME and tell me that she was sleeping it off in his car, and to tell me that SHE LOVED ME. I was doing a full burn at that point. At the time I had not heard anything about her penchant for cheating so I had no reason to question what I was being told, and it was bad enough that I had to focus on the “facts.”
The next day I told my mom what had happened and like any sensible person, my mom said “well, scratch her off the list. You can do a lot better than that.” I told my best friend who strongly suggested I move on. “A” called later that day, pretending to be upset. I didn’t realize it at the time but subsequent reexamination made me realize she wasn’t upset; she was hungover. If the tears were real, they were probably from a massive headache.
I didn’t walk away. I STAYED. I stayed with a woman I wasn’t overly attracted to, who lived in a run down trailer in a trailer park with two kids with two different guys who didn’t have a job and wasn’t getting child support. And that trash heap of a car? It wasn’t hers. It belonged to her grandparents. And her mom owned the trailer. Wow.
Spring of 2011 the cheating started. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was able to pin it down because every time she cheated she would hit me with coldness for a few days and tell me she “didn’t know what (she) wanted” as far as a relationship. Then, she would let it pass and things went back to normal. This happened at least 30 times.
I can’t say this enough, I was not in love with this woman, I was not overly attracted to her, the sex was alright but I had better. I had been with girls who could have been porn stars. If they ever give medals for oral sex, I know a couple of girls who would win the gold with no question. “A” wouldn’t place. There was just nothing special about her.
Around this same time, I found out her mom was a ex-con who had served 19 months in Federal lockup for embezzlement. Somehow, she managed to get another job (who the hell would hire someone like that?) and, you guessed it, embezzled again. She was caught but not arrested, as she agreed to a restitution plan that involved weekly payments to her ex-employer. And then she got ANOTHER job. Whoever said the job market was weak apparently never tried to get a job with a felony conviction for embezzlement in their past. Quite the family I was involved with, but even then, I still didn’t have the common sense to WALK OUT.
I suffered though 2011, realizing all I was passing up to be in a relationship like this. I felt trapped even though there was NOTHING to stop me from leaving.
Next thing I knew, we had been together for a YEAR. In February 2012, I planned a weekend getaway for us at a four-star hotel with all the extras; breakfasts and dinners at a fancy restaurant, couples massages, the works. It was lost on me that I was basically handing the world to someone who didn’t deserve 1/10 of it, but I was doing it without thinking.
Every few hours “A’s” aunt would call to see if I had PROPOSED yet. I had no intention of proposing. Jesus H. Christ. Was it not enough that I was dating this woman? Now MARRIAGE is on the mind of people involved? Before the weekend was over I was cornered into asking her if she wanted to get married. After I asked and she said yes, I went in the bathroom, got in the shower, sat down and had a full-blown panic attack. I wanted to die.
The wedding was planned for August 2012. I could hear Jonathan Harker (Dracula) in the back of my mind, “I know now the span of my life.” Yes, I was ready to die to avoid this wedding. A wedding I had basically paid for myself, as her mother was supposed to take care of some of the details but when her debit card was declined, guess who got the bill? “A” gave me the invitations to mail. I couldn’t do it. I figured I’d just stuff them under my bed and tell her the post office lost them. I figured I would die before the day came anyway, so it wouldn’t matter. I was legitimately ready to die rather than marry this idiot.
Two weeks before the ceremony, we went to meet with the minister. To quote one of my favorite episodes of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” I sat there with a dead spine, holding up a dead head, and waited for the crack of doom. As of that moment in time I had never been more ready to see my life come to an end. And then, a week later, things changed.
I got a call from the minister. He was quite upset, and told me that he was extremely sorry, but he had accidentally double-booked the church for our “day.” I told him I understood, these things happen, while my whole body broke out in goosebumps and I realized I had gotten a reprieve. I was saved. I hung up with him and burst into tears. I have never, still to this day, ever cried tears of complete, absolute joy. I told my best friend what had happened and we both agreed that I would NEVER marry this woman and this had sealed things.
