The lost years

Sometimes I dream that I am still living in that shit hole trailer.

I don’t like to think about 1996-2002. 21-27. The lost years. I will never get them back. So when the dream comes, it always shocks me. It seems so real, that I wake up shaking a bit. I have to remind myself that I am safe.

I have written a few posts about my ex douchebag. The fact that he has 4 children, different mothers.  My daughter hates him, and hasn’t spoken to him in almost 5 years. It’s been wonderful, not having to dread a phone call from him, laughing at his asinine jokes, playing nice nice with him. Kissing his ass.

If I didn’t play by his rules, he would make my life miserable. I was always under his microscope, even after I left.  Once, he was mad at me for coloring my hair almost blonde and painting my nails. I looked like a fucking whore. I wasn’t even with him anymore. Who the hell did he think he was?

I had to continue some form of a relationship with him, because we had a child together. One time, after I dropped her off with him on a Friday night, my cell rang. It was him. “Come pick up your kid, she hasn’t stopped crying since you left.” When I got back, he was accusing me of brainwashing her against him. Turned out she just wasn’t feeling good.

The thought of him repulses me, especially when I picture him sitting on our old flower patterned couch, in his piss stained underwear.

Thank you God, for giving me the courage and strength to leave.