Billy and The Biggest Let Down: Chapter 9

Anyone that's ever been in love can relate to the feeling you get when you first fall in love with that person. They are every thought you have, every day. They are the sun and the moon, the wind and the rain. They are everything. They are your world. Billy, was my world. When I met him, I knew I was going to love him like nobody ever could. It had been a year since T.J. and I had broken up, and I was ready to find Billy's love. 

We spent every single day together. We were inseparable. Billy was five years older than me. His family was always great to me, but I know some of them weren't exactly "on board" with our relationship. I mean I was eighteen and he was twenty-three. Billy and I were fools for one another. Oblivious to everyone else around. In the beginning, everything was perfect. Well, as perfect as you can think perfect is when you're that age. I always wanted to be around him. He made me feel so needed. Loved even. 

It only took a couple of weeks for Billy and I to drop the "L" bomb. He was scared to say it because everything was so "fresh" still. I was watching his mouth, just begging for the words to fall off his tongue. Then he said it. My life was complete at that moment. "I love you too". Now my life was complete. Being with Billy gave me an entirely new purpose in life. I was already thinking about our future together and how meant to be we were for each other. Let this paragraph alone be a lesson to all you girls and boys that are in the 16-20 age range. We girls are psycho at this age. Do not, I repeat DO NOT get yourself into a relationship this early on! I was ready to marry and have babies. For real.

So, as I was saying. We spent every moment together. I would spend the night at his house or he would spend the night at mine. He still lived with his mom at the time. I pretty much immediately made the "poop list" for staying the night at her house. Stupid mistakes. At the time I had my own apartment and he stayed there some nights. We were just living life together.

I eventually discovered that Billy was quite the drinker. We spent most of our relationship in a bar. My fake i.d. got a lot of miles when we were together. Ironically, I drank maybe a handful of times we were together. A beer here, a beer there. I wanted to keep him safe so I would often be the designated driver.

 I never realized that Billy drank a lot, at first. I didn't see anything bad about him. He was everything I wanted in a guy. He was totally my type too. Him and T.J. both fit my type, actually. Tall, blue eyes, brown hair. I liked my blue eyed boys. He was a musician, well a rapper. He was great at basketball, so he fell into the athletic category. He had his views on religion and Christianity too. He wasn't a believer and was holding on to Christians skinning Native Americans somewhere in the course of history to validate his disbelief. I was neither here nor there with what I believed in anymore, I hung on every word of his anyways. He has this confidence about him that drew me in and completely blinded me to everything else, for a while. 

I will never forget our first fight. It was drastic. We were eating at Buffalo Wild Wings, he was drinking. We were there with a bunch of his buddies and we had been there all day. It was football season so it was packed there. We were sitting outside on the patio and he was acting strange. He seemed mad at me. I could not get him to answer me when I asked him what was wrong. He was genuinely upset with me. I didn't understand. I finally just asked him, "why are you being mean to me?" He was drunk. He had seriously thought two guys came up to me and talked to me and I didn't introduce him and they walked away saying something snide. I can't remember exactly what these two imaginary people said. I was baffled. I was going over the whole day sitting out there trying to think of when this actually happened. It never did. He was just drunk. We fought there, and the whole way back to my apartment. When we got there I just started crying. "Why are you acting like this to me? I didn't do anything."

I had finally convinced him that, that never happened. For the first time in our relationship I saw an ugly side to him. I didn't even recognize him. We were already three months in. I didn't heed the red flag.  He promised me he wouldn't get drunk like that again. It didn't take long for that promise to meet an exception.

About six months in to our relationship, we moved in together. He had bought a house and we moved to Surprise. Like most people who think getting married will make all their problems go away, I thought moving in together would do that for us. Quite the contrary, though. Now we had a private place to fight. Now, it wasn't like we were having these knock down, drag out fights. I was very emotional in our arguments. It would normally happen after a drunk night, I would wait a while to say something and then we'd have it out. There were countless drunk nights where he would be a jerk to me. I'm a little sensitive to people being mean to me. Especially when I'm trying so hard to be good for them. We struggled. He struggled.

