More dates. Important dates. This is the second installment of my posts telling the story of me and Keith together. Our struggles, our lives. Scroll down to the post titled “July 25, 2008” and read the first part. Then continue here.
So I left off, Keith and I got married and then he shipped off to Iraq. In the meantime, I lost my home (I got evicted for non payment), I got robbed (the night I was moving out, either the landlord or someone else with a key got in and stole over $2500 worth of possessions), I had to move in a with a friend, and I lost my job. Eventually, I found somewhere to live with my stepfather’s ex wife (she was an amazing lady), but only for a month. Then, I moved back in with my grandmother and father for the remainder of the deployment.
Now, something happened that made Keith very angry at me. See, I was 19 years old. I was confused and left to put a married couple’s lives in order without my partner, I was power of attorney for my husband and I had to get on his insurance and stuff like that. Lots of paperwork. So I took all my paperwork and I went to a base to talk to someone about what I needed to do. She was very helpful–sort of. She had all these things for me to do, tasks to complete to get on insurance, get our lives sorted, etc. She told me, “You need to get on his bank account.” She said it legitimized things for the military regarding insurance, and if he died I’d have access to it immediately instead of having to go through a rigmarole of legal battles. It was absolutely necessary I get my name on it.
So I did. I had power of attorney, I had permission. So I put myself on there, and then talked to Keith about it, and used some money from his deployment pay to pay off the massive amount of medical bills I had accrued over the years and continued to accrue (and one time, get my cousin out of a drug deal that went south, it cost $50). He knew what I was doing.
But something over there changed him. I’ve found out what happened there over the years, through secondary sources (he’d tell everyone but me) and I put two and two together and knew what he did and what he was made to do. Not good things. He faced IUDs, life and death decisions, live fire, and…stuff. A Marine Corps Infantryman, a lance corporal, put in horrible situations. And he came back changed.
When he got back, he wouldn’t kiss me. I ran to him and hugged him, and everyone around us was hugging and kissing with abandon. But he held me at a distance. And then we got back to the hotel room, and he fucked me. But it was so distant, and so bizarre. But then I went home, because he needed to go through bureaucracy and get settled in and evaluated and all that.
Then he called me, the night before I was going to go back to stay with him at the hotel for a while before we got our lives in order and moved back up North to be with his family. He called me. He was so, so drunk. He’d had 15 drinks in the course of an hour. I am shocked he didn’t die from this. But he called me–and he was crying. He never cried before that. So I packed all my stuff, and I got on the highway, and I raced the hour and a half to his base from my home and found him in his hotel room, trying and failing to throw up.
He was wild. He was ranting and raving about how he regretted our marriage, and how he wanted to fuck other girls, and how messed up his life was, and then he decided he wanted to drive to McDonald’s? I had to physically restrain him as he babbled the names of the girls he wanted before tying himself down that he’d never gotten the opportunity to bone. Finally I got him to bed.
But things…continued. He was so angry all the time. He had a girl over to his hotel room to “hang out” and she stayed the night. He swore nothing happened, he still swears it, he says he slept on the ground, but she was one of the girls he named as being one of the ones he wanted to bone. And he was drinking so much.
We went up North to his family and got an apartment and enrolled in college. On August 1, 2009, we got married…again. His family thinks that’s when we got married period. Nope. It was for show. And Keith won’t tell them the truth. But I…well, I was pregnant. About eight weeks pregnant. And on August 15, I got an abortion. There was no way I was bringing a child into the world with Keith the way he was. Just…so angry.
He had a job, I was searching for one but unsuccessfully. He was drinking all the time, before and after work, morning noon and night. And…he was abusive. We’d argue about anything, and he’d literally chase me from room to room and corner me so he could scream at me uninterrupted while I sobbed and begged him to leave me alone. He was physically threatening. A few times, he grabbed me and shook me or pulled or pushed me around. One time, we were in his big lifted Bronco on a trail up a mountain and we went over this huge rock and I looked through his driver side window and saw STRAIGHT DOWN A CLIFF and I got very very scared because he was not in control at that time and I asked if I could get out and tried to get out. He pulled the seat belt across my throat and tugged it several times. Then he drove home screaming at me.
And then he went to a party one night without me. He didn’t come home til the next day, and he was pretty much blacked out. I started hearing rumors about this party–a friend of a friend said Keith was not alone at the party and disappeared halfway through it. Keith admitted to me himself that he thought he did something, wasn’t sure. So I had him call the girl he was rumored to be with on speakerphone and ask her what happened that night, because he couldn’t remember. I’ll never forget the way she said, “We had sex.” Like it was no big deal. But he had betrayed me. We went into our apartment, I slapped him, and kicked him out. He went to stay with his mom shortly after November 8, 2009.
But that was a turning point. He stopped drinking, and did everything he could to make amends. He gave me space, but he was there for me when I asked him to be. He backed off the anger for a while (it would come back), and he let me think. Eventually, I decided to forgive him. He moved back in, and while I wouldn’t have sex with him at all until he got tested and a negative result on STDs, we were together again.
I’ll continue this soon.