In 2013 I was scheduled to get married. I had been dating him for over two years and I really thought I had found the right person for me. I don’t know, though,
how I overlooked some of the most obvious signs that there were going to be problems. I guess it was just wishful thinking on my part? A lot of people have asked me since, “What happened? Why did you call it off?” I guess now is as good of a time as any to share that saga.
So we were torn on getting married at the beach in Mexico and getting married locally where our friends and family could be there. I finally decided, and he agreed, that it just made sense to get married twice. Fortunately the first one was not legally binding. And that’s sort of where the wheels came off the whole thing.
We were in Mexico, with plans to get married symbolically there, and then legally married five weeks later back in the states. And as soon as we got to Mexico I was under scrutiny for everything I did. At an all you can eat and drink resort, my alcohol consumption was questioned. I wasn’t supposed to use Facebook even when he was out golfing and I was by myself. My long-time hobby of capturing pictures of idiots in Speedos on the beach suddenly became offensive and threatening to him. The last straw came on the wedding day.
I had been out getting my hair done. I had picked out and arranged bouquets, and made all the arrangements. The hair, though, took a little longer than I expected. I got back to the room with 40 minutes to spare before the ceremony. When I came in he was sitting in shorts and a t-shirt, pouting.
“Where have you been?” he asked angrily.
I pointed up to the nifty hair updo I had and said, “Uh…. getting my hair done?”
He proceeded to fuss and yell and complain and I finally said, “We just don’t need to travel together. You stayed mad at me in Jamaica the entire time we were there, everything I did pissed you off. Now you’re doing it here. We just don’t need to go anywhere on vacation together.”
I had stepped into my dress and pulled it up to my chest. I was just about to zip it up the back and he said these famous words:
“Well if we aren’t going to travel together we don’t need to get married.”
I released my hold on the pretty fluffy white dress. I looked at him as it fell to the ground and said, “Works for me.”
I proceeded to put my bathing suit on and prepare to go to the beach. He was frantically trying to get me to change my mind, and I said “No. I’m not getting married like this.” I went off to my maid of honor’s room and told her it was off. Soon a knock came on the door, and it was the Mayan priest. He talked me into the wedding, but as soon as he left the room I looked at my friend and said, “Meh… it’s not legally binding. I’ll go through with this now to salvage the trip, I’ll sort out the rest of it when I get home.”
So, puffy eyed and swollen faced I walked down the aisle and got married in a beautiful Mayan ceremony. I really thought, in my heart, that it would all work out after that. I was wrong. The crazy possessive controlling behaviors and attitudes he had kept hidden from me so well were starting to show up and I really didn’t know what to make of them. After we got home I was devastated to realize that my dream wedding had turned into a mediocre evening of misery.
But what a lot of people don’t know is this: money had never ever been an issue between us. Ever. He had never seemed to care about money at all, as a matter of fact, other than to express concerns about his own debt that stemmed (allegedly) from his son’s medical bills. He had paid that off when he got an inheritance from a former girlfriend. He also took me to Jamaica the year before and asked me to marry him. And, supposedly had money left over for the ring, and the trip to Mexico, plus the wedding, etc. Or so I thought.
Well, that’s where this story gets weird. Really weird. We got home from our Mexican adventure on a Saturday. On the following Monday I was chatting with a friend who is pretty darned intuitive, and I daresay psychic. I told her about the conflicts in Mexico. And that’s when she said something that really proved to mean something: “I have to confess I had a hard time writing your wedding date on my calendar. Something just doesn’t feel right about it. I can’t really say what, but something is wrong. I strongly suggest you get a pre-nup agreement in place to protect your assets and especially your son and his inheritance.”
I shook my head at that. I really did. Because he did not seem to care about money. At all.
Less than four hours later, my new husband popped up online on Facebook, and sent me a message that I needed to send him $X amount of money for my friend’s trip (she owed that, no problem) and that I also needed to reimburse him for my son’s travel expenses. That had never been discussed, ever! This was his step son after all. “Reimburse?” It was at that moment my heart absolutely sank.
