From the time I was a small child and into my adulthood, I always wrote in a journal. I expressed my feelings and things that happened.  It was like telling a friend my secrets. Then there was Glen. He called the journals evil, because he often read about himself and how I felt. His drug and alcohol abuse was more than I could take alone, so I turned to my journal as my confidant. Glen always seemed to find the journals and soon I was wearing a new butt hole as a result of his verbal rage… which made me want to write even more.

The years I spent not expressing myself and holding it all in were good years.  There was rarely anything to fight or argue about.  As long as I didn’t have a conflicting opinion, life was good. Sounds terrible, I know, but this was my world and the survival skills I chose.  I loved him too much to leave him. And with most all alcoholics, nothing was his fault.  Although it wasn’t my fault that he could not find his shoes, his wallet, his keys nearly every day… it was still my fault because I was responsible for the house.

Everything and everyone ends up being a threat to the alcoholic.  No one understands him.  Everyone abandons him. I was the only one who stayed, but strange how he kept trying to leave over the years. I can’t count how many times he said he wanted a divorce. I said NO, because it was just a stupid idea. That, and I wasn’t about to have 2 failed marriages under my belt. I remember when I told him that I wanted to go to AA. He told me that if I went he would divorce me. I went to one meeting and a few online meetings, but didn’t go back simply because everyone seemed like losers who only liked to complain.

Be it evil or not, I’ve returned to writing.  I’m safe from his wrath now. It’s a liberating feeling. I loved him to death.  Really.. to-death, but when he died a HUGE burden was lifted from my shoulders. Shortly after Glen died, some “friends” took his guns, 12 rifles, and pawned them.  They kept the money of course.  That night I was alone in my mobile home screaming at the walls because I was afraid of Glen’s wrath even after death.

“YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!!!” He would scream and then go on endlessly about how much of a shit I really was.

Tonight our dog, Ashley, ran away. It’s our wedding anniversary and also New Year’s Eve. Kassandra and her Common Law and I went outside to shoot off fireworks. Glen was always the one to make sure the animals were safe inside the house when we set off fireworks. For some reason, I wasn’t thinking and forgot about the dog. We looked everywhere for her.  I’m still waiting for Ashley to come home.

Kassandra said, “You didn’t listen to me… wa wa wa wa…” I didn’t hear what she said after that because it reminded me too much of the verbal beatings. The thing is, living with a verbally abusive alcoholic (and I think most are), everything was my fault even when it was not.  Then when something REALLY IS my fault, it is especially harder for me to take.

So here I am in the Pink Room again thinking about the past. Ashley is gone, and here I am in my evil journal. My old friend. I’ve lost so much in life, what’s one more? That’s why I asked Kassandra and her Common Law to come and live with me.  I couldn’t bear to lose her too. Ashley.  She was all that I had when Glen was in the hospital.  She was all that he had when he was gone. But, I’ll keep looking and keep hoping.  I’ll keep looking and hoping.