This is that thing that I most hate to speak about! For those of you who keep up with my posts, a few days ago I said I might find the courage to speak on these matters, even though they pain me. I don’t like to talk about any of it. Also I feel as one is way more painful to speak of or think about than the other. Therefore I will speak on the first matter which is not as painful as the second. I will decide with time when I am ready to speak on the second one.
I wanted to see if I could find some legal advice for the latter part of this post. I will speak on two very personal matters in my life. Just so you guys can get some background. Also, just so I can pinpoint where I feel most of my depression has come from. BUT NOT WHERE MY DEPRESSION BEGAN. These are traumas for me that I feel have worsened or triggered my situation of depression/anxiety. I truly feel my depression began long before all of this, when I was 13-15 years old.
******For negative comments or such, please refer to my previous post!******
Overall, I would just like to say thank you to anyone who takes the time to read this, because it truly will be one of those long posts! So just a heads up!
Ok... so from the VERY beginning.
I met a guy when I was 18 years old. I was in an abusive relationship, with a guy that was 9 years older than me. He had a drinking issue, was an alcoholic. In that time, I refused to accept that. I just saw it as he enjoyed drinking. He was physically and verbally abusive to me though. He would cheat, pick fights over stupid things, was overly jealous! I could not make eye contact, speak, laugh or anything of the sort with another man because it was considered disrespectful and flirtatious. I was not to make him look like a stupid fool in front of others. I was scared to do anything because I did not want to upset him. I did not want to cause a fight, were he might not speak to me for a full week. It was like having to walk on eggshells around him. One minute he was fine the next who knew. He would not come home sometimes, and leave me at home with his parents, whom we lived with and who were permissive to their sons behavior. I hated it! The mom would try to make me feel like what I was living was normal. Like I should start to accept it. And I kind of did. I began to think it was normal to be treated that way. That everything was going to be ok because after all he would come back home to me. I truly thought I was in love as well.
I had quit my job for him. Everything was sweet talk in the beginning. He knew what he was doing, what he was preparing me for. Everything was done with a purpose to eventually have full control over me. I wasn’t permitted to have a cellphone. When I met him I had one but I cut the line because he would not pay for it and I could no longer afford it. I could use the house phone if I wanted to be in touch with family, but that was it.
I could not use myspace or anything of the sort facebook was just becoming known of in those days, (2011) but everyone was starting to make their profiles. I was not allowed.
His words: I’m not paying for a cellphone so you can just talk with other men behind my back. Also the reasons why I couldn’t have social media accounts of any kind. I was totally dependent on this guy. He held it over my head at all times. Reminding me that I was nothing without him.
I had a curfew as well. I had to be in the house at a certain time. I was to cook for him and tell him everything I had done throughout the day. If I went to the mall, if I went to see my family, anything and everything he had to know.
When I think back to that time period in my life, I feel ashamed. I cry at the thought of it. I just can’t believe how stupid I was. Why didn’t I report him to the police? Why didn’t I ever do anything about the situation? Why did I still love him and live with him? Why didn’t I get out of there. Why did I not listen to my family when they were begging me to leave him? Why was I so blind? So many questions that I ask myself today, yesterday, always because it’s always on my mind.
I think of how it has changed me and made me to be the way I am today. Cold hearted. Angry. Aggressive. Non-trusting. And so many other things.
I had left the father of my child. Enough was enough! After the usual argument and a couple of bruises later...the last fight we had really got out of hand. So bad, that the brother who was always so quiet stepped in and also the parents. (That was our last fight)
In The beginning I was getting beat. Then,
I had started to fight back too. He swung I swung. He cussed, I cussed. It just made him more angry. But of course a woman’s force is not as strong as the force of a man. And definitely not more than one who is drunk.
I was tired of the bruises though and also tired of having to explain to everyone who asked me as to why I had them everywhere. It was embarrassing and I didn’t do a good job of covering them up.
So after that huge fight, we finally went our separate ways.
He moved on fairly quickly. And some short time after, I found out I was pregnant. At 19 years old.
He was already with another woman, much older than me, who already had two children from her previous relationship and who I later found out he had been cheating on me with towards the end of our relationship. That hurt me the worst!
The woman to which he is now married too and had a child with.
The situation left me heartbroken. Sad because I did not plan on being a single mother. I had not planned on a pregnancy at all! Not at that age! Not with the abuse and situation I was in with the father. Truth is and I do confess I had thoughts of not wanting to have a child. I did not want to be pregnant. I was young! So young still thinking about going out with friends, partying and other things that girls that age do.
I lived through a tough pregnancy. At about 12 weeks I remember going in for a checkup and the Doppler was not picking up the baby’s heartbeat. I cried and begged god to forgive me for my negative thoughts, asked him to forgive me in that moment and to not let anything happen to my baby ever.
They sent me over to the hospital to get a detailed ultrasound. My mom and sister were with me. Everyone was looking anxiously at the monitor and ultrasound checking everything out and then the doctors says he’s perfectly fine and she says look he’s even waving at you! I cried like a baby, I lost it in that moment. I was so relieved but that gesture his tiny little hand just waving, had me and my mom and sister crying. Almost as if he were telling me I wasn’t alone that I would always have him. His little heartbeat was beating along just as fine and normal as could be.
The pregnancy though....
It was the hardest thing I have ever endured in my lifetime. My first pregnancy, a pregnancy where I should be happy and sharing all the happy moments and milestones of each month with the daddy. But yet here I was, pregnant and alone. The whole nine months. Yes I had support from my family. They were always there for me, but at the moment I wanted the love of a father for my child and the love of a man for me.