Billy didn't just drink a case and be drunk. Billy drank a case, mixed it with a bunch of energy drinks and vodka, a few shots, and pills. In one night. Those were the nights I feared what would happen to him the most. There were times I thought he died when he was hunched over in the truck and I didn't see him breathing. I would try and shake him awake and it would take a few tries. There were nights I would sleep on his chest to make sure he was breathing and I could hear a heartbeat. I feared that the next time would be the time that it killed him. He always felt as though I was overreacting. In hindsight, he's fine now, and maybe I was. But, the fear was real. It would get us fighting when we had bad nights.

He would lie to me if he was doing pills or not. I could always see it in his eyes though. They were so glossy, and his pupils were so tiny. He had a lost look about him when he was popping pills. I hated everything about his pill addiction. I hated the creepy dealers, the late night phone calls, the all nighters. Sometimes he would be up all night puking. Sometimes we had to go to the hospital because he couldn't digest anything. 

I used to cry myself to sleep. I know people say that, and we have become numb to what that means. Let me explain to you what it feels like to fall asleep crying. You're embarrassed, but secretly wishing they will wake up and ask you what's wrong so you can tell them why you're hurt. But, they don't wake up. So you sit there in your pain alone. Your heart hurts and the back of your throat gets tight because you don't want to let out the sound of your cry. You can't breathe right because your nose has been filled with snot that you don't want to get up and wipe it up, in fear of actually waking up the person next to you. You have memories fly through your head, hypothetical conversations, secret validations. Flashbacks of the reasons you're crying and the reason you're even staying in that bed in the first place. You try to find your happy place, but that memory is quickly thrown away with the hurt. Then, the good memories start to fade and all you're left with are reasons to leave. Maybe, just maybe you get some sleep that night. Then in the morning, put a smile on because nothings wrong. Crying yourself to sleep is one of the saddest things someone has to go through.

He never woke up from my cries. I had a few panic attacks when we were together. I woke up and couldn't breathe, I was gasping for air, literally feeling like I was suffocating, crying for no reason. He had woken up for a couple of them. I couldn't explain why I was having them. I was tired of fighting. 

We just kept going through life. I was working at a coffee shop and had landed a job as a telemarketer. Sorry again, I was the cold caller asking you if you were interested in being your own boss. I hated my job. It was forty-five minutes from our home and it was not exactly lucrative. I am a terrible sales person. I am way too sensitive to be asking some poor old man for his last one hundred dollars so he can purchase a website and grow his business. Keep your money mister. I'm quitting. That didn't exactly work out. I went to quit, I had found another job as an office administrator. The owner of the business asked if I would be interested in a human resources position. Really? I'm an eighteen year old, barely graduated high school, sucky sales person. Sure, I'll take the job I have no experience in. 

I caught on quickly. I had no choice, I wasn't going to just be doing human resources, I was going to be doing payroll, and running the deals, and hiring, and firing, and training, and the list goes on and on. I had two days to learn my position because the guy I was replacing was leaving to open another branch. Cool, I got this. I got it. I moved up fast. I had a salary of sixty thousand dollars a year at eighteen. Imagine my surprise in the turn of events. We moved offices closer to where I lived and I was a happy camper. I was turnin and burnin there. Welp, that lasted about seven months before I discovered the scam. I was out of there that day. It got ugly fast. Long story short, I-Fortuity, don't give your money to them.

I was driving home one day when I got a phone call from my mom. This was one of the single moments in my life I can remember not having the words to say. She had informed me that she was going to enter the business of escorting. Now, for those of you who are unaware of what that entails, I will regrettably be the one to inform you today. My mother, God love her, was now a forty-two year old, high end prostitute. I was baffled. She was on and off with stripping over the years but this was a whole other ball game. What do I say to that? You're too old? It's dangerous? Are you sure you want to have sex with men you've never met before? I can't remember if any of those questions came out of my mouth. I was certainly thinking them, though. I mean, stripping was one thing, but now we're crossing a line. I didn't really know how to handle that conversation. So, I just did what I always do with my mother. I love you, and I accept you for who you are. If that makes you happy then, I support you.

