The Magic Nut

George's oldest child had moved in with us over the last weekend in May of 2017, and two weeks later George had to go out of town for work in Miami...unsure of when they'd be coming back. Which honestly wasn't a huge deal considering things were easier when he wasn't around. I had a good routine with George's oldest son, and he responded to me better than he did his father...

...probably because I didn't scream at him.

But with George gone I was balancing work, a 7 month old, a 7 year old, football practice, normal house work, and surprise! Here's a litter of puppies!

9 dogs all together.

The fuck have I gotten myself into.

As if my hands weren't already full enough.

We were managing though! And doing pretty damn well if I do say so myself.

Father's day was approaching, and George decided he was going to come up from Miami to spend the day with the kids and me.

My internal organs had other plans though.

The night before father's day, I went to crawl into bed and found a fresh puddle of cat piss...after 2 hours of scrubbing and soaking and laundry, I left a box fan on the pillow top air mattress to dry and curled up on the couch. Something wasn't right though, and my stomach was doing back flips. I managed to ignore the queasiness long enough to fall asleep, but within an hour I was back awake and puking.

Around 4 a.m. after I had spent the better part of the last two hours puking, all of the pain started to move into one spot on my right side...and what I had initially assumed was food poisoning suddenly seemed like it might be something a little more serious. Usuaully food poisoning just leaves your entire stomach a mess...not with pain focused in one area of your abdomen...

I'm basically a doctor, okay?

My mom had an experience with appendicitis when I was little, and for whatever reason I just had a feeling that's what I was dealing with.

*4:00 A.M.* Text to mom: 

Hey mom, what was it like when you had appendicitis?

-Are you serious?

Yup...

Mom got over to the house around 4:30 a.m. to help with the tiny human since I was doubled over in pain and still puking regularly. I had managed to get comfortable on the couch long enough to doze in and out for a little while. George was on his way home from Miami, and because of some recent interactions with him, Mom had no intentions of sticking around long enough to see him. She left shortly before George got home.

The puking had stopped, but I was useless as far as my son was concerned, and all I was doing was moving from the couch to the bed in an attempt to find some relief from the pain. When George finally came through the door...not only did he have an attitude...

But he had 3 wild iguanas that he had caught while working down in Miami.

Iguanas.

Fucking iguanas.

So now we've got 9 dogs, 2 children, 3 iguanas, and me not capable of even standing at the moment.

George planned on going to pick up his oldest son from his parents house to spend some time with him, and I asked if he could take our son with him too so that I could attempt to feel better and rest since I had been up all night in pain.

George whined a bit, but eventually said okay.

I went into our room and managed to fall asleep for 2 hours before waking back up from the pain being worse.

Anddd there's George passed out on the couch with our son. Now he was running late to see his oldest son, and no longer wanted to take our son with him.

George left, and mom came back over once we decided I should probably go to the emergency room.

Hours went by with no sign from George. What should've been a fairly quick trip, turned into him being MIA for hours. Eventually my mom had to leave me at the ER while she took my son over to my grandma's house.

You can only entertain an 8 month old in the hospital for so long, and I was in too much pain to do much of anything.

George eventually showed up, and I could tell immediately that he was pissy.

And so was my mother.

You could've cut the tension between them with a  knife.

I finally got brought back into a room and sure enough, appendicitis.

The only was I was comfortable was laying on my right side with my back to George. My mom had made a face book post, and my phone was going off left and right from family members checking in on me.

That's when George lost his shit.

He got pissed and started accusing me of texting other guys while I was laying in the hospital bed. I don't remember everything, that morphine shot really did its job, but I do remember him storming out of the emergency room and my mom following him down the hall way.

I tried to call him, upset that my oh so loving husband had not only just screamed at me while I was being prepped for surgery, but also left me there. The nurse working on me for pre-op had the privilege of hearing every nasty thing that came out of his mouth during that phone call.

Fuck you and your family, you're all pieces of shit.

Why would you listen to your mother over me?

Fuck you, come Monday I'm filing for a divorce.

And my mom just stood there in a state of shock listening to me begging and pleading with him to come back and apologizing as though I was the one that had done something wrong.

After the morphine kicked in full force, I was up chatting away with the nurses trying to sell them all one of the puppies from the litter (I was successful with one nurse) and a wave of relief washed over me when I realized I knew the surgeon that would be operating on me.

When I woke up from surgery George was in the room, he walked over kissed my forehead and left shortly after.

Mom was relieved to see me giving her the finger, a sure sign that I was just fine, and the pain meds knocked me out shortly after that.

It was a long few days in the hospital, and finally after the 2nd day my mom brought my baby in to see me. There's a picture somewhere of him and I snuggled up in the hospital bed for a much needed cuddle and nap.

George went back down to Miami to work, and of course after apologizing everything between us went back to "normal."

If there was even a such thing as normal for him and I...

The last night that I spent in the hospital, I received a message request on Facebook from a guy I didn't know.

*Insert guys name here*: Hey Brenna, I just wanted to let you know that Jordan is cheating on you with Ashley and has been for a while now.

I don't remember what the rest of the message said, besides that this Ashley chick had chlamydia, but it went on to mention another guys name that I knew and next thing I know I'm on a Facebook messenger call getting all sorts of details about what my husband had been up to since April.

The source wasn't necessarily reliable, but he knew a lot of details and considering we were never really friends and hadn't spoken since George and I had first gotten together, I believed him.

I sent George a screen shot of the message I had received, with a  caption that said "I suggest you start talking" and boy did shit hit the fan.

He finally confessed to talking with Ashley even though he had initially denied it after I found the Facebook messages on his phone from her. But he claimed they were "just friends" and that he would talk to her when we would argue but that it was nothing more than that.

Of course I knew it was much more than that.

It was a normal fight. Everything was turned around on me as though I had forced him to message her, and I was the one to blame, and he wasn't doing anything wrong, etc etc...

And the fight got worse, his digs at me escalated.

George started talking about how I always listen to my mother over him, when I shouldn't because all she does is lie to me and hide things from me...

Like the fact that my father wasn't at the hospital the day I was born because he didn't believe I was really his.

And boy did that hit me like a train.

Here I am laid up in a hospital bed, with the whole ordeal being a shit show from the beginning, and now in some shitty desperate attempt to break me down even more he starts throwing out things I never knew about the father I just lost less than a year ago. It's been confirmed, finally, that my husband is cheating on me again. Yet somehow he's still managing to twist it to where I feel like I'm the one to blame for all of it.

Not to mention I had never been away from my son that long and I was already an emotional wreck over not being with him.

Now I'm bawling my eyes out, for every reason and no reason at all.

And honestly I remember wishing they hadn't caught my appendix in time and that I would've just died.

That's how low George made me feel. That's how much power I allowed him to have over me.

George got his tax return sometime in February (depsite being over ten-thousand dollars behind on child support) and even though things were still awful between us, he started shopping for engagement rings.

Because putting a ring on my finger would magically fix everything. Ha.

He proposed one evening on our front porch after putting our son in a onesie that he had written "will you marry my daddy" on.

With everything inside me screaming no, I still told him yes.

I tried to express my concerns about it being too soon and that we were not in a good place to be talking about marriage and that I wanted to wait until we were sure that we were going to be able to move past what I had done...but anytime I spoke up about it, I was immediately shut down and told that if we didn't get married he was leaving me.

I should've stood my ground. I know that. But I didnt. And after months of being beaten down to the point where he had me convinced that I was worthless, I felt like I had no choice. That nobody else was going to want me. That I wasn't good enough. That I should be grateful that he "decided to stay with me" and that I owed him this because of what I had done.

The idea of planning a wedding was hard. Not just because I knew it wouldn't last with George and that it was a mistake...

My dad wasn't going to be there.

I spent a lot of the following month crying. Upset over feeling so low. Stressed over the idea of marrying this monster. Sadness and grief over planning this without my father. Wishing I could just pick up the phone and tell him everything. And because of that, we agreed on a small ceremony here in my home town, and planned to have an actual wedding up North in July in the apple orchard that my dad loved.

We started making plans and arrangements, and the end of March, surrounded by weary immediate family, we said I do.

Within 48 hours he hated me and regretted marrying me and was threatening divorce. But it was normal now. Before we got married he was still threatening to leave me on a regular basis. I became numb to the threats. Responded with the normal begging and pleading for him to stay. It was just an every day cycle at that point.

We were still making wedding plans for the full ceremony in July, but eventually the reality of our financial situation hit us and we called it off. I was grateful for that.

Things never got better with George even as the weeks went on. Once we were married, he constantly reffered to me as his property and that I was "his" and that he had a piece of paper saying so. I never found that as funny as he did...

But the end of April rolled a round and suddenly things started to look up for awhile. The lashings were rare, we were making plans to move his oldest son in with us once the school year was over in May. We were arguing less, and his bitter words were becoming sweet again.

I didn't question anything...although I should've.

Eventually the drastic change in our lack of fighting and the sudden differences between us and how he was treating me came to light...Looking back at it now I just shake my head for not realizing it sooner.

Patterns never change.

I went to walk up behind him on the couch one Friday evening and as soon as I got within eye sight of his phone, he closed out of his messenger and shoved his phone in his pocket. Things had been going so well that I didn't really question it, and when I asked George who he was talking to, he told me it was my cousin.

But that sinking feeling never left.

That Saturday I ended up in the hospital with symptoms of a heart attack, which they ruled a gallbladder attack due to gallstones. The trip to the ER was a fight because it took my mom threatening an ambulance showing up at my house for me to go. George screamed at me the whole ride there, with a backseat full of children, pissed that I listened to my mother over him.

He dropped me off at the entrance in the rain... and left.

My mom showed up shortly after, and once they ruled it as gallstones, we were discharged.

