This is No Fairy Tale

How does a 14 year old girl end up married?

Once upon a time I was a young teenager. Once upon a time I thought I was "in love." Once upon a time I was stupid.

When I was 14, I lived in a small town that was the root of mild depression. Keep in mind I was used to living in big cities with little racism shown towards me and I was used to being popular (not in that snobby clique manner). I was used to being liked by the general population of teachers and grown-ups alike. So, what happened when I moved to this small town with white picket fences and the neighbors that always waved?

Living in a small town taught me the dynamics of cliques. It showed me prejudice and out right intolerance. I don't think I will ever live in a small town again.

In this small town I felt like a leper. And I swear all the adults thought I was going to lead their perfect children to sex, drugs, alcohol, and satanism. Because of this I wasn't popular, I wasn't liked by the general population. Mix that in with teenage girl hormones and it's a recipe for disaster. Being in a mild depression induced by lack of peer attention, I latched on to the guys that showed me attention... I latched on to one in particular.

Teenage girl hormones are the bane of all existence. I am tempted to lock up my own daughter during the ages of 13 - 18. Teenagers alone are paralyzed from the neck up but the hormones of a teen girl along with that, well, it's just too much.

When I met my first husband--gawd, I sound like a widow-maker-- he was 17 and dating one of my (few) friends, she was 12 (the kind of 12 year old who looked 16, maybe 17, and liked to hang around the COLLEGE campus in an attempt to get picked up). I was having a party and she had asked him to stop by, I was fine with that as long as no drugs or alcohol were involved. He was nice enough upon meeting and I didn't care much past meeting him. He was my friend's boyfriend, in other words: Off-limits. Over the next couple months he stopped by asking if his girlfriend was there. Then they started having "problems" and he would seek my advice on how to handle it. He would come by, help put groceries away, take the trash out, and do other small chores of the sort. He made himself likable. And of course the inevitable happened: They broke up. They both came to me and I was stuck in the middle.

I learned, at this young age, the signals a guy sends to imply he's "into you." I've also learned it is NOT possible to appear neutral to either parties involved. I do not enjoy being in the middle of other couples' problems. It's happened once again since then and it wasn't any easier.

After an abysmal break up, the now ex-boyfriend started to make his move. Stopping by more often and giving me that so desired attention. I don't remember when we made it official. But none the less, I ate it up and was soon in love. The repercussions of having a relationship with him were odious. During the time they were dating, he had a birthday--his 18th birthday. With anger, jealousy, and injured pride his 12 year old ex-girlfriend decided to press statutory rape charges. This changed everything drastically.

I will never date a friend's ex again--Ever. Not that I have many female friends. Why? Simply because this experience, and a few others, taught me that women tend to be catty and melodramatic. My life is chaotic enough, I don't need more.

The timing couldn't have been worse, same goes for the situation. A few months prior to the charges being pressed my family just finalized an adoption of 3 young boys. In light of this catastrophy my family panicked. My Mom tried to keep us separated but depression kicked in and I was suicidal this time. She was torn: one part wanting to do anything to make me happy, the other wanting to take me and run. My Mom weighed her options, even went as far as proposing a plan for us, should we get married. The plan was simple enough and she would've bent over backwards to help make it happen. I was supposed to finish high school, he promised to go to college, and she even offered to house us at no cost. All we had to do was make the best of the situation.

This was the beginning of trouble. I don't think I have ever really believed promises made since this. I find myself always doubting and seeming to be a realist, err, a cynic. In my experience, promises are always broken... Even my own. I learned how much my Mom loved me. She would still do anything she can for me. My Mom taught me how to be one of the best moms in the world, just like her.

It was decided that we should get married. I couldn't keep myself away from him and I couldn't put my family in jeopardy. At the time it seemed like the logical step to take. We took a trip to Vegas, he was 18 and didn't need any consent, my Mom gave the needed consent. I was married June 7th, 1997; just three months shy of my 15th birthday. 


It's funny, I just re-read that last paragraph. I write as though I had 100% control over my life. Why? Because ever since this, I've been a little raw about getting married at 14... Rather than move away. I mean, my family moved several times before. Why not this time? Well, since I've been feeling raw about this, my Mom likes to point out that I need to quit blaming her "for everything that's gone wrong in my life." I guess it's a matter of perspective? 

There were conditions to getting married, err, there were supposed to be... The ones I mentioned earlier. Instead, we moved to a small glorified 2 bedroom shack. He got a manual labor job that paid minimum wage and lots of hours. Our marriage was doomed. He tried to control me. Eventually our personalities clashed... Like the Titans. He thought moving would help. We moved to an even small town. It wasn't good. The abuse was psychological and physical... And of course the controlling.

