What would I tell this young lady today?
To triumph is to obtain victory. It is to obtain an achievement. Usually when one hears the word triumph, he thinks about a particular sport or activity. But you can also triumph over an idea, an event, a mood, a state, a condition. If you have been attempting to do something for years and you achieve it, then you are victorious, you did it, you made it. In our daily lives, so many of us want to just wake up in the morning, jump out of bed and start our days. For us, this is victory. For some of us, it’s just that simple. For others, it’s a matter of achieving to walk again if you were in an accident and broke a leg or finally able to breathe on one’s own following a stroke or another debilitating condition. For others, like me, it’s achieving a state of joy after getting out of an abusive relationship, alive.
In 1992, by far one of the most difficult years of my life, I found myself in an abusive relationship with a guy we will call Mr V. One that once I realized I was in it, I wanted desperately to get out of. Initially, like most relationships, it started out simple, casual conversation and nightly phone calls. But eventually ended up in a stalking-type situation, where the guy would call me incessantly, waiting outside in the parking lot while I worked, calling me at the laundry mat (then, there were matrons who monitored the laundry mat, not like now, back then they answered telephones) I could not get away from the guy.
In the beginning, I thought all this attention was mahavalous. Finally, someone paying attention to me and, hopefully, liking me for me. In the words of Etta James, At Last, someone who came along and filled that awful whole in my gut, my heart and made me feel special. But, what I didn’t know then, was he was just as broken, unhealed, and tarnished as I was. I was, in a sense, dating myself.
I remembered the day I was going to break up with him, like it was yesterday. We had planned to drive from Augusta GA, where I was living at the time to Florence South Carolina, about a two-three hour drive, to my grandmother’s house. I was real cool on the way there, knowing all the while my intentions. He drove. During the visit with my grandmother, all was pleasant. I remember sneaking away to another room to speak with my father, telling him, I was going to break up with this guy. Something told me to tell my father about my plans, as I felt this guy would do something awful to me. If he did, I wanted someone to know about it. My father was very matteroffact, saying ‘he’s harmless. he won’t do anything.’ Somehow, I knew differently.
The time had come for us to leave . We bid our goodbyes to my grandmother. He drove. As we entered the highway, I decided it was time to tell him. I told him ‘I’m breaking up with you,’ or something to that effect. I remember him crying loudly. And saying I couldn’t break up with him. I just looked at him. When he realized I was serious, he stopped crying on a dime, as if he never cried at all. I just looked at him. Then, suddenly he became dark, foreboding and scary. I realized he had passed the exit to take me to my apartment in Augusta. I told him, if he takes me out of the state, that would be considered kidnapping. I didn’t know if that were true. I just wanted to get out of the car, get in my apartment, go to sleep and forget he and this disastrous relationship ever happened.
As we were driving down the highway, it was getting darker and darker. And if you’ve ever driven in the dark in Augusta, you know some of those roads can be lightless with ditches on each side. I remember looking outside the window, hoping to see any people that I could alert I was in trouble. But I saw no one. I was becoming more and more scared in this car with this crazy man. I even, on two occasions, attempted to jump out of the car, but he grabbed onto me. He was a very skinny guy. It wasn’t until then that I realized how strong he was. All I remember thinking was I gotta get out of this car. I have to survive this, I cannot be a statistic. I cannot die at the hands of this man. How did I get here AGAIN?
During the time, Mr V and I were together, which was about six months, I never had long conversations about him to anyone in my family. As the days wore on with him, I could sense there was something off. Calling all the time. Sitting outside in the parking lot where I worked. One time, my boss asked me ‘what’s up with this guy?’ I remember saying ‘he loves me.’ My boss apparently recognized this guy was off before I did. And apparently, my parents did too. One day, we went to my parents’ house, which wasn’t too far from my apartment. I think I had the notion that they should meet Mr V. But when we got to the house, he didn’t want to come in. I asked him why. I don’t remember him saying anything that made sense. So, I went in alone and he sat in my car. When I told my parents, he didn’t want to come in, they were like ‘no, that is not normal.’ I was perplexed. I just figured the guy didn’t want to come in. Now, I realized he was so ashamed of himself, so broken, so traumatized by his past, so shy, he couldn’t face anyone. Perhaps, he feared, my parents, unlike me, would see him for who he really was. People, like Mr V, I realize now, are socially awkward. The way they impress themselves is by being a bully to those who allow them that stance. That was me.