As soon as I got home, George left to go "deliver a pig" to his godfather, and I was to stay home and watch all 3 of the kids.

George didn't end up getting home until almost 9 o'clock that night.

I didn't really think anything of it. Anytime he told me he was just going somewhere quick it always turned into hours. The part that struck me odd was him not wanting to talk on the phone. Since George and I got together he had always been a big talker. The ride to work in the morning, lunch breaks, randomly throughout the day, the ride home, he has to be on the phone talking to someone. Most days we'd be on the phone for his entire ride home all the way until he would be pulling into the driveway.

That Sunday morning I woke up before the rest of the house did. Even my early-riser son was still snoozing away in the bed next to George. I managed to sneak of out the room and started a pot of coffee hoping a may be able to get through a cup while it was still hot....for once.

George's phone was laying on the kitchen counter plugged in, and the uneasy feeling ended up getting the best of me. I went through everything, and for once found nothing.

Or so I thought...

Facebook Message Request- *Insert girls name here*

(We'll call her Ashley) 8:23 P.M.: *heart emoji* *heart emoji*

My heart was in my stomach.

I immediately grabbed my phone to see what time it was that I had called him the evening prior, as he was walking through our front door.

8:26 P.M. Call Ended

Three....THREE MINUTES before he was walking through our front door to his wife and 3 kids, he was messaging another woman. All I could see of the conversation was the two hearts, so I can only assume that he cleared the rest of the conversation prior to getting home...not realizing that she had sent another message back after he closed out.

I sat outside and chain smoked for a few minutes before I calmly went inside and woke George up. The rest of the house was still asleep, so I was quiet and gentle about it.

George...George wake up, I need you to come outside. It's important.

-What's wrong?

Nothing, everything's fine I just need you to come outside with me to talk about something really quick.

It took him a few minutes, but he finally got up.

I was calm, as usual. Once we got on the back porch and he lit a cigarette, I looked him dead in the eyes and said "I'm gonna ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me for once in your life. Can you do that?"

Of course he said yes.

Who is Ashley? And don't tell me you haven't been talking to her.

-I have no idea what you're talking about.

Seriously George? So some random girl just happens to send you a bunch of hearts just 3 minutes before you're walking through our door to your family after you disappear for 4 hours yesterday?

-It must've been an accident. Or maybe she was just trying to get my attention.

I swear he thought I had idiot written across my forehead. We spent a few moments arguing, and the rest of the day his phone didn't leave his pocket.

Can you say guilty?

By the end of the day, his story had changed...go figure, he knows the girl! But they haven't been talking, and he hasn't seen her in over 7 years. But how funny that the mother of his 5 year old used to accuse him of cheating on her with Ashley back in the day?

What a coincidence.

Most of the day was tense. If we spoke, it was short and cold, or it would just circle back around to an argument. Especially once his story changed.

I tried to message her. She opened the messages and read them, but never responded. The last thing I told her was that he's married, and that we had a baby together, and that I pray if she ever finds herself in this position...that the other woman is decent enough to tell the truth.

I knew he was cheating on me, there was no doubt in my mind. And once I started thinking back over the last several weeks, it all started to make sense.

George suddenly being okay with me staying home if he went to pick up one of his other kids to spend the day with him...

Short phone calls while he was away.

Minimal texting.

The lack of fighting.

The sudden urge for different things in the bedroom that he had never asked for before...

I had cut off all of my friends, and was hardly talking to most of my family because of his behavior and everything that had happened back in January. Nobody knew what was going on. I had nobody to talk to, and was afraid to reach out to anyone in fear that he would go back to screaming at me anytime I was on my phone.

Yeah, you read that right. I'm an idiot, I know. What on God's green earth convinced me to accept his proposal still baffles me. Everything inside of me was screaming no, laughing as if this was some sick joke. But it happened. And I went along with it.

Back to the story...

Nothing got better. We were fighting more, and the fights were worse. He was packing his shit to leave at least once a week, and if he wasn't threatening to kill me, he was threatening to just kill himself.

He went to all of my friends to cry about what I had done, and before I knew it I was getting attacked through text or Facebook messages.

How could YOU do something like that to him? He's so wonderful and such a great dad!

You're such an asshole. Shame on you for doing that.

And not once did I try to defend myself. I felt awful about what I had done. I knew it wasn't right.

The verbal abuse from George got worse and worse. I was every name imaginable. And to a certain extent, I felt as though I deserved to be called all those names. That I deserved to be screamed at.

I excused it all for him being hurt for what I did to him. I told myself that this was how he needed to react for us to move past it. Figured that it was only temporary.

But it wasn't. And I didn't want to try and make things work to move past it. But I was afraid to leave.

After a month or so the verbal lashings became less frequent. Yakno, to once a week or every couple of days vs every single day, multiple times a day.

George would go from telling me he loved me and that he couldn't imagine being with anyone else and that we would work through it...and within 5 minutes I was back to being a piece of shit and a whore and he was leaving me. But by the time he got home, he'd walk through the door as if nothing happened. "Killing me" turned into a joke that he would throw out on a regular basis as if it was funny.

I know some people with some hogs. Pigs can devour a human body within 30 minutes.

I'd make sure nobody knew it was me that killed you. I know people.

Nobody would ever find a body.

I kept it all from my family too. As far as everyone else was concerned, things were perfect.

But I was on lock down. I couldn't leave to do anything without him. I stopped talking to all of my friends because he would go off on me if I was texting anyone. If we went anywhere on the weekends and I took the time to do my hair and make up or put on a nicer blouse George would immediately start accusing me of trying to look good for someone else. He started keeping tabs of how many times a day I would show as active on Facebook, and if it surpassed what he thought was "okay" then it would turn into a fight, quick.

But I deserved it for what I did. Right?

Thats what I kept telling myself.

If I didn't answer his calls or texts in a timely manner, world war 3 would start...along with a nasty string of text messages accusing me of having guys in my office. Followed by phone call after phone call, and facebook messages back to back.

Some days he would just show up completely unannounced at work and come into my office and snatch my phone off my desk trying to catch me in a lie. He'd get pissed when he didn't find anything, cause a scene, and then he would grab our son and haul ass....throwing my keys and wallet and other belongings out of the drivers side window as he sped out of the parking lot.

That was always the scariest part for me. I knew how he was what he was mad. I knew how he drove. I had a pretty good idea what he was capable of...and that was my son in the backseat that he was risking. He'd always shut his phone off too.

I can't tell you how many times I walked into my managers office, tears streaming, and barley being able to mutter that George had left with our son. It reached a point where she could just tell by the look on my face when it would happen and tell me to go find my baby.

Somewhere in the midst of all of this, we were served the paternity test paperwork too.

*Instert Maury voice here* The results are in and...you ARE the father.

And that came with a court date to determine child support. Great.

George was threatening my job on a daily basis. Claiming that if I didn't quit he was going to come in and cause a scene and tell the owner what I did and force him to fire me. I would have to reason with him that we couldn't afford daycare for our newborn, ontop of all of our other bills PLUS two child support cases on just his paycheck. We were barley making ends meet as it was with both of us working full time.

And once that second round of child support hit he finally left my job alone. I wasn't allowed to go in early, and if I did for a meeting he would message my boss to make sure I was actually there. George would call right at 4 o'clock and if I wasn't punching out right at 4 I would get screamed at. Usually hung up on too.

I shut down completely. My self worth was non-existent. He beat me down to nothing. Had me convinced that I was worthless and that I really was all of these awful things that he said I was. And somedays when he would "joke" about killing me, I found myself wishing that he would've that night...because it had to be easier than dealing with what he was putting me through. I've never addmitted to anyone just how dark of a place I was in during that time. My son was the only thing that kept me going most days. As long as I was alive, I knew my son was safe.

Sex became a chore. Even though it was better than it had ever been, I dreaded it. But I felt like I couldn't tell him no. That denying him and it turning into a fight wasn't worth it, so whenever he wanted it...he got it. But it would turn into a fight either way, because "he wasn't as good" or " I didn't enjoy it as much" as I did with the guy I cheated on him with.

I tried. I would try to talk to him about things that bothered me. What I was lacking in the relationship. What I needed from him. Ways that we could fix things.

It would turn into a fight...but then he'd claim to understand and he'd always apologize and tell me he knows he's messing up and that "he couldn't lose me" and things would get better for a few days...maybe a week max...before it would go right back to the same things.

But eventually, you reach a point of no return. Where you're just fed up and you can't continue on like this. The fighting, the stress, the lack of what the other person is doing for you or to make your life better...it's just not worth the bullshit.

And I told him.

I told him I was done, that this wasn't working, and that we needed to figure out a new solution to his living arrangements because I couldn't do it anymore.

And then I left for work with our son.

I got into work that day, and I was a little nerve-wracked. The conversation I had with George as I was leaving for work resulted in a phone call, which lead to some arguing, a few hang ups just to call back, and then furious texts.

Our service technician had come into my office to go over some paperwork and could tell by the look on my face that it was a rough Monday morning...

Everything okay?

Yeah, it will be. I told my boyfriend that he needs to figure out some new living arrangements because it's not working anymore and I'm just done this morning. You?

My girlfriend left me and kicked me out this weekend, so I've spent the weekend moving back into my momma's house until I figure something else out.

Damn, so you're in my shoes. Sorry to hear that.

...and that's where it should've been left.

But it didn't. We started talking, what started out as just venting about our situations. Just random conversation here and there that stopped once we punched out and went our separate ways.

Meanwhile, George was picking up his game around the house, which I was ignoring because I knew it was short-lived, and mentally I was just done. But I was letting him try. He had been out of work most of the week and would brag about the things he did while he was home that day, assuming he didn't take off to go fishing. But if I even suggested him keeping our son for the day so that I could try to get ahead at work, it was an argument or he had some excuse for why he couldn't.

