the things we do…or more aptly titled, the things *I* do
1/22 you moron. One two-two-eighteen.
The thing that happened the same day I wrote the post is a lesson in and of itself…the no drinking turned into a drinking on 1/22 that basically resulted in a several pint blood loss in my bathroom.
When I came home from the hospital it peeled up off the sink in layers–it was sprayed everywhere all over the white walls, splattering the floor, tub, matt, curtain. It did look like someone was murdered, and if the EMT hadn’t swiped my iphone maybe I would have taken a photo.
Poor Don, poor all the men I have been with who have been blamed for the wounds on my face. They many times weren’t EVEN there when the shit hit the fan, or my face as it were. He was there and kept screaming why did you do that why did you do that.
And you know what, it’s true. He literally did nothing but exist in the same space I was in and though we were working together–I was really working against him.
It’s something I have never admitted aside from mentioning we are terrible drinkers sometimes together. He’s gotten mean. I have definitely gotten mean–and when I do get mean, something is bound to be thrown, whether it be a table (uh yeah, I have hurled tables at him), an ashtray a wine glass, whatever might satisfy my need to burn the house down in that minute. I throw things out of frustration and I have hurt myself out of frustration as well. When I was 16 I crushed a porcelain jewelry box in my hand and cut a tendon and the blood, yup. There was a lot of blood then.
Today I sit with 12 stitches on my forehead in a line and one or two sprinkled above my right eye, some glass cuts below.
Yes I went to the hospital and a good thing too as that really was a massive amount of blood. The EMTS and paramedics barely believed what happened but–he literally did nothing. Well, he did speak and taunt me slightly–not with names but just told me I was being unreasonable.
And this is primarily where the insanity of his ex-wife and mine diverge.
If it was her, she would have definitely blamed him. I mean, she did get him thrown in jail for a month over a false report similar to that. And honestly at the end of the day–most of the stuff he was accused of was stuff she was doing. As he called 911 that night and I was like, oh it’s FINE–totally fine I will just put a bandaid on it. Yup. That was me, and he was thinking I was going to die and he would be thrown in prison for the rest of his life, not because he did it, but because he definitely does have the record of someone who was married to a sociopath, therefore making him look like the delinquent in the situation which was most definitely me. Plus, yeah, it needed stitches as that was definitely way more blood than I have ever seen in my space, from me. He did tell me definitely was worried I would die because he doesn’t even like blood and yikes–yeah it was pouring out. I think there was at least 5-6 PINTS in the bathroom alone and then the towel is also a paper mache blood animal. Hey, I did say if I ever get murdered here they are gonna find that blood all over the bathroom, good thing there’s a police report with an accurate description of how it happened.
I’ll write these stories out in total one day–right now is not the time–but let’s just say now my face tells the story of how bad I am at drinking so I never ever forget.
And yeah–I know. I know. I know.
