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Sparkle (2)
October was Domestic Violence Awareness month. My month for domestic violence awareness was September. It has been nine years since I was arrested for attempted murder. It has been nine years that I have lived with the choice of that fateful day, September 2, 2001. How do you go from a good girl who has never ever been in trouble other than a traffic ticket, to walking into a jail with your love's blood on your shirt?
The tumultuous road that led up to that day was paved with good intentions, and I had a bright future ahead despite the fact that I stayed in an abusive and codependent relationship too long. I fell in love with someone who did not love himself, and that is where all of our problems started. He was a bad boy and mysterious and beautiful, and I was naiive, even though when we met he was 18 and I was 25. I was the proverbial good girl. I still lived with my parents, worked full time and had ambitions and dreams. He was just someone I was finally going to have sex with, because despite all of the whispers and gossip in high school, I remained a virgin. It was not supposed to be me falling in love with him or he with me; it was supposed to be a fling. The kind of great romance you tell your grandchildren about.
Instead I found myself in a situation that I did not like. There was something about him that needed rescuing and something in me that needed to be needed. We were destined to a fate that neither one of us saw coming.
I found myself pregnant and him in another state. I did not know that he was absconding Youth Authority Parole. I did not realize the depth of his issues until it was too late and I was in another state away from my family and away from everything I knew. I never witnessed any potential for violence from him. He became angry when I told him I wanted to leave and return home. I decided to stay because that is what I learned from my parents; despite any problems you have, you tough it out. Not to mention that my father would not have let me come home. Although we eventually did return home and that is when our nightmare began.
It was during this time that my love became addicted to methamphetamine, and the cycle of drug use and physical and emotional abuse started. The cycle stayed in tact for eight years and three children later... and jobs lost and jail and prison time and welfare and instability. I left him several times but always went back even though he had infidelities and lies about his drug use.
In this time I too learned to be abusive and became addicted to the cycle of domestic violence: You fight, you argue, you provoke, you get physical, you actually inflict some physical or mental and emotional warfare on your love, and then when they break and you are in control, finally you feel remorse. After that remorse comes the honeymoon phase when there is a period of calm and you are happy and content. Then the calm before the storm, and waiting for the bottom to fall out because inevitably it will and the chaos that is domestic violence starts again.
He is not the monster here, I want to make that clear: I will not villify him. I too was just as responsible for the life I lived and the danger I put my children in. My violent tendencies only flourished under his maltreatment and my uncontrollable anger. His drug addiction became bigger than our domestic violence lifestyle and it came to an abrupt and all too predictable finale on that September day.
I remember all that led up to it, and I remember being ready to confront him on what I assumed was another infidelity. I remember needing diapers and waiting for him to bring my car home so I could go and get some shopping done. I remember needing new clothes for a second interview with Sams Club, and getting papers filled out to become a Girl Scout Troop leader. I remember making plans to finish up my AA in child development so that I could go on to become a
