I feel like shit right now. I asked my Spirit Guides, Why am I still here? They responded with, "To tell your story." But it's so shitty, and so bad, it's one, big Trigger Warning. They said, "Your story needs to be told. Your story can help a lot of people." Great. Awesome. Wow. Thank you, Hamilton.
So, last night I talked to a distant relative. She's going through it with her children. She said, "I didn't know you were married?"
"I wasn't. I was engaged. I've been engaged 4 times."
"Well, you mentioned an ex, I thought..."
"He was my ex fiancé. We were supposed to get married."
And, we were. Even introduced me to his parents, like 6 days after we started dating. Excuse me, but this is very difficult to write about, but it must be told. I need to get this off my chest, and relieve myself of carrying these secrets. I couldn't tell this story till now. Talking with my Aunt, just made me realize how much the truth needed to come out-and it is the God's honest truth. I swear on my grandparents-all 4 of them- graves. People who know me, know I don't lie or sugarcoat things. Hence, because some of my life has been a crazy shit show, and I'm in the starring role...people judge. They label. Why?
Because it makes them feel safe. They don't care that they don't know the whole story, they know pieces of the story from me and the media. But, NO ONE has ever sat me down, and said, "talk to me. Tell me what happened. How did you survive? Are you OKAY?" NO ONE ever bothered to ask if I was okay throughout this whole ordeal I endured. Why? Because of stigma, of fear, of rebuke, because my answers wouldn't make sense to their closed, non compassionate, jaded, and selfish minds. That is the fucking truth.
I told my aunt the redacted version. Oh, how horrible, she said. Did you have any friends who helped you. I had 3 maybe 4. And my parents. But, out of all the people in the recovery community, the mental health community, nothing. Not one word. That hurt and still hurts like hell. Some of them would later jump and ride my ass like a rodeo cowboy. I never once said, You weren't there when I needed someone the most. Who in the FUCK do you think you are now critiquing my choices?! Fuck you. You weren't there for me then, and you still, sure as fuck aren't here for me now. Eat fucking warm, dog shit. And LIKE it, fuckers.
I am a very compassionate and nurturing person, to those who allow me to be in their lives and are honest with me. Trust is earned, not given. Mercy is granted, but not a given. Compassion doesn't cost a fucking dime. People claim they are Christians, right? But, fuck all if they have to actually do as Christ taught. Fucking kill their selfish, self righteous asses. I'm Roma, and clearly have a different belief system than most of the world, but I WAS RAISED a Christian. To do what Jesus did. That has never left me. And NO ONE will ever take that away from me. But, I have turned my cheek so much and so long regarding this topic, my teeth are showing I've been cut so many times, and just let shit go.
I'm angry at him, for the people in the recovery community that used me as gossip, fodder for entertainment, or a fucking punchline. I have run into more cold hearted people in the last 15 years than I can count. All I can say to them is fuck you, fuck your horse, fuck your bullshit posturing, fuck your sober elitist bullshit, and fucking get on the ground with me and have a human fucking head. Not some poseur bullshit. Fuck you. Fuck all y'all. Karma's a motherfucker, and trust and believe, she has your fucking number. Fuckers.
Okay. Y'all have heard the line: I sat with my anger long enough to tell me her name was grief? Well, if you haven't, you no longer have any excuse. I need to get that anger out. I needed to let it go. Between my abusers and Dave, and being raped FOUR FUCKING TIMES since I moved here- never at home. In Metro and Detroit. Never. But I come over here and people are 31 flavors of fucked up. Wolves in sheep's clothing, Trojan horses, as Cardi B raps, "Talking crazy behind your face so as not to catch a case." Doc Holliday said, "My hypocrisy only goes far," Everyone has a limit. I decided it was better to keep the truth to myself, cuz there was so much back stabbing, gossiping and mud slinging, and JUDGEMENT, I decided it was just better to be silent, and slowly fade from view. I have learned a million times over, the devil walks on this earth in human form. There are some truly evil fuckers out there. Their only mission is to destroy you. I'm not being cynical, I'm a fucking tell you the truth, realist. It's a gat dahmned fact. People who know this, know I ain't bullshittin'. I'll brb. I need to smoke, and get some fresh air. But, this entry ain't over. Not by a long shot.
I don't even know where to begin. It was the spring of 2008. I was dating different men to find a long term partner or husband. I wasn't fucking around. I was on Yahoo! Personals, in case you haven't noticed, when my tv interview went live, Yahoo! Personals dis a fucking appeared. But, I saw this guy's profile. Big, bald and a goatee. That was my type at the time. So, I responded. We emailed back and forth several times, then he asked me out on date. June 6, 2008.
I drove to his house, got lost, that should've been a big ole red flag, I had made the mistake of telling him what I drove, and that I was lost. Well, driving towards his house, which was directly across from an elementary school. That way, his victims were tricked into thinking, "This guy's not a pedophile." Right? Good fucking cover. He was clever son of a bitch. I'll get to that later. Anyways, I'm driving up to his house, and I see him and this chick waiting for me. He smiles and Lifts up his arm. I smile back, but through my teeth, I say, "I'm fucked." Right then and there, I made the decision, do the fucking date, then split. So, I pull up, and the chick leaves. That's important. He tells me there's a band downtown he wants me to see: The Truckstop Cowboys. Ok. Drive downtown, watch the band, he buys me some band merch, and we just gabbed non stop. But, I remembered my promise I made to myself.
