In case anyone comes across this entry later than it was made (which was over two years ago), I have a couple of changes I’d like to make (as of May 19, 1013):
1. His father no longer has my sympathy. I will not go into details about it, but apparently he’s become part of the cult of thinking I’m Satan. Fabulous, it’s not like I’ll ever see any of them again, but now I can say “fuck you” about the entire family without feeling bad about it. I have, however, changed a few details so that this entry isn’t the first thing that comes up when you Google Wasband’s full name, any more. YOU’RE WELCOME.
2. Thanks to someone who was apparently more invested in finding out what’s going on with my Wasband than I am, I know he’s getting married on June 1 of this year (2013). That’s in…let’s see…12 days. If you’ve read anywhere on my blog about what I’d decided do do after being divorced, you know that I’m attempting, between Lyme treatments and complications, to become a Special Education teacher. Guess who Wasband’s getting married to? The SpEd teacher who works at the school he worked at while we were married. He met her while we were married, and if I had to make assumptions, I would say some of his “late nights” were involved in getting to know her better (and given the continued abuse of me by him, I don’t think he physically cheated on me – I just mean that he probably confided in her, much like he did that mutual friend of ours). So now they’re getting married. That’s fucking hysterical, as is their wedding registry (linked by this same person…seriously, WTF), which is exactly the same as his and mine was. EXACTLY THE SAME, minus some items that were my preference. So basically, he’s replacing what I got in the divorce. EL-OH-FUCKING-EL.
3. Also, the woman he’s marrying is 2 years older than I am – and I’m 2 years older than Wasband…so that’s a little weird, yeah? Congratulations to both of them. I have nothing against her (I don’t know her – how can I?), so honestly, I can’t say anything about the wedding. He’s been divorced for 2 years, they work together, they probably get along as famously as he and I did when we first met (Wasband was VERY charming when he was courting me – and he actually did court me, in the old-fashioned way). I hope, for her sake, that that doesn’t end, because when he gets dissatisfied, he’s extremely difficult to deal with. However, the age thing? It just REALLY makes me laugh. I guess you had to be there.
4. If you’re at all related to the Overall family, or the family that is joining them (whose name, again, I’m not even going to mention, because again, I have no idea who they are aside from a bunch of letters forming a word), and you read this, ALL OF IT IS TRUE. None of it is made up, it is MY viewpoint of things that happened, it is NOT libel or slander, it is NOT an attempt to stifle his life (if it was, look how well it worked…seriously, I don’t give a fuck what he does with his life, this entry was for MY benefit, to get out what needed to be said), and if you think it’s just a bitter ex-wife making things up to make herself look better…um…have you read the rest of my blog? I display my warts, too. This is, in fact, the only entry where I go into a tirade about my ex-husband. I only needed the one. If you believe his story over mine, fine…you’re blood, that’s cool, whatever. But did you ever wonder why I never left the house? Why I stayed in the room all the time? Why I actively avoided people? Why no one in town really knew me? Because I was essentially threatened, and then I was shamed into believing that I wasn’t worth “showing off” to others.
5. Don’t you DARE call and threaten me when I’m following FEDERAL LAW and alerting about a possible STD (Lyme disease is considered by some doctors to be transmittable by sexual contact, and seeing as how we were fucking MARRIED, you think maybe we had sex? Because yeah, we did, and I had Lyme at the time), I don’t give a fuck how much stress you’re under otherwise, that shit is inappropriate. You know who I’m talking to – likely the only member of the immediate family that does anything on the internet except check email.
6. In relation to all of the above, my lawyer is tired of hearing from me. So cut that shit out, get over it, and GET A LIFE. I have, even if you don’t agree with it.
Thank you, and have a wonderful life. Just leave me out of it.
(As an aside, I was going to edit out ALL instances of “Bennett” and replace them with “Wasband,” but got lazy, so fuck it. You can deal.)
A lot of the things surrounding my divorce were hidden when I made all of my posts before March (basically) private.
The reasons behind that are also hidden, now, but they don’t matter, any more.
And I’m done being quiet about what was done to me during my marriage and divorce.
On November 7, 2009, I married J. B. Overall of Covington, TN. At the time, we were both students at Christian Brothers University…he was in the MAT program, and I was finishing up my BA in Psychology.
He is now an employee of the Tipton County School System, at Brighton Elementary School, as a 4th grade teacher. This is all public record – I am not offering up anything that can’t be found with a simple search using my name and public history, then following the trail of those legally connected to me in some way.
During our engagement, and subsequent marriage, I started becoming very ill, and became worse as the weeks passed.
I felt uncomfortable around his family, and his mother did, to my mind, the best she could to keep that discomfort active. She would pointedly continue doing Wasband’s laundry while ignoring mine, though I would have been fine doing both his AND mine. They were, after all, located in the same room. The difference was that his was all over the floor, while mine was in a hamper.
She was home all day, and because Wasband insisted that I needn’t work while we were married (because he was raised where the man takes care of the woman, and the woman takes care of the house), so was I.
Oh, you see, we were living with his parents from October of 2009 until July 2010, when he finally found a job as a teacher and we were able to find a small house to rent (through his family connections, of course – I basically married into a Covington Aristocracy).
Anyway, I began to experience the horrible insomnia and daytime fatigue that have become the hallmarks of my life right now. I was spoken about like a creature, because I wouldn’t come out of the bedroom during the day, and I was belittled at night, because my insomnia caused me to feel like I had to DO something, so I would tinker on the internet, irritating Wasband.