And the venting at work with the service technician started turning into flirting.

This isn't right.

I need to end things with George.

I'd be pissed if he was talking to someone else like this.

But I didn't stop.

The technician was convinced he could make me happier and that he would treat me better, that he would appreciate me and make me feel loved...and I told him that it didn't matter because I wouldn't date him.

That we would never be more than friends.

It didn't stop me from agreeing to hanging out with him that weekend, though. George had a side job (supposedly), and I hadn't done anything that didn't involve the kids since our son was born...so I agreed to it, even though my insides were screaming at me not to, got a sitter for my son, and took off with the service technician for a few hours.

I will never excuse myself for my actions. Nothing about the way I handled the situation was right. I should've just ended it with George. Or told the technician that until the relationship was officially over, that we had no business talking. I can blame it on feeling undesirable, unappreciated, worthless, among other things by George, but it still doesn't make what I did okay.

I ended up cheating on George that day. And I immediately regretted my decision.

But he cheated on me, so that makes it okay...right?

But he was abusive to you...he deserves it, right?

NOTHING MAKES IT OKAY.

I immediately left to get my son, and raced home. George was home waiting for me, I got baby down for bed, and we actually had a decent evening together. I thought that doing what I did helped me figure out what I really wanted...basically whatever I could tell myself to ease the guilt.

And then his phone went off..

*Would you like to accept a Facebook message request from -insert woman's name here-*

That's when all hell broke loose.

Apparently, after I left to go get my son...the service technician went to his ex's house to "talk things out" and when he got in the shower, left his phone laying around, unlocked. So the ex saw our conversations and that we had hung out...and started sending the screen shots to George over Facebook messenger.

Of course George freaked out and went off the deep end.

I deserved some screaming. Probably deserved the name calling too. I mean, I did cheat on him.

But he didn't stop there...

He started punching the shit out of our dog. Our kitten that we had gotten was getting picked up and forcefully thrown out of the front door. My phone was yanked from my hands and my keys were taken, and he left.

During all of this, the technician's ex started sending the screen shots to my office manager... who immediately messaged me (knowing George's temper) to make sure I was okay. At the time, George was gone and I was sure if he was coming back, so she decided to come over with wine.

And thank God she did.

I tried to keep George outside when he got back. At the time, our son was sleeping in a co-sleeper in our room, and I wanted to keep the screaming and fighting away from him. He would leave again, come back, scream some more, leave, come back... but I wasn't able to keep him outside.

George ended up in our room.

All of my work shirts got torn in half. Along with all of my underwear. My hair straightener was smashed and broke in half against the bathroom vanity, damaging the vanity. He punched a hole in the wall that went through into the master bedroom, and threw a beer can through the accent wall in the living room. My phone left a hole in another wall, while there's mark down the hallway across the house from the can opener he threw that he had initially grabbed to shatter my phone with.

He started throwing things around our room, and eventually threw something in our sons direction that crashed right over his head...causing him to wake up screaming. I went to pick him up to calm him down, and that's when George pulled his 9mil from his waist, pointed it directly at my head while I was holding our son, and told me "I should just kill you right now."

That, I didn't deserve.

My office manager saw all of it. Saw the holes. Saw the path of destruction through the house. Watched him shove me into a wall. Watched him throw things towards where our son was sleeping. Saw the gun pointed at me and our son.

I should've let her call the cops.

But I didn't.

And that is a moment I will forever regret. That could have been the end of it all, right then and there. It would've not allowed anything that happened after this night turn into what it did. All of it would have been over at that exact moment.

Instead, I asked her not to call. To let me handle it. To let me try to keep it under control. I was afraid to call, terrified of what would happen if I did. What he would do to me. To my son.

Eventually things settled down. It was near 2 a.m. at this point, and we made our way into the room. Our son was sleeping soundly again.

As shitty as this may sound, the make up sex was phenomenal. Probably the best sex we had ever had.

But the next day, all hell broke loose again. Except this time he brought my mom into it. Before I knew it she was at the house asking what the hell was going on, assessing the damage to the walls in the house from the night before. She had no idea of anything that had been going on in our relationship, even from the beginning.

"What the HELL were you thinking?!" Is all she kept saying.

I didn't have an answer.

I wasn't thinking.

Things went back to normal once all the family left.

I took care of our son, as well as all of the cooking and cleaning. And at the time, I didn't feel I had a right to be upset about the lack of help I was receiving from him because I was still on maternity leave...so he was the only source of income. He shouldn't have to lift a finger when he gets home and the house should be clean since I'm at home all day, right?

George would go to work, come home and plop down in front of the TV, or just go straight to bed. Some nights he would say that he was stopping by his bosses house and eventually show up around 9 or so.

Same shit, different day.  As usual.

In December I started back to work, part time...and was blessed to work for a company that offered to let me bring my son to work with me. I was only part time for the first week, and then decided I could handle having my son and balancing my job full time.

40+ hours a week.

Still a full time mommy.

Oh, and a full time house keeper and chef...

Because obviously George was still useless in the house. Surprise. Most days when he would get home I would basically have to drop our son in his lap for him to help me do anything. Or to even get a short break. It was always "well, can I go poop first?" or "Let me go smoke a cigarette quick and then I'll change his diaper." ALWAYS an excuse or he would hand him right back to me after 5 minutes.

Dad of the year, right?

So now, I'm waking up between 4 and 5 a.m. to get George up for work after being up through the night with baby...because he can't get up on his own or cares about being on time to anything. Once he leaves, I attempt to go back to sleep (assuming baby hasn't woken up) until my alarm goes off around 6 or 6:30..rushing to get out the door to be to work by 8 a.m....working all day while balancing our son in process...and then coming home to an empty house most days because he's working late, or has to go to another son's practice, or is stopping by so-and-so's house on the way home *quick* and then he'll be home.

Eventually George shows up, bitches about me not stopping to come sit down with him and relaxing, yet he still doesn't offer to help me do anything, and then it's a fight to get baby to bed before he finally gives up around 10/10:30 p.m.

And after a long day that basically started around 4 a.m.... I'm expected to wake George up after he's fallen asleep once I've finally gotten the baby to bed (because of course George couldn't stay up to help with bedtime) so that George can have some "play time."

Play Time: phrase used in place of sex. Typically lasts between 30 seconds - 2 minutes that leaves me completely unsatisfied and more irritated than anything.

Oh, and if I don't wake him up, or God forbid I fell asleep in the rocking chair with our son because I'm exhausted...the next morning it's attitude from him and a fight because he didn't get laid.

Am I alone in this? Men or women, it doesn't matter. If you're spending more time irritated with your SO than you are happy then....

WHAT ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH MAKES YOU THINK THAT I WANT TO TOUCH YOU, LET ALONE HAVE SEX WITH YOU when I literally don't stop from the time I get up, to the time I finally crash at night, with nothing but doing for you and our family non-stop in-between, WHILE YOU SIT AROUND AND BITCH ME AT ME ALL DAY...knowing that if I do give in, I won't get anything out of it or even enjoy it because you'll be done in 30 seconds?

If we do have sex, you'll cry about how I didn't enjoy it..

If we don't have sex it's "fuck you, you never wanna have sex with me, you don't find me attractive anymore, you don't love me." which eventually turns into accusations of me sleeping with someone else, and a fight.

YOU'RE RIGHT. I DON'T WANT TO SLEEP WITH YOU. THE IDEA OF TOUCHING YOU IS REVOLTING 99% OF THE TIME. EVEN WHEN THERE'S BRIEF MOMENTS WHERE I'M LIKE "WOW, HE LOOKS GREAT TODAY. MAYBE I'LL TOUCH HIS DICK TONIGHT" SOMEHOW IN A MATTER OF MINUTES YOU END UP DOING SOMETHING THAT MAKES ME WANT TO BASH YOUR FACE AGAINST A WALL.

I literally told him, on more than one occasion, that he had a better chance of getting laid in the mornings before he opened his mouth and pissed me off for the day.

He never found that as funny as I did.

It's not that I wasn't attracted to him. George was very good looking. But the longer we were together, and the more his true colors showed, the less appealing he became.

And I'm sorry, but with everything I did for him and how little I received in return, even just a thank you or him telling me he appreciated anything I did, by the time I finally did get to lay down...I just wanted to sleep. Nothing else.

I'm sure I sound like I'm just bitching and complaining. But seriously, this isn't just women in relationships. If anyone feels unappreciated, overworked, like everything they do goes unnoticed...eventually they shut down. Especially if you have someone in your ear constantly talking to you as though nothing you do is good enough, and like you're worthless. Sex drive? Out the window!

I wasn't asking for him to do everything so that I could sit around. But good lord if you see me balancing laundry and getting dinner ready and a screaming baby the least you can do is pry yourself away from the TV long enough to take the trash out.

Or hey, can you clean up dinner while I get baby in the bath?

Or! How about you help me with the things that need to get done so that we can BOTH sit down and maybe enjoy some relaxing time TOGETHER?!

I really don't think that's too much to ask.

If you're BOTH working, BOTH contributing to bills, then the housework should be evenly split as well.

While Dad and my step-mom and sister were down in June 2016, someone had noticed a spot on dad’s back that he promised to have tested for skin cancer once he got back up north.

He was always stubborn about going to the Dr. But all of the men on that side of the family were. Plus men are babies in general when it comes to that kind of stuff.

The tests had come back positive. Stage 2 melanoma. No big deal, right? They would just remove it, and the affected lymph nodes. Quick out patient procedure. Nothing to worry about.

The procedure had been scheduled for the end of October 2016, after he had flown back up from the week he spent down here with my son and I after he was born. Of course he was nervous. Heart issues and high blood pressure run in the family, and just being in a hospital setting was enough to send his blood pressure through the roof.

I remember him telling me that they almost didn’t do the procedure because of his blood pressure. It was too high. But instead of sending him home, they doped him up with meds and what not to help bring it down, and by 4:55 p.m. he was calling me still loopy from meds, and on his way home. But they had removed everything and all was good. Now all we were waiting on was the final tests to come back and confirm it had all been removed. I was in the middle of unloading groceries when he called and really only half paid attention to what he was saying before I rushed off the phone.

Shortly after that I received a picture message of his green pee LOL He was still feeling pretty good from the meds I guess. We texted back and forth awhile before I left his last message on read.

Like I said, the communication had made a drastic change for the better once my son came along.

Around midnight I had woken up to feed Cason, and while I was scrolling through my phone a Facebook message popped up from him asking what I was doing awake. We went back and forth for a good 30 minutes cracking jokes at each other, having a serious talk about the procedure, how his pain levels were now that meds were wearing off, and as I was starting to doze off I told him I was heading back to bed and he should too

Me, 10/29/2016 12:40 A.M.: I’m gonna try to get some sleep you should too lol Love you, night night

Dad, 10/29/2016 12:40 A.M.: Soon I hope, love you

Dad, 10/29/2016 3:05 A.M.: Y u up

The worst part about that last message is that I had woken up around 3 a.m. I even briefly considered messaging him to see how he was doing before falling back asleep. And I didn’t because he hadn’t been active in almost two hours. I assumed he was sleeping. Just 5 more minutes and I could’ve talked to him again.

October 29, 2016 5:30 A.M.

*Phone vibrating out of control on the night stand*

Why is my step mom calling me? Might as well get up and feed the baby…

“Sissy…*hyperventilating step-mom* SISSY wake up! Daddy. They’re taking Daddy.”

I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying through the heavy sobs. What I got out of it was that they were rushing my dad to the hospital. They thought he was having an allergic reaction to something he had been on from the procedure just 12 hours ago. Something about his tongue and neck being swollen. I told her she needed to calm down for my 12 year old sisters sake...all she said was that we can't lose daddy...And that she would have to call me back, and to pray. Pray hard.

I had gotten up and gone to the living room with the little one to nurse him in the rocking chair. We had been having quite a hard time with the breastfeeding, but I was still trying.

What seemed like an eternity had passed, when in reality about 15 minutes had gone by, before my phone rang again.

I honestly can’t even explain what I was feeling during that phone call. I don't remember a whole lot of the conversation beyond the initial sobs and my stepmom barley managing to spit out that he was gone. They weren't able to save him. My sister was bawling in the back ground. First thing I do remember is handing our son to George before I lost it completely. And then I called my mom. Shortly after we hung up she got to the house, and more family started calling to check on me as the news spread. By 8 a.m. we were all headed to grandma's where the rest of the family had gathered. I didn't see much of my son that day. The family took turns snuggling my dad's first grandbaby as a form of comfort while I sat outside with the rest of the cousins who were also avoiding all the stories and Facebook posts. Beer:30 started around 9 a.m. that day. Right along with my cigarette smoking habit that I had given up once I found out I was pregnant.

I know, shame on me.

They ruled it a heart attack. To this day I still feel like he would be here if they hadn't sent him home so soon. If they would've just kept him 24 hours to make sure his blood pressure was back to normal and everything was alright... But you can't sit around thinking of the what if's. It's not healthy. It doesn't change anything.

Life happens. You move on.

That's what I tell myself anyway...and anyone who still asks how I'm handling my father passing.

He had plans to fly back down with my sister and stepmom on Halloween. My stepmom and sister decided to keep the flight and arrived super late on Halloween night. My stepgrandma and stepbrother came to the house to surprise them once they got here. After the long hugs and them finally meeting their grandson and nephew for the first time, I got the little one to bed and we converged on the back porch to drink a few beers and talk. Again, most of that night is fuzzy. I was feeling pretty numb at that point. George was already making my father's death about him and freaking out over how quiet I was being. Apparently my response of "he's dead. He really wasn't around much to begin with. It's life," when he would try to get to me to talk about it just pissed him off. But George knew about the relationship (or lack thereof) that I had with my father...

Don't pry.

Just leave it be.

Even when I told him I just needed some time to process things and I would talk when I was ready he'd blow up on me and it would turn into an argument. But anyway, back to the back porch after my stepmom got into town... So, were all sitting back there. Me, stepmomma, brother, and stepgrandma. My sister had stayed inside with the baby and to nap. Stepmomma started going into more detail about what happened that morning, and everyone was crying but me. At one point they had all gotten up to group up my stepmom who was full fledged bawling, and I continued to sit in my chair, lost in thought, until she got up and dropped to her knees in front of me. She apologized. She apologized for taking daddy away from me. For not being able to save him. Promised that she did everything she could, and then continued apologizing. And what did I do? I consoled her. I played mom. I told her that she couldn't blame herself. And not once did I cry. I was too angry to cry. Angry with God. Angry with the doctors. Angry with myself for all the years of resentment that I could no longer take back. Angry with myself for being so jealous of my sister for her getting all of this time with my dad, when in reality he got to be there for things like my high school graduation that she'll never get to have now. Angry that my son wasn't gonna get to know my dad, his grandpa. Angry that he was gone when things were finally getting good. After more crying (on everyone else's part) and a few more beers, everyone went to bed. More family piled in the next day and everyone started making plans and arrangements for dad's service. I didn't have much part in the plans besides making sure that it wasn't a fancy event, and letting everyone know we'd be having a fire at my place and drinking afterwards...an actual celebration. The way dad would've wanted it. And again, George managed to make it about him. I still don't remember exactly what happened...basically he pitched a fit over something stupid because he had drank to much and decided to disappear for two hours with his phone turned off. Typical move for George. By the time he got back "we were over" and "he would watch our son for the service and then he was gone." Normal banter after we fight. You know how it goes. Strike 1. And of course this was all right after he had been telling me everyday since my dad had passed that he would never leave my side and always be there for me and to take care of me.

Ha, what a joke.

He made sure to catch a good buzz the night of the service too. And instead of staying sober to help me out with our son so that maybe I could be spending some time with my family, he was outside slamming beers and talking with a "family friend" that's quite the tramp and was getting awfully friendly. He didn't even noticed when I walked up and was standing right next to him until she made it a point of acknowledging me.

Strike 2.

We decided to have one last get together at grandma's the Sunday before everyone had to go back home. And suprise, I was left to tend to the baby, while George got drunk and spent time with my family. Oh, and the overly friendly family friend that just so happened to be everywhere he was when I would get 5 minutes away from my son.

These next two chapters will probably be the most difficult for me. It's been over a year and I still feel like I haven't actually processed anything. Not to mention the guilt I now feel for so many years of resentment that I can't take back. That was another reason for starting this blog...I NEED to cope with things. I NEED to stop bottling everything up. I NEED to cry, scream, whatever needs to be done, but I'm hoping just writing it will help for now. Here we go...

 I'll give you a little bit of background on the relationship between my father and I so that the next chapter makes a bit more sense.

My parents divorced when I was around 7-8 years old, and I had always been a daddy's girl. I don't remember all of the details, I mean common..it was over 10 years ago. Bit's and pieces of them fighting I can remember. Like hearing my dad's wedding ring bouncing down the driveway after he threw it and then coming into the house and punching a hole in the wall..those kinds of things. But for the most part they kept the arguing away from me.

And I fixed the hole by hanging a piece of paper over it LOL

I remember when he was staying with my uncle and I had gone to spend the night with him...he picked me up late from daycare and was on the phone the whole evening...and I can remember laying in bed watching this dolphin thing sway until I fell asleep.

Everything else about that time is fairly hazy though.

That is, until my future step-mom came into the picture. Everything after that I can remember clear as day.

The first time I met my stepmom...my dad, her and her 2 boys picked me up at daycare. I had been an only child up until this point, hadn't seen my father a whole lot, and suddenly I'm wedged in the back seat between two kids that I don't know (one of which was playing with MY daddy's watch), while I'm watching my dad kiss this woman I don't know at every red-light between my daycare and my aunt's apartment.

It was a very confusing, uncomfortable feeling.

Who is this woman?

Why is my daddy kissing her?

I don't wanna be here...

Where's mommy?

I was old enough to understand what was happening to an extent, but it was still very overwhelming.

We got back to my aunt's apartment (my dad was staying with her at the time) and the majority of the evening was fuzzy after that. My step-brothers were still very young, maybe 2 and 5? There's 3 years between each of us. So of course they required a lot more attention than I did. We were all sleeping in the living room on couches that night, my dad and step-mom on one, the two boys on a blanket on the floor between the couches, and then me on the other couch.

This night still haunts me to this day.

First time I've met this woman, first time I've seen my dad in awhile, and on the couch 5 feet away from me, my dad and this stranger are having sex. I don't mean respectable quiet "the kids are near and sleeping sex". I mean my step-mom screaming like a gorilla while they moan each other's names kind of sex.

To this day I'm still extremely uncomfortable even being in the same house as anyone having sex if it can be heard in the slightest bit.

This went on for hours while I laid on that couch bawling before either of them realized I was awake. I know it was super late. I can remember my dad taking me outside afterwards while I begged him to let me call my mommy and have her come pick me up, and he bargained with me that he wouldn't kiss my step-mom in front of me anymore if I stayed. Neither of them realized I was awake the whole time.

Hell, it took me 15 years to even tell my dad about that night.

Needless to say, no part of me wanted to be around my step-mom. But shortly after that, her and her boys went back up north for a short time. I can remember my dad crying when they pulled out of the driveway.

Once they came back south for good, everything changed. My dad decided to switch office locations and move a little over an hour away to where her and her boys were. Leaving me behind, and us being on an every other weekend rotation.

Every other weekend of never having one on one time with my dad.

Every other weekend of living out of my suitcase and pulling pajamas out of 1 dresser drawer that had been cleared out for me.

Every other weekend of fighting for my dads attention because my step-brothers were so much younger.

Every other weekend of sleeping on the couch, unless the boys were off at their dad's house.

Every other weekend of begging my mom not to make me go, but not explaining why, and crying when it was time to go home because I didn't want to leave daddy.

My step-mom and I didn't have the greatest relationship at first. We butted heads A LOT. And dad's way of making up for missing out on so much was just buying me anything I wanted, or cooking my favorite meal anytime I came over, or sending my step-mom and I out shopping.

Between that, and my mom raising me to be independent, that's probably why I cringe when any guy I'm dating tries to pay for anything or buy me something expensive.

You can't buy love.

Years went by on this every other weekend rotation, and eventually my half-sister came along. I tried to be excited. And I was a great big sister, lemme tell ya! But it was hard. Now I was losing even more time with my daddy. More of his attention was off of me and on the other kids. I don't remember much around the time that my sister was born...or much thereafter. I loved my sister. Just like I loved my step-brothers. It was just difficult not being angry when I couldn't even walk outside for a 5 minute conversation with my father without someone getting an attitude.

Once I started driving, the every other weekend rotation stopped. Between jobs, and a social life, a 2 hour drive round trip wasn't all that appealing. Especially since I didn't really have many friends up there. Once it was no longer mandatory pick up and drop off and I no longer felt obligated to make the drive, the visits became less and less frequent, heck, the communication died off in general. But the guilt trips started.

I haven't seen you in forever.

Are you ever gonna come see your dad?

Your sister misses you.

You don't love your old man.

I'd end up going over once a month, sometimes more. Sometimes just for day trips. But 9/10 it was me making the drive. We'd talk maybe once a week, tag each other in silly stuff on Facebook...whatever the case may be. But as I got older the pedestal that I had him on slowly started to disappear.

Don't get me wrong, my dad was a great person. He was a hard worker and was the kind of guy that would give you the shirt off of his back. A fairly honest individual. A lot of people adored him. He was always there financially for me. And if I needed to talk he was only a phone call away. But getting him to do anything over the years for me was impossible.

In fact, I remember him telling me he wouldn't be able to come down for my senior prom because it would mess up my sister's routine and she wouldn't sleep without him home.

I couldn't even get 1 night of him to myself.

I was the child he couldn't make time for. I didn't get to see him everyday. If we did talk on the phone, most calls were me talking while he carried on a conversation with someone else in the background. My step-mom, half sister, and step-brothers were the priority. I was just the one he bragged about on Facebook when I would do something right. The occasional picture he would share, among the millions of the rest of the kids. That's how I felt anyway.

The worst part for me was one weekend when I had decided to go over there...let me remind you that at this point I'm 20-21 years old. I'm living on my own....etc.

But here I am sitting on the couch, mad as hell as I watch my dad and sister bond in the kitchen. Scratching my head and trying to figure out why this was making me so angry. Why the pictures on social media profiles of everyone BUT me would get under my skin so bad. Why I was jealous over my 9 year old sister. And it hit me.

I didn't get that time with him. I didn't get the cooking lessons at the age of 7. Instead, I was dealing with shared time with MY dad with kids that I didn't know. I didn't get the fishing trips. The big family pictures. The hunting adventures. The being there for nightmares. Whatever the case may be.

I got a drawer.

I got money handed to me, or things bought to make up for the absence.

I got the guilt trips when I wouldn't answer a call, because I had nothing to say, but he was paying my phone bill.

I got the heartache, knowing he chose another woman and her kids over being close to me.

I was the 8 year old in the backseat, crying, asking my mom why daddy didn't love me and how come he never called.

I know I probably sound like I'm complaining. And that I'm ungrateful. At least he was around to an extent, right? At least I knew him. I know he loved me in whatever way he could. But sometimes it felt like his part time existence was worse than him just being absent all together. And I didn't always resent my step-mom either. As I got older we started getting along more, and she became one of my best friends.

I finally let him have it one day. Told him EVERYTHING. Well, whatever I could get out between sobs and choking up. I've never been all that great actually speaking about issues. I know the conversation hurt him. But he needed to know.

And things we're better for a little bit. He even came down to my neck of the woods to visit a few times. But shortly after that he quit his stressful job that was killing him and since all of us kids were grown (except my sister) they made the decision to move to PA. Back to where my dad grew up. He had always talked about wishing he could go back.

One of his excuses was always that he didn't want to be that far away from me.

You already moved away once, and even being an hour away you're rarely there. What difference will another state be? Was always my thought.

Eventually he approached it with me, and basically asked my permission. Who was I to say no? I was on my own and a big girl now. If he was going to be happier, then go. Within in a month they were gone.

Two years went by before I saw him again. But once he got the phone call about me being pregnant, things changed. They changed for the better. There were more phone calls. Regular texting. Actual effort. And when they flew down for my brother's graduation and my baby shower, I actually felt important for once.

Come Monday we were allowed to go home.

*shout out to our awesome neighbors that mowed our yard for us as a welcome home present.* I really do have some incredible people in my life.

I actually cried when I saw my dogs. Haha, I had missed them so much. I had even joked around at one point about packing them with the hospital bags.

What? The suggestions said to bring whatever will make you comfortable. That’s my dogs. Judge me.

George immediately left to go to work, and after a quick eating the little one had drifted off to sleep.

Everyone lovessss to lecture about how you need to sleep when the baby sleeps…and take it easy at first…but walking into my house, no part of me could relax.

I was doing laundry, I was unpacking, I was sweeping the pounds of dirt off the floor, I was scheduling doctors appointments, and I was kicking myself in the ass for it later. That initial surge of energy quickly turned into being obnoxiously sore. But even after getting the chaos back in order I managed to squeeze in an hour nap before baby was ready to wake up and eat. BAM.

My son was (and still is) an awesome baby. It made the transition into motherhood so easy. We spent the first week spending time with his grandpa. For the first time in probably 15 years I was actually getting one on one time with my father. Everyone was so smitten over the little guy.

It didn’t take George long to be back to himself. Coming home late, deciding that fishing was more important than coming home to help me with anything, yakno…the usual. And just like that, once again, the small desire I may have had for him was gone. Especially since all he did was cry about the fact that he wouldn’t be getting laid until my stitches were healed.

Family popped in and out and at the end of that first week we said goodbye to grandpa as he left to catch his flight back home.

George came around a bit for a week or so after that, and then we were right back to being at each other’s throats again. He wasn’t much help with our son. To this day I can still count on two hands the number of times he changed a diaper. And most days when he got home I would have to hand him our son for him to even acknowledge him.

Now I’m balancing a baby, and all the house hold chores alone while he does whatever. But at the time I felt it was only fair. I was out of work and he was the only income. At that point it was my job to make sure the house was clean and taken care of and dinner was made.

A little appreciation goes a long way…and his sorry ass just took everything for granted.

The first few weeks went by fast and we settled into an awesome routine that allowed me to still get a morning shower and accomplish what I needed to do everyday to keep my sanity… And the mommy life was good.

We would wake up, he would eat, and then he’d go in his swing and fall back asleep for 2-3 hours. And I made sure to use that time wisley!

Coffee. Shower. Laundry. Clean. Dinner prep. Clean. Relax.

Andddd baby’s up! God do I love that child. He was so alert right from the beginning. And so full of personality. I don’t know what I was doing in life before he came along. Life was good.

The Thursday before the storm hit I had my 41 week check up and was only dialted 1 cm and my cervix hadn’t even started to thin out…

Around 12:30 a.m. that Saturday I woke up with what I can only describe as a sudden urge to shit. Like dinner had sat wrong, and maybe it did? I had tried a new Pinterest foil packet recipe for dinner that night (I had turned into quite the cook during my pregnancy.) Maybe the spices weren’t agreeing with the tiny goblin that felt the need to live in my rib cage?

Yeah that was probably it.

So I got up, attempted a bathroom trip, and went back to bed. After what seemed like an eternity of tossing and turning I fell back asleep, only to be woken up 2 hours later with the same feeling.

Back to the bathroom while George and our 3 month-old puppy snored away. Still nothing moving. So I walked around the house a bit. Googled a few things, and realised I was in the beginning stages of labor.

Now it’s 3 a.m. and mom and dad are getting “It’s time” text messages. The rolling stomach quickly turned into contractions and within an hour they were 2-3 minutes apart and lasting almost a minute…and boy were they knocking the breath out of me. Bags were already packed and ready and I knew a long day was ahead of me and decided a shower before we headed to hospital was probably a good idea.

Reality was setting in and I spent a good 20 minutes bawling my eyes out in the shower. I know that nobody is ever really ready, but at this point I was doubting whether or not I would even be a good mother. If I could even be a mother. And what the fuck I was thinking and how was I gonna do this?

After the shower I got ready, and made the call to the after hours nurse. I told her that I was a week overdue, where my contractions were at, and she confirmed that it was definitely time to get to the hospital. I was crying too hard to tell her thank you when she told me congratulations and couldn’t even muster a goodbye before hanging up the phone.

I woke George up, who seemed pissed that I was interuppting his sleep to drive me to the hospital because our son was on his way and at one point told him I would just drive myself.

By 5 a.m. we were out the door and on our way and I was in the passenger seat wiping away tears…

We met my mom at the hospital and made our way into the ER and made our way back to a room.

In less than 48 hours I went from 1 cm and not thinned at all to 4cm and 50% effaced.

Holy fuck. And the contractions were getting worse and worse.

