Brandon
Hello DBM, my name is Brandon and my story begins when I was eight years old. My mother and father got a divorce when I had just turned eight. They played keep the kids away from each other for a year before this happened. The judge in the divorce separated my sister and I. I was sent to live with my father while she was sent to my mother. My father was an abusive man. He would call me things like useless, worthless, and a piece of...... Well, you know. When he got really mad he would hit me with anything he was close to. 2 by 4, water hose, baseball bat, buckle end of a belt etc. He would remind me all the time that I should be grateful for living with him because my mother was an alcoholic and druggie. Somehow, I was a great kid in school. Not in grades mind you but the teachers loved me. I had many friends. When I was thirteen I decided to move in with my mother. I figured "what the hell, can't be worse right?" I soon found that not everything my father told me was a lie. She (my mother) in fact was a bit of an alcoholic. She smoked weed but really that's not the worst. She also used psychedelic meds that she couldn't always afford. So, when she would go "dry" she too became violent. Throwing old wooden kitchen chairs at my sister and I. We never had matching dishes because those became frisbees during those times as well. I have always been a protector of the innocent. So, I'd stand between my mother and sister. Shielding her from any debris that came our way. The house we lived in wasn't very good. You could see the grass from the floor and the walls seperating. But, family is all you have so you stick together. My sister and I bonded heavily during these times. Around the age of fourteen my mother tried to commit suicide in front of me and my sister. Again shielding her (my sister) I got to see the entire thing. This didn't do well for my mental health so I got to stay at a special hospital for a couple months. Now, I'm a fairly decent sized guy. At fourteen I was close to my full height of 5,11" and weighed close to 200lbs. I never liked hurting people. I had been in karate, football, wrestling etc. Anytime I hurt someone I was quick to apologize and show sportsmanship. I believed and still do wholeheartedly that you should treat others the way you want to be treated. I was and still am very respectful. Growing up in West Texas will do that for you. But, at the time of my stay in the hospital, I became a very bitter person. I didn't understand why I had always been treated as a whipping boy when everyone always told me I was a wonderful, kind, respectful person. But, I did what most men do and I swallowed this anger. I went back to school and after lying to everyone about where I had been went back to being good ole Brandon. I tutored those that didn't understand assignments. I helped old ladies at church. Anyone on the side of the road was in luck if I found them. I fixed many a flat tire and towed many a car with my old truck. At seventeen and during the summer before senior year, my mother ran out of drugs again and longer story short. Accused my sister for taking them. I being my sister's keeper stood up for her and was rewarded with a barrage of verbal and physical attacks. When my mother realized that she wasn't causing me enough pain she reached for the phone and called 911. When the cops arrived I was packing what few belongings I had, some clothes and a few keepsakes from school, into a duffle bag. The cops took one look at myother and then me and the next thing I know I'm in handcuffs being read my rights, and taken to jail. Now you see, my mother is only 5'4" and weighed close to 110 if she had been soaking wet. At this time I have been in sports and ROTC and standing at 5'11" and a woping 219 lbs I was considered the aggressor. It didn't help that my mother was crying and saying I shoved her around so on and so forth. Even though my sister tried to say what really happened. So at 17 I went to jail for assault family violence. I spent the night there and again, wondered why a guy who was, well let's face it, a straight "D" student but excelled in most everything else. Again, all my teachers loved me. The deacons of the church I attended liked me greatly. All the people who knew me usually liked me. I was always trying to help others, but why, why was I the whipping boy for my parents? The people that were suppose to love and cherish and nurture me were the ones that caused my pain. Why? I am released from jail and move back in with my father who lived 230 miles away from my high school and all my friends. But, me being who I am, adapted to a new school and soon was back to excelling in everything but academics. I understood everything I just didn't like tests and I got bored pretty quick. Two months into school (senior year) my father informs me that he is moving in with his girlfriend. If I wanted to stay in the house I would have to pay the mortgage. So I got a job and went to school full time and worked full time to pay said mortgage. During this time period I met a girl that I thought was pretty cool. We started dating and before you know it she took my virginity. I was eighteen years old and Christian at heart so that meant volumes to me. After high school we continued to date and soon became married. To shorten this story a lot. We had some ups and downs as all married couples do. Had three beautiful children but one misscarage. That was devastating. My father never changed his abusive ways and I distanced myself from him. This caused me to lose most of my family as well. My grandmother who was the only true rock in my life. Had passed away from cancer and then we all fell