I dealt with a lot in that season. The time was June. I'll never forget June. I had a couple off days and I knew something was wrong with me. I went to the doctor a few days into feeling weird. To be more specific, I went to planned parenthood. 

My heart is literally pounding right now as I'm typing this. I'm dreading telling you this. 

I knew I was pregnant. I just knew. I don't know how, because I had never been pregnant before, but I knew there was a child growing inside of me. I was more than certain. I went and took a pregnancy test. I waited impatiently as they were doing the test. I was in a little office, pacing, shaking, sweating. The girl came in and sat me down.

 "You're pregnant."

I started to cry. I called my mom and she was ecstatic. I couldn't talk to her. I needed someone to be scared with me. I was terrified. I didn't want to call Billy and tell him. We had talked about kids and I was more than clear on his opinion at the time. He did NOT want them. I didn't either, I was nineteen. 

They moved me to another small office. I waited in there for about a half an hour alone. Crying, thinking, stressing, worrying. This was the first time in my life I didn't know how to get myself out of a situation. There was no way out. I had to face it. Finally the woman came in and threw some pamphlets at me. "So, are you going to keep it or have an abortion?" What? Are you high lady? I just found out that I'm pregnant and these are the first words out of your insensitive mouth? "I don't know right now, I don't want an abortion, I just need some time to think." I left the office. 

I got in the truck and started to cry again. I knew I just needed to call him and tell him. I lived about twenty-five minutes away from the doctors office. It was the longest conversation of my life. "Hey, baby." "Baby, what's wrong?" "Mmm" (I'm sobbing here and can't get the words out). "Baby, what's wrong?" "I'm pregnant, I'm sorry, I don't understand." I was on birth control when I got pregnant. I can't remember missing a pill. I was a statistic at that moment. We talked the whole way home. He told me it was going to be okay. He said just get home and be safe, he kept me on the phone to comfort me. When I got to the door, he was waiting there for me. I dropped everything and threw myself into his arms. He had never held me that way before. I was devastated, yet surprised at his reaction. We went into our guest bedroom and sat there.

There was a lot of silence for a while. I was thinking about our next move, what we were going to do. I don't know what he was thinking, but the words that came out of his mouth next might have told me what he was thinking about. "Baby, I'm not ready to be a dad." Confused. I was confused at that moment. That statement was about five weeks too late. I told him I was sorry, I don't know what to tell you. We are adults, we made adult decisions, we took proper precautions and sometimes we have to face the adult consequences. He kept at it. "I'm not ready for a kid. I want them one day, I'm just not ready." I told him I would do it alone. I had already raised four kids, I could handle raising one more. He flipped.

He stormed out of the room. I didn't move. I stayed there silently, little tears coming out of my eyes, rolling back to my hair. I remember that feeling. I remember my hair being wet from crying. I heard his mom come in to the house. I went out there and saw him in the kitchen, curled up on the floor in the fetal position, in front of the cupboard below the sink. He was pounding his head on the cabinet, sobbing. Not like a normal cry, but the incoherent words and fight for air kind of cry. I had never seen this side of him before. At that moment, I hit survival mode. For the first time in our relationship, I pictured myself without him and I needed that picture. I couldn't have him holding me back here. 

He and his mom went outside and talked for a while. It felt like hours, it could have been. I can't remember. I sat on the couch by myself for a little while, then I moved into my bedroom. I picked up a crochet needle and sat there in my thoughts. Ya, I crochet. Badly, but whatever. At some point later on, they came to meet me in the bedroom. They ganged up on me. "Mie, you're not ready to be a mom. You're still so young. I think you should have an abortion." I couldn't do it. 

She had accused me of faking the pregnancy. Behind my back. 

