So, I got married when I was 18.  I have spent the years since then (26) trying to make sense of it.  But, there is no sense.  He systematically got me away from all my friends.  Friends that have died, moved on, forgotten about me and friendships that I cherished.  He tortured me.  That is not too strong a word.  He did awful things, most of which I can not write about.  He hurt my dogs.  I stayed.  And stayed.  And stayed.  I really tried to stick to the vows.

We made the best of it – so to speak.  I stood up to him, we got counseling.  And, after a year of not doing anything violent, I got pregnant.  He didn’t like the crib I chose one day – at 8 months pregant.  He stormed out of the store, and drove crazy all the way home, about 50 miles.  He went over 100 mph.  When we got home, I packed my things.  I remember distinctly getting all the baby stuff together.  But, I stayed.  I don’t know why.  When Katie was born, I was overjoyed.  One day, while she was about 3 months old, I made my plan.

Step one was to move to Virginia to be closer to family.  I started selling the idea, and we made a few trips here.  Long story short, I eventually did leave, or he sort of left – he trumped my plan, and I was not ready.  I had to scramble to put my plans on track, but eventually I did.

One of the worst things was the lying.  He has made me incapable of trusting anyone.  He lied about so much.  He claimed to be from Texas, with his mother having died and his father married to an evil woman.  He never had kids, and he  owned a house, had a large bank account, a fancy car, and the list goes on.

One day he even told me that his father had died.  He was all melodramatic and went to church, blah, blah, blah.  I had to find out the reality.  I knew there was a very different truth.  Eventually, he told me he had lied about his parents, and where he was from, and the money.  He left out a big part, though.

I knew I had to go to Connecticut to find out the whole story.  We went on this crazy cross country trip.  We arrived in February to an icy, gray, icky town.  His mother greeted him – he hadn’t seen her in a few years – with an even icier hello.  One day, left alone in their shabby little apartment, I noticed a stack of old letters.  I read them.  They must have been left there for me to read.   They referred to *his* children.  He had children and had abandoned them.

Fast forward to today – and facebook.  I found them.  I have communicated.  He was a sadistic monster to them.  A pedophile.  That is the fear that was lurking at the root of so much of my anxiety.  Who else were his victims?

So, of course, what stupid thing did I do?  I drank some wine and called him repeatedly and screamed obsenities at him.  I have been told that I should calmly explain to him the hurt he has caused.  That would be rational.  But, I do not regret my actions.  He is a pig, a monster, a predator, he stole my innocence, and ruined many lives.  He didn’t ruin my life, but i am struggling to not ruin it myself because of him.  So, the history of Ellen, may indeed turn into a real history of Ellen.  The 80′s for me where not about big hair and leg warmers.  I wish they had been.