apart. Now, I'm not innocent in life. At the beginning of marriage, my wife and I lost our house that I had built when I was 21 to foreclosure. We had filed bankruptcy and other stressful things happened. I yelled, a lot. I punched walls, I didn't know how to cope with answer very well. I wasn't alone in this behavior, but this is my confessions and my side of things. My sister who I had bonded with and loved dearly had become addicted to meth. And when I tried to help she threw insults in my face and other things. It was at this point that my entire life of abuse and betrayal from the ones I loved really started to hit hard. I found hidden checking accounts belonging to my wife. Emails from job listing replying to ads about a nanny for three children and cats when all we had were two children and cats. This is how I found out she was pregnant with our third child. I couldn't handle the lying, and fighting and double standards anymore. So we had rented an excavator and dug a 10 x 12x 20 foot hole that we were going to turn into a root/storm shelter. I crawled down into this hole with my prized 12 gauge shotgun. I racked a round in the chamber and placed the barrel in my mouth and pulled the trigger. Obviously, it did not go off. I waited. You see, I grew up hunting. So there are these instances where a round doesn't immediately go off. The primmer is struck but either the firing pin doesn't have enough force behind it or the primmer is a slow burn or many other somewhat rare misfires happen. So, I wait. And I wait. While I'm waiting with this unfired shell pointing straight to the roof of my mouth, I find myself start to Invision my life. All the beatings, the being called a coward because I was afraid of heights or not wanting to hurt people. The chairs, the dishes, jail time ( for which I was exonerated by the way). The lies and other atrocities that I didn't handle well. (Yelling and screaming) I must admit that I never laid a violent hand on my family ever. My greatest joy in life was that I was married to my high school sweetheart and our three children. And I waited. Becoming angrier by the second I finally pull the barrel out of my mouth to re-rack my shotgun. Just as it clears my head it goes off. And now I sit at the bottom of this hole and my life flashes before me again. Only this time. Its my wedding day, each of my children's births that I stayed by my wife's side. Not eating because she couldn't. Not sleeping because I watched over her. Being placed front and center for all three of my children's births. My kids birthdays, the time I spent at home being a stay at home father. Seeing what it was to be the 24/7 caregiver for the family, house, land and animals. My sister getting somewhat clean. My grandfather remarried to a wonderful woman and every moment my stepfather was around because there is no greater a man in this world. So I wept, I begged God for forgiveness and I climbed out of that hole. You see, here would be the part where you want to hear that these are the demons I'm fighting and everything is well. And although part of that statement is true. These are most definitely some of the demons behind me. Shortly after that climb out of the hole, a month or so. My wife tells me she is done and doesn't love me anymore. I had found the secret bank account and asked her about it. We had been married for 18 years at this time. I beg her to stay. I plead with her and ask what it is that I need to do to prove myself to her. She places demands on me that most say are unreasonable. But I loved her so much that for the past two years I have done everything she asked and then some. Everything got better it seemed. We went on family vacations. Camping trips. Our house and land was paid off. I had a career that I loved and so did she. We were planning to go over seas for vacations. Take the kids and see the world. I had gotten into therapy and learned how to cope with my anger in better healthier ways. She had gone to therapy and learned how to cope with her childhood trauma and we were in love again. Or so I thought. Everyday we would have a ritual. I love you, I'm in love with you, our marriage is the best it's ever been. Ditto, ditto, yes. One day ten months ago she tells me out of the blue. I don't love you anymore, I haven't for a long time, get out of my house. Twenty two years of being together and twenty years of marriage are now at a close. I asked if I didn't do enough? She says, you became everything I ever wanted and needed in a man. You just did it too late. This April 21st would have been 21yrs married for this 41yr old man. Our divorce will be final on the 15 of April. There are so many things that I didn't do right. I wish that I had gotten help years ago. I wish we had gone to couples therapy. I wish that I would have learned how to communicate much earlier in life. But those days are gone. My oldest is 19 and lives with me most days. He goes to his mother's the days he doesn't work. My once upon a time running buddy, my baby girl, doesn't love me anymore. 16 and has decided that I have ruined her life. Even though the last five years I didn't do anything without her by my side. My six year old is my riding buddy. Motorcycles are another form of therapy I have found. But the demons I fight most are the ones I come home to at this empty apartment. The ones that are waiting for me when my eldest is either at work or his mother's. My youngest is at home and my baby girls absence from my life. The quiet is the killer of happiness. The quiet demon screams the loudest. And the speed demon coaxes me back to the two wheeled angel.
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