I took Billy with me to the first ultrasound. They normally don't let people in the room at planned parenthood, but I wasn't taking "no" for an answer. I took another pregnancy test and it was positive, still. We sat there together, well, I laid. The doctor, Billy and I, anxiously looking at the screen. The doctor told me there were a few things to look for during an ultrasound. She said that, the lining of the uterus gets thicker, and that most women form a cyst to assist during the pregnancy. Oh, and of course, a heartbeat. Well, I had two of the three criteria for the first ultrasound. Thick lining of the uterus and a cyst. But no heartbeat. She said, maybe it's too early to tell. Come back in a couple of weeks. I was only five weeks along at the time.

We came back again a couple of weeks later. I took another test and it was still positive. When we got to the ultrasound the cyst was gone. The lining was there but there was still no heartbeat. She said to come back again in a couple of weeks. I did. I took yet another pregnancy test and it was still positive. Did another ultrasound, and this time the lining was back to normal. And no heartbeat. The doctor said it looked like I had miscarried. A wave of relief came over me at first. Is that wrong? I felt relieved. That relief did not last long. 

I realized I just lost somebody close to me. I just lost my child.

I couldn't watch television. I couldn't see a happy couple. I couldn't see a baby. I couldn't go outside. I was a mess. Everything made me think of losing my baby. There was a life that was inside of me that I couldn't protect. I was going to be a mom. Now that was gone. I never saw a beat. I never felt a kick. I never picked out names, decorated his room, bragged about ultrasounds and my baby bump. The doctor thought it was stress from the situation that caused me to miscarry. I did puzzles for three weeks. I was a zombie. I could not keep the tears away. I would hold Billy and cry. Then, I would cry some more. He would cry with me. I think it hit us both too late. Each day got a little better, a little less devastating, a little easier. Eventually, we got back to normal. I wrote a song about him. I think he would have been a boy. 

I remember being scared

Those words will never leave me

 I just wasn't prepared

Maybe this was just my destiny

I came home crying to you

You never held me so tight

I said, "Baby, what should we do?"

You said, "Everything would be alright."

I cried everyday, I watched his life fade away

Protect this life inside of me

Protect him as you set him free

Protect this life inside of me

Protect him as you set him free

He never had a chance to breath

His heart never even beat

Protect this life inside of me

Protect him as you set him free

Into the heavens

Into the heavens.

There's more to that song, but I have a hard time keeping it going. I had a hard time writing it. I couldn't get through it for a while without crying. It helped me heal tremendously though.

After the miscarriage, I started picking up jobs left and right. I am terrible with money, I truly am. I definitely added stress to our relationship because of that. I was doing my best being nineteen and having half of every bill including a mortgage. I worked four jobs. I didn't want to be home anymore. I worked at an Italian restaurant, a private F.B.O., and two golf courses. I had a half a day off a week.

Our relationship was falling apart. When Billy got really messed up is when I hated being around him the most. I was a glutton for pain for sticking around. He would make comments about how he thought I wasn't sexually attractive anymore. Or that I needed the gym. He would never say it hurtfully. But, it hurt. He would reject me in the bedroom. It was humiliating and devastating. My self esteem was no longer existent.

Billy always seemed to be at the bar. One day, I got off of work early and wanted to spend time with him. He was at a bar watching a Suns game, GO SUNS, and said he would call me when he was done. I went home and got dolled up. I rarely did this, by the way. I did my hair, I put a nice outfit on, I wore heels. I kept looking at my phone wondering when he would call. I called him. No answer. I called him again. No answer. I called, then text and then I started worrying. Nothing. I went to the bar at a local restaurant, busted out my fakie and got a margarita. I sat there thinking he would call. Then I started crying because I was sitting at the bar by myself, dressed up for nothing, and I couldn't find him. I paid my bill and went home. Still nothing. I must have called him a hundred times. He never came home that night. I stayed up all night worrying about him. Finally, in the morning he called me. He got drunk and passed out. He didn't hear his phone.

 I remember sleeping in the truck outside of the bar on several occasions. I would wait for him to be done so he wouldn't have to drive home drunk. I was too tired to even go inside. I remember one time, I got a pedicure after work and I was so tired I fell asleep in the chair. They let me sleep there for like three hours. Strange, but sweet. 

