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The worst part is that I wanted to leave. I planned on leaving, I had it all set up, I was going to get out. Start again, have someone I could really rely on. Instead, I got pregnant…. Whoops. Just one too many drinks that night got me in bed with him. Weird because I never slept with him anymore. Didn’t want too, why would I want too? The way he treated me? No one would want too.
I had someone new, someone who really loved me. Someone who would never make me guess my worth. Never make me question who I was and never leave me to feel alone. That’s where I was going to go. To my saviour, the one person I had relied on since I was 14 years old… my best friend. I was just figuring it out. Figuring out the best way and the best time to get out. Make a clean break and move on.
Then the stick turned blue.
Everything I had been planning ruined. What the hell was I going to do now? There was no way it was fair to ask him to take care of someone else’s baby. So I stayed. Figured maybe, just maybe a baby would turn Will into a better guy. Maybe it would stop him from calling me names and making me feel stupid. Maybe it would motivate him to get a job and be an adult… stop the drinking and the drugs… put an end to his klepto ways. I mean, its not like he’s the first immature person to become a parent. People grow up…. Right?
It’s not like I didn’t try. I put everything into it. My heart and soul to try and make that relationship work. I kept my mouth shut whenever he did something I didn’t like, even if it hurt. Even if it made me question myself. I cried every night, hoping and praying to a god I didn’t even believe in that things would change. That I would wake up and he would apologize for everything he had done and I would be happy. I wanted to be happy so bad. I wanted to be happy so my baby would be happy. So he could grow up with his mom and dad under one roof.
In reality I never even believed a child needs both parents under one roof to make them happy, or both parents at all really. I always believed as long as a child had someone to love them and cherish them they would be okay. But I let his words get to me. I listened when he told me I couldn’t do it, when he said I needed help, when he said it would be selfish of me to try and raise him on my own, even if it meant I was happy. He told me that my baby would be messed up if we split up and he was left to grow up in a “broken” home. I hate that term, broken. What is that even supposed to mean? Personally I think it’s more broken to have parents who hate each other, with an abusive father under one roof. Isn’t it less broken to have parents who are happy? No matter where they live? That’s my opinion anyway. He didn’t agree and made damn sure I knew it. Made sure no matter what I said he has a response, typically demeaning me or making me feel stupid.
He honestly is a pretty smart guy, I’ll give him that. He’s also pretty dumb. He’s smart because he’s able to make me feel like the smallest person on earth. Like everything I say is wrong and even if I'm 100% sure on something he can break me down until I don’t even believe it anymore. He’s able to take an argument and put it into words that make you unable to come back with your point of view, then heaven forbid you manage still after. That’s when the yelling starts. It doesn’t really matter at that point what anyone is saying. The yelling and name calling will trip you up enough to retreat back to your zone and most likely even apologize. I say he’s dumb because anyone who treats another person the way he has treated me is pretty low on the IQ scale in my opinion.
I am a University educated woman. My major is in Woman and Gender studies. I specialized in research on abused and battered women. Ironic isn't it?
He even managed to almost convince me to get an abortion. Something I always said I would never do. Not because I don’t believe in it, I am 100 percent pro choice, I just personally could never do it. I had told him from the start of our relationship that if I was to ever get pregnant I would keep it. Unfortunately, through his abuse he managed to convince me I didn’t want kids. That it would be selfish and cruel of me to have kids considering I'm bipolar. In reality he is the one who never wanted kids. Then when I got pregnant he figured me getting an abortion was the best thing. He tried to make the decision for both of us, for my body. What I could handle and what I couldn’t. He didn’t care about my feelings at all… never really did.
When I told him I had made the decision to keep the baby I told him that he should leave. He never wanted a baby and this was his way out. I told him I would never ask him for anything, that he could leave and never know any different. I even told him he could tell people I cheated so that no one would think it was his baby. He said he couldn't leave because it would “make him look bad”. Apparently how he appears to everyone is more important than the child. No child deserves a father who is barely there. A child would do better with no father than to be waiting around for someone who never comes. However, he was concerned people would judge him so he stayed. He had really no part in the pregnancy. He played video games, drank, got high and stole things while I leaned over the toilet puking, worked two jobs and grew a human.
The abuse continued throughout the pregnancy. I didn't only continue but it got worse. Sure he would do things for me every once and a while, like make food. But his definition of cooking is turning an oven on and making chicken fingers, so needless to say I didn’t eat the healthiest because of how bad my morning sickness was. If I even smelled food I puked. The apartment we lived in become an absolute mess because I couldn't get up to clean, I was working two jobs, in immense amount of pain and working hard to keep my anxiety down. The apartment got so bad that we got cockroaches. It was horrible, I would try to clean but it would become too much.
On top of everything else my sister died when I was four months pregnant… then six weeks later my great gramma. He did nothing to help me… well he lost his job. Then again. And again.
By the time I was seven months pregnant I went into false labor twice. The doctors told me I needed to quit working and relax. I decided since one of my jobs was mainly sitting that I would stay at that one and quit the one that included a lot of lifting and moving around. By this time I was still the only one working and the stress of it all had caused the problems with the pregnancy.
Then at eight months pregnant we got in a big fight. Huge. At this time I don’t even remember how it started but I know it had to do with him never doing anything except play video games. By the end of it he had pushed me up against a wall and threatened to hit me. I told him to get out or I’d call the police. One of the things I regret most in my life is not calling the police that night. It would now be the proof of the abuse that I suffered, seeing as it is so hard to prove emotional and mental abuse.
Stay tuned for part two.