Here are the ones that I think fit the description of dirtbag ex’s the best. I had no respect for myself. I hated myself. I was mentally unwell and suicidal. I was young. This all stopped at 20. That is my only explanation for this.
I am older, happy, well-adjusted, totally sober, and madly in love with a wonderful man now. He knows I am a “scarlet woman”, so to speak, but he doesn’t know details.
I have forgiven myself for my choices, but I still get angry with my younger self for some of these things. I was a willing party to all of this. I don’t know why I am typing this all out. Maybe because I feel anonymous and like I need to get it off my chest all these years later.
I was with a guy that we will call D for about two years.
When I met D, I knew he liked to party. So did I. I asked him, as a friend, to make sure that cocaine was never brought around me. I was sticking to pot and alcohol. I had been clean of cocaine for a few months.
A couple months after we began seeing each other, he brought crack around me. He had smoked it extensively before I knew him. I had no idea. It also turned out that he had been homeless before I knew him. A friend’s dad took pity on him and gave him work and a place to stay.
I know this was my own choice, but I tried it. I had thought the horrible times I had spent with cocaine were over. I was wrong. I had graduated to a darker form of it instead.
I used to spend multiple nights per week up all night with D trying to keep him calm. You see, there is something called cocaine psychosis. You get paranoid. You hear and see things that aren’t there. He would turn all the lights off, stalk around the house with a gun, stare out the windows, mutter about people in the shadows, run outside. I would get as high as him, but I never got the full-blown psychosis that he did. Instead of being concerned for my safety, I would keep him indoors and from getting arrested.
He stole money from my mother.
He totaled my car and ran from the scene. He tried to convince the judge that I was the driver.
He slept with multiple people. He even flaunted it. I just pretended I was oblivious to it.
I made him dinner one night. He didn’t come over because he was with another girl – one who had a boyfriend and was “just a friend.” I brought food over to both him and her. I found out later that he slept with her for the first time that night. This was a girl he made fun of quite a bit. He said terrible things about her. Talked about how he could never kiss her because of her teeth. Didn’t matter. Dogs will be dogs.
He tried to get me to sleep with our dealer for free drugs. I never did. That was one shred of my self-respect I kept. Maybe the only one.
He had my mom’s name listed in his phone as “Barnyard Bitch.”
He tried to sleep with my underage cousin. Somehow, I believed him instead of her. I was a foolish, horrible person.
He punched me.
He would wake me up to give him blowjobs. I would be sleeping, and he would smack me on the face with his penis and then insert it into my mouth. Or he would help me out of my clothes while I was totally out of it from drugs and alcohol and then have sex with me.
He sliced a 4-inch gash in my arm on purpose. He was high and wanted to see how sharp his new knife was. I was a cutter at that time. The gash in my arm didn’t faze me. He was more disturbed by it than I was. I didn’t care. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t even say “ow.”
One night, after a sickening sexual encounter with him, I carved the word “WHORE” into my leg with a razorblade. It’s still legible after nearly a decade.
If I tried to shut him out, he would show up at my house. He would twist everything around so I didn’t know what was true and what was a lie. He would pick me flowers and tell me he could never hurt me.
He never gave two shits about me but would flip out if I received male attention.
He tried to get me to rob a house with him. He said we would use the money to leave the state and start a new life together. Luckily, we never did it.
I thought I was pregnant once. A mutual friend told him about my scare. He was furious that I didn’t tell him. As though I was really going to raise a child with him….
I remember an alcohol and cocaine fueled night spent trolling through strip clubs trying to find him in a strange city. I remember walking miles home at 3 AM after getting into a fight. He never tried to pick me up or get me into the car.
I finally kicked the drugs and him to the curb. He had run out of friends. He had been kicked out of his home. He had never held up his agreement to work while living there and did nothing but disrespect the man taking care of him.
In the end, I picked him up when he got kicked out of the latest place he was crashing. He had no money and only the clothes on his back. Somewhere during that car ride, I finally realized it was over. I wasn’t angry. I was just numb. Maybe relieved. I dropped him off on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. He said in the most pitiful, pathetic voice, “How can you just leave me here? I have nowhere to go. Please, don’t leave me here.”
I never saw him again.
On the less psychotic side, we have J. He was around before D.
I was with J for about a year. We saw each other multiple times a week – but only for sex. J could never be a friend to me. He was only after sex, and I gave it to him. He told me that I was too fat to have breasts as small as I did. I was not overweight. That one comment uttered by a total idiot has stuck with me until today. He was against drug use but had no problem with me crawling into bed with him after I spent the night elsewhere smoking crystal meth.
He knew I was a cutter and had problems. His act of kindness when I got out of the hospital after a suicide attempt ( it may have been a gesture vs. a true intent to die, but it was serious enough to land me in ICU ) was to take me to Ruby Tuesday’s. Then straight to bed. I have to admit that he did hold me that night for a little while. He seemed disturbed by it.
He liked to insert objects into me to see what would fit. He plotted one night to get his friend laid. He was having sex with me at a party with an unlocked door. I didn’t know it had been planned in advance. His friend crept into the room and watched us. I stopped what I was doing. I was like a deer in headlights. His friend had a bag of bondage gear and was holding a ballgag. J told me to relax. That his friend needed female companionship. His friend climbed into bed and started stroking my leg. That’s when I unfroze and ran from the room. I still continued to see J.
J is now a married man with children. Even though I consented to our relationship, I was degraded and treated like a beast. He would tell me what to wear and exactly how to please him sexually. He didn’t care what our sexual relationship was doing to me. He didn’t care that my arms and legs looked like hamburger meat from the self-injury. It’s scary to think that he’s this “normal” guy now. I wonder if his wife knows what kind of misogynistic sexual freak he was during his early twenties.
The least psychotic of all, but the only one currently serving a 30-year prison sentence for drug trafficking is K. He was basically my first.
K was always a gentleman when we were alone. He said kind things about me to others. He seemed impressed by me.
Only problem: I was very underage. K was 10+ years older. I was not a virgin, but it was truly a technicality. I had no experience with men. I had only had one penetrative sexual encounter.
I thought he was so grown-up and wise. He had so much life experience. I was too young and immature to realize that he was a Peter Pan who spent all his time hanging out with much younger folk.
K did the usual. He kept up the good behavior just long enough to get me into bed. I thought I was in love. He just thought I was a young, naive girl.
I came to his house one night and discovered him in bed with two fifteen-year-old girls. Even though I wasn’t any more legal than they were, I was disgusted. It was like a punch in my stomach. I walked out without looking back.
I ran into him just a couple of years later during my cocaine days. I was no longer a young, naive girl. He tried to sweet talk me. Told me he had always loved me. Told people I was his girlfriend. Luckily, I never slept with him. I kept it up for a bit for free drugs. He was busted not long after that. It was very fortunate for me that I was not at the house during the raid. I had ended our rekindled “friendship” shortly before that. He was charged with both cocaine trafficking as well as labeled as a sex offender. Apparently, he had never lost his taste in underage girls.