Much of the story of my life may seem quite pedestrian, (common.). It is my story just the same. My father never wanted me and he sure as hell never loved me. Try as I might, I never could earn his love. When I was very young, I overheard a conversation between him and my mother. It was more of an argument than an conversation. He had not wanted a second child period and he certainly did not want another girl. I am certain this was the defining moment of my life. The moment that altered my life and was the beginning of my mental health and self-esteem issues.

My life long struggle with depression and anxiety started when I was a child. I never fit in with my peers. I was smarter than most of them and I was mercilessly picked on for it. I had to start wearing glasses when I was in kindergarten, naturally I was “four-eyes” and a multitude of mean names. I struggled with my weight for most of my life and was even mocked and bullied by my peers at work. I was dubbed “Mrs. Piggy”, by the men with whom I worked.. Being bullied is hardly a new experience, all those who have been bullied carry with them the scars from it. My scar was more like a wound that would never heal. It could never heal because time and again my self-esteem and self-worth would be attacked.

I was salutatorian when I graduated High School. That was second to valedictorian. I really was not second smartest, It was my fear of public speaking that made me number two. I would not give the graduation speech so they gave the title to my competition.

I graduated college in three years and obtained a job with the government. This I believe was the only thing that ever made my father proud. It meant I would be able to take care of myself and any children I had. It also meant that I would earn a good retirement and be set for life. I accepted this job for the sole purpose of my father finally approving of me and something I had done. To honor him and the work ethic he taught me, I remained at this job and moved up the ranks for 34 years.

I had majored in mathematics and had wanted to be a mathematician. My eldest sister would tell you that I was near genius level in my intellect. I had the book smarts, but not the street smarts. I was naive when it came to how depraved men really were. How sex was just that to them. How they would do anything to get that singular thing from a woman. Oh the words they would speak, to get past a woman’s defenses and take advantage of her. Speaking words of love and promises of a life together. Flattery truly is a tool of the devil. Those words born out of flattery were never truly complimentary. For a woman desperate to be wanted and loved, they were like nuggets of gold.

I spent the lions share of my life in pursuit of finding true love. However, I did not really know what love was. I desperately wanted to be loved. I desperately wanted to be wanted. Even if a man gave me crumbs of what looked like or felt like love, I would latch on and hold on with all my might.

My first husband and father of my son was the love of my life, or so I had thought. We met when I was in High School and we were off an on when I was in college. In order to make the marks I desired, I had to put a hold on my social life. This put a strain on our relationship. We got married not long after I graduated. We were happy for a time. I had the most precious and beautiful little boy. He was the spitting image of his father. I loved them both so much. I was mostly happy at home, I hated my job and I still struggled with my depression and self-loathing.

One day I came home and I caught my husband with another woman. This was yet another blow to my already frail self-esteem. My fears had been realized. I was not lovable and I was replaceable. He had promised to love me and to be with me for the rest of our lives. He broke his promise and he utterly broke my heart. I could not forgive him, so I filed for divorce.

Somehow, with the words of a sly fox, he worked his way back into my life. I desperately did not want to be alone. As broken as my heart was, he was the one to whom it belonged. He was the father of my son after all. I owed it to my son to make it work out with his father. So, I married him a second time. Here is a word to the wise, an ex is an ex for a reason. Never and I mean never, stay with your child’s father under the guise of it being for your child. This is not enough to hold a marriage together.

I have mentioned my struggle with depression and anxiety. In one of my bouts of depression, I told my husband I was going to kill myself. He unsympathetic and in a seemingly heartless manner, retrieved all of his guns, He laid them on our bed and told me to go ahead and do it. (I didn’t realize at the time, the tole that my depression had, taken on him. This was not the first time I had spoken of suicide.) I didn’t do it. We divorced again, I could never get over being cheated on and betrayed by him. I was once again alone. I hated and feared being alone. I never felt strong enough to do life without a man by my side.