Once again, judi was in another failed relationship. UUUgh. I couldn’t tell anyone, except maybe a friend girl. I might have whispered something to my brother, telling him if something happened to me, it was this dude. But never my parents. Too embarrassed. I kept it all inside. Plus, after Mr V didn’t want to meet them, they must have known something was up. All the miserable days at work not wanting to go home to my own apartment. I knew he’d be there with delusional thoughts and comments. There were many restless, sleepness nights with him always wanting sex or something in that regard. One night he pushed me up against a wall and bruised my ankle or foot, I forget which one now, so badly we had to go to the ER. There, with the doctor, when she asked what happened, I think I said I fell. He was right there with me when she asked me. I didn’t dare tell the truth. I felt pathetic.
Riding in this car, as the night wore on, my thoughts went to my father. I am glad I spoke to him when I was in Florence. Based on how this guy behaved in the prior months, although my father was skeptical, I knew something like this would happen. I also knew if I wasn’t back at my apartment when my Father drove over there looking for me, this guy would be in trouble. My Father was my backup. This was 1992. Back then, cell phones weren’t in vogue like they are now. One had to leave voice mail messages. Keep calling and calling, hoping the person would pick up.
Some of the details of how the night went on are sketchy now. But, eventually, we changed places. I became the driver and drove him to his house. I guess despite all the antics that went on from the time we left my grandmother’s, somewhere in his mind, he figured the relationship was over. But that didn’t stop him from threatening me. I remember him saying ‘if I ever catch you with another guy, I’m gonna kill you or hurt you. Or kill him or hurt him.’ Crazy talk. When he finally let me go, I drove to my apartment. My father was there with the son of a friend of his. They both decided I shouldn’t stay at my place that night, just in case Mr V came back. I spent the night at my parents. I don’t think I slept.
I remember trying to sleep that night, but all the while scared Mr V might return and carry out what he threatened to do earlier. We all hear stories of women finally getting the courage to leave these guys and just when they think peace and freedom have arrived, stalking and eventually murder occur. I did NOT want to be apart of that club. I did NOT. Sleep must have found me because daybreak finally came. I cannot recall all the minute details that occurred following that horrible day and night. I do remember, however, the feeling of relief I felt managing to escape this lunatic. A lunatic I let in my life. Relief and embarrassment played with me for a long time threading themselves amongst other doomed relationships prior and subsequent to this one. With each failed relationship, I felt miserable, alone and needy. A perfect combination to attract losers such as the ones I was attracting.
I also read stories of men and women who undergo horrible relationships and then eventually they find THE ONE. The one they described as loving, caring, supportive. Why not me? Everyone who gets into relationships are NOT a hundred percent together when they get married. Yet, it appears their relationships work out. Why not me? Prior to Augusta, there was a guy I met while I was living in the DC, Maryland area, stationed in the Air Force. This guy would stand me up. Said he would call, but didn’t. Ignore me when he saw me. Once again, I was breaking up with him after only a few months. And my father had to call this guy and tell him to give me all my stuff back. Another embarrassing moment. I eventually was discharged from the Air Force, settling into Georgia. There I met a couple other frogs, before I met Mr V, one of whom, I found out later, was married.
I stayed with my parents until I found another apartment not too far from them. Maybe a couple of months. I didn’t want to stay longer than that. They probably wouldn’t have minded, but then as well as now, I like my independence. I couldn’t help shake the feeling that to themselves and to each other, my parents were saying “poor judi. can’t find a man. once again.” A clean break is what I needed and wanted. A fresh start to resume new memories. But in all the chaos from that night, moving out of my old apartment, still having to work, trying to avoid Mr V (Augusta, when I lived there, was a smaller town), I realized my period hadn’t come. FUDGE.