We stayed together another three months but things were different. I found out later that she started having sex for money (also known as “prostitution”) during this time period. I didn’t care, I just needed to be away from her. Why we were still considered a “couple” is beyond me, but she informed me when she left me that, during the entire month of November 2012, I saw her a total of three (3) times. And I would believe that was totally accurate.
It was around this time she began putting me on the short leash and not allowing me to remain friends with a number of people I had been friends with long before she and I met, including my closest friend and confidant. I didn’t understand at the time why she was doing this to me, but I have subsequently figured out that she was worried that someone was going to finally get through to me that I could do SO much better, and that I would act on it.
She left me in December 2012. I never felt so relieved. I went to her house and packed up my stuff and told her that she did the right thing and I understood and I figured that was the end of it. I think she expected me to fight it because she called me the next night to further drive home why she had done it. I understood, I told her. She did the right thing. I had gotten out of this whole thing relatively unscathed. I could take a couple of months off to get my head straight and either try to meet a girl I actually, you know, LIKED, or I could try to go back to my old ways and socially date. But things were not going to be that simple, I found.
She started seeing some guy she met at a gas station (quite appropriate) and moved him in within hours of me getting my stuff out of there. At this point, she had left the trailer park and moved into her grandmother’s house, which can only be described as a “shack.” I didn’t care. Not about the new boyfriend or the cheating or the lying or any of it. All that mattered to me was that I was free and I could put all of that nonsense behind me.
But we continued to be in contact at various times. She would text. I would find out information I would have been better off not knowing and I would text to verify if it was true. I learned so much I ended up having to have a test for sexually transmitted diseases because this woman was basically a prostitute. She is the textbook definition of “hood rat.”
I began talking to a number of girls at that point. Nice, employed, middle-class girls. The kind of girls I SHOULD have been dealing with. Including one I had went out with in 2010 and was still very much interested in. We all live in a small, rural area and no one can have any secrets, and when “A” got wind of the fact that I was considering going out with this girl again, the whole situation changed. She began trying to reconcile. And not only was I stupid enough to consider it, but I ACCEPTED IT! She waited until a week or maybe 10 days after we agreed to reconcile to break up with her boyfriend. I think, deep down, she wanted us to fight over her. I would have said to him what I have always said to guys who want to fight over women, “I’ll just lay down and you can beat the hell out of me because no woman is worth fighting over.”
I had spent two years of unhappiness with this skank and now I’m walking right back into it again!? How could anyone be so stupid? Knowing everything I did. But on January 23, 2013, we reconciled and became “Facebook official” again. On February 1, I asked her to MARRY ME. I don’t really have any recollection of this, and I’m not just saying that, I think it’s a PTSD thing, I think my mind has blocked it out. I do remember when we found out we were pregnant because I was so excited. I wanted a son and didn’t want to wait until I was 50. But I sincerely have no memory whatsoever of asking that cretin to marry me. I vaguely remember buying her ring, only because it was over $2,000 and instantly maxed out one of my credit cards. Putting a $2,000 ring on the finger of that creature was like putting it on the rotten hand of a corpse.
But it didn’t take long for the old feelings to settle in. My first thought was “how can I be sure the baby is mine?” She would sleep with ANYONE or ANYTHING.
By April, I could feel it in my bones, I had made a HUGE mistake. Not only did I not love “A” but I had a pretty strong dislike for her. Because of the pregnancy I was now supporting her and both of her kids as well as my own self. I was literally paying the bills for four people. I couldn’t IMAGINE living with those people on a full-time basis. My mind was constantly trying to find a way out without coming off looking like the guy who left his pregnant girlfriend.
A friend of mine told me that I should just end the relationship, pregnant or not. Put all of my focus into being the best dad I could and forget “A.” It was advice I wish I had taken, along with a thousand other “why don’t you leave her” suggestions.
Our son was born in October 2013. I was not at the hospital, as I was down with a severe case of pneumonia, I was running a near 103 degree fever, and was told I would not be able to be near my son until the fever broke. So he was nearly five days old before I saw him. But I took an instant love to him, as any normal parent would. But I knew what had to be done, and within a month I got an at-home DNA test and we swabbed the inside of his mouth and mine and shipped them off to Arizona so I could verify that he was, in fact, my son. The fact that I had to do this at all made me sick to my stomach, but that’s the price I had to pay.