I then realized that he had let me put his car and camper on my auto insurance and he had never paid me a penny. I mentioned to him that, at that point, he owed me $450 or so. Over the next few weeks he never offered to pay it. But, he was definitely concerned about me reimbursing him for stuff.
I tried to talk to him about what happened in Mexico. I really hoped that maybe he had just gotten overwhelmed down there in the moment and said and did some things he really didn’t mean. No such luck. In addition to standing by all the crazy, controlling, freakish shit he did and said in Mexico, he added some new theories to the pot and the resulting recipe just was not to my liking. Like going on to my Facebook page and trying to involve my friends in discussions about whether or not I was right to post a picture of an obnoxious European dude wearing a speedo and sporting a sun tattoo on his back that looked remarkably like a large butthole. (Dammit I cannot find that picture anywhere now and I sure wish I could!!!!)
The night I told him we had to postpone the wedding, no ifs ands or buts, he threw a tantrum unlike any I had ever seen. He stormed through the house grabbing things that he had brought, carefully leaving each and every piece of clothing and other things I had given him. He went to the garage and repossessed a cheap ass push mower he had given me. He put that dirty thing in his BRAND. NEW. JETTA. Plus he took a weed eater he had given me that didn’t work. And then he stormed back in the house and demanded the ring, which I never wore or saw again after that night.
And then? He couldn’t understand why I called the entire relationship off two weeks later. There was no way I was going to live with or marry that brand of crazy. The night I broke it off he showed up here at my house, and tried to force his way inside. I begged him not to come here, and then I begged him to leave. He still put his key in the lock and planned on entering my house, but I had the locks changed the day before. The guy stalked and bothered me for months afterwards, sending me books on relationships and trying to convince me to act like nothing had happened. Oh, and of course he sent me bills for my half of the trip to Mexico, our entertainment when we were down there, the wedding ceremony, etc. I finally hired a lawyer to tell him to leave me alone once and for all last September (in 2013).
So needless to say I was very shaken up by the whole experience. I had trusted my judgment, which turned out to be really poor, and almost ruined my life and my son’s life, by bringing someone into our home who was unstable and frighteningly controlling. Thank goodness I called things off when I did. He never once gave me any reason to think that was a mistake.
Fast forward to this summer, 2014. I get a call from a law firm. They want to know if I’ve been “served” yet. I thought, “Oh crap… what have I done now?” Nope, they weren’t looking for me. They were looking for him. According to them when he applied for credit he used my phone number and they were trying to hunt him down. I wasn’t really sure what to make of that, but it was disturbing and kind of rattled my cage a bit. I hung up the phone from the lawyer and about five minutes later I called them back.
“Hi… you were trying to reach Bobby _______. Would you like his phone number? I’d be happy to find it for you…” And I did.
P.S. The response to this post was so amazing, and so encouraging and uplifting, that I felt compelled to say a couple more things.
I’d like to thank the sweet deputy from the Sheriff’s department who showed up that night to make the guy leave my property. I begged him to leave on his own and he wouldn’t. I finally felt I had no choice but to call the po-po. What really touched me–and also horrified me–was the day after. That deputy took took time to stop by and check on me and to also tell me that he feared for my safety and felt I was in danger of becoming a victim of domestic violence. He advised me about my rights and even talked to me about finding a method of self-protection. I had never thought of myself as the kind of person who would be in harm’s way, but, apparently at that time I was more so than I probably realized or could admit to myself.
Thank you to all the people who propped me up and helped me through the period of time that it took to feel safe again. Especially my son, who stood right there with me the whole way through. And then so many friends…M&T who were actually here the night he tried to storm the place, my friend ‘Fie for promising me (after the fact) that she was never actually going to let me marry that jerk in the first place, and of course my friend P for predicting the inevitable. Thanks to all the amazing people who were simply there for me during and after the whole ordeal–and who still are. I know for a lot of people it was difficult to know what to say or do for me… thank you for just simply being my friend and being there.