Marriage #2.....Robbing the Cradle....Arrested The Final Act!

When I left off on the story of losing the baby with wife # 2, we were married for only a short time. The only thing that connected us was the baby and after it was erased from the picture, we had nothing left between us. The physical connection disappeared as neither of us wanted to experience the moments of pleasure that lead to the creation and loss of our child. It is in this chapter that I am going to make a confession that haunts me. I have spoken with the people involved in my confessions and taken responsibility for my actions.

I have reached out to wife # 2 to no avail. I do know she is remarried and as beautiful as ever. I hope to make my reparations to her face-to-face one day. Only time will tell. After the loss of the baby and knowing the marriage was going to end, my boozing, weed and speed use was at an all time high, or low depending on your perspective.

I was working for my father and it was a Sunday afternoon. The store wasn't open and my wife and I could not stand to be in the same room together. She was young and full of fire. I was older, addicted and had a short fuse. I left for the store to drink and use in peace, bemoaning my dead child and horrified that I was in a 2nd failed marriage. Addiction loves pain, misery, anger, conflict and general chaos. They make the excuses to use a short list to sort through, before justification is reached.

I drank and smoked weed to calm down. I took speed to make my tolerance for the two higher. I was trapped between tweaking, freaking and sleeping. I used all day and headed back to my dark, marital nest. It was her place. I wasn't even on the lease. I hid a pint of vodka under the couch and she was in our bedroom. I turned on the Bull's game. They were in the championship that year. When she went to the bathroom or if I knew she was busy with something, I would hit the bottle and pop a few more prellies.

When it comes to using, the addict becomes ninja-like in his stealth. I could sneak up on a lightly sleeping copper and take a shot of whiskey off his forehead without even waking him. Bottles were strategically placed around the place so I could "settle my nerves" at will. She knew but really didn't care. Her loathing for me was as great as mine was for her, but not close to the loathing I felt for myself. She could hear the twisting cap and rattling pill bottle coming from the living room. Slamming drawers and closets made a clear statement to me that she was not a happy camper.

I watched the Bulls in a chemical fog, hair tingling and heart racing. She entered the living room and stood between me and the television set. I acted as if she wasn't there, like I was looking through a window. She hated to be ignored. It was a hot button. As a good addict I pushed that button with glee.
She yelled that I was a drunken loser and all the usual stuff I had heard so many times before. I just watched her stomach, as if it was the TV itself. The more I acted like she wasn't there, the madder she got.

She lunged forward and grabbed my face with one hand shouting that she had things to talk about and I was going to pay attention to what she had to say. That is a censored paraphrase of her rantings. I swept her hand away from my face and pushed her away from me. She fell on her bottom and got up angrier than a rattlesnake with a toothache. She demanded that I get out. I told her to get out. She said she was going to her mother's and I waved bye-bye.

About twenty minutes later the police arrived at the condo. I let them in perfectly calm, knowing that I was the one with fingerprint bruises on my face and that I had just pushed her away from me. I did not start it. I did not hit or hurt her. I felt assured that justice would prevail and that truth always wins out in the end. The officer asked me to recount the events that had transpired and I regurgitated the events of the argument. He could see that I was bruised and she stood behind him looking as pretty as ever.

The officer asked me to place my hands behind my back. I asked why. He said I was "under arrest." I asked him to look at my face and knew I hadn't struck or hurt her. I just pushed her away from me. It wasn't like I flung her into the TV. She just sat down on her butt in front of me. He went on to explain that in that county the male was always the one placed under arrest. It was a county law. I reviewed the story again and he said I would have my day in court.

It was unbelievable. I was telling the truth. I spent the night in county jail and my father bailed me out the next morning. When I read the police report it said that I had beaten her with a telephone in our kitchen. We didn't even have a phone in the kitchen. I had been set up and very well at that. An order of protection was issued for a short time and I was given a date that I could retrieve my belongings. I asked the police to be there when I removed my belongings, fearing another fabricated incident. I asked the officer to note that we had no phone and the story was bogus. He told me to tell it to the judge.

I hired an attorney and planned on fighting the "Domestic Battery" charge. He instructed me that I had no record and could take probation and anger management classes and I would get off scott free. I was incensed, demanding justice be served. He said that although I had a good case and an excellent chance of winning it, the risk of losing could mean steep penalties and jail time. I couldn't believe it. I took the plea knowing that I didn't hit, hurt or do the things she stated in the official report. My second mother went to court with me for every appearance. I was grateful for that.

Here is where the confession comes in and the realization that justice had been served. I did not do the things I was charged with by wife #2 but there were two events in my life prior when I did lay hands upon a woman. The first was in a tequila drenched haze when my girlfriend punched me in the face and I backhanded her by reflex. She called the police and no report was filed. I should have been arrested. Ironically the police officer who came to our apartment was our neighbor and is her husband today.

The other time I laid hands on a woman was when I was 20 years old. I actually hit my girlfriend's head against the ground. The police were not called but the relationship was over. The three times that I was involved in domestic issues booze and drugs were involved. I have spoken with the two ladies I laid hands on and have made amends and taken responsibility for my actions. That is so not me, and I still remember those events vividly.

I have some belief in Karma and "What goes around, comes around." Justice was served that night I was arrested for something I didn't do. It was the "come around" for what I had done in those years before to my 2 former girlfriends. I make these confessions to clear my conscience and tell another human of my shame and horror at my actions. You may glance away thinking I was a thug. I know I was in those two instances. I am glad that I made my peace with them and they accepted my genuine apology for my gross actions.

I have not done anything like that in 19 years. It still haunts me and drove my addiction for awhile. The key thing is that those incidents happened while I was loaded. Sober, those actions couldn't even make it to the front of my mind. If you are a potential addict, or wondering if you have substance abuse issues, take a look back at your life. Were you using when you had your biggest argument with a loved one or friend? Were you drunk when you got into a fist fight with someone? Were you under the influence of something when you lost control of your emotions? If you answered yes to these questions you might want to look at yourself and your substance use.

I can honestly say that there were good times when I partied. I can say with absolute conviction that EVERY time I got into trouble or had a bad argument with someone, booze or drugs was involved. Booze+Drugs+Anger=TROUBLE. I will never forget that night in jail and have never had to experience it again since that day so long ago. Justice was served I just paid for the events of my past.