The results came in the mail a couple of weeks later. “A” got it while I was at work. She opened it and then later sent me a screen shot and gave me the paperwork that night. I didn’t think much about it at the time but now I wonder if even THAT was legitimate. The paperwork I have certainly looks real, but then, I’m no expert, obviously.
The years 2014 through 2017 are kind of a blur. I had 100% pure happiness in my son. I didn’t like “A.” I hated her daughter. So let me get into that now.
She has a son who is 17 and, as of November 2017, lived the life of the typical eight year old. He went to school and came home and locked himself in his room and that was his life. No girlfriends. No friends. No hanging outside playing ball or any of the “normal” things kids of that age do. At the age of 17 I had taken the virginity of three girls and was in the midst of a two and a half year relationship. This kid had never had a girlfriend at 16. His mommy cleaned his room for him because he wasn’t capable of getting his clothes to the hamper or his dirty dishes to the sink. And no, he wasn’t mentally retarded or physically disabled. He was LAZY. Part of that was not his fault. His dad is a worthless loser and so is his mother, so he never had a chance.
She also has a daughter who is nine. And it took about two visits in 2011 to realize how much I didn’t like that kid. And I didn’t hide it. That kid was a BRAT. Many times I said she was the worst kid I had ever seen. A perfect example of what that kid is took place in Walmart in 2013. We had went in for groceries and the kid had a meltdown because she didn’t get a toy or DVD. Not that she had any specific toy or DVD in mind that she wanted, she just felt that she was deserving of something. It got to the point that she was rolling around on the ground screaming as “A” dragged her by the arm. I sat the cart aside and said “let’s get out of here.” I was humiliated as people stared at us and no doubt thought that idiot was MY kid since she was as young as she was at that point. No. Absolutely NOT my fucking kid. I was mortified at the idea of someone thinking “that guy’s kid is the worst brat I have ever seen.” I remember “A” posting pics on Facebook of that kid and tagging me in them and people actually thinking that was MY kid. A major argument was had when I untagged the photos because I wanted NO part of that.
Let me also make a strong point of the fact that, when I say I was not at all attracted to “A,” this is not after-the-fact sour grapes, I think she would admit that she knew I was totally NOT attracted to her. I can’t tell you the number of times I was reprimanded because I didn’t tell her how “beautiful” she looked. OK, I’m sorry, but I am who I am. If I think a girl is beautiful, I will tell her. If I don’t, I can’t force myself to. If I am not attracted to someone, that’s not going to change. I have learned, however, that I can go from being attracted or interested in a girl to completely losing it in a matter of less than 24 hours. I mean that feeling of attraction is DEAD and it’s never coming back. That was not an issue with “A.” I never found her attractive enough to make any kind of mention over. She was adequate. Acceptable.
To my knowledge, and based on what I have been able to discover, I don’t think “A” cheated on me at any point between the time our son was born and the summer of 2017. And considering everything I HAVE discovered, I will admit that I am surprised at this. Of course, that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, it just means that no one has told me anything.
It was during 2015 that, again, I had to start eliminating friends again. And I’m sure it was for the same reason, someone might get through to me and wisen me up. For some reason, when I’m in a bad relationship, I feel trapped, like I can’t just say “fuck you, I’m done” and leave. I feel like if I do that I am somehow branded the “bad guy” and that I’m going to end up suffering for it somehow, never taking into account the fact that I’m suffering anyway.
My son and I became inseparable. I love him with all that I am. We took pics together constantly that I couldn’t wait to share with my friends on Facebook. There’s nothing like being a dad. Of course, this was not lost on that bastard kid of “A’s,” who didn’t have a dad.
You see, she was the result of a one-night stand her mother had with some unknown guy she met at a bar. Pure class, all the way. I didn’t find out the whole story until just this year. I was told during the time that we were together that “A” just wasn’t in love with the guy and things just weren’t going to work. Not that it was just a drunken hook-up. I don’t know if “A” doesn’t realize she is known as being a hood rat or if she just thinks she can rise above it. The fact is, she can’t. Her reputation precedes her in this county.
