Once you have allowed yourself to be treated like a piece of garbage, you get used to it.
You lose any amount of self esteem you ever had.
The more you allow the abuse to happen, the more you feel like shit.
The more you feel like shit, the more abuse you allow to happen.
It’s a vicious cycle.
I vowed so many times that this is the last time.
After my mom took all of my stuff out of the house the POS and I were living in, I never technically moved back in.
But we were 100% back together.
There were many more awful incidents.
A few months after the Halloween episode, I got a long term house sitting job.
Somehow, the POS convinced me that he should move in there with me.
By this point, he had also gotten a job at the country club where I worked in the summer.
I was the pool director.
He weasled his way into the position of checking people in at the front desk to the pool.
He could watch my every move.
The whole pool staff hated him.
It was only a matter of time until things came to a head.
I would get hit on pretty regularly at the country club.
It drove the POS insane.
So one night when we got home, he lost it.
I tried to call 911, but he got my cell phone away from me and I couldn’t get it back.
I went for the house phone and he ripped the cord from the wall and then cut the cord to the receiver.
I tried again to get my phone back.
He grabbed me by my hair, dragged me up the stairs, and locked me in an upstairs bedroom.
By this point, I was enraged.
I opened the window, and I started tying sheets together.
I couldn’t think of anything else to do, but I was determined to get the fuck out of the house.
Somehow he realized what I was trying to do.
He came into the room and dragged me down the stairs.
I tried to fight.
I broke my toe in the struggle.
He ran outside to his car.
I locked the front door and tried to find a phone.
The house phone didn’t work.
The POS wasn’t stupid.
He still had my cell phone.
And he used it to call the police.
He waited out in the driveway for the police to come.
I wasn’t going to unlock the door.
So he talked to the cops before I even had a chance to see them.
He told them that I had attacked him and that he was just defending himself.
And they believed him.
And that motherfucking piece of shit got a restraining order against me.
I wanted to kill everybody.
I was done.
That was the last straw.
It was still the middle of the summer.
I couldn’t get him fired from his job, and I had to work the rest of the summer seeing him every day.
So I moved back to my parents house.
And I started screwing a golf pro at the country club.
A literal fuck you to the POS.
Once he caught wind of this, he started stalking me.
One night, after I had gone out with the golf pro and was driving home, I realized a car was following me.
It was the POS.
It was midnight.
There weren’t a lot of other cars on the road.
I sped up.
So did he.
And then he drove about 60 miles an hour on a back road in CT, passed me, and came to a screeching halt in front of my car.
I locked the doors.
He got out of his car.
I told him to get out of the way.
When he wouldn’t, I backed up, and drove around him.
He ran back to his car and did the same thing again.
I stopped my car.
I was afraid the cops would come, and after my previous experience with them and the POS, I didn’t want to take my chances.
He was parked right behind me.
He got out of his car and came to my window.
I told him to stop.
He walked to the front of my car, and lay down on the road in front of my front tire.
I should have run the motherfucker over.
But I rolled down the window and told him I was calling the cops. I got my phone and started dialing 911.
As I did that, he got up, ran to his car, and drove away.
I went to my parents’ house and went to bed.
When I woke up the next morning, there were 37 messages from him on my voicemail.
The first one started out like this:
You fucking whore…
By the 37th voicemail, he was crying hysterically and begging me to forgive him.
I need you. I can’t live without you.
I finally saw him for the pathetic loser that he really was.
I called him one last time.
I let him know I had saved all of his messages and that if I ever heard from him again, I would go directly to the police.
And that was the last I ever saw of him.
Until last week.
When I wrote the first post about this asshole, a friend of mine commented, saying,
Shit, Susie, who the fuck is he so we can make his life a living hell?
I don’t think I need to tell anyone.
I’m pretty sure his life already is a living hell.
But if you happen to see a metrosexual with a Napoleon complex who thinks he looks like Tom Cruise but who really looks like Ben Stiller’s ugly older brother,
feel free to flip him the bird.
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