Throughout the pregnancy I would cry constantly. I gained so much weight. Felt more alone than ever. How could I take care of a child when I could barely take care of myself. I had always been handed everything. Not anymore, I had to put my big girl panties on and grow up. Because no one was going to raise my son for me much less give me free diapers, clothes, and food, and all the other necessities for raising a child.
I had the emotional support and sometimes financial help from my family as well though.
The father provided financially, bought our baby everything from the crib to the clothes, bottles, diapers the whole nine yards. When we found out we were having a boy. He seemed happy.
He promised to be involved in our child’s life. He didn’t come through.
After buying things for the baby I didn’t see him again until 3 days before delivering our baby. I had a complicated pregnancy and in those last three days was having really bad contractions. I was in serious pain! I had to go back each of those three days (11,12,13) and was sent back home each day except the last. My contractions were not strong according to the machines that they hook up to you. But I felt like I was dying. Who knows if maybe because it was my first time. But it was horrible. It left me traumatized. He came 2 times out of those 3 days. The first day he came to my house took me to the hospital. Sat there on his phone the entire time and was providing no support, texting her at every single minute. No talk or acknowledgement or anything for me. I was in pain and crying he could have cared less. And I just felt like I would have been better off alone, because that’s how I felt. He was there but I was alone!
I was sent home. Because I was not dialated at all but in so much pain.
2nd day
I was in worse pain,I called him to come and get me and he said his GF didn’t want him taking me to the hospital or being alone with me at all. So unless I was having the baby don’t call him.
My mom took me the second day. I was still not dialated enough for admission and contractions were not recording as strong. But I was in hell. I wanted to die. They gave me some medicine to relieve the pain, so that I could get some sleep because I could not rest or sleep at all. The pain kept me up and crying I was exhausted and then they sent me home. I was good for a good 6-8 hours and slept like a baby pain free.
And then the contractions came back stronger than ever it was January Friday the 13th, 2012. I had been suffering for 3 days now at this point. Since late Tuesday night.
Once again there I was on my way to the hospital. Screaming in pain, in the car as my mom was driving. I cried to the nurses. I didn’t want to have to leave again and go home, I didn’t know how much more pain I could bare at that point. Told them to please let me stay, thankfully I was able to convince them and I was only dialated 1-1/2 cm or 2 cm and you have to be at least 4-5 cm dialated to be admitted.
They made the exception. I was 39 weeks pregnant and wanted to have my baby. But also a woman knows her body. I knew it was time. They kept telling me maybe it just wasn’t time yet. But with time I dialated more and more eventually reaching 10 cm, was completely dialated and effaced.
And then he was indeed born that day on January, Friday the 13th, 2012 at 5 p.m.
The date that I mostly hold precious to my heart. My very lucky 🍀 number forever. Most claim Friday the 13th is of bad luck, but to me it will never be, and never has been, because my first born came into the world that day. I remember as well from that day that twins were born right after my baby was born in the room beside of us. ♥️
My sons father did show up that day of the birth was very supportive throughout labor even supporting one of my legs. Talking me through it cheering me on. A whole different person from that one that was aggressive and abusive.
He convinced me to name the child after him. And to keep him happy and satisfied I did it. I was scared to ruin the moment. Didn’t want him to leave or get upset. My mom was PISSED.
Def one of my Biggest regrets ever, I wasn’t with him and he was still controlling me. I was still blind, waiting on some kind of miracle to happen. I guess I still had the hopes he would change his ways and see that we had a child now and things could and would be different. That maybe someday we could be a happy family. I was wrong.
After being released from the hospital he handed me $200. Everything was always money with him. He could fix everything with money. That was it.
-Moment of Happiness short lived-
He would visit his son every weekend and leave him $200. That went on for two straight months.
He would sit with us for 30 minutes to an hour at most. To him, that’s what my son was worth 1 hour of his time and sometimes not even that. His phone ringing off the hook, text message after text message coming in. That one hour wasn’t even truly my sons because it was interrupted constantly by her. I was angry. Frustrated. Furious. How could he care more about a woman than he did his own child? A precious newborn who are adorable and hard to resist. He lived with her already saw her everyday, why couldn’t he just give my son that one hour? I just couldn’t understand. That was short lived too. He did that whole weekend thing for about two months straight. Then finally told me he could no longer come back to my house. He also didn’t try to make any plans to see my son anywhere else. He just left it at that. What else did I have other than to accept? Nothing in life should be forced, especially not love, because then it is not really love. So we accepted that. I didn’t know what to say. All I knew is that I was left to raise my son on my own.
I was living back at home with my mom, but I felt like a prisoner. I knew I had responsibilities and I had a job and my mom helped me out a lot with him while I went to work at night. We were happy. I just wanted to start living again. I felt like I was a good mother, I was always with my son, I worked and provided for him, we were always together. We had a beautiful bond. I love him so much. He made me grow up. I never knew love until I met him. I am so thankful and blessed for him.
I truly do think that the time period in my life at that time has marked me. It haunts me. I don’t know how I did it. I promised myself though that I would never let a man treat me that way again. I have become stronger. I feel like this time period in my life has affected my life. I have never really healed from this. I just wanted to share with you guys this little bit about me. Because I truly do think that most of my depression and anxiety came from this.
I hate living at home
I hate my health anxiety
i need to vent about something 
I hate myself right now 
I really messed things up..