By 2017 my time was split 90% with my son and 10% with “A.” The upshot of this was that she started seeing her step-brother on the side. And yes, I mean legitimate step-brother, as in his dad is married to “A’s” mom. What’s amusing is that when he got divorced, “A” and I discussed the details that her mother had told her and I said “he is a weird looking guy,” to which “A” agreed and said that, “in spite of how ugly he is,” he was a really nice guy.
I was at a point in the summer of 2017 that I could see nothing but flaws in “A.” I was truly repulsed by her. Like the sight of her nauseated me. I think this was my brain fighting back against the relationship or a sixth sense that she was cheating again. And my body was turning on me. I couldn’t sleep. I was stress eating. I had ulcers. My immune system was weak and I was sick constantly. My hair was falling out. And I started getting migraine headaches. I honestly felt like my time on earth was drawing to a close because my body was going to give out and there was nothing I could do to fix it. I just needed away from that bitch. Permanently.
But even if she was cheating, I didn’t care. It was all about me and my son. Watching cartoons, playing video games, ordering out pizza, playing outside while I smoked a cigar, going to Walmart, going out to eat, just enjoying ourselves. I was happier than I had been in years from that perspective, I was doing things with someone I loved more than anything.
But on December 5, 2017, everything in my life changed. I was blindsided and nearly ruined. I can’t imagine that I will ever experience a situation this bad again.
On December 4, “A” stopped talking to me. As in, she wouldn’t answer my texts or phone calls. I knew she wasn’t dead because she showed up on Facebook periodically. I had no idea why she wouldn’t respond to me. But on the afternoon of December 5, I found out.
I got a call from the County Sheriff’s office. “A” had filed a protective order against me. I was taken aback. I had never laid a hand on her. For that matter, we had never raised our voices to each other. I had no idea where this was coming from. So I drove to the Sheriff’s office and was served. She was accusing me of EXPOSING MYSELF to her bastard daughter.
I was FLOORED. Not only had I never exposed myself to that kid, I avoided dealing with that kid as much as I possibly could. The protective order said I had taken her into her bedroom on December 1, while “A” was picking up food at McDonald’s, and exposed myself. The red flags immediately popped up. First of all, I had a number of text messages between “A” and myself that proved that there was NO WAY we could have been in the kid’s bedroom, “A” was giving it a complete cleaning and said it was such a mess, the floor was covered in toys, and it would take days to complete. More to the point, I was ill that day, I had a pretty severe sinus and ear infection and went home early that night to medicate and lay on the heating pad. Naturally, my doctor could have testified to this had it come to that.
Even better, I had posted some Chicago White Sox stories on Facebook, and these were date and time stamped.
In addition, “A’s” son and my son were both there, I saw both of them while she was gone, the older son had made a few trips to the kitchen and, when he was questioned by authorities, said he had never seen me in any situation with the kid, let alone exposing myself.
The day after the supposed exposure, the little bastard was seen by a number of people at a family karaoke night and she was just acting like herself. It started to sink in that I was being set up, but I didn’t know the reason or why anyone would go this far to destroy me.
I went to the CPS office later that week and talked to the guy handling the “case.” My first thought upon meeting him was “closet homosexual.” He had that vibe. He questioned me about everything under the sun except the actual act of exposure, until I was ready to walk out the door. He informed me that he “thought” I was going to MASTURBATE in front of the kid. I wondered what kind of a sick fuck would even think something like that, but I was looking right at him. He had the look of a sewer rat and I couldn’t wait to get him into court.
Family Court in January. It was nothing more than a kangaroo court. The judge approved the protective order, which literally took my son away from me. Even though I had extensive evidence to prove my innocence (the text messages, the time issue, a witness (“A’s” son), my own sworn statement, and the fact that I am above reproach, legally.