I was reaching my threshold in this relationship. I would be at work at the F.B.O. looking on Craigslist for apartments in California. Billy and I used to escape to San Diego often and it became a safe haven for me. I just wanted to be happy. I wanted San Diego. I wanted the beach that we would walk on. I wanted the view of our hotel room. I wanted joy. I made up my mind.

I had to tell him that I was going to leave. I got drastic. I will never forget how we broke up. We were sitting on the couch, he was laying on my lap and I was playing with his hair. I was sitting there trying to work up the courage to say the words. I said them. He was calm and rational about it. He even understood. I told him I was going to move out. I did. I moved in with a friend from work and her family for two weeks. I saved up some money and left to California. I packed whatever I could fit in my car and I was gone. No bed, no friends out there, no idea what I was going to do next. 

I found a place to live on the way to San Diego. I transferred restaurants and picked up from there. I met my roommates the day I moved in. They were awesome. San Diego was awesome. I picked up a second job and lived the life. I met some guys from my job and a couple of them were from Brazil. We had steak and margaritas almost every night while we played poker. I went surfing, ate a ton of Brazilian food at Brazil By The Bay. If you ever get a chance to go to that place it's behind the Sports Arena and it's a little slice of heaven. I would suggest the Pave`. I never wanted to leave this place.

I picked up a second job and was working and making good money. I really had it made out there. I wasn't too far from Billy though. He called daily. He cried often. I cried only sometimes now. He wanted me to come home. I wasn't going anywhere. Billy was having life changing epiphanies while I was away. He finally realized that he had a problem and that he didn't want to drink anymore. I was convinced that if he changed for me that he would resent me down the road. I begged him to please do this for him. He assured me that he had made changes for him. I still wasn't budging. That state of mind only lasted so long. I came home three months later.

I remember driving home through the mountains, stopping in a little town, grabbing breakfast and a carton of smokes. I called him every so often on the drive and we would share the excitement of me coming home. When I got home, he was in his bedroom and we just held each other. It was an amazing feeling to be home.

Even though I was so excited to be home, I decided not to move back in. I wanted to start over as best as we could. It didn't take long for Billy to get back on the wagon. He drank for an entire twenty-four hours straight, literally. I am not exaggerating. It took about another three months for us to officially break up. I went to Chicago for J.D.'s wedding and got to spend time with my friends again. By the way, she's amazing. They are still happily married and expecting! It gave me time away and some perspective on the whole situation. As soon as I came home, we had "the talk".

Even though I had initiated the break up, it didn't make it any easier. We sat and talked for hours, smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, and said our goodbyes. Sensible Heart by City and Colour was playing in my stereo. I'm sentimental like that I guess.

I didn't handle the break up well. He handled it worse than I did. I think we were both pretty devastated about the entire two years coming to an end. I was pretty down for a few weeks. I just couldn't get enough tears out, or talk about it enough, or feel better in general. I finally had to force myself to let him go. I sobbed and wrote this letter to him. It took me a few hours of a good hard cry and spilling my guts out to feel ready.

I remember the promises

Every hollow word you spoke

I wish I could easily dismiss

Everything that you broke

This is me letting go...

       When we met, you were poisoned from this heavy axe. I saw no axe, I only saw you. You told me to sing to you and your heart was mine, and mine was yours. I did not see this poison consuming you. Consuming us. I fell so fast and so did you. It was "fresh", do you remember? We spent every day together. We didn't experience each other until love entered our hearts outspoken. You were mine, I was yours. Everything felt so natural. The poison grew stronger still. I did not recognize because your love for me was so very blinding. Hope, you set me free. My heart beating for only you. Your heart beating for me. Trust. Every "I love you" meant more each day. "How could he love me just as I love him? I'm so lucky."

