Toxic People?

I have survived all the toxic people in my life. I think. I realized that just because I am related to somebody doesn't mean I have to like them and it doesn't mean that I have to spend time with them. Because some members of my family I don't and I don't. It took a lot of therapy for me to draw a line in the sand and say "NO" -- and mean it. Not only *mean* it, but without wavering even a breath.

There have been some toxic people in my life that I didn't think I would survive through. My third husband (DH - and it doesn't stand for *darling husband*) and his parents, for example.

His is the relationship I fell into on the heels of my second divorce. A relationship I had absolutely no business being in. In the beginning it was all wine (not literally) and roses. He said all the right things, did all the right things, blah blah blah.

Our first fight, he ran to mommy. Our second fight, he ran to mommy. Our third fight, and so on. Red flags? Nawww...

At first I adored his parents. They welcomed me in to their home and treated me like the daughter they never had. When I became pregnant with my third son, their first grandchild, mommy bought everything we needed for a nursery. When I miscarried my son, mommy drove me home from the hospital. My son is buried upstate Michigan on their private property. We were all grieving.

When I became pregnant again, with my fourth son, they took care of me. DH's father drove me to all my doctor appointments. DH was essentially useless. Adding to the stress of my bed rest, he (DH), surprise, surprise, couldn't hold a job. He never could. The slide into splitsville picked up speed and the in-laws were choosing sides. I wasn't one of them.

Six months into this pregnancy I wound up in the hospital, in pre-term later, where I stayed -- alone -- for a week. I had no visitors -- no DH, no parents, nothing -- and I was scared to death. DH's mommy truly -- I kid you not -- thought SHE would be the one to name our child. She even had a nickname at the ready. Suffice it to say she was less than thrilled when I told her, in no uncertain terms, that DH and I would be naming this child. The great-divide widened.

Shortly after the birth of our son, Hunter (who, by the way, turned 10 today) I noticed *some* things. I started catching DH in lies about where he was going. Strange codes were showing up on his pager. Things weren't making sense.

I traveled for my job at that time and I would come home to a spotless house, clean sheets on the bed...my radar was up. The jig was up. He was sleeping a woman who lived two doors down from us. I was the only person in the apartment building who didn't know what was going on.

Things went from bad to worse in a nano-second. I, being stubborn and strong-willed, attempted to fight for my marriage. I confronted him, I confronted her, I confronted them together. I told her to stay away, she said she would. She didn't. He said he would stay away from her. He didn't. He would leave the apartment, hide his truck and go to her house. Mommy and daddy CONDONED his behavior! They encouraged it! Even NOW that astonishes me.

One night, it came to a head. My son and I went to visit my sister and we set a trap for him. I did what he did. Leaving my son with my brother-in-law, I hid my car and knocked on her door. I caught him at her house -- both looking like they had just rolled out of bed. Again. I told him he had five minutes to clear out of our third-floor apartment or his stuff would be on the lawn . He didn't believe me. My sister and I ran to my apartment, locked the door, and I started launching his stuff off the balcony. All his stuff was fair game. (I swear, if I could have figured out to lift the huge console tv over the rail, it would have gone, too!)

I was heaving stuff over the balcony as fast as I could all the while shouting sailor-blushing obscenities at him. Our apartment building backed up to a densely populated, kid-friendly, subdivision and the police were called. There was a knock on the locked door. The conversation went like this:

Cop: "Mrs., could you open the door please, it's the police?".

Me: "Sorry officer, but I am not unlocking my door. Can I help you with something?"

Cop: "Uh, yeah, we received a couple of calls about a disturbance, could you open the door please?"

Me: "Sorry officer, but I'm not opening the door." (I knew if I opened the door I would probably be carted off to jail!)

Cop: (obviously flustered) "Well, I have to ask that you stop shouting and throwing things on the lawn, can you open the door?"

Me: "I'll stop shouting and throwing things on the lawn."

He showed up on the lawn begging me not to do this. "We can work this out"...yada, yada, yada. Sorry, buddy, your time is UP. Stupid me, I allowed him to yo-yo me back and forth for a little while longer. He wanted to save our marriage; he gave her up...and I believed him.

After I emptied my apartment of his things my son and I spent the night at my sister's. The next morning I hid my car and returned to the apartment. I had already had the locks changed but I wanted to see if his stuff was still on the lawn. Most of it was gone and while I was hiding in the apartment daddy and DH showed up to clean the rest of it up.

Then one day, I moved to the other side of town. The day after moving he brought my son home to me, he almost sucked me in again. He batted those big brown eyes at me, and gave me that charming smile and he ALMOST had me. ALMOST.

While at my house he called mommy. This was after we *supposedly* reconciled. And you know what? He wouldn't tell his mommy where he was! He lied to her! I remember vividly walking away from him shaking my head and saying "never again". When he finished the call, I walked to the door, opened it and told him to get out and stay out.