And then husband number three.
He didn’t hit me, but he did tell me he was going to break my jaw.
Only my uncle showing up in his police uniform and giving him a talking-to seemed to strike the fear of God into him, so he never tried.
My sister doesn’t know about many—if any—of these. But yet, she somehow knows.
Look for the patterns in your life, and relationships in your life, Margaux.
Insight—gain and learn insight, Margaux.
Well fuck.
The patterns are undeniable.
It started before I had a relationship with any guy.
Once, my mother grounded me for six weeks because I was home two minutes late from walking the dog.
She controlled my every movement—what I ate, who I spent time with, where I went. Forced me to say she was my best friend.
Hell, she even used to read my diary.
This means take a look at yourself from the outside, watch yourself and the way you act and react.
See the patterns.
I’m always trying to fix everything.
To be liked.
To be a good person.
To help everyone, even when they won’t help themselves.
I assume that everyone else operates the same, although I’m beginning to learn that most really don’t.
I downplay the worst things because it’s easier that way.
It’s easier to lean into the good and believe that’s therealtruth—in this case, the realTimmy.
Alice’s words echo in my mind:he’s a violent person with good moments.
If you choose to stay where you are at, I hope you have all your stuff in order, because I see very little hope for you and your future life.
In fact, I’m sorry, but all I see is devastation and your funeral.
My heart shatters.
I don’t want my friends and family to be standing over my casket, wondering why I let a guy nowhere near good enough for me end my life way too soon.
I don’t want a piece of shit like Timmy to be the reason I don’t get to see my dreams play out.
I don’t want my life to end this way.
I have goals.
Books to write.