Well today nine years ago at this very time I was enjoying my Starbucks coffee as I headed over to pick up my bouquet made of Calla Lilies, Gerber Daisies and other beautiful flowers. I was running off of adrenaline because I knew that I would eventually slow down and end up having to breathe deeply. Sure enough after sliding into my dress I ended up sitting on the couch, watching the news and eating chocolate. I was so excited to marry the man that loved me so much, the very man who saved my life.
Rick was an uptight guy who came from Santa Monica and I was this girl who came from a crazy life and held nothing back. He kept everything in and I spewed everything out, he was calm and I was energetic. Once we got together he told me I could never get rid of him no matter what. I tested that all the time, not purposefully, but I had many ghosts and issues that would haunt me. He never wavered, he never ran away, he never turned his back, he never walked away nor did he ever give up on me. I told Rick everything I ever experienced, every thought and every dream. He knew and knows so much about me that at this point he may know me better than I know myself.
He was there to comfort me through the sexual abuses I never really healed from. I remember trying to reach out to friends for help and comfort but never received it. At one point one friend asked “Well, did you tell anyone?” I told her I did and then she just turned around and I sat alone on the bleachers waiting for our freshmen orientation. I became very promiscuous; I always thought that because I was pleasing men at the ages of five-eleven through sexual molestation that I was destined to only please men. Even if it meant giving them pleasure, hurting myself from the inside-out. No guy ever really cared about why I was so desperate to “hook-up” with them but they didn’t care either way. Even when a “friend” of mine told me that a guy I really liked wanted to be with me, to be my first. Even after all of my oral experiences I never went far to lose my virginity. For my first time, I walked to the guy’s house, went into his bedroom and with my Converse shoes still on I gave it all up to a guy who “really wanted to be with me”. The sad thing is after that he told everyone that I wasn’t a virgin before that. I was broken all over again, but showing it was the last thing I was going to do. That was the third time in my life that I thought of suicide.
My past decisions were my decisions, I made those choices and I lived with them. All you know from childhood is to accept the pain and reciprocate everything. Most people don’t understand that I never had anyone to council with, no one to guide me, to lead me in the right direction. My parents were dealing with so many other things that I never had any support or guidance. It wasn’t their fault, they themselves were handling situations that were life threatening. My friends had what they needed in their life and if they didn’t, it nothing to do with expressing sexual molestations.
I hated it all. I was branded with the scarlet color, I was the joke to everyone in school, and I was the slut. I was the one who was easy. I knew no one ever gave a shit about me, no guy ever considered how I felt physically, emotionally or mentally. I know now that no one really gave a shit, my parents didn’t know what was going on with me and my siblings were living their own lives. I sought attention in the wrong way from the wrong people; I was a broken little girl with absolutely no one to really confide in. I rarely had friends who really cared enough to give me the time to really get to know me. Judgment, judgment and judgment is what I always expected.
Until I met Rick, he listened to EVERYTHING I have done, everything I experienced and my life. He comforted me, asked me questions… for once a real guy who would just be there to get to know me. He wanted to know that I was going to be okay, he told me that I am not someone who just lived life the way I really wanted to but I lived as the result of my experiences. He took me as I was, as I am. “You can never get rid of me!” This was always his reaction to me when I thought he would think the worst of me.
When I wanted to get me Associates degree he supported me all the way, when I wanted to stay at home with my kiddos instead of working he supported me. When I would get a self revelation he would cheer me on and find joy in my joy.
Most importantly he never left me when I tried to leave him through all my suicide attempts four times over four different ways. He never left me when I went completely psychotic and called him every name possible.
It was last February that I started to hear the thoughts of suicide and listened to the voices that called me to the other side. Rick comforted me the best he could, in the following months when I got worse, I seen a psychiatrist and Rick supported me. He was there the best he knew how, and all of the psychotic rages never kept him from trying to protect me from myself. All the times I told him, “I hate you and I hope you die” and “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” he still stuck right by me, he never left me, he never hurt me in anyway.
I was given a husband that was meant to save my life, I truly believe that our souls are always meant to meet and connect to one another in every life we live. I know to some people they may not believe in the reincarnation of people but I believe that it is so. I believe that no matter what I will always meet Rick and he will always meet me.
My husband is not like any other, he is not the type of guy who wants to spend all hours of the night getting wasted at a bar and other chicks. He is not the type that would ever put his hands on me to cause me harm, he has never-ever called me a bitch (not to my face anyway); yeah I laugh at that. I laugh because damn I wish I could have his restrain when it comes to expressing anger. I am not sure why I have the instant reaction to get ticked quickly. Rick tells me it might be because of my Spanish-Italian genes. I jokingly tell him that if he says anything he’ll get whacked. It’s a joke to us; at this point all of our experiences are things we laugh about. When I see an Ambien commercial I tell him “I tried Ambien but it didn’t work”, we laugh together (Ambien was the main drug I took and overdosed on in my first suicide attempt.) Yeah so people may think we have a sick sense of humor but he is the only one I can laugh about it with. He is the only one I can make jokes with about my madness and freaking messed up experience. My initial thought is if I don’t laugh about everything I’ll breakdown and lose it. Rick gets that and understands that it’s better to laugh than cry.
So thank you baby for cracking insanely-inappropriate psychotic jokes with me and for the love I could never leave. Nine Years Baby….. Nine Years…
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