         Then the poison leaked. In a quarter of the passing time, it was strong. It broke you and in turn broke me. Tears rushing down my cheeks, you turned away. My tears were caused by your self medication, this poison. I cried on. "Please, where did you go? I don't want to lose you, bring my love back!" Was it me? Did I do this? Why are you telling me this is my fault? Yet, the guilt was not mine to bear. YOU were poisoned. You realized while I begged you to come back to me. Come back. Then you promised me, "Never again, I promise. I don't want to hurt you. I love you." I believe you. Like a fool I waited on hope. Damn you hope. I hate you.

       The poison grew stronger, stronger than you and me. And then, you did not want me. You did not wish to experience me as you had so passionately before. I should have known the passion was in the poison and the medication not meant for you. What's wrong with me? But, it was not me. The poison, how it burns.

        One day, you made a prediction while the poison intoxicated your heart. A time. A rightful prediction. Our love. You said it would last only as long as your others. I wept again as I have so many times already. As I cried, you mocked me. You accused me of being a child for feeling this way. I walked away to be alone in my pain. You called me back for more. Then you looked into my eyes and saw it was a genuine fear and my tears were real. You apologized again. Oh, this poison. We carried on.

      You needed your poison and I wanted none. I waited for you, without you. Alone, you left me alone. You have every excuse for this poison. Can you excuse me? Please? You love this poison more than me. When the poison betrays you, and I look in fear of losing you, I nurture, I care, I heal. Here I am for you, you do not want me? I will not betray you! Then, you turn your back on me again! Again! Again! Again! Forever...

       Back to the poison who so easily betrays you. You still need more. Do you remember the time I worked so much, my presence was rare? Still, this poison controls you. "Five more minutes." I wait, and wait, and wait. I tell you I'm hurting. You blame me for feeling so hurt. You could never hurt me unless it was my fault. I tell you, "I'm not happy with myself. You make me feel so small, and ugly, and unworthy." Your response? I make myself feel this way. HOW? How could I? Look at your problems. I still love you the same. I don't treat you this way. I still love you the same. I slept alone that night. You never came home to make things better. You were poisoned. So poisoned you couldn't get home. I called for you all night and morning. I wept all night. You weren't there. Do you even love me? How could you do this? Why do you want to break me? I love you, this is not fair. You finally answered my call with more promises you'd never intend to keep. "Never again", you said. And then, you finally broke me.

     I escaped far away. I told you, "lose the poison, then we can be, do it for you, not for me. "A quarter long I was gone. Everyday we talked, we cried. I missed you. Why? You made me more promises you did not intend to keep. I returned. You needed me. I could not help but love you. Hope, damn you. I hate you hope.

       When I returned, everything was worse than before. We fought every time you were poisoned. Every time for a quarter more. You must not love me the way you made me believe. Trust has so many meanings. I told you, "you have my heart, please don't break it, it's the only one I have and it's yours." You did not understand. Now, I lay broken with tears falling from my eyes. Again. Now, I am alone. Again.

       You still poison yourself. Regardless of everything we'll never get to do again, you still poison yourself. Never will you hold me again. You will never get to comfort me. Never kiss me. Never hear me say, "I love you." Never hear me say, "I need you." Never hear forever. Never make love again. Never hear I miss you. Never hear me call you," My love." "Baby." "Deuce." Nothing. You'll never smell me, feel me, touch me, caress me, snoogle me.

     I hope you realize now. I am deprived of the same comforts I once held so close to me. And you can not blame me anymore. Blame the poison. Blame it for taking me away from you. For taking you away from me. I hate this poison! It took away my love. I'll never get to keep you. The worst part is, I love you so much still. Every part of me wants to hold you and feel you. I want to tell you I love you. Kiss you one more time. I have to be alone again. Without you. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I have to sit back and let you go! Do you know how bad I hurt everyday? I can't make myself stop loving you. I wish I could hate you! Even through all you put me through, I still can't hate you. I want to though; I don't want to hurt anymore. I've cried from the beginning of this and harder all the way through...

Please don't drink anymore. It poisoned everything.

Ya, I'm emotional. I know. It was liberating to let it all out, though. After I wrote this letter I let him go. Once I'm done, I'm done. I moved on and had unintentionally commenced "The Wrath of Mie".