My stomach was bothering me for a few days to the point where I thought I had acid reflux. I took antacids. I got out a calendar and began trying to remember when my last period was. GERD wasn’t the problem. I was pregnant. I was pregnant with a child by a man I didn’t like, less more love. A man who had threatened to kill me. I did go to a doctor for confirmation. I remember sitting in the doctor’s office as he spun the pregnancy wheel. He told me how many weeks I was. I asked him am I too late for the other thing. The thing being an abortion. He said no. I felt relief, but pitiful. The doctor never asked ‘ how do you feel about this?’ He didn’t say congratulations. I’m glad he didn’t. I remember him being very stoic. Just another patient. A pregnant patient, alone, lonely, not happy with the father of the baby. That was me. No congratulations needed. I had to wait a couple of weeks before I could get an appointment. Therefore, I was pregnant and working. I remember feeling good about being pregnant. I was talking to the baby. At one point, I thought about keeping the baby. I didn’t have to tell Mr V. Everyday, women keep their babies without father involvement. But, that wasn’t me. I did not want to raise a baby alone. I did not want that life. I have ALWAYS wanted to be with a good, solid man. I ALWAYS wanted to do life with good, solid man. And there was nothing good nor solid about Mr V. Plus, I would have to tell my parents.
I don’t remember who went with me to Planned Parenthood, but it wasn’t a family member. Too embarrassed. It might have been my friendgirl, Tina. Someone had to pick me up because Planned Parenthood would not let you drive home alone after anesthesia. After it was over, I felt empty. Flat. I remember going to the grocery store and buying some fried chicken. Food always made me feel better.
The days following the visit to planned parenthood found me getting back to myself. I’ve always been that way. Get back to it. No sense in wallowing in the mud. Along with the help from my parents, I managed to move out of my old apartment. While moving I realized Mr V had been in my apartment, with keys, I found out later, he copied. It wasn’t that he stole some of my clothes, it was how he stole them. He left the tops of my suits and stole either the dresses or the pants. To this day, I cannot understand why he just didn’t take the whole outfit. I guess to further frustrate and make me feel more stupid than I already had been. I found a new place, a few miles from where I was. I remember the first night I slept in my new bed. I felt free. Liberated. No more tipping around, wondering what mood he was going to be in when I get home. No more taking off my glasses while in public so I would not be accused of staring at other men. Back then, without my glasses, my vision was very blurry. I also got a new position working in a doctor’s office as his office manager. Not too long after getting that position, I resigned and moved back to New York. This was in 1996. I was 28.
At 28, I had already lived a lifetime, in my opinion. I graduated from college. Did about four years in the Air Force. Lived in the Maryland/DC area for about four-five years. Moved to Georgia. Then back to New York. In all this little time, I had not learned a lesson. I kept attracting trash. From the time I could remember that I liked boys, I ALWAYS attracted the broken, unambitious, noncommitted, passive, aggressive, easily offended, married but not happy, broke, emotionally abusive boys. And the ones who might have been good, I eventually stopped liking them. Lost interest in them. There were maybe one or two of those. My whole life.
My whole adult life, I have wanted, truly wanted ONE THING-a good, solid, loyal, hard working, authentic MAN. I didn’t want an education. I didn’t want a job. I didn’t want any children. I wanted a good, solid, loyal, hardworking authentic MAN. We would be each other’s partners. We would raise good children together. We would have a nice home, in a good part of a town, with pleasant neighbors. We would have our families over for meals we would laugh and talk over. We would thoroughly enjoy each others’ company. I would be his honey. He would be my sweets. Fantasy? No. Millions of people live this way. Why. Not. Me. There are couples who are happily married, happily together, who once dated trash and frogs and eventually find their honey and their sweets. Why. Not. Me. There are people, who admittedly, were jacked up and broken, and eventually met their husband. Their wife. and somehow managed to get through the trauma, the emotional entanglement and pave a way for each other that led to longevity and joy. Why. Not. Me.
I started this conversation speaking about victory and triumphing over a situation, coming out ALIVE. But in my case, victory still hadn’t been won. In the years since Mr V, I was still fighting my internal self. Inside I was dead. I was still attempting to fill that hole in my gut with someone else. Two wrongs don’t make a right. Two halves don’t make a whole.