Magnificent Monday

I have a secret. Well, technically it is just a secret to all of you, my readers. Now you will know, so it won’t be a secret anymore. Here it is…

Jason is not Ashley’s biological father. ::gasp:: Are you all horrified? I know it is pretty common these days. But, if you read my previous Monday Memory about how I met Jason in high school, then I am sure you are wondering how this could have happened since we are married now and have been for 15 years. Well, let me tell you.

At the end of my senior year, I thought that maybe Jason and I needed to spend a little time apart since he was going off to a state university about an hour away and I was staying here at home and, I don’t know, why put off the pain. Besides there was this bad boy (remember I said I liked bad boys now and then?) in one of my classes who was paying a lot of attention to me and I liked him and thought well who better to ease the pain of break up then the total opposite of Jason. Well, it didn’t exactly happen like that. I broke Jason’s heart and the whole thing spiraled out of control.

I should have been warned when Mr. Bad Boy told me from the beginning that eventually he would control everything I did. I, being the determined, independent and stubborn person that I am, told him that no one would ever control me. What an idiot I was because this guy was the master manipulator. The supreme brainwasher. Within a few short weeks this guy had me wrapped around his finger and doing whatever he wanted me to do. Ah, but he said he loved me and he was model gorgeous. Seriously, he was a model. We dated for awhile, all the time he was turning me against everyone that I loved, my family, my friends and especially Jason. God knows he couldn’t take the risk of me even talking to him at all. By the time we graduated, he had me convinced that I should not under any circumstance go to my all night senior party. I should spend the time with him and his party time friends. Of course he didn’t want me to go–Jason was going to be there. It would have driven him crazy. By then, however, all I wanted to do was make and keep him happy, so I didn’t go. Something that I regret to this day, just because of what I missed out on–a chance to celebrate with my friends.

Other things happened. The first time I was really scared of him, was the night we went to a party and some football star was hitting on me. I was mostly innocent (I never had football stars hit on me, so I was flirting back a little), but when he found out, he freaked out. He started punching walls and took off out of the house and I followed him with my car. When he got in, he proceeded to punch the dashboard of my Mom’s car and put a rather large crack in it. He ended up needing to go to the ER that night because we thought he broke his hand. And all the while, I’m there crying and saying I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have talked to Mr. Football. Of course, after awhile he was loving and apologetic, too. (Incidentally, Mr. Football called me a week later, wanting to make sure everything was okay and to “finish what he started the other night”, but, are you kidding me, I didn’t even want Mr. Bad Boy to find out that Mr. Football called. And besides, Mr. Football was an asshole, too. “Finish what he started”, seriously!)

Another time, I can’t even remember what I did, but something to piss him off, and he was screaming at me and up in my face and he was getting ready to walk out when I noticed he had my car keys and I asked for them back. He whipped them full on at my face and then took off. I followed him, of course, it was late at night and he didn’t have a car and I didn’t know how he would make it home because he lived about 5 miles from me. I found him doing martial arts in some park. I don’t even know how I found him. He railed against me. He didn’t really hit me, but more like I was trying to settle him down and he was trying to get away and I got in the way. I am not making excuses for him that is the way it happened. That doesn’t mean that I wasn’t now terrified of him, I was.

My birthday is in the summer and for my birthday, he bought me a beautiful engagement ring. See, he loved me. More like he wanted to control me further. There were many more episodes of violence. He never got to the point where he actually hit me. There were times when he came very close and there were times when he did push me or knocked me down. He even did it in front of friends. Talk about shame and humiliation. He threatened the people I loved, too. It was all a part of his game. Shame, humiliate, threaten–verbally and physically, threaten those she loves, all to control me. Looking back, I know he also cheated on me any time he got a chance, too.

As the summer wore on, I started to get a little tummy. I worked at Burger King, so I just thought it was because I was eating too much food. (When you only weigh 105 pounds, it doesn’t take much to put on a little.) He started telling me that I was fat and I needed to go on a diet. I didn’t know what to think. I was nauseous all the time and hardly ate. I was tired all the time, too, another thing that pissed him off. I just chalked it up to being stressed out from graduating high school, breaking up with my long term boyfriend and I was working a lot–sometimes 13-14 days in a row, sometimes 2 shifts a day.

