A month before I turned sixteen, I was married to what I thought would be my lifetime partner. He was a child still as well, just five months older than me. We planned how we would be able to marry and form our own family. When I became pregnant, they (in my mom's case, reluctantly,) gave their permission for us to marry. The joining took place in his grandparents' apartment. I wore a cream-colored, street length dress It had with gold threads running through it. My mother climbed over a fence and picked flowers for my bouquet. My future husband and I shopped for rings ahead of time. We bought matching rings on credit. Mixed white and yellow gold. They had a sharp ridge in the middle, and I remember praying, as the minister prayed, that he would let go of my hand. He held it so tightly, it cut into my little finger. There were refreshments and a home-made cake after the ceremony.



My mom pretty much washed her hands of me. She told me," You made your bed, now sleep in it." I found out that very night how difficult that might be. On our wedding night we went to a drive-in movie with his aunt and uncle. They took along a case of beer. The name of the movie was. The Days Of Wine And Roses. A precursor of my life. Mind you, I come from a long line of drunks and my dad had become a skid row alcoholic by the. An argument ensued about whether the main character would drink again. I said he would, he did. There was no satisfaction in winning that argument.



Our wedding night I had held in my mind as a passionate night in the loving arms of my husband, set the stage of sixteen long years of heartache pain and again desperation. I had suffered some minor spotting and the doctor just said be careful. My new husband jumped on that excuse to reject love making. I finally fell asleep crying after begging for our lovemaking. When we first had sex, it hurt for some time. My husband was pretty small in that department. I think, slightly less than average. It still hurt as he wasn't short in hardness. In time it became quite pleasurable. I nearly worshiped it. I thought it was so beautiful. I loved the feeling of him entering me. Our wedding night was the beginning of more nights than not without lovemaking over the years. In fact, the nights we had sex were rare. I had married a future alcoholic, emotionally unavailable, control freak.



Six months later I gave birth to our first child. A beautiful baby girl. I had our fourth child before I turned twenty-two. It only takes one time to get pregnant. My mother came around with the birth of the first grand baby. In her usual wisdom, she said. "Don't you know what causes that?"



A little over two and a half years and the birth of my oldest son, an incident happened, that nearly destroyed me and my life. An insurance salesman came around our apartment complex. I talked my husband into buying a small policy. The man came around monthly to collect the premium. He was quite handsome and friendly. One fatal month, I guess he caught me at a vulnerable time. I was so starved for any affection; I suppose I was always vulnerable and didn't realize it then. Anyway, I ended up on the toilet rocking and crying. I was eighteen and devastated. Marriage was sacred to me at that time. I quickly realized; I couldn't stay with my husband. Not after my betrayal and I was fearful, because I talked in my sleep. I soon left my husband.



I got my first job downtown in a federal reserve bank as an elevator operator. I did the best I could without any financial help, I never dated much before my marriage, It was all new to me. For several reasons I became quite permissive. In all my life I suffered low self-esteem. The lack of experience of handling the situations and my hunger for affection, I'm sure played a roll. I Simple loathed myself and didn't care about me. I loved my babies. I met a nice young man who cared for me. He was a chiropractic student. I had a roommate, but she returned to her parents' home with her son. The landlady where I lived, baby-sat my children when I worked. My daughter was old enough to talk and apparently told her things about me. The lady gave me a warning, not to have my boyfriend over. One day he came over and took off his shoes. We didn't have sex, but she wouldn't listen and made me move.


My grandmother had by then moved into the shack my parents had lived in after her husband died. There was a tinier shack next to hers, so We moved into it. I was so shamed of where I was living, I refused to let my boyfriend come to see us, He begged, but I couldn't give in. He finally gave up. One of my monumental lifetime mistakes. One, of too many others.