Bastard

::::::  "I can't breath!  Please don't kill me!  I'm pregnant!!"

The pillow is lifted off my face...eyes the size of marbles.....

Suddenly, my underwear is on the bed and he has scissors.  He is cutting the crotch out of all of my underwear except for a few matronly ones and throws them at me.  I'm dizzy.

I start to scream.  I'm called a fat slut.  I feel a blunt object in the back of my head and then...lights out

He's paranoid again.  (a fucking vicious cycle) ::::::::::

Bastard!

I went out on a limb after being gay since I was 12 and decided to make an attempt to conform to society by jumping into a heterosexual relationship.  5 months later I was pregnant.  I know it sounds strange but after his father begged me for a grandchild, he eventually got his wish.  Everyone was so damn excited.  I was petrified and happy at the same time.  In the back of my mind I questioned myself on my decision to procreate with the father.  I went through a checklist and decided that it could have been worse.  Home, Car, Job...yeah...we'd be fine.

I started to get really excited.  Morning sickness was a bitch but I dealt with it.  I began to read every baby book known to man to make sure I was doing everything right.  A week later, there was an accident.  I was called to the hospital.  My son's father had lost 3 fingers in a work accident.  It was tough.  He had phantom limb syndrome and was in so much pain.  But the worst?  He was prescribed Oxycontin (not Oxycodone) for the pain.  I was all for it at first...I mean he lost part of his hand.  What I didn't know was that he was secretly an addict...not just pills...everything your brain can wrap itself around...he did.

Bastard!

He started chewing the pills up and taking too many.  Then he went to the Dr. for back pain and he was doing what we call "Dr. Shopping."  The pills were pouring in from every direction.  He sold a few to buy other drugs too.  I slowly realized I never knew his dark side. 

The abuse began when I was 4 months pregnant.  I was knocked down so hard I thought the baby was hurt.  I was treated like shit until one day we were pulled over and I found out that he had an ACTIVE warrant out for his arrest?  Who is this person?  Once I found out, his paranoia got so bad he locked me in a room the size of a closet and only allowed to come out to use the bathroom or ask for a meal.  Was this the same person? He was taken away to jail a few weeks later when they busted him for dealing drugs to an undercover officer. It wasn't until a month before the baby arrived (early) that he was released.  He seamed much calmer and wanted to straighten up.  I told him it was his second chance and I will leave if it happens again.  I meant it.  The baby arrived,  and it only took 4 months.  He threw me out of a car and since my only family member I had was out of town until the next day I asked to drive and suggested that he relax (didn't know what to say).  I forced him to apologize and went home, all banged up to hell, and went to bed. The next day he threw a very large hard toy at my head and I was knocked out again.  Angrily, I gathered my stuff and went to work.  What he didn't know that I had managed to keep part of my paychecks away from him and was setting up the perfect time to leave. 

Sometimes there isn't a perfect time....

Bastard

At the end of my shift I couldn't find my car.  I reported it to the security guard and requested a call to the police.  Before my dad landed from the airport, got my hysterical message, and made it to my work I had been sitting outside crying for at least an hour.  Right before Dad arrived I received a creepy phone call, "I took the car.  I put the baby in a Taxi without a car seat, then I called a locksmith, and I found your hidden ATM card.  I took all of the money out of your account and took the baby to go buy Crack.  Whatcha gonna do about it BITCH?

*Click*  The phone goes dead and at this point I am hyperventilating and having somewhat of an outer body experience freak out.

Bastard

::::Fast Forward again::::

The police met Dad, me, and his wife in a separate car at a local clothing store.  We came up with a plan to just raid the home.  The house that I had decorated, painted, and made a beautiful place for a baby.  But that house was not where we were meant to be.  We were meant to be safe (not like punching bags).  My son was still so tiny.  So in 45 minutes we bagged up all that we could and bolted while the cops climbed under the house to catch him....he escaped.  It wasn't until many months later that he was locked up for a year and a half.  By that time I was able to establish a life for myself and my son.

He moved on after jail as well, got married, had another son, etc.  But old habits die hard!

Now:  He has no relationship with my son.  My son is 7 now.  No more Christmas or birthday calls...no letters.  My son told me one day he thought I was worthless.  I can't believe my kid felt that way let alone articulate it.  My poor sweet baby...I had to think fast....

I told him that his dad was sick.  I told him he was gone for 90 days to get medical attention and I told him that when he hides in the bathroom he was "getting" sick.  I stopped all visits immediately.  I found out there was dog feces, a lack of food, and no bed for my son to sleep on.  I really thought that rehab was his rock bottom.

Nope.

Vicious cycle.

Guess what? Bastard

Now he has a warrant for his arrest.  Sound familiar? My son doesn't know.  It's irrelevant.

He is using again.  EVERYTHING.  Dirty needles, meth, coke, crack, methadone, heroin, you name it and he is on it.  Completely wreckless and living in his damn car.  A few days went by and kiddo asked about his dad daily.  No phone call.  After a few weeks he began to ask if he would receive a letter of some sort and after months, he doesn't ask at all.  In fact, he cringes if someone brings it up and changes the subject.  He is over the moon to say with confidence, "I have a mommy #1 and a mommy #2."  Lovely!

Tears of pain.  Tears of joy. Tears of mental anguish.  Tears of elation.  But not one tear was shed over meeting my son's father.  Sometimes you endure pain to receive a blessing.  A smart, witty, blessing.

So there we have it.

My child.........................is......................a...........bastard.

Thankfully yours,

Truthaboutcrazy