In August of 1990, my “husband” was released from prison. I use the term husband loosely, because the only husband I have ever known is the one I am with today. This person was both a parasite and a predator. I thought I was in love with him. I even gave up drinking for him. Six long months of no alcohol to prove I was loyal to him. The seeds of addiction had long been planted in me. I already was obsessed with things. This time, it would be him. I needed a spark, a catalyst to drive me into the spoon. He would soon provide me with both.





I had completely abandoned the life I had known to be with this man. Left college, left my friends, my apartment for him. I was so young, so impressionable. I had little experience with men. I had saved myself for my first serious boyfriend, which I did not have until I was nearly 18 years old. I had always been the fat one, the girl with glasses, the smart one. I had thought this man was different than the rest of them. I met him when I was on vacation. He gave me a feeling I had never had before in my life. He was dangerous. He had a tattoo on his neck, big rings on his fingers, and a way of talking that made me feel like I was the only one in the room.





I should have seen the red flags but I was too young to realize a homeless man with a criminal record and a baby he was not taking care of man not be the best catch. He latched on to me. He needed ME but I never saw it. He needed me to take care of him because that was who he was- a user and a loser and a hustler and a player.





“Are you going to eat that?” he asked me.

I smiled and told him “yeah, I made it.”

He shook his head “you are big enough” he told me “you don’t want to get any damn fatter”.

I handed him my cheeseburger.

Of course he was right. I don’t want to get any damn fatter.

And he was right, I was stupid, despite the fact that I tested out of almost my whole first year of college. And maybe I was a little lazy, despite going to school and having a job. He was right about so many things and I was wrong, wrong.





“No, you are fucking wrong”, he told me. Yes, I was always wrong.





And then one day he hit me. He humiliated me and he hit me. He had my name tattooed on his neck. I did not understand. Did he love me, did he hate me? I HAD to leave him. I had to get away from him. He had just gotten out of prison and spent up all my money on a tattoo business. (Thank God I at least got a bunch of shitty tattoos I had to spent thousands of dollars to get covered up. That relationship was the gift that kept on giving well into my 30’s).





I went to “visit” a friend when I had a very strange conversation. It was if someone was talking but I was outside myself. I had left my body and someone was delivering this horrible news. YOU KNOW HE HAS BEEN SLEEPING WITH YOUR FRIEND WHILE YOUR WERE ASLEEP. I finally heard her talking but I could not take it all in. “….and by the way pass the drugs” went the rest of that story. I ended up homeless in Louisville , KY. I would go to the bar Discovery and find a place to stay for the night. I was too embarrassed to go home to my parent’s house with my tail tucked between my legs like the dog that had been beaten. It was true. I had the three inch long bruise to prove it.



