How can I get over 8 years of personal hell on earth?
I just finally ended an 8 year relationship with a man by summoning up enough courage to call the police to remove him from my home. I thought I would be happy, relieved as I prayed to God everyday to end the madness. Yet, what I feel is tremendous guilt and sadness as he has nowhere to go and probably ended up on the streets in this very cold winter.
It all started years ago, I guess I wasn't the most positive girl in the world and always seemed to meet up with loser guys, the kind who have trouble maintaining employment, never had any money, possessive and controlling. And then I met the one, he was charming, good looking and was in treatment for crack addiction. He was working hard for himself and his son. The warning signs were there in the beginning when I look back. The way he would flirt with my best friend, the girls that were calling his phone.
But he was very possessive with me. He would get angry if I spoke to a man. One instance, I went to an N.A. meeting with him and he got up and left in the middle of the meeting. I stayed and when the meeting was over, he accused me of staring too much at the man who was discussing his addiction recovery. He claimed that I was looking at him vividly and therefore, I was interested in him.
After he left the treatment program, he was clean for another year and slowly started using again. I had never been subjected to crack cocaine use and it was mind blowing. It's as if I was leading the life of a crackhead, but not actually using crack. Everyday, he would call me up at work 3-4 times a day, begging for money. When I would try to say no, he would threaten that he would show up at my office or speak to my boss personally about me. At night time, when he was done using, he would wake me in the middle of the night so I could drive him out to get more crack. When I tried to refuse, he would threaten to be loud and awake my parents. Sometimes, he would have me drive and wait outside the area where he was getting his crack.
I don't think my parents or friends ever caught on to the extreme use of crack he was using but they certainly didn't like him and said he treated me badly. Why couldn't I see this the whole way along? I was exhausted, being up for days at a time, burnt out by the emotional and physical toll his use was taking on me.
My best friend of 25 years pretty much broke off her friendship with me and my parents told me to leave their house. So I did, I moved into a small apartment with him and his son. I purposely moved far away from my family and friends so they would never have to see him again. I withdrew socially and for the next two years, I had no friends, and no real support. I eventually lost my job due to my relationship with him, yet still, I couldn't bring myself to stop living with him, to tell someone I was freaking out.
I continued to live with him and watch him abuse crack. Except since I was no longer afraid of awakening my parents, I reacted to his crack use with a vengeance. I did anything I could to stop him from enjoying his high, I became a monster and said and did horrible things to him that I can't even imagine doing to anyone else. I screamed, I cried, I was verbally abusive, I lashed out physically, I hated him with every bone in my body. Yet, I still continued to pay his rent and give him money just to shut him up. Cause every night when I came home from work or school, he was waiting for me, asking me for money, cigarettes, anything.
At one point, he actually had possession of my car and I would have to ask him to use my own car. But because he always had threaten my job or family in the past, I was scared he would do it again and I had already put my parents through enough already. He used to call my parents and tell them that I was mentally ill and they were not good parents because they would not help me. The police were over at my apartment so many times and my landlord wanted me evicted from the moment he met me.
Now that his child was involved, I was afraid that if I did kick him out, the child would have nowhere to go as I was always working or in school and not in any position to assume full responsibility over him. At least he was always at home even though he was pretty negligent towards his son. Over the years, he was clean for stretches of time, months sometimes, but then he would always go back.
But two years ago, on a clean stint, he began acting very erratically, saying bizarre things, covering mirrors and the tvs up with sheets. He was blasting rap music through his speakers day and night, refusing to anything but listen to the music. I brought him earphones just to have some quiet and he would not wear them. My landlord issued the eviction papers. It was only a matter of time before I would be homeless. So, I thought I had my mind together and I finally went out and got my own apartment and moved the hell away from him. I was so proud of myself.
I did get evicted out that apartment and felt so bad that I had a new place, that I went with him and helped him find temporary arrangements for him and his son so his son could finish the school year off and go be with his grandmother in the summer. He lasted only a week at the new place, being removed due to threatening another tenant.
Eventually he was arrested for assault charges against his son. His son was apprehended to child care and I was relieved to know that he was contained in jail. You would think it would have ended there but it didn't. My feelings of feeling bad for him came and went and I visited him in jail a few times and agreed to have him stay at my place for a while till he found his own place. He only stayed a few months and did leave but six months later, he needed another place to stay and again, I thought, how can anyone get their life together with no shelter, no friends or family?
Needless to say, he came and went in the beginning, clearly, using crack away from me. But when he decided to get clean again, he wouldn't leave my apartment for anything, the door was always chain locked and I would have to knock to get into my own apartment. He refused any kind of help, even to deal with his child. No anger management and the one program he entered, he was kicked out for starting a fight with another member.
The same patterns of behavior started again, he was blasting music, screaming and yelling on my balcony and making public scenes in my elevator. As well, he was using racist comments against me and my neighbors. I kept telling him to stop, not to make me kick him out in the cold and he would taunt me and tell me to call the police, just like all the other times, the police would come, remove him and he would come back.
I think the final straw for me was one morning, waking up to him calling me a "dirty jew bitch". I went to get my computer and when I walked by him, he flipped the computer so it broke, he followed me into the elevator. In front of two strangers, he started talking about (n--------er) cops and accused me of trying to kill him. Its as if 8 years of doing nothing, just taking it all in, working myself into denial, getting away, yet bringing him back, having a constant battle with my self esteem, my morals and values....I finally did it, I called the police and within a few hours, he was gone, warned never to contact me again. And he has not contacted me and I have my life, my apartment and my sanity back.
I know I can never allow him to enter my life again but why do I feel so godamn bad? I have to fight tears back at all times. I thought I would never be the girl who had to call the police. I keep thinking that if I hear he is dead on the streets it will be all my fault and I won't be able live with myself.
I grew up in a good family, I should have never become involved with such a horrible person. Yet i did, I allowed myself to give up and just deal with what he was giving me. Even though I had so many opportunities to get out, I never did, I never had him arrested, I never called the police when he was getting high,and there were some pretty intense moments where I thought I could get very hurt by him. I threatened him with it everyday but strangely I never did. But, I continued to support him even though he never even tried to find a job pay his rent, buy his food and give him cigarettes and money. Its as if I condoned his lifestyle but I really didn't.
Now, I am alone and left with the guilt of him being on the streets and the guilt of what his son went through all those years. Can someone tell me why I did this? Am I the screwed up one? I feel like I am,