I don't react well to being controlled. I don't react well to being left in isolation. I know that abuse is abuse but I didn't suffer as bad as some victims do. And for that I'm grateful. I never had any broken bones or black eyes. I was strangled more than a few times, I caught on quick that if I pretended to pass out he'd quit. I was physically restrained, manhandled. I did get punched in the stomach once, I know that even though it's the stomach you can't fucking breathe. I was bitten on the face, too. That was... Difficult. Because I still had to go to school. In fact, my English teacher saw the mark. She tried to help me. Sorta. But really, I didn't think there was much I could do.

I eventually got pregnant, during my sophomore year. I finished that year and took a year off to raise my daughter. It wasn't my intention to dropout. The school did help with a plan, so I could graduate with my class. But 3 days after I turned 18, was the last fight I ever had to endure. I guess I felt it was time to leave. So at some point during our fight, I shot out the front door and sprinted barefoot to the one payphone in that tiny town. After he was arrested, I had my daughter, my Mom lived a couple towns over, and we went straight into divorce proceedings. I moved to California in February of 2001 and I've been here since.

What I've learned? I don't care how my daughter would feel, if she was ever "in love" with someone like I so stupidly was, I'd remove her from the situation. I refuse to give parental consent for her to get married. In fact, I think getting married before 24 is still too early... And 24 is pushing it.




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"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."
-Marilyn Monroe

Christmas Fights & No Christmas Cheer

Christmas is a time of year when we're surrounded by bright colors, beautiful ornaments, happy faces, and Holiday cheer & spirit. I was at a point when I would look around and see all of it, try and take it in but I simply could't. Why? Why couldn't I enjoy this time of year the way I used to? The Holiday cheer & spirit that once was there had vanished. I lost those feelings. It took years to find that cheer. But what caused such loss?

My family was visiting for the Holiday but we were also going to see my (now very ex) husband's parents for Christmas Day. Christmas Eve after I got off work (I was in retail) we spent it with my family. Then loaded the kids and ourselves up and took off for LAX - a meeting point. We had a fight there - a friend of mine called to wish me a Merry Christmas and I didn't get off the phone in a timely manner so we could get food. (I'm NOT psychic, I didn't know he was THAT hungry.) We met his family and the friend we were picking up at LAX and finished the drive up to his parents. I was exhausted, I had worked one of the busiest days, endured a quick Christmas with my family, a fight, and almost 4 hours of drive time. All I wanted to do was sleep. But his friends had flown in to see him for Christmas.

Christmas came, the kids had a blast. I got beautiful jewelry and a coat.
The food was great and the drinking started. I didn't drink, I knew I would be driving home (I had to work the next morning, early). It got later and later and I was getting more and more irritated. It's almost a 4hr drive home, I still had to load the car with all the presents, unload it, put the kids in bed, and get in bed myself. I think it was close to 10 when I told him we had to go. I asked for help with the presents but my requests fell on deaf ears - He was drunk. After nearly tripping with an armful of presents, I lost it. It was a fight that lasted for an hour, maybe more... I don't know. I'll never forget it tho. It was the only time he physically struck me. And of course his parents got involved. He finally started helping with the presents but made sure to insult me in a most horrible way: "You're worthless." "You can't even pick up your daughter's presents right." The insults kept coming and I took them. I just wanted to go home. I was close to leaving him there... I even made it out to the freeway. But he called me and threatened to report his car stolen. So I went back. I picked him up... For a few minutes he was quiet and behaved. But something set him off again. Only this time, along with the insults he called the cops, to "report an erratic driver." (That's what he wanted me to believe.) I slammed on the breaks, pulled off to the side of the road, and called 911 myself. (I found out that he didn't really call the cops, just pretended to.) He called his parents, something he would do frequently when I upset him. The cops sent me home with my kids, and sent him with his parents. I think I got home around 4am. Maybe later. I still went to work, my housemate watched my kids for me.

Needless to say, the In-Laws that once loved me, loved me no more. I was poison to them. While my husband got to stay I was never invited again. Even when I wanted to apologize for my behavior. My "loving" husband never bothered to fight for me... Nah, just with me. But that's beside the point.

I hated Christmas after this. And it took years to find the joy in it, again. Not to mention I still have a scar to constantly remind me about my Christmas night of 2007.

What did I learn? Be considerate of your other half. Don't forget they might have things to do the next morning. If there's something on your mind, speak up because holding it in is destructive. Don't fight in front of family, whether it be yours or not. If your other half isn't going to defend you, leave. It's not worth the heartache. Be careful when fighting with someone who carries a box cutter in their pocket. If you can't remember why Christmas is a happy time, look into the faces of your children. They'll remind you. 





"I don't think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains." -Anne Frank