2001-02-03 - 13:21:08
One of the fights Joel and I had years ago, was when Stephanie was like 4 or 5 months old. Okay, she was an only child back then, m'kay. I was back in school at ECC (this was BEFORE I realized I was good enough to graduate) and I was doing homework or wrapping up homework and about to go to bed.
So, Joel had made it a habit to sleep out on the couch because it was three feet away from the air conditioning wall unit. So, I would happily close the door and turn on my light and do homework until the wee hours in the morning. All by myself. In the dead of night. It felt better that way and I got SO MUCH done. I made straight A's that semester.
This night happened to be about a month before I called the police on him and got a restraining order.
So, I was going to bed and I closed my door to my room. It was MY room because MY shit was everywhere and he hardly came in there even though we were a married couple (whatever that is) and we lived together (whatever that meant).
He came up to the door and opened it (it was a really small apartment). I got up and closed the door because I didn't want the light bothering him and probably because the a/c was way cold because he always had to have it on sixty degrees and I was freezing. I think he questioned me from the dead of night why I had closed it. I told him that I wanted it closed, I think. I wasn't severely bitchy, and besides, I found out later through counseling that it didn't matter even if I was bitchy, that he reacted really stupidly and should now die, Mr. Hat. NO, tee hee, I am kidding. Anyway, here's how it turned out.
He came to the doorway and started asking me questions like why I had closed the door for the sixth time or something. I told him to just go back to bed and leave me alone. He kept coming in and turning the light on. He liked to do that sort of thing to me. I used to think of it as some bizarre sleep torture. It happened to be about 2 a.m. or so. He HAD to know WHY ON EARTH I kept closing the door. He said that it symbolized that I was closing him out. I said WHATTHEFUCKEVER. He got all perplexed and was going to now keep me awake. So, I had been planning on taking a shower in the morning, but, now decided since I was staying awake for a little while, that now was just as good a time as in the morning. Besides, I figured I had school and I think I took the public bus and would have to get the baby ready, etc.
So, I got up to go take a shower hoping this was another way of getting rid of him and his stupid questions. I went into the bathroom and turned on the light and closed the door. Well, since I SHUT HIM OUT again, he slammed the door open against the wall. He started yelling and being a prick, as usual. I told him NOT to wake the fucking baby. He told me that he was sick of me shutting him out and shushing him. He said that was ALL I EVER DID. I, of course, continued with trying to ignore him. He then decided that I shouldn't take a shower. I told him again to leave me alone. I undressed while I was standing in the shower cuz I didn't want him to see me naked and think I was enticing him. Cuz, after all, dammit, if I was going to shut him out, I was NOT going to seduce him at the same time. So, I undressed in the dry shower behind the closed curtain. Well, the closed curtain was also shutting him out, since he would not let me close the door and be alone in the bathroom like a big girl, he took offense to the whole closed curtain thing saying I was acting like a bitch. I told him that no, I was taking a shower.
He decided the curtain must open or be ripped down and since I kept closing it once he would open it, he began wrecking the bathroom. He ripped a wooden towel hanger out of the wall with one pull. I stared at him as he went on to knock the other towel hangers out of their little sockets and knock my towel which had been sitting on the toilet on the floor. He then took a glass vase that I kept lame little weeds/wildflowers from the lawn in with some water, and he through it right down on the floor where it shattered. He had actually picked the flowers. I told him to go get me my sandals because now the shower would have to be delayed until I cleaned up all the fucking glass. He said no, and I said fine, whatever, and closed the curtain again.
I turned on the water, and he started throwing things against the curtain again like a hair brush and some other thing. Then, all of a sudden he threw this black, hard plastic trash can and it hit my leg through the curtain and broke on contact with my skin and left two swollen gash marks on my left thigh. I still have the scars today. I threw open the curtain and went off on him. I told him to get me my FUCKING SANDALS RIGHT NOW, MOTHERFUCKER. He saw the blood of course which finally made him SNAP OUT of whatever fucking mood he was in. He is so insane. He got me my sandals and started apologizing all over himself. I could kick myself for not calling the cops right then and getting him the FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE.
Instead I told him to get the fuck away from me and hobbled into the bedroom again, where I laid down and tried to stay real still on the bed with a thick towel under my thigh so it didn't open up anymore or bleed any worse. I needed stitches for that. I know I did. But, I never went to the hospital. I never called the cops.
He came over and kept telling me that he had to put peroxide on that and how sorry he was and I said GET. THE. FUCK. AWAY. FROM. ME. He tried to linger in the room and explain why he had gotten carried away, etc. I told him to GO. CLEAN. THE. FUCKING. GLASS. OFF. THE. FUCKING. BATHROOM. FLOOR. AND. I. FUCKING. HATE. YOU. I closed the door and locked it. He never tried to get in, I don't think. I can't remember where he was the next day after that happened. I know I went to school by way of bus, with all my heavy-ass books, AND my daughter in her car seat, because I never had a baby sitter back then for that semester until like halfway into the semester and it was okay because my teachers didn't mind the little baby being there who was always so good and adorable. It hurt to walk for about two weeks, I think. Because the gashes were so horrible, it left a huge softball size bruise all around it. I limped. I don't think I ever applied peroxide. I think I was daring it to become more serious, so I would have a legitimate reason for seeking medical attention and possibly getting him out of my life. I never used to think my situation was serious enough. He always said things to make me think that. I should have called the cops. Better yet, (and I told Jimbo this last night, and the story too, cuz he is actually my friend, and it was eating away at my mind) I should have stayed friends with Jimbo and called him when it happened. It would never have escalated past that point. Well, actually, it never would have gotten past the very first fight when he choked me. He said that he would have come over and beat the shit out of Joel for something like that. I guess that would have made him my hero. Tee hee. Sigh. I hate Joel.
