I should have trusted the crystal ball ...

When we first moved into the new apartment, things went well. We were all getting along, there was always something to do, and Brit and I alternated who was making dinner. We were able to keep it clean, James and I bought a new couch, and big screen television. I felt like, "This is it. This is the way it's supposed to be," and it felt so good.

Much like everything else that transpired in our relationship, that wore off. Pretty quickly actually. Kirby and Brit wound up moving out because (a) they couldn't afford it anymore and (b) Brit hated James and his pot smoking. I mean, truthfully, she just hated James altogether. He attempted to joke around with her, but that didn't work. When she got mad, he turned into the verbally abusive man he was very much capable of being.

That Christmas, we went to his maternal grandfather's house for holiday dinner. The aunt's all sat down at a table, and called me over. I was given the third degree by all of them, so many questions, it felt like the inquisition. They finally said to me, "He has a terrible track record, and can be downright abusive, you should get out of it while you still can."

We left after that, I was uncomfortable, James was mad, and I felt bad for him because, for all intents and purposes, he was doing far better than he ever had. On top of that, he was a healthy weight, not using illicit drugs, and jovial at times. He smiled and laughed which was not his norm. Having had the life that he did, I empathized

with him.

The next 5 months were nothing but red flags, inconsistent behavior from him, complete isolation for me, and weight gain I had never thought I was capable of. I spent my time watching Roseann until James returned home from work. There were times I would bring him lunch, but I typically always called around lunch time to check-in with him. I missed lunchtime calls here and there, and without question every time I was gaslit, verbally and mentally abused, and told that I must be cheating on him.

Believe me when I say, there was nothing even minorly appealing about me at that time.

At one point, we went out to visit his mother and sister in Wichita. My mind was blown when I saw how wide open the "city" was. The visit caused additional shock, in that James' sister told me many stories that James had not brought up to me ... everything from trying to kill one of his mother's boyfriend's with a baseball bat (he was insanely abusive to James - physically, mentally, and emotionally), about the bullshit reason why his mother gave him up to the state (around

10 years old, he and his friend rode their bikes through wet cement and he was charged with vandalism and destruction of property), relinquishing her guardianship of her own son, while keeping his sister, and so many other terribly depressing stories that made up his life. James wound up in boys' homes, foster homes, and continuously popped back and forth. Meanwhile, he was advised to drop out of high school because they told him he would never graduate. James is neurodivergent, and they didn't bother to provide him services to help with his education. On a happy note, he did wind up getting his GED, studying during a period of incarceration.

I was silent on the way back from Wichita. He was angry because he didn't want me to hear so much. The one thing I was happy about at that point was that I had purchased us a new car that I could drive, and I knew we were a lot safer driving home with me behind the wheel.

Along the way, James began using illicit drugs and prescription drugs - Crystal Meth, Cocaine, Ecstasy, Molly, Xanax, Heroin, and prescription opioids. It allowed him to escape reality and forget about the pain. He broke into people's houses, stayed up for days at a time, managed to get employment, which often times he wasn't able to keep. And that is why he wound up in Arizona, following his best friend to get away and try putting a life together somewhere outside of Missouri.

I digress. Back to the introduction .. James would continue to fall back into his old ways over time before my son was born. He got me a puppy for forgetting my birthday and Valentine's Day. Luka. James was "coming down" one night and we we went to bed, my hope was he would sleep through it. Inevitably he did not, and because the dog touched him, he picked it up one handed, went to the door of our bedroom and threw him down the hallway. I panicked and decided it best for us to stay on the couch and leave him to his own destruction.

The return to drugs was heart-wrenching for me. I had plans to never drink or do drugs ever again. One night, following a 3 day binge of James', I received a phone call from Kirby giving me a heads up that his girlfriend had called the cops and told them James was dealing. To be honest, at the time, this wasn't true. His product was for personal use. Brit also supplied them our address. I ran around the apartment, digging through the freezer, the air vents, the bathroom, to find every ounce of product that he had. It all went down the toilet, and just in time. There was an aggressive knock at the door, so I opened it and there were 2 police officers. They forced their way in and ransacked the house looking for product, which they never found. Then, they asked me for my driver's license. I gave it to them, and they looked at me and said, "What

the fuck are you doing here in Missouri with this guy? Get your ass back to Fairfield, girl. There is nothing here for you." Ouch. They had asked me where he was, so I let them know he was in the back bedroom, sleeping. Knowing what he was capable of, I tried to warn them not to go in with a flashlight and shine it in his face while attempting to wake him up. They did not listen. Sure enough, he starts screaming and cursing at them. They grabbed him and decided they were arresting him on a traffic violation he failed to appear for. The fine was $100. While I was extremely rebelious, I had never experienced something like this before. I immediately started crying, scared to be alone again. He told me to pull my self together and call his father, to stop being a "pussy". I never processed this experience, and undoubtedly, it is part of my PTSD.

In closing, and to get a real sense of this man, he had eyes tattooed into the back of his head, and always kept his hair short, "I am always watching you."

I was prisoner to my choices, to my desire to fix him, and my need for someone to love me. As my son's due date approached, I became more and more anxious. Little did I know, my gut was telling me something my heart could not. The power of attachment for me is a strong force, capable of rationalizing and justifying even the most awful experiences.

Borderline Personality Disorder at it's finest ...