Thursday, October 6, 2005

My name is Jeremy and I am a Drunk - Volume 4

I never had any intention of falling in love with this woman. She was very beautiful indeed, a former Miss New Hampshire, with beautiful long black hair, and a body sculpted by a Greek artist. I had met her at work, and it was at a time in my life that every excuse dictated that I should be allowed to just ruin my life, and do what I want regardless of my feelings. My wife at the time had been beating my poor self down for so long, and her affair with my best friend was famous through out the city of Portsmouth. Even my father had caught them, as she cried and complained that I was never there for her. She was actually right, as the long hours I put in at work, were nothing more than an escape from her, and in the end my “business trip” {ha ha ha} that ended up with myself and my next wife having sex on a car in Maine, was downright inexcusable despite the situations I blamed that led me to it. I knew better, and I deserved better for myself. About 10 months later a beautiful Captain ADHD was born, and I remember as I woke up from passing out in the room during labor {yeah I’m one of those types}, seeing the most beautiful 10lb 7oz baby in the history of the universe. The divorce to EX1 was completed, the marriage to EX2 was a short way in the future, and I was finally a father. Another notable issue at hand was that I was now looking at the most beautiful woman in the world, who to this day, I will always love for giving birth to my children. At the time I was just in love with her.

This woman made absolutely nothing easy in my life. She fought with our neighbors no matter where we moved. She never cleaned, her cooking was terrible, her maternal skills were questionable at best, and most people would have called this a total nightmare. I called this being in love, and I pretended to be happy. Through out the 3 years we were married I never once looked at another woman, much less touched or tasted, and it was mostly out of respect for the mother of my child {soon to be children}, and partially out of the self loathing I had at being a cheating ass bastard, who created this scenario to begin with. When my family finally accepted her, and me again, and tried to become a family around my son, I in turn ended up disowning them all yet again for questioning her far too often, and I know that although she didn’t deserve my valor, I will always defend the mother of my children. In the end what it got me was humiliated, used and thrown away. She accused me of infidelities every day. I would never be able to prove my loyalty to her in all of the time we were married. I adopted Lazius Boycrazius the year after Captain ADHD was born {why I often call her my “middle” child}, and I have an entire photo album dedicated to me doting over “The Mother of All The Evils’s” from the day Imtoocutus was born. {9lbs 8oz, and yes I waited in the waiting area this time, I learn}

I was without a doubt, fat dumb, and happy, and yes the pictures from Imtoocutus’s birth showed THAT too, despite the absolute hell I was living in. I would work 40 hours a week, come home to a disaster of a house, where lazy trailer trash, from all over the neighborhood would sit all day, and make messes, and spend hours cleaning, work several more hours on The Slacks Dot Com, write my articles for Newscorp, and then pass out later that night with a baby on my chest, watching a baseball game. In my mind, I was still happy, and that was all that mattered to me, but the trail was starting to form, and the stories were there, although I always chose to ignore them. My wife would insist on going out drinking and dancing every Friday night, and would be furious, if I asked her to stay home. I heard many rumors of what she did while she was out, and I was just impotent to do anything about it. I just wanted peace, as I sat home with our three children on the weekends, and I trusted her, as I knew no better. It was when the baby who fell asleep on my chest every night, started getting sick, that the story became much worse, despite my ignorance and my bliss, I was truly in for a very bad month.

I was at this time 31 years old, and when the first hard boil formed on the bottom of my foot, I was surprised, and confused. As more of them started covering my body, the blisters, I was terrified. All I knew was that getting Chicken Pox at 31 years old was a death sentence to many, and I was scared. My loving wife, simply told me I was a baby, and left me in the bedroom to get sicker, and sicker, until I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t leave the bed, I couldn’t yell to her down the hall, as her friends and her ignored me, and seemed to be having a lot of fun for the first few days. The local hospital sent me home the day before saying that I was just going to have to get through it, and here I was getting through it, and more alone than I had ever felt in my life. It is all that much more painful when you hear torturous life going on in the other room. My best friend {at the time} Craig, finally showed up wondering what the hell was going on, and screamed at all of them as he got me to the hospital, in another town. There I was told that the Zoster Pneumonia would have killed me that night, and I was to stay there for the next couple of weeks, yet again, alone. My wife visited me once in that whole time to get the pin number to my ATM card, and Craig had caught her in bed with another man days later.

She promised Craig that it would never happen again, and with that they decided to leave me ignorant for the moment, as always I have said, “If you can’t help em don’t hurt em,” so Craig decided that in my miserable state I couldn’t handle this, and life went on, until weeks later she officially left for another man, I was asked to leave, and in shock and dismay over the fact that she had NEVER been faithful to me, I did. The insanity that followed is legendary around here. My weakened state from the hospital stay brought me to the gym, where I turned into one of those psycho body builders, I was dropping ephedras like they were pez, and worse than that, I was starving myself through exercise. My mind was so riddled with the poison and the betrayal, that I WAS dangerous. My testosterone levels were dangerously high as well, and I was often noted to just scowl, no matter how many meetings I went to and how many people I tried to talk out my anger with, and it took over a year to get to any semblance of the man you all know now.

The most fascinating story to come of all this was about 3 months after the divorce. My wife had gone into court, and told the judge that I was a bad father, a bad husband, and a bad provider. I actually believed her, through my own self hatred, and I was ready to just curl up and die somewhere, until I ran into a person I barely knew, and yet was there through this whole trauma in the beginning. The beautiful nurse who had waited on me almost everyday I was in the hospital. She asked how I was doing, and I of course told her {you all know me and my honesty} She looked at me strait in the eyes and said, “All I remember seriously is the man who was at deaths door, who everyday asked me if he could leave yet, because his daughter was at home with Chicken Pox and she was scared. If she came to the conclusion that you were a bad father she is wrong, so I believe that she wouldn’t know a good anything if she saw it,” and with that little statement, I might have still been borderline insane for a while longer, but she gave me hope, and sometimes that is all any of us really need. ;8o)