So, let's see....
I hated the way you bullied me around. Just because you were bigger than me didn't give you the right to block the doorway, so I couldn't get out and away from you. Or pick me up and plunk me down on the couch, just because you didn't want me to go somewhere. Or just because you could.
I hated when you spanked my son, with the bottom of your sandal, and bruised his bottom.
I hated you when I saw you walking down Main Street, with that woman on your arm, headed into the bank. You hadn't been home for days, and never called, and I was due to have our 2nd child any day.
I hated you and your friends, they would come over and drink beer in the kitchen with you and watch pornography on the 8mm, using the refrigerator as the screen.
I hated you when you came home from that drunken bout, the one where I saw you with her walking down Main Street. When you came home, you stunk to high heaven, piss all over your pants, and your wedding ring was missing.
I hated it when later that day you pointed the shot gun at me, and called me a whore. You said that nobody would ever want me or my kids. I hated that I said, "Go ahead and shoot me". I hated that you pulled the trigger, and laughed like the devil, because the gun wasn't even loaded. You just wanted to see the look on my face. Or maybe, even then you were contemplating something else. I really hated you for that.
I hated when you had a hangover, like you did that day, and made me sit on your face while you jerked off. I really, really hated you for that.
I hated that you would never let me have any money, I always had to sneak it. I worked too, the business was run by both of us. I think you were afraid I'd leave you, just like your mama did.
I hated that you hated me. I think you were a coward. I think you hated yourself, and you couldn't find a way out of your misery and self loathing. God only knows why the alcohol and Quaaludes didn't kill you, and you goaded me into doing it for you. Why else would you trap me in the bedroom like that?
I hate, hate, hate you for holding my son in front of you like a shield.
This hate, this loathing and repugnance that poured out of my mind, and from my guts, was like someone took the top off a fire hydrant. Once I got started the images and feelings weren't in any particular order, just jumbled up and tumbling. I was typing as fast as I was thinking and feeling it.
Now, I sit and look at all this crud and wonder: Is there a shelf in my brain where all these hates were just sitting? Waiting for the day when I would take them down and dust them off? Even the word hate, cannot adequately describe the depth or magnitude of what I have just recounted to you, there aren't enough words to describe it, without cussing of course! the only thing I can conjure up that comes close, is a blood curdling, shrieking, penetrating to the bone, primal scream.
I hated the way you bullied me around. Just because you were bigger than me didn't give you the right to block the doorway, so I couldn't get out and away from you. Or pick me up and plunk me down on the couch, just because you didn't want me to go somewhere. Or just because you could.
I hated when you spanked my son, with the bottom of your sandal, and bruised his bottom.
I hated you when I saw you walking down Main Street, with that woman on your arm, headed into the bank. You hadn't been home for days, and never called, and I was due to have our 2nd child any day.
I hated you and your friends, they would come over and drink beer in the kitchen with you and watch pornography on the 8mm, using the refrigerator as the screen.
I hated you when you came home from that drunken bout, the one where I saw you with her walking down Main Street. When you came home, you stunk to high heaven, piss all over your pants, and your wedding ring was missing.
I hated it when later that day you pointed the shot gun at me, and called me a whore. You said that nobody would ever want me or my kids. I hated that I said, "Go ahead and shoot me". I hated that you pulled the trigger, and laughed like the devil, because the gun wasn't even loaded. You just wanted to see the look on my face. Or maybe, even then you were contemplating something else. I really hated you for that.
I hated when you had a hangover, like you did that day, and made me sit on your face while you jerked off. I really, really hated you for that.
I hated that you would never let me have any money, I always had to sneak it. I worked too, the business was run by both of us. I think you were afraid I'd leave you, just like your mama did.
I hated that you hated me. I think you were a coward. I think you hated yourself, and you couldn't find a way out of your misery and self loathing. God only knows why the alcohol and Quaaludes didn't kill you, and you goaded me into doing it for you. Why else would you trap me in the bedroom like that?
I hate, hate, hate you for holding my son in front of you like a shield.
This hate, this loathing and repugnance that poured out of my mind, and from my guts, was like someone took the top off a fire hydrant. Once I got started the images and feelings weren't in any particular order, just jumbled up and tumbling. I was typing as fast as I was thinking and feeling it.
Now, I sit and look at all this crud and wonder: Is there a shelf in my brain where all these hates were just sitting? Waiting for the day when I would take them down and dust them off? Even the word hate, cannot adequately describe the depth or magnitude of what I have just recounted to you, there aren't enough words to describe it, without cussing of course! the only thing I can conjure up that comes close, is a blood curdling, shrieking, penetrating to the bone, primal scream.
4 comments:
did you have a sense of relief when he was dead? What an evil person...
I was in shock, I couldn't believe what just went down. I called my parents after calling 911, they arrived a few minutes before the police. I remember my Mom getting the girls bundled up, they were only 1 and 2 1/2 yrs old, my son was almost 10. My Dad stayed with me, while the police did their stuff. They wiped my fingers, for the gunpowder residue. I do remember feeling a little embarrassed because I was still in my nightgown, the house was crowded with people, strangers. I remember it getting light outside by the time everyone left my house. I do not remember feeling relief, mostly frightened.
Were you arrested? Did you ever listen to your own 911 call?
No, I was not arrested, It is still an unalienable right to defend my life, it's called self defense. The police did want to question me and my son. I agreed to talk with them at the station, and I found an attorney to advise me. My attorney suggested that my son need not be questioned, due to his age. After describing the situation to the police, they wanted me to take a lie detector test. My attorney advised me against it. In the police report I have, they described it as a Mexican standoff. I would't know how to retrieve my 911 call, and I'm sure it would incite pure havoc in my adrenal system! I'm still shakin'
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