On October 24, 1985, I went to the doctor because I was really not feeling well and my Mom really wanted me to get checked out before we decided what to do about starting college in the fall. In reality, she knew what was wrong, but she couldn’t say it or tell me because I think she didn’t want to face it herself. Of course, I was pregnant. By that time I was almost 3 months pregnant. On the way home from the doctor, I stopped at Jason’s and told him first. I don’t know why I did, but I won’t forget what he said to me. He said, “It’s okay. We’ll take care of it.” And he hugged me and was supportive. How could he know that his words were so prophetic.

That night, I went to pick up Mr. Bad Boy at work. He was living with me and my family at the time so we were on the way back to my house when he asked me what happened at the doctor that day. When I told him, he started screaming at me saying things like, “Great, now we’ll never have a honeymoon,” and of course, the cliche “How do I know it’s mine?” I was scared to be seen talking to my male boss at work, there was no way in hell that baby was anyone else’s. I was quiet the entire way home ( I lived about 15 miles from his work) and when we were just about there he said, “Well, what are you going to do?” When I said that I didn’t know, he asked me if I loved him and, I can’t believe to this day that I had the courage to, but I said, “I don’t know.” As soon as I slowed down enough to turn a corner, he jumped out of the car and was gone. I went home and my parents weren’t there and I was terrified to be alone, so I went to Jason’s. I left a note for my parents to call me when they got home and they did and I went home.

There were a few more manipulative attempts on his part to try to get me back. He tried to kill himself in front of my house, but it was such a lame attempt, that it was almost laughable. Then there was the time or times, I can’t remember–it’s all a blur, when he came home and would pound on my bedroom door until I would open it and once he even pinned me to the bed, sitting on my stomach, begging me to take him back until my Dad came in and told him to get the hell out of there. I don’t know how my parents tolerated his bullshit.

The last time I ever saw him was on Valentines day of 1986. I picked him up at school and he wanted me to go check into a motel room with him for a little afternoon delight. I said no way in hell was I doing that. He told me, “Well, we are either going to be lovers, a couple or nothing. And if it is nothing, then I don’t want to ever hear from you again. I don’t even want to know when the baby is born.” I told him that was fine with me and kicked him out of the car and that was the last time I saw him.

I heard from him one time right after Ashley was born. He had found out she was born from a mutual friend of ours. He was calling to bug me really. He didn’t really want anything because when I told him he could have supervised visits but not supervised by me, he never called back to schedule. He also called when Ashley was about 4 years old. He had been served with papers for paternity and back child support. This was only because I got assistance to put myself through college and I would have never gone after him myself, but I had to as part of the assistance that I got. I figured we were better off without him. He said that he had no right to ask anything of me, but could he please have a picture of Ashley. I admit, I was a little touched that maybe he would actually have feelings for her, so I sent him a picture. You know what? The picture was to help him decide if he thought she was actually his. He denied paternity. We never did get the tests done because within a few short months, Jason and I were married and Jason adopted Ashley. We received orders to go get the tests done on the exact day that we were at the courthouse finalizing the adoption. I have never and hope never to hear from him again.

Like every other trial in your life, I learned from this one. I learned that I am a survivor and I know what’s best for me. When it comes down to it, I will choose what is the right path. I knew when I found out that I was pregnant, it wasn’t just about me anymore, it was about the baby that was growing inside me. I couldn’t bear the thought of him pushing, hitting or kicking me when I was pregnant with her. I also couldn’t picture allowing him to do any of those things to our child once it was born. I knew I couldn’t stay with him. And I didn’t.

Links to other Monday Memories (If you participate, leave your link in the comments and I’ll post it below)
Running2Ks the founder and hostess
Kimmy
Uisce
Veronika
Frog Legs
Ladybugcrossing
Norma
Ocean Lady