I had several chances to take the fabled red pill and failed to do so. It’s amazing how you can look back after the fact and see just how messed up things really were.

I’m the oldest of 4. I have 3 half-sisters. None of us share a father. I was raised almost entirely by angry women. My mother was an abused divorcee’. My aunt and my grandmother were both divorced and both had a big hand in raising us. I have an uncle who I idolized growing up, but he is gay and at times resented his family for not showing him enough support in his lifestyle choice. So all in all, I had very few male role models in my life growing up.

I was told early on I’m the problem because I’m a man. Literally those words. From the ages of 14-16 I can count on 1 hand the number of times my mother used my actual name. It was always when she wanted money I’d earned from mowing lawns. Any other time I was simply called “Male child.”

I put every woman I ever dated on monuments so high that I could hardly hear them when they shouted down orders at me. I was the embodiment of a beta male doormat. We all know the song and dance. Nothing we do is for us. I didn’t know any different. I thought what I was experiencing was normal. I wasn’t raised to question anything. I just assumed that everyone went through what I went through at some point. And since they made it through, I would have to make it through as well. Our lives are devoted to making someone else happy. And I was damned good at my job.

I was with a woman for 8 years. We never married (thank the heavens) but we were engaged for much of that time. Just too poor to actually afford to go through with it. Just to give you all a little insight into the type of woman she was/is, our first fight was a few months into the relationship. It lasted almost 2 months to the day. And it was all because I cheated on her in a dream that she had. For 2 months I had to put up with that malarkey. It went downhill from there quick.

We ended up after about 6 1/2 years conceiving a child, a son. I was working for less than minimum wage at a home improvement store. Part of my pay was made up in commissions from the sales I made. In order to pay for a child and the medical bills I knew would be coming, I started working every hour I could. 15 hours a day Monday through Friday, 10 hours on Saturday, and usually 8 hours of unpaid time on Sunday. Needless to say I wasn’t there for much of the pregnancy. And it only took 2 weeks before the accusations of cheating started. It got to the point where I had to (daily) take pictures of myself clocking in and out and send them to her so that she wouldn’t doubt I was at work.

Now I don’t want to get into the specifics of what happened or why it happened, so I will simply say that due to complications during the pregnancy, our son was born extremely premature, and he wasn’t strong enough to survive. He was born, and died on October 2nd. I was able to hold him for 4 hours before he passed. It was the best and worst 4 hours of my life.

After we lost our son, things with my fiancée and I got worse. To the point that if I came home after a 12-15 hour day and got yelled at for 4 hours straight before she passed out, I considered it a good day. The bad days, well you can imagine.

I didn’t leave her however. She was hurt and needed a punching bag. I was willing to fill that role until she didn’t need it anymore. I could mourn my son after she had done her mourning. Until then, “solider up. No tears. Men don’t cry. You’ll get your turn, but she gets her turn first.” Things I actually said to myself to keep myself in the state of mind I thought I had to be in for her.

It wasn’t until she told me that losing our son was my fault that I left. In yet another accusation of cheating she told me that god took our son to punish me for not being faithful. At this point I think it’s relevant to share that not a single time in our relationship did I cheat. But she had strayed 3 times without me throwing it in her face.

It’s been 3 years since I left her and literally the day after I felt like a weight was off my shoulders. But the blue pill world was still one I lived in. It wasn’t until a mutual friend of ours had told me (roughly two years after the fact) that my ex was looking for lawyers to take me to court, that I was able to fully choke down the red pill. Even though I had worked for about 5-6 months averaging 4 hours of sleep/night to pay the bills and set money aside to pay for our son’s upcoming expenses…money that she kept when we split.

She was trying to take me to court to pay child support for her pregnancy and the cremation and funeral costs. She wanted 10 grand. It’s also relevant to note that the cremation had already been paid for out of my pocket once. Funeral costs haven’t been paid, but it’s because she refuses to bury him. He’s in a small urn at her apartment now.

Thankfully, she couldn’t find an attorney to take her case. Not because it was unlikely to win sadly, but because she had blown the money I left her with on a small shopping spree with her friends and no one wanted to work for free.

But, it was upon hearing her intentions I started researching my chances of winning my case. That was when the red pill really started to work its magic. Seeing how one-sided the courts are I got scared. Thankfully she’s horrible with money, and doesn’t work due to her back getting injured at work 2-3 years prior to our split. So the threat there is for the most part gone.

Since everything I’ve moved on. I took the little bit of knowledge I had and ran full speed with it. I’ve watched every video on YouTube by GWW, JTO and Patrickhenryist. I’ve spent about 20 hours a week not counting the videos pouring over statistics ranging from homelessness, to labor and wage gaps, the courts. Just about anything I thought might help in a debate. I’ve begun local activism. I’ve placed posters for AVFM in some of the local dive bars around town. I figure that’s a good place to look for men who might need help.

I wouldn’t wish what I went through on anyone, but in a way I’m glad I went through it. Had I not I would have never ended up on the path I’m on. And scarier yet, I may never have left my Ex. In some ways losing him was for the best. And being able to admit that to myself shows how much I’ve actually healed.

Well there it is. The first time I’ve committed my story to words. My hope is that my story (and the stories of others) help more men realize they’re not alone. Feel free to share my story with others who you think may just find real hope and motivation to do things differently.

*Update* PatrickHenryist did a video about this, which first brought it to some of our attention. –DE