The CPS “investigator” was supposed to show up and testify to what he had learned in questioning that lying kid. But he didn’t bother to show up. The judge called him and he testified OVER THE PHONE. To this day, I can’t tell you exactly what he testified to other than “a disclosure was made” that he would not elaborate on other than to constantly repeat that statement even when questioned by the judge, and he told the judge, point blank, that he was planning to file charges against me “next week.” That was January 9, 2018. I am writing this essay on August 29, 2018. Not a single charge was ever filed. And based almost SOLELY on the CPS “investigator’s” announcement of pending charges, the protective order was granted for six moths.
That’s right. I was never charged with ANYTHING. I lost my son even though I was not charged with ANY crime whatsoever, either in Family Court or Criminal Court. And I have NO recourse. That’s the law. These fuckers can literally conspire to ruin me, take my son from me and not be held accountable for anything. At least not legally. If I ever run into that CPS faggot he may find that the bill has come due and I’ll be taking what’s owed to me in blood.
I walked out of that courtroom defeated and angry and dead inside.
I then started to learn things. Her cheating with her cockeyed, donkey-toothed step-brother, for instance. She wanted to lie about it in court but amazingly, she admitted to it. After court, I learned more than I could have ever wanted to know. I have messed around with exactly 40 women in my life. I absolutely guarantee you she has been with 10 times that many men.
One of the more unpleasant things I learned was that she had been fired from a job at a local gas station prior to my meeting her for having sex with various guys in the back of the store. No one had bothered to tell me this in 2010, when I met her, or 2013 when we reconciled. It was at that point that I realized what kind of reputation she had and how much of an ass I was making out of myself dating this creature. I was overcome with embarrassment at that and a sadness that crushed my soul at the loss of my son. The only time I had ever felt love.
And then it hit me. That bastard kid had been very unhappy over me getting my son a PlayStation 4. And that was on top of the fact that I bought him everything he ever wanted. She didn’t have a dad to get her anything. But where would a kid of that age get the idea to tell someone that I had exposed myself to her? As I sat and talked to the Deputy Sheriff who was investigating, it started to make sense. He told me he had wondered if maybe she was being abused by her brother. There had been weirdness going on there from day one, anyway. I had walked in the trailer in 2011 and heard him, at 12 years old, in the shower with her, at six, singing “Old McDonald Has A Penis.” Who lets a 12 year old shower with a six year old?
Everything started falling into place. I was thrown under the bus to get revenge for my lack of interest in being a father to this bastard kid and “A” needed to cover for her son as well as getting me out of the picture so she could pursue things with her rat-looking step-brother. Everyone knew I was 100% innocent of anything I had been accused of, but CPS had a show to put on. That kangaroo court had to look like it was looking out for the children! And if we destroy some innocent guy’s life to do that? Well, that’s just collateral damage.
As I mentioned earlier, I was deathly sick when my son was born. Because of that, I wasn’t able to sign his birth certificate. This cost me DEARLY in the long run. I had asked that we go in so I could sign it on a number of occasions but “A” told me I could sign it when I signed her bastard kid’s. She was blackmailing me. Naturally, I wasn’t stupid enough to do something like that. I knew what a worthless piece of garbage “A” was, and her reason for having me sign was that so when she left me she could file for child support for both kids rather than just mine. She wanted to put on this show that she was respectable and had a cute little “family.” Well, you can’t turn a whore into a housewife and people like her don’t have “families.”
So I never got to sign my son’s birth certificate. The upshot of that is, she can legally keep him from me and there’s nothing I can do until she files for child support and a state-approved DNA test is done. This immediately got me thinking, maybe he isn’t mine, and that’s why she made a big deal of getting to the DNA test we had in 2013 first. If he is mine, she is just trying to make me suffer even though she knows I didn’t do ANYTHING to deserve any of this.
But she has proven to me that she is more interested in self-preservation and covering her own “reputation” and that of her kids over anything else. A close friend of mine that I have known for over 35 years once told me that “A’s” son had a reputation at school for being “weird.” When I told “A” this, she EXPLODED at me. She said her son was NOT weird but, of course, could offer no evidence in spite of the fact that kids were quite clear in describing him that way. When I tried to tell her that her bastard kid was the worst kid I have ever seen, she would trip over her own words trying to defend that creature. Even though she knew better. This kind of blind defense of people, even children, makes absolutely no sense.