So, we're downtown, and he tells me he was addicted to Meth, but he's clean now. I asked didn't you get HIV or Hep C? No. I said, you were really lucky. He then tells me he's a diabetic, but do you want to get an ice cream? I mean, C'mon. Who can say no to ice fucking cream, right? What's your favorite flavor, he asks. Chocolate Peppermint. Hey! That's mine too! Later I found out his favorite flavor of ice cream was Hudsonville Butter Pecan. But he had different plans for me that night than I did for myself. So, he takes for fucking ever to bring these cones back. I felt drunk. I told him, can you drive home? I remember him driving home, and us just laughing. The next thing I remember was right before and after we had sex, then I fell asleep, got up the next morning, felt like dog ass, and went home, and slept some more. I woke up, and he called within two minutes. I'm all like, he's really cool, we had a great time, the sex was great (I think. Don't remember exactly, but know I had never experienced anything like that before), and he called me just as soon as I woke up. Kismet, I thought. He asked me out again. Of course I'm going to go out with this man that has totally rocked my world, made me feel desired and like a Queen. I'd be a FOOL to let this guy get away.
So, I go over that night. Still don't remember what we did that night. But, the next day was Sunday. "Apparently" it was his father's birthday. He was from Lansing. Henry Hill High School. MM hmm. We had breakfast with a friend of his. He wanted me to meet his friends, show me off, which had never happened to me before, and then he says after breakfast:
I want you to come to Lansing with me to meet my parents.
SWOON. *makes throw up noises*
So, we drive to Horrocks in Lansing, and he gets his father some cheese. I find out later that he was a pastry chef for a while-when he was married in San Diego. Where he also kicked Meth. Pay attention to that detail, because it's very important. Then, we drive to his folks house. He had told me his parents adopted him. That they fostered a bunch of kids, but they adopted him. His father was an ornery sumbitch. He was confined to an electric wheelchair and was a vet. I'd be ornery too. Well, his mother was sick, so she wouldn't be coming out. I see this cot, under a window, perfectly made. It wasn't a cot, it was like a bench seat under the window, but a bed. All grey. Wool blanket. I asked him, what is this for? He replies, Me. When I come back home. Que? Then the mother makes her grand entrance. Bitch was fucking nuttier than a damn fruitcake. She came sliding into the kitchen in her house robe, hair done, and exclaiming some bullshit about I was sick, but I just had to come see Dave's new girlfriend and meet her myself. We didn't stay long. I then drove 1.5 hours to my folks to meet him. My parents were jaded at this point. My dad was sizing him up, my mom had to go somewhere. So, we drove back here. 2.5 hours of non stop talking, laughing, and fun.
I had no idea that as of June 6, 2008, my life would never be the same.
We were together on and off, usually on. We were very good friends. He was like me, he didn't have any true friends, because, well, he couldn't. He was my last best friend. We went through it all together. Till death do us part. But not the way I had ever hoped or imagined it would be.
It's hard to explain to people how you can love and be so close to a sociopath. Sociopaths, or in Dave's case, because there was a very high body count-and not by traditional means-a psychopath, it's...Ted Bundy worked a rape crisis line with crime writer Ann Rand, back in Seattle in the 70's or 80's. He had a girlfriend and she had a child. They are true Jekyll and Hyde's. They are completely wonderful people to you, but you have no idea what a fucking monster they are and that you are dealing with. Believe it or not, Dave and I-in our own dysfunctional ways- were very close, and shared many things. Pay attention to that, because it will become very important later.
And that was how I met, fell in love, made a life long friend, until his conviction in 2012-pay attention to that. Fuck!!!! Just pay attention to all of it. Learn from my mistakes. Pay attention to those damn red flags. If it's too good to be true? Then, it is. It's a VERY dangerous sign you are dating some type of abusive, controlling, manipulating dickhead or cunt face. Don't stop the car like I did. Just fucking run, walk, crawl, hit the gas pedal or scream like your hair is on fire and just run like hell away from the poisoned, damaged, fuck up they call themselves, Dave. Jenny. Jeff or whatever. Actions DO speak louder than words and Dave sure knew that. He was a male Black Widow.
Okay. This is all I can handle for tonight. Saturday night. Most people are out, dancing and romancing, and I'm here, at my desk, alone, telling the world about a part of my life story that should have been told along time ago. But, if I hadn't healed, remembered bits and pieces, had epiphanies throughout the last 10 years, this story would never be told. And it needs to be told, so people know the truth, and, more importantly, so I can be free. The second time I moved in with Dave in 2009 (Don't worry. I ALWAYS kept my apartment), we were having a mellow evening, listening to Gordon Lightfoot-dude, he friggin' LOVED Gordon Lightfoot. I don't understand how someone loved Opeth so much, but loved Gordon even more, I, and this is what he said that night on his porch, watching a Dave and Suzanne sunset,
"Im like a Pinot Noir"
"A beautiful but richly complex wine"
He wasn't fucking joking, sweetheart. He was not joking.
So, I have to decompress. But! Calm your tits, this ain't over yet. It's a lot of heavy duty shit to unload and unearth at once. It's impossible to tell this memory in one sitting. So, please. Please be patient with me. He was and took a big part of my life. I don't expect you to understand. It took me many years of healing, grieving, asking, to make sense of something that is just an anomaly. A Pinot Noir, if you will...