My desperation and naivety became evident in the second man I married. He was a sales man. He knew how to read people. He could size up who would buy from him and who wouldn’t. He had studied psychology in the one collegiate course he took. Apparently, this helped him when it came to making sales and wooing women. His adept skill at reading people, made me an easy mark. A single mom, fraught with insecurity and desperate for love. I was never meant to be alone, or so I had believed. I was scared and desperate to have a man by my side. We had mutual friends that set us up on our first date. It did not take long for him to sweep me off of my feet. He was handsome, gentle and fun. I fell in love with him rather quickly.

My father never really drank much alcohol. He may have a beer every now and then while watching a New York Mets game. My new husband drank a lot more than that. For a long time he was able to hide just how much he really drank. He never smelled like alcohol. He always had certs peppermints to mask the smell of it on his breath. He always wore Stetson cologne, oh, he smelled so good. As it turned out, he was a raging alcoholic. I take that back, sometimes when he was drunk he was so much fun to be around. However, other times he would hit me and say the cruelest words. His words did severe damage to my already low self-esteem. His idea of punishment for his sons and mine, were far more severe that what was due. My son would run, terrified, while screaming to be spared the beating that came from my husband’s belt. My daughter would run and hid in my closet. When I attempted to intervene, I would get beat and my son would get beat all the worse for it. True to form, of any alcoholic or abuser, upon sobering up and a good night sleep he would give these epic apologies and promises to never do it again. Being the naive fool that I was, I would believe him. He always broke his promises.

This marriage was not all bad. We went on tubing and snorkeling adventures. We had cook outs at the beach and at home. We had an above ground pool for swimming. I loved his three children that summered with us. They were good kids and I loved them. My marriage to my second husband gave me my miracle. My beautiful baby girl, my pussy cat or PC as I often called her. She had these curls beautiful curls that I loved to play with. She was a character and the light of my life. At least I got something good out of my error in judgment in marrying her father. I stayed with him a lot longer than I ever should have.

When my daughter was 4yrs old, my husband had her best friend and fellow sales men move in to our home. This man too was smooth talking and knew how to manipulate and play a woman. A true womanizer. Id like to say I fell victim to his charms, but I didn’t fall. I jumped in head first. He was my way out. I could leave this untenable marriage and not be alone. Unlike my current husband and my first husband, this man really saw me. HE wanted me. HE loved me. I latched on to his words like a lifeline, hook, line and sinker.

We began a love affair, in my home right under my husbands nose. He had cheated on me left and right, I felt I should be able to have an affair as well. My motive was not so much to hurt him as it was to get what I wanted, to get what I needed. LOVE. Real, honest to goodness, love. I thought I needed this love from a man to satisfy my longing to be loved.

I thought I had outsmarted my husband and he would not find out. He did. When he did, he was enraged. Unfortunately, my children were witnesses to what was to transpire next. My husband lost his mind. After yelling at me for sometime, he grabbed me by my hair and slammed me up against the wall. The wind got knocked out of me. As he came in closer, I wasn’t sure if he was going to choke me or strike me. I saw his arm move back and I stood frozen in fear await for the blow to land. However, it never did. The next thing I knew, the man I loved stepped in and caught my husbands fist before it landed on my face. The two men of my life began to brawl and my children came running to me for safety. Little did they know, there was nothing I could truly do to protect them. We did our best to stay out of the line of fire. They both clung to me for dear life. We were scared to death, and rightly so. The three of us coward in the kitchen while the brawl continued on in my living room.

I called 9-1-1. The police came and arrested both men, my lover and my husband. The police advised me they could only hold my husband for so long and that for my safety, I should go stay somewhere else. I took my son to his father’s house and in desperation I sought refuge at the home of my mother and father. My mother of course was ready to welcome me with open arms. My father however, told me that my child could stay but I was not welcome in his home. That I had “made my bed and had to lay in it.” I left my crying daughter, wailing in the arms of my mother. I walked back to my car, tears streaking my face with no place to go. I got in my car and drove away. I spent the night in my car.