My first mistake was talking to “A” in the first place. My second mistake was allowing her into my home. My third was actually becoming involved with her. And it just continues on from there. Not leaving the 1,200 times I had reason to. Not leaving the 1,500 times I just WANTED to. Handing her wads of money when trailer trash like her doesn’t know the value of a dollar. Not doing whatever it took to sign my son’s birth certificate.
One thing I do hate to admit, but am going to since this piece is “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God,” I had been planning a way to end the relationship for months before this illegitimate protective order was thrust upon me; in fact, in family (kangaroo) court, I had my attorney ask “A” if she had, in fact, purchased any Christmas presents for me at the time I was served, and she said she had. Whether that’s truth or not is irrelevant because the fact is, I had bought my son nearly $400 worth Christmas toys, including a PlayStation Vita with SpongeBob SquarePants and Minecraft games. And what had I bought “A?” Literally nothing, because I had no intention of being around her by the time Christmas arrived. In fact, I prayed for it. But, as the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. I got rid of the ugly skank and her bastard kid, once and for all, but I had to fight for my reputation and prestige, I had to be humiliated in front of the entire county who may or may not have been aware I was dating someone this lowdown and pathetic, and most of all, I had to give up my son. I wouldn’t have made the bargain based on that, but I wanted out and I got out, and those who know me well never once questioned my innocence.
I was so miserable with this piece of garbage that, six months before she left me, I blocked her on my phone from being able to call or text me because she had complained of me texting during the day. And I’m talking about texting her memes and things. Of course, one now has to account for the fact that she’s deeply involved in cheating so it was probably a real drag to be waiting for a text from her cockeyed, inbred-looking stepbrother once he managed to slobber out a text to send and it turns out to be ME, that was probably a real downer.
And I don’t want anyone to think I have anything personal against her stepbrother, because I don’t. I would have told you two years ago (and did tell “A”) that I think he’s an ugly, redneck, cockeyed, bucktoothed, ridiculous piece of shit. He just has that look of being the “missing link,” almost, the not quite human look, like maybe you could teach him five basic words of English and maybe he could learn to wipe his own ass.
I have spent the past eight months trying to rebuild my life, and I’ve been quite successful at it. My business is growing exponentially, I have reconciled with many friends that “A” wouldn’t allow me to have friendships with, I am slowly getting my health back under control and starting to lose weight. My mental health is strong again and I can actually sleep.
I am a long way from ever dating again. I have had a myriad of opportunities since this all went down and accepted a few of them, none of which went anywhere and just further salted away my lack of interest in relationships and marriage. People continually tell me that the “right girl” is out there for me but at this stage, with everything that has befallen me, I hope she finds someone else because I’m not going to be a good option for her.
I’ll make the most of what’s left of my life. I’ll be as happy as life will allow me to be. I’ll do my best not to make any further mistakes. I’ll do what I can to forget these past eight years ever happened, and continue to wipe any hint of “A” out of my life as I find them. I have went over my Facebook profile with a fine-tooth comb and eliminated any mention of her. I want it to be like we never met. And if I could wind the clock back, we wouldn’t.
Since I’ve lost my son, the only thing I have taken away from all of this is that I have finally, after all these years, experienced what pure, unfiltered HATRED feels like. The kind of hate that has no soft edge or tender center. The kind of disgust that just makes me want to go take a lengthy shower just for thinking about these people, especially for this long. One of the things I used to laugh to myself about was as quickly as I could get out of that shack, I headed straight home and straight to the shower, just to try to wash the skank off of myself.
I wish I could say there was a reason for all of this. I wish I could say that love or something played some role in it. I never loved “A” at any point in the seven years we were supposed to be a “couple.” I tolerated her and I think she tolerated me. She tolerated me because it paid the bills and gave her money to spend. I don’t know why I tolerated her. Other than my son, I got nothing out of that relationship, other than misery, aggravation and constant disgust. Whatever the reason, I will never forgive myself. Some mistakes we can brush off and some mistakes can be difficult to deal with, but I made a mistake of epic proportions that nearly cost me everything and I don’t even have a reason as to why I made that mistake. That is stupidity at the highest level. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, but I will overcome this.
