this…that…the other

Dear Doc,

I hired my son to help me improve my surroundings for the next two months. We started inside, moving furniture and unpacking all the things I’ve ordered in the last year for the house. It’s coming along very nicely.

This is the first I’ve cared about my home in a very long time. Until now, the only requirement was that it not be filthy. It was very cluttered, but I did keep the kitchen and bathroom clean. I think that’s because my grandma pounded it into me that you have to always have a clean kitchen and bath. So…that’s that. But, everything else was basically where we left it when we moved in. We lost everything before moving here. They even took my fucking Hummer, and it was almost paid for. I miss P. Diddy. That was his name. He was big and black. But, I digress…

The thing is, losing all of your material possessions and effectively bringing your net worth to $0 really sucks. It just takes something out of you. For me, I grew up at $0, since Dad spent all his money, (and he made plenty), on women, boats and booze. So I just landed right back where I started. Bennie had a much more difficult time with it, as he was raised in an upper middle class environment, and was already way off into his addiction when it happened, and it only compounded his problem. I mean, it revved it the fuck up. I hate that he died on that particular note. He felt like a failure, but it wasn’t his fault the oil industry went to Hell in a handbasket under Obama’s regime. He outdid his father by leaps and bounds during his career and I’ll always respect him, and be proud of him, for that. The man knew his shit.

When we moved here, we went from a large 3 bedroom home with formal living and dining rooms, to 685 square feet of converted garage. One tiny bedroom. It’s like an apartment, and I love this lil house, but even though material things aren’t supposed to be important, losing them is quite sobering. And, this is where the blame started going on. I won’t get into why, or what have you, but living here with Bennie was horrible. We couldn’t get away from one another. And, like I said, as long as the kitchen and bath were clean, I didn’t care about the rest of the house. I tried to keep the dust down to a minimum, and that was it.

Frankly, it was difficult to care if the sofa was in the right spot when you spent your days sitting across from a man with an AK by his side meant to intimidate you. It worked! I’ve never been afraid of guns and such, like I’ve written about before. But, there is something very disturbing about someone who, when they are tired of the sound of your voice, will quietly get up, go to the gun cabinet and get a gun, then sit down with it propped up by their chair. After he’d get the gun, if I talked when he didn’t want to hear me, or said the wrong thing, he’d put his hand on it. I spent days staring at that thing, wondering and waiting. I fully expected that he’d get me. I just didn’t know when. I guess that’s what was so bad about it. I mean, someone puts a gun in your face, you know what cards are on the table. Someone sits quietly with a gun, day after day, it’s like waiting on a Jack In The Box to pop up.

Bennie yelled at me all the time. If I said his name he’d answer ‘WHAT!!!’. He never had anything nice to say and, when he was really pissed, he’d scream in my face till he was spitting. Usually, he’d finish with actually spitting in my face to make his point clear. That was disgusting and it made me feel so fucking mad, but helpless, too. I guess that’s why I hate the whole ‘victim’ label. Because, in truth, I was one. And it’s easier to say I put up with something, as though I had a choice, than to say that my husband victimized me with his abusive ways. I’m thankful that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been. So many women and children are beaten within an inch of their lives on a daily basis. All I had to worry about was one bullet. That’s not so bad, if you really think about it.

Well, I guess I should get off here. I’m going to get going on my decorating. I feel so free today. I don’t know why. But, it feels good.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: