Milestone

Milestone

It has been a year since I've had sex.

The Twelfth

For about three years we lived on a county road.  Our home was a detached “mother-in-law” suite on the property of a woman who really didn’t know how to maintain property.  

We had countless issues that never got resolved: the hot water heater purged itself onto the floor semi-regularly, the heat would suddenly and unexpectedly cease causing our pipes to freeze, the ceiling had holes in it that were supposed to be fixed before we moved in (hah) and we had a mouse problem like you’ve never seen.

He got me in the habit of romanticizing living in the middle of no where.  Parts of it I really did enjoy; I used to love running out there at night.  It was also quiet at night and dark, plus I could lay out on the back porch naked and no one was the wiser. 

But some of the very worst moments of my life are out there.

All those issues I listed above became the list of grievances he had against me.  We had to deal with these problems because I still wasn’t making enough money, and that was because I was a lazy stupid cunt with no ambition and no respect for him and how hard he had to work.

He screamed at me so hard some times that he gave himself a nose bleed.  I didn’t even know that was possible. The physical abuse really gained a foothold here, too.  

Which made sense.  There were fewer neighbours to hear me crying.

Attempt #2?

I asked a girl out for a coffee.  She’s sweet and cute, and I’ve heard she and I have had some similar experiences relationship wise.  She said:

 “I would absolutely love to, but not for a few weeks.  I have a crazy couple weeks.”

“Ok, sure, no pressure.  Let me know if and when you’re ready.”

She seems genuine, but it could easily be one of those “I want to say no, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings” kind of answers. So I’ve left it in her court and minimized the amount that I interact with her dramatically.  She’s not really picked up the slack, which led me to leaning toward her feeling option 2.  

But then I come to find out from a mutual friend that she was incredibly enthusiastic about me asking her out.  Despite not actually setting a date.  And I’m excited knowing that she’s excited that I asked her out.  Despite not actually having a date set.

So we’re both super happy about an event that, at this rate, is not likely to happen because I’m not going to ask again and she doesn’t seem to want to nail it down.  And ... we’re content with that?

Yep.  We’re broken.

Strike One.

In the first year we were together, he cheated on me with his sister’s girlfriend.

Yes, you read that correctly.

Yep, I'm a Potter fan. Guilty as charged.

Carving this pumpkin was a monumental moment last year. For all his lamenting that I did not observe and facilitate "traditions", he was absolutely against me taking time for anything that was not "essential."

So on October 30, I was carving this guy up feeling morose as it had been days since he spoke to me. Then I had an epiphany.

I was getting satisfaction. My crafting skills are basically on par with a German Sheppard's, so the fact that this thing turned out alright was really encouraging. I was proud of it.

I remember thinking:

"I wouldn't have been allowed to do this if he was still talking to me ...."

And there it was. Something so small, so simple made me think that maybe this separation thing wasn't so bad after all.

Moving Parts.

Our next home after the place in the county was the house we purchased.  It should have been an exciting time, but I dreaded everything about it. I pushed away all of the clear bad thoughts, but every part of me knew this was a horrible idea.

So I dragged my feet packing. This led to one of the worst moments of violence.

One of our last nights before moving out he lost it.  He was angry he was doing most of the packing. It was true; I tried to argue that a lot of what I had to pack we still needed (kitchen stuff, etc) and that I was furious when he started packing my things. I attempted to stand my ground.

My brain fogged this up pretty good.  I remember being dumbfounded by his rage and that this was actually happening to me.

He kicked my legs up from underneath me.  He threw me up against the wall.  He choked me.  He lifted me up off the ground by my neck and spitscreamed in my face. He threw me over boxes of our things causing damage we had to lie about later. He tackled me to the ground, smashed my head off of it and then kicked me multiple times as he got up. He punched me in the stomach.

He chased me into the kitchen and warned me to stay away from him because he couldn’t control himself.  

I don’t remember at all how this situation resolved, and I have no idea what lies I told myself to get into bed with him that night.