I know this is incredibly long but I wanted to be thorough and leave no important facts out of the story. Like I said, its a story that deserved to be told in it’s entirety and in it’s full form of truth. I stand by every word of this piece, as God is my witness. May I drop dead if there’s one untruth in this entire post. I now hope to not have to mention that rat fucker “A” or that bastard kid of hers again as long as I live. This will be my answer to anyone who questions anything about that time period. For me, it is now over. I have survived the seven years of bad luck from that broken mirror I don’t remember breaking.
Maybe someday, as everyone says, I’ll meet my soulmate. I suppose anything is possible, and I know its more likely to happen when I’m not looking for it. But if I spend the rest of my life alone, I can think of worse things. I lived one of them from 2010 through 2017. Alone is a blessing beyond words compared to that miserable, horrible relationship. I asked for nothing from “A,” and boy did I get it, except for my son. For him, I’ll be grateful, but it’s hard to be when he isn’t part of my life just so some white trash can try to get ahead of me.
In closing, let me address “A” directly, because even though she will more than likely never see this, maybe someone, somewhere, will pass this along to her: You are a miserable, lying, good-for-nothing, beaver-toothed, cockeyed, worthless, cheating, inbred-looking, step-sibling fucking, chicken fucking, dirt bag, trash can whore, hood rat, piece of shit. You set me up. You threw me under the bus. For what reason, I’ll never know. Maybe so you could have that inbred half-retarded looking step-brother of yours (which didn’t last long). Maybe just to be rid of me because you couldn’t stand me as much as I couldn’t stand you. Maybe you needed a scapegoat to keep your son from getting in trouble and I was the easy mark. Maybe you had gotten wind of the fact that I was planning to leave, as I was pretty open about it with people and you can’t have secrets in this county. Maybe you figured you needed to go first and you wanted to “punish” me by getting me into trouble with the authorities for something I didn’t do. Whatever the reason, I thank you for going away but hate you for eternity for the way you did it.
My hatred for you will go with me to the grave. I have been told repeatedly to let it go, karma would get them, and maybe it has already started.
I laugh at the idea of ever even considering marrying or living with you. I needed to get away from you years ago. But I couldn’t leave my son. At least, I hope he’s my son. That is the ultimate question that will follow me for the next 14 years until he’s old enough to get away from those people and hopefully he can grow into a normal young man, though I imagine that would be difficult considering how his half-brother grew up. There’s a sickness in that house. A sickness of mind. A sickness of life. Like an overbearing, life-draining sickness.
“A,” I have few regrets in my life, but I can honestly say that 100% of the time I spent with you I recall regretfully. Time spent with you and our son is passable. Time spent with our son I treasure. All I want is to forget you. Permanently, and without recollection.
From this point forward, I am going to do my best to let it go but having my son taken from me, even though I never did anything wrong and was never accused of anything involving my son, is not only going to be difficult, but borderline impossible. I can’t watch Batman anymore, or play the games or watch the shows we used to watch because it’s too painful. Oddly enough, I can watch anything I used to watch with “A” and I don’t even have any flashbacks or even think about the fact that I had watched anything with “A,” so she is already being forgotten on that level. And for that, I am thankful. There was never much substance to “us” anyway.
So, there it is. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God. Admittedly, this is the story from my side. I couldn’t care less about her side, her feelings or her situation. It has nothing to do with me. This is my life and this is my story. As it happened.
Thank you for taking the time to read, I appreciate anyone who took the time. I will never mention these people again, as it is humiliating to have to admit I ever dealt with such garbage. I just wanted to put my side of the story out publicly in God’s truth so the few who may not believe me, or may not have wanted to, can now see the facts of the matter. I just want this era of my life to be forgotten. I thank God every day it is over, now I just want it dumped in the trash where it belongs.