Bill called me the next day and the next day, until I finally agreed to go out with him.
In the beginning, the calling, extra attention, wondering where I was at, seemed enduring and lovable. However, in the back of my mind there was a tugging that something wasn't quite right. But Bill was the first real guy who had paid attention to me, and wanted to date me for me, so I believed.
After dating a few months, I moved to Los Angeles to follow a dream. It was after I was there for two months that Bill quit his job without telling me, and when he drove down for, what I believed, to be a visit, he informed me that he was moving in with me. At the time, I was not living in my own space and didn't really have room for him. But I didn't know what to do. So, I let him stay.
Bill went everywhere with me. I went to work and most of the time, he drove me there, stayed around the mall, and then drove me back. Again, the attention was odd, but I didn't know any better.
There were couple of other moves. Los Angeles didn't work out, we both had to go home. His home, originally, was all the across the country. After a year apart, I moved there. It was a disaster. I ended up pregnant, and though I was 24, kids were not on my agenda. I tried to make it a couple more months but couldn't.
I felt alone and scared so I went to my sisters where I had been invited to nanny while I was pregnant. Bill was supposed to follow me but didn't. In fact, it wasn't until I made it back to California, that he arrived just before our daughter was born ( five weeks early).
This is when the relationship began to get rough. He didn't have a place to stay so he stayed with a relative, then went to a shelter and finally a crappy studio until he landed at another relatives place. All the while, the blaming, the threatening to call CPS because the baby fell asleep on her stomach...all of it was my fault. By the time she was a year old, I was working two jobs and got my own 1 bedroom apartment. Before long, Bill moved himself in there. Originally staying there on weekends since I worked overnights. Eventually, though he moved in. He bought a car in my name but I wasn't allowed to use it. There were arguments and physical altercations because he wanted to go to his pot dealer after he had been drinking. I wasn't allowed to go out with friends very often anymore.
Everything was behind closed doors. My daughter never saw it. My neighbors never knew.
We moved again to get a "fresh start" out of state. Things only got worse. Bill drank more. Smoked more pot. Tried other drugs. Finally paranoia and isolation got the better of him and he left.
I was grateful. I went back to California. I had my own apartment again, my daughter was almost four. I found work at my old job. We were peaceful for quite a while. He would call and I would tell him we were broken up all. the. time.
This wasn't good enough for him. He came back to California so he could see his daughter, and stayed with a relative again. My babysitter for my weekend job quit so he began coming over for weekends after he got off work. I worked 15 hour days. I seldom saw him except at night. I had just started feeling better about myself, starting school and working and paying my own way. Eventually, he stopped taking no for an answer and ended up in my bed.
I was pregnant again.
I had to take an extension at the university for a semester.
I became injured at work.
I had to go on disability.
All this time, inside I was prisoner again. I couldn't see my friends whenever I wanted. If I was gone for more than an hour, then there was an argument. I couldn't write what I wanted. My creative writing was looked at, criticized and always about Bill in some negative way. I felt I would never get rid of him. I stopped saying no. There was no argument I could win.
Skip ahead after our second daughter was born: we had lost the apartment and were living with my family. Shortly after she was born, I had blood clots. I was barely able to walk. He ended up losing his job right after Christmas because he was helping take care of the kids.
He blamed me for not getting better soon enough.
Blamed me for doing everything wrong.
During this time, often behind the closed doors of our bedroom, Bill would complain that I didn't do enough. Even though I made his lunch, cooked dinner, did laundry and other household chores while trying to complete school, while still out on disability. But I was lazy, incompetent and never did enough. There were physical altercations. Being shoved, pushed, even choked. All behind the doors, quietly. To my relatives he was mostly nice so long as you agreed with him. He could not hold down a job, when Bill finally did, we moved out to our own house. That is when the real trouble began.
*names changed for protection.
Stay tuned for Part two...On Our Own.
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