6 a.m. - 5cm

7 a.m. - 6cm. HELLO EPIDURAL

10 a.m. - 7cm

11 a.m. - still 7cm… let’s break her water and get her on drip…

Anddddd now we're at a screeching hault. Family has started to pile in at this point and my loving boyfriend had decided that he’s going to make constant food runs, bringing back things that make the room smell amazing knowing that I’m starving and not allowed to eat anything. Dad's in PA hunting and ready to catch his flight the next day, and more family is packing their bags to make the trip to meet the tiny human once he makes his entrance.

At some point my epidural had been pulled out and the contractions were excruciating.

Epidural #2.

In the process of switching me into different positions since the little one was being stubborn and didn’t want to move down into the correct birthing position, let alone the birthing canal, they lost his pulse. Mom and George had left the room to smoke, and when they came back in I was in tears, and on oxygen.

And mom freaked out.

By the way, baby was fine. He had rolled onto his cord or something silly and the monitor lost him for a minute.

5:00 p.m. time to push.

I’m not kidding you, the delivery doctor had George on one side, and my mother on the other holding my legs up while I pushed. Talked about a bonding moment! And I was cracking jokes with the nurses the whole time between the pushing.

“Were having a party, who else wants to see my ass?”

“Oh that’s a new voice, who are you?”

“Someone better be taking me out to dinner after this many people seeing my vag.”

The maternity ward had just been renovated, and these idiots thought a big light above my head, that when turned off was basically a mirror, was a good idea. The pushing itself wasn’t too bad, and I was handling it pretty well…until they told me to stop pushing and I made the mistake of looking up and seeing the reflection of the umbilical cord wrapped around my sons neck and didn’t hear any cries.

At that point, the tears started pouring. But the managed to cut it free from his neck and after one more push he was out.

5:30 p.m. - Welcome to the world little one. 22 inches long, 8 lbs 3 oz. 10 tiny fingers, 10 tiny toes. Perfect little boy.

Honestly, them stitching me up from having to cut me hurt worse than the delivery itself. Holy shit. But once the little one was cleaned up, and I was stitched up, I finally got to hold him.

I didn’t have that initial moment of awe. I was still in shock that the goblin inside of me was actually looking at me now, and that life had changed as I knew it. I was no longer a human with a basketball under her shirt. This was my child, and I was officially mom. I kinda just starred at him. I’m not even sure I smiled. I couldn’t tell you what I was feeling honestly. But whatever it was, was not your usual hallmark scene where the new mom starts crying and kisses the baby and everyone’s happy.

They asked me if I was planning on breastfeeding, and I really had not made that decision yet, but they encouraged me to attempt a first latch to see how it went…and he was all for it! Latched on like a damn professional.

Right after that they took him back from me to finish up what they needed to do and run all their tests and what not to make sure he was healthy. Of course he was perfect. Thank God. And I had my first moment of panic when they took him out of the room.

Excuse me, where the fuck are you going with my baby?!

Just like that the fear and concern was over. That initial “I can’t do this” when they placed him on me was gone and for the first time I saw what I can only describe as my heart outside of my body.

George ran to get me food and to let our mutts out and they took the little one for a few hours so I could rest a bit. Once they brought him back, he didn’t leave my sight.

Family started trickling back in taking turns holding him and cooing over how adorable he was and eventually the crowd left and it was just the 3 of us. My little family.

For a brief moment, I loved George again. It was something to do with seeing him hold our son that blinded me from the reality of relationship for a moment. But within a few hours I was back to hating his existence…and suprise, guess who was getting no help? Me! Haha

The next day was the same, I spent the morning getting cuddles and falling more in love with my son while George did whatever and complained about being at the hospital with me.

My dad finally got in around 1030 p.m. that Sunday and immediately scooped up his first grandbaby. It was the first time I had seen that man cry since him, my stepmom, and sister had decided to move to PA.

Things never really got better after March. I had started mentally prepping myself for us splitting up. Was constantly running the figures in my head to make sure I could afford life on my own. Life with a baby on my own. Everyone around me was getting more and more excited about the arrival of the “bundle of joy” while I just faked a smile and internally freaked out over the idea of this “bundle of joy.”

I didn’t have the glow. I never really reached a point where I was excited. Honestly, for most of my pregnancy I didn’t even feel an emotional connection to the goblin growing inside of me. Every once in awhile I’d squeal over a cute outfit…but that would usually be smacked away with reality fairly quick.

George didn’t go to any of the baby’s appointments with me, except when we went to find out what I was having.

He really wanted a girl since he already had 2 boys.

Guess what? It’s a boy!

My dad was ecstatic. He had always wanted a boy but had 2 girls instead.

I did most of the baby shower registries alone with little to no help from him. Hell, I did everything with little to no help from him. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping. Asking him to even help straighten up the house would usually turn into a fight.

George would tell me he was going to see one of his kids and come home drunk. Or he’d tell me he was going over to his bosses house and I’d find out he never actually went there and was off at a bar. Or he’d stop somewhere on the way home, or would work late…so most of the time I was alone. And I had reached a point in the relationship where I just didn't want to fight anymore. So I just started bottling everything up. Trying to talk to him about our problems never did anything for us anyway. Infact, it usually made things worse.

The baby shower came and went (that he didn’t even want to go to) and life was still slowly rolling down hill. Man could I put on a show though, and so could he if any family was around.

Our sex life became non exsistant. I was always exhausted from sleepless nights, followed by long work days, followed by non stop house chores and cooking that I never got any help with. And by the time I finally would crawl into bed I’d be so irritated with him that the thought of physically touching him was repulsive.

I can’t tell you how many times I told him that he had a better chance of getting some in the morning before he had managed to piss me off for the day LOL.

Of course we were still arguing. I was trying to get 2 months worth of bills saved up so that we wouldn’t have to stress while I was on maternity leave and we were down to one income…and he was useless for money. Even just getting his half of bills was like pulling teeth. And somehow hed manage to blow through his paychecks.

Baby’s due date was quickly approaching and we didn’t have his nursery anywhere close to ready. It didn’t matter how many times id ask him for help setting stuff up and he would just push it off.

And boy were my parents pissed when they found out that my 9 month pregnant ass was setting up and putting together the crib and rocking chair alone. But it had to get done, and I couldn’t rely on him for anything other than a headache and some high blood pressure.

The last 3 weeks of my pregnancy were miserable. But I mean, the majority of my pregnancy was a breeze so I can’t complain too much.

However, that relaxin hormone that releases as you approach the end of your pregnancy SUCKS. But not for all women. Holy shit did my pelvis hurt. There would be days that I could barley walk because my hips would be throbbing so bad. I worked up until the day before my son was born (and he was a week overdue). The office had told me not to come in that day because we had a category 1 hurricane expected to hit and they didn’t want me at the office, about to pop, incase the weather was that bad. So I spent the day at home binge watching greys anatomy with our dogs until mom called with some jeep issues.

After the bullshit in January things had calmed down a bit. I was officially out of my first trimester, and still a basket case over the idea of being pregnant. But atleast the uneasy feeling that he was cheating on me and the arguing had calmed a bit.

George moved in, even got his own key. Things were getting all official and shit. His kids were even around more and we were doing more family oriented stuff instead of living in the bar every night and weekend. It was almost nice.

So, now were into March 2016 and it’s my 23rd birthdayyyy!

*Party over here, wooop woooop*

Ha, just kidding. I’m pregnant, remember? So it was a typical day. Nothing special. Went to work, came home, cooked my own birthday dinner and cleaned while my loving boyfriend sat his lazy ass on the couch engulfed in whatever show he was watching.

Normal day.

I was tired 24/7 during my first trimester so we were usually in bed by…8? Lol such a party animal, right? But I usually woke up within a few hours to pee. Ahh, pregnant life.

*Facebook message request: 11:17 P.M. from (insert girls name that I don’t know)*

It’s sad that my heart immediately dropped into my stomach knowing where this was more than likely going.

- Insert long ass message from baby momma #3’s best friend telling me how he was cheating on me back in January and that he had been staying with baby momma #3 (we'll call her Stephanie for the sake of the story) and how what he was doing to Stephanie wasn’t fair and that the child needs his father and that they have proof that he had been with Stephanie…etc etc.-

Happy fuckin birthday to me!

“WAKE THE FUCK UP GEORGE” I may have been a little pissed.

What?

“WHY IS STEPHANIE’S BEST FRIEND MESSAGING ME TELLING ME THAT YOU WERE CHEATING ON ME AND STAYING WITH HER BACK IN JANUARY?!”

They’re just trying to start shit. It’s not true. Stop answering her.

You’re kidding me, right?

We argued (suprise), he threatened to leave (I know, shocker), we went to bed angry, and obviously things were tense as hell the next morning.

And then the arguing began again. As well the normal string of how crazy I am, and how he’s not lying (ha) and how he’s gonna leave me if I keep talking to her (of course i had asked to see the proof)…me begging him to stay….same shit different day basically.

Eventually I stopped talking to Stephanie’s best friend and just blocked her per George’s request…he had told me if I didn’t then he was leaving me. Not at all controlling, right?

But I couldn’t let this one go. January had never added up. And usually if you can’t let something go, that’s your gut telling you something isn’t right.

Always trust your gut.

I ended up pulling up the phone records because I had added him to my account…and searched back into January.

And I’ll be damned if “I only called her a few times” wasn’t actually multiple phone calls everyday for 30 minutes plus.

He was literally leaving my house in the morning and calling her once he got out of sight. All those late nights where I thought he had fallen asleep? Nope! Just ignoring my calls to be on the phone with her for hours. Texts, picture messages the whole nine yards. For a solid 3 weeks. And that was the 3 weeks when he suddenly wasn’t staying at the house with me anymore.

Once shit starts adding up, there’s no going back. And EVERYTHING was starting to piece together.

What does a pissed off, pregnant woman, who just got the proof that her boyfriend has been lying and cheating on her do?

She prints the phone records out and high lights every. single. fucking. time that Stephanie’s number showed in the call log. And she leaves it on the kitchen table for him to see as soon as he gets home.

Here comes world war 3. Followed by the normal string of fuck you’s and what not that you all should know by heart now if you’ve read this from the beginning. And as usual, everything was my fault.

Honestly, I can’t give you one solid reason for why I stayed with him. Why I would always beg him to stay. Why I let him strip me of every ounce of self worth I had. Let him make me believe that I deserved any of this. But as always, I stayed. Begged him to stay. Told myself hed realize what was in front of him and that he would change. That for whatever reason we could make this work.

*Unknown Caller Voicemail* Saturday, 1:18 a.m. Woman’s voice: I know it’s late, I just wanted to make sure you got home alright. Please call me or text me so that I know you got in safe.

What. The. Actual. F**k. You’ve got to be kidding me right now.

Now, in my mind….its all starting to click. - Sudden change of plans Friday evening. - “Fell asleep” by 8:00 p.m. that night - Acting weird Saturday…

So now were at Sunday morning, while I lay in bed, again, next to George…but instead of his phone ringing late at night, I’m finding deleted voicemails from THE SAME WOMAN.

I know, I know, I should’ve just called it quits then. Just like I should’ve called it quits after he put his hands on me the first time. I get it. “Love” makes you do stupid things though, right? And we all know that women love to think a man will change for them.

Fellas: this part is for you though. I know you’ve heard it before, but let me say it louder for the people in the back.

IF A WOMAN ASKS YOU A QUESTION, CHANCES ARE SHE ALREADY HAS THE ANSWER, SHE’S JUST GIVING YOU THE OPPROTUNITY TO BE UPFRONT AND HONEST. She may have the evidence, but she wants the confession. Women become CIA agents within a matter of minutes over this kinda shit, k? Get that through your head.

Anyway, so hearing this voicemail sets me off the deep end…as it should any person in a relationship. Male or female. Right? Right.

So what happens? I wake his happy ass up (figured I was safe since it was morning time and we hadn’t been drinking the night before.) And the only thing I do is play the voicemail for him.

“I don’t know who that is…”

“I’ve only talked to her a few times…”

“No I swear I haven’t been hanging out with her, and I’ve only called to talk about the baby because she was in the hospital.”

“Okay, I did go meet her at a bar Friday night. But only because I wanted to see for myself that she was actually pregnant.”

“No babe, I swear nothing happened with her.”

“Well, she did try to kiss me but I turned my head.”

“Well we’ve been fighting a lot and she’s easy to talk to.”

And just like that, it’s my fault…as usual. Go figure. See how that works? And that's not okay people. Couples argue, outside stressors take their toll on everyone and unfortunately it ends up being the significant other that gets the brunt of that. No, that doesn't mean its okay to take your shitty day out on the person who's just trying to help, and it doesn't mean you run to the first set of open arms to confide in.

We're adults. TALK ABOUT YOUR ISSUES WITH YOUR SPOUSE. Either resolve them, or walk away. But don't bring outside parties in. And I'm not talking about just general complaining to a best friend of the same sex or a family member when it's 2 hours past hangry and you're irritated with them for no reason. I'm talking about that guy at the office that flirts with you on occasion, or that adorable waitress that always gives you a big smile when you come in for lunch or whatever the case may be. Anyone who is clearly showing interest in you is the LAST person you should talk about relationship problems with. That's how people try to weasel their way in. Give an inch, they take a mile. Understand?

Moving on now...

Like I said, it all became my fault. Once again, I was the crazy one. I had no reason to believe he was lying or that he would do anything. I had nothing to worry about and I was overreacting.

And that lead to "if this shit doesn't stop I'm leaving."

"You know what? F*** this I'm done."

"You stupid bitch just forget I existed." 

You know, same ole same. We'd be off and on for a week or so. He'd be all dramatic about it and change his facebook relationship status to single. Delete me. Post a bunch of sad songs. Blow up my phone, and then ignore me. Lots of screaming, he was good for that. Whatever he felt like doing that time around to look like the victim.

I'd beg him to stay.

And then things would be fine again.

His story about that Friday night changed 3 or 4 times, too. That was the funny part. I mean, if you're going to lie...at least make sure you keep the same story. What actually happened all depended on present company and how much he'd had to drink.

The final story was that he never met up with her at a bar. That he had decided to go over to his bosses house to hangout and drink, and that they needed weed but his bosses usual dealer wasn't reachable or something along those lines...so they had called her and met her at a gas station to pick up the goods. He told me he was drunk, that SHE tried to kiss HIM, but he turned away from it.

And what did I do? I let it go and tried to move past it.

Honestly, I was one of the lucky ones. You hear these horror stories and see these pictures of women just being beaten to a pulp with black eyes and broken bones...it never got that bad with George. No, that doesn't make me lucky. But it could've been so much worse. He never actually left a mark, so hiding what was going on was fairly easy. And after about 2-3 months, the physical abuse stopped. We both cut back on our drinking. I thought I had won that war. Things seemed to be looking up. But we were starting to argue more and more...

Ladies: Verbal and mental abuse are just as damaging, if not worse than the physical abuse. Don't ignore it, don't excuse it. You are not the awful things he says you are. You are not (always) crazy for feeling the way you do. It is not ALWAYS your fault. And guys, this all goes for you too if the situation is reversed. People always look at domestic violence and abuse as man on woman...That's not always the case. So ya'll should listen, too.

Have you ever looked up the definition of narcissistic personality disorder? George was/is a prime example.

The physical abuse may have ceased, but it was only the beginning of the verbal and mental abuse that was to come. Although, it did take a little while for those to come into play. Other things started to pop up that I began to question, even though things we're looking up, I was starting to realize the kind of "man" he really was. You'll hear about that later.

Where were we?

Oh yeah, January 2016.

Like I said, things were looking up. The drinking slowed down, we were spending more time with his kids (he always had an excuse that blamed his parents or his baby momma for why he couldn't have them...one of those guys), we had made a few friends that were also couples to go to dinner with and what not...he was staying at the house more, the physical altercations stopped...things we're great again.

But I was a month late, and pacing my office waiting for a pregnancy test to show its results after my office manager basically shoved me out the door to go get one.

Surprise! Here comes baby George #3 (maybe 4, we still don't know about the 1 night stand yet...stay tuned)

Well, f***k. Now what? I'm 22. I've only been with him for 3 months. I'm not ready for a kid! He sure as hell doesn't need another one! WTF. Here come the tears.

My life is over.

How the hell can I raise a kid?

There's no way I can do this.

What if he leaves me? Single mom? No way!

What will my parents think? F**k.

And yes, judge me all you want...but I did contemplate an abortion. I saw how George was with his other kids, and I didn't always have the greatest relationship with my father...I never wanted a child to feel the way my father had made me feel, and I could tell already that George couldn't handle another kid...I sure as hell wasn't ready. I didn't want kids. And I sure as hell didn't want them with George.

Then I contemplated adoption.

Can you really carry a child for 9 months and just hand them off?

Would you be able to live with yourself with either of those options?

The answer was no, to both. It wasn't the child's fault that I had unprotected sex. I made the decision, and I needed to be responsible for my actions. But boy was I freaking out inside.

My office manager was ecstatic. The few girlfriends I had were excited for me. George was a little uneasy, but promised me he'd be by my side through it all...but we weren't telling his parents any time soon.

My mom handled it a bit better than I expected. Just kinda brushed it off, offered to sell me her jeep (my truck had just died a few months prior, and there was no point in fixing the single cab truck now that I was gonna need something that would fit a carseat, LOL). But that's mom. She never reacts the way I picture she will, and she's always there to help.

Dad...at first he was shocked. "**First Name** **Middle Name** "(yakno, like all parents do when you're in trouble) "what are you gonna do??" Ha, still trying to figure that out dad. But within 3 hours he was sending me baby names, for boys only, and was excited as could be at the thought of being a grandpa.

But as good as things looked from the outside, and as much as I tried to convince myself that things were okay...everything was far from okay.

Right before I found out that I was pregnant, George had gone from basically living at my house, to being gone most evenings. He'd disappear around 9/10 o'clock at night, saying he had fallen asleep. I brushed it off. If that man was anything, he was a hard worker. I'll give him that. And I lived a county away from where he was working at the time, so it made sense for him to just stay in that part of town. Save gas, you don't have to get up quite so early...again with the excuses for his actions.

Remember ladies: PATTERNS. ALWAYS WATCH THE PATTERNS.

And after the situation with the "possible baby momma" yeah, I had some trust issues. So him suddenly being in another county most of the time, and rarely answering a phone call after 8 p.m. or so bothered me a bit. (I had caught him lying about other things too...so things were adding up.)

But God forbid I try to talk anything out with him! Or even express my concern in a calm manner...everything was my fault.

"What the f**k is your problem? You seriously think I would cheat on you? If you keep up this arguing shit I'm just gonna leave you." "Yakno what? Forget it, just delete my number and I'm never gonna talk to you again."

And this would happen almost weekly.

What I should've said is, okay fine...don't let the door hit you on the way out buddy!

But instead, I'd apologize. Tell myself I was overreacting, and that he wouldn't do that...and then beg him to stay. And it just got worse after finding out I was pregnant.

So here I am, one morning with this sinking feeling in my stomach...after he had pulled a disappearing act that Friday night (no it wasn't morning sickness LOL.) But that was my fault too...right? I had pissed him off, for being upset that he suddenly didn't want me to come to his son's football game that I had been looking forward to all week and because last minute he wasn't staying the night and was suddenly changing his plans...but I had no right to be upset, right? Right.

So, I checked his phone again.

Nothing out of the normal, see? You're getting yourself all worked up for nothing. He's not doing anything wrong. Give the poor guy a break.

Ladies: IT IS NEVER OKAY FOR A MAN TO PUT HIS HANDS ON YOU! DO NOT MAKE EXCUSES, DO NOT THINK YOUR LOVE CAN CHANGE HIM. IF HE DOES IT ONCE HE'LL DO IT AGAIN. You deserve more than that, you are worth more than that.

Back to the story...

We had gone out to a local bar that neither of us had been to before. Figured why not try something different? A lot of beer was drank, there were excessive shots consumed, and I ended up being the DD. So here we are.... 11 p.m. on a Friday night. I'm sober, George is passed out in the passenger seat, and we're on our way back to my house. All was fine and dandy. Everyone has their nights. I got drunky inside and laid up in bed, told mom I had company, and got Netflix going.

**George's phone rings at 11:30 P.M.** Unknown caller.

Women are by nature, nosey creatures. What do you do when an unknown caller is calling your boyfriends phone at dark:30? You answer it. Duh.

Me: "Hello?"

Girl: "Who is this?"

Me: "Better question, who are you and why are you calling my boyfriends phone from a blocked number this late at night?"

Girl: "Is this George's phone?"

Me: "Yes, and this is his GIRLFRIEND the one he's been with for the last month or so."

Girl: "never mind." *click*

Okay, WTF was that? And who the hell is this chick? Drunky is still passed out. And now my heart is dropping into my stomach. Seriously? Here we go again. So much for thinking things are going great. Now there's suspicion...let's check his phone.

For the record, I'm not the crazy controlling girlfriend...but after something like that...anyone would want answers.

Firs thing that pops up? An unsaved number in his text long with a recent thread of text messages from tonight. Ranging from "I miss you" to "where are you? are you safe?" and a typed out draft that never got sent saying "I love you." OH HELL NO!

So now, I'm livid. And the oh so handsome guy that I'm crazy about laying passed out in my bed right now is not about to sleep while I feel sick to my stomach over this bullshit. So I wake him up. Not by smacking him, not by shoving at him, no I didn't just punch him in the face *as much as I may have wanted to.* It was just a few light taps on his shoulder and a little nudge accompanied by "honey wake up I need to talk to you." I'm a very chill individual. Yes I was upset, but I like to get the story before I assume. Not that there wasn't much to assume about the situation. But freaking out won't solve anything.

After the 2nd or 3rd light nudge his eyes started to open. So I asked him who's number this was and why she was calling so late at night. To which he replied "I don't know what you're talking about" before he rolled back over attempting to go right back to sleep. After a 4th nudge and saying George we need to talk about this right now...his eyes flew open and both hands immediately went around my neck, pushing me over and pinning me onto the bed.

After a little bit of struggling I managed to get his hands from around my throat, only for him to grab me again, this time with a handful of hair while he pulled me back down to have the advantage. At some point during all of this he had grabbed my hand and managed to twist my finger before I heard a pop and let out a muffled scream. And after he released his grip he rolled right back over to go back to sleep.

WTF just happened. At this point, I'm shaking. I'm crying. I'm terrified. I'm shoving him out of my bed and telling him to leave before I call the cops. Bad idea...here we go again. But this time after he went after me, he got up and got dressed. I pushed him out the door to his truck and drove him down to the bar where we had left my vehicle.

Why I didn't just let him leave and find a ride in the morning, I don't know. Nothing about that night makes sense. I should've called the cops. I should've let him drive his drunk ass back to his side of town. I definitely shouldn't have let him come back to the house.

But I was crazy about him. And I immediately made excuses for his behavior.

Well, he was drunk...and he's warned me that he doesn't do so well being woken up because of his PTSD (remember, 4 years of Army, right?) I should've known better.

Maybe if we just control his drinking. That'll work....Okay, no more liquor.

He didn't mean it. He loves me.

We got to my vehicle, and instead of me just ending things there and parting ways...I let him talk. I let him explain. I let him sweet talk me. And I eventually let him come back to the house with me.

That morning when we woke up, he claimed to have no recollection of what had happened the night before. Didn't remember any of it. Blamed his PTSD and apologized for hours, promising it would never happen again. That the messages meant nothing. He would stop talking to her until a paternity test could be done on the child (I found out it was the possible "baby momma #3" that he had been messaging.) That I was all he wanted. And that he would never hurt me again.

It was just an isolated event. It won't happen again.

WRONG. It didn't take long for it to happen again after another night of him sneaking liquor behind my back.

Now, I've always been the kind of woman that if I find out someone is in that kind of situation, it just baffles me that they stay with the person. It's easy to look from the outside and cast judgment. But after being in those shoes, it's really not as easy as you think it is to leave. You know you need to leave, you know what's happening is not okay. You start to shut down. You start to hide things from your family about what's really going on. From the outside, things look perfect. But this war starts within you. Your logic, and your heart. Logic screams GET THE F**K OUT NOW BEFORE IT HAPPENS AGAIN....while your heart still flutters when he's kissing you and things are okay for the moment.

Shitty title, right? There's really no other way to describe it. Some people just suck the life right out of you. Damn life suckers. But what you allow is what will continue, so I can't lay all the blame on him. But I can say that I lost myself. He beat me down to a point where I felt worthless, lower than the dirt beneath his square toed boots (that I bought, of course.) LADIES: KNOW YOU'RE FRICKEN WORTH. Never let a man get into your head and make you believe that you are anything less than incredible. Now let's take a moment and travel back in time a few years so that you can understand what circumstances lead to me meeting the "life sucker": October 2015 Picture this: Broken hearted 22 year old that just got out of a long relationship with someone she "thought" was her "forever." And of course, being young and dumb and thinking I was in love...how do we handle those situations? Excessive amounts of booze! Because of course getting drunk solves everything, right? Hahaha. No. So I'm in the bar that was my normal hangout, you know like Cheers..."I wanna go where everybody knows your name.." But seriously, that was my lifestyle. Bar fly, karaoke star, the "girl with the freckles and cute dimples" as the owner referred to me. The owner's were throwing a "going away" party because they had sold the bar. The bar where I had met the guy I thought was my "forever." So of course I decided hey, lets get trashed because you know you're gonna end up seeing him tonight. Why not be a drunken mess when ya do! Bad idea. (Also, side note, rebounds don't work and it's not exactly attractive to be a blubbering mess to the new guy you're seeing to fill the void...) Ex shows up, new boy toy gets pissed that you're upset, causes a scene and hauls ass. NOW IT'S PARTY TIME. I mean, why not? Right? I ended up leaving that bar, and travelled my happy, intoxicated ass down to another bar down the road that my bestfriend Uncle Kitty was a bouncer at. Figured the short drive wouldn't be too bad, and I could sit there until he was off work and he would take my drunken self to Denny's afterwards to sober up a bit before I attempted the 20 minute drive back to my house.

And that's where I met him. (I know, I know, stay away from guys you meet at a bar.) No, it wasn't love at first sight. But damn was he gorgeous! Imagine it ladies, 6'0" tall, about 180lbs with a muscular build, gorgeous hazel/green eyes, tan skin, wrangler booty, nice smile, and just a little bit of scruff...mmm mmm mmm. Of course I HAD to get the 411 on him from Uncle Kitty. Apparently it was his first night bouncing, and as far as he knew, the new guy was single. Now let me remind you that at this point, I'm still drunk. I've ran into my ex, I've called it quits with the new boy toy that just showed his ass at my home town bar, and now this gorgeous man is standing in front of me.

"Hey, you're cute...what's your name?"

**Real names will not be used to protect the innocent**

So he tells me his name (for the stories purpose, well call him..I dunno...George) we talk a little bit, flirt a lot a bit, and I invite him out for breakfast with Uncle Kitty and I. (It's now around 3 a.m...)

And he turns me down! Wow. Okay. "I'm not much of a breakfast eater.." he says. Well, that's cool you can still come hangout. Dick. "We'll I've gotta be up in a bit to catch my sons football game."

Crap. He has kids. I know that sounds awful, but I was heartless. I didn't like kids, never wanted any of my own, wouldn't date a guy with kids. But he was cute, and the short conversation alone had everything about him hitting me like an effin' semi truck! So we said our good nights, I went my way, he went his. Fast forward to 2 weeks later. Same bar, same drunken girl, same gorgeous bouncer, getting denied for breakfast AGAIN. But hey, he asked for my number this time! *insert annoying excited shriek here*

So we start texting, we start talking on the phone, we start hanging out a little bit and spend some time learning about each other. 2 kids, possible 1 on the way that he doesn't believe is his (but hey, he's being upfront and honest about it, right? and it's not like I have intentions of this going anywhere...) and this is where I f***ed up...What do young people who don't want relationships but totally have chemistry do? They lay out rules, and shake hands in the bar parking lot agreeing to be f*** buddies. Nothing more, nothing less. And they seal it with an intense kiss.

Rule 1: You don't sleep with anyone else. (For safety reasons) Rule 2: If either of us call, we drop what were doing to meet up with the other for some fun. Rule 3: If either starts to catch feelings, it ends immediately.

Hahaha, that lasted all of like 4 days. We became inseparable. He consumed my every thought. We spent every night together, almost every day together once we'd get out of work. Gosh, could he make me smile. But I mean, if you were to see him (especially without a shirt on) you'd be smiling like an idiot too.

And things were perfect! Anyone that looked at us thought we were in love. And the first I love you didn't take long to pour out of his mouth. That should've been the first red flag. But we got along great, the sex was phenomenal, we always had a blast when we were together, and again...that man could make me laugh. (We all know that makes a man like 100x more attractive.)

Like everyone else, you sometimes get emotional and open up when your drunk. And George had some demons, and sometimes it doesn't take much to trigger bad memories...but 4 years in the military and losing buddies over seas can do that to you. ***Remember this for later...it's important***