Our honeymoon was spent with me on my period…and it continued for a month, because I started taking birth control so that we wouldn’t have to worry about my becoming pregnant when he was still looking for work. That St. Patrick’s Day, in 2010, I nearly had a stroke because of those pills, and have been on blood pressure medication ever since.
This stress caused my illness to get worse, and with a little help from a doctor who had become tired of his solutions not getting any results (he basically began treating me for severe mental illnesses under the guise of treating me for insomnia), I began having seizures. At that point, I’d wanted to begin working, and had just graduated from college, and was forced to turn down a job offer that would have had me with my own income, my own health insurance, and basic independence.
That’s the official reason – the seizures. The actual reason? Wasband didn’t want me driving around to Section 8 housing areas to search for my clients to keep up with them and make sure they were completing treatment and getting everything they needed.
It was justifiable for him to worry, but I have a concealed carry permit, and I’m not retarded.
Anyway, after that, I signed up to be a ChaCha Expediter (June 2010) answer questions online) and continued to write for Examiner.com (which I’d started when we were engaged, in August 2009), but that didn’t bring in much money at all.
After we moved into our new house, with the way the office/desk was set up, I couldn’t do the ChaCha as much, and I stopped writing Examiner articles because I had to quit my job at Banfield to get married and move. I didn’t have a laptop for a while (spilled coffee on it), and sitting in my office chair was very painful. I decided to continue with school, and get an MS in Counseling. At that point, I bought a laptop, because it was easier for me to sit for long periods and do work with it.
The laptop again became my nighttime companion, along with the television (which had DirecTV and a bunch of movie channels), because my insomnia was getting worse.
Wasband would go to work very early in the morning, come home late, and plead exhaustion before going to bed at around 7:30pm or so. He stopped caring whether I cooked dinner or not, and when I did cook, he declared that he didn’t like it, and wouldn’t eat it. Part of the reason he was coming home late was because he would stop at his parents’ house to eat dinner.
Another reason he started coming home late, starting in late August of 2010, was because he would drive around and talk on the phone to a mutual female friend of ours, whom I’m not naming because her involvement was not purposely malicious. He would also call her on his lunch breaks while at work, which is expressly forbidden by Tipton County Schools.
He was uncommunicative with me, but he apparently told her everything that went through his head. She assumed he was re-hashing arguments that we’d already had, but we weren’t arguing. We weren’t talking.
Wasband had promised to take care of me, and that included providing me with health care. When his insurance became active in October, I found that not only was the wrong doctor listed, but I wasn’t even on his insurance. He claimed a mistake had been made, but refused to fix it, even when he had a week off from work to do so. He went to get his driver’s license renewed, but wouldn’t take me to get my car’s tags renewed OR get my new driver’s license with my married name (which would be necessary in order to get my new SS card and whatnot). Nor would he call about getting the insurance straightened out. He plead exhaustion (again) and then straight-out accused me of being a nagging bitch, when all I was doing was reminding him of what he’d promised to do.
During this time, when he was going to bed early, I would get text messages from the bedroom asking me to please come in and “cuddle with him” until he could fall asleep. If I didn’t respond immediately, he would get irrationally angry and keep texting me to beg me, please, to come in there. When I would go in, he would be crying and pouting, and say that I obviously didn’t love him because I didn’t pick up his clothes off of the floor, make a three-course meal for him at night, and I couldn’t do his laundry “right”. He’d begun taking his laundry to his mom to have her do it, because it had to be done a certain way.
When I said that I was in love with him? I meant it. I wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t love him. I thought he was a man of his word, because I’d seen nothing to show otherwise, until we moved to Covington and I saw how much of a momma’s boy he was.
Warning: The following is a description of sexual abuse and may be disturbing and/or a trigger to some.
I knew he had mommy issues pretty quickly into the marriage, but figured that once we were out of the house, they would eventually die down. I didn’t count on getting more sick while his demands on me rose exponentially, because his mother wasn’t there to literally follow him around and pick up after him.
As has happened in the past, my being ill and stressed caused sex to be painful. I knew that Wasband was taking matters into his own hands, because I would find crusty socks under the bed when I would straighten up the bedroom. It disturbed me (because, um, don’t guys stop doing that when they’re teenagers? and i knew he had to have been doing the same thing while living at home, with his mom picking up after him, and that thought was just…odd), but I squelched my gag reflex and just threw the clothes in the hamper for his mom to deal with, because it was her magic touch that allowed his clothes to become the way he liked, so I didn’t even bother to try at that point.
After he would beg me to come “cuddle” him (I’m serious…that and “snuggle” were his two words that he would use), and then be all emotional, he would ask me if he could please have what he called “boobie face”. It’s pretty much what it sounds like: he buried his head in my breasts, and jacked off.
I did it at first because I felt bad about not being able to have conventional sex, and it allowed me to feel like I was contributing to his happiness.
After a while, I started refusing, because it skeeved me out pretty badly. When I would refuse, he would whine and cajole, and emotionally abuse me until I felt so guilty that I would finally just pull my shirt up (I don’t wear a bra at night, at all), roll over on my side to face him, and think of something else for the 3 or 4 minutes it would take him to finish. Then I would leave the room and eat massive amounts of food while watching television and surfing the internet, because I was too ashamed to tell anyone. I’d made such a big production of telling people that things were going well with my marriage that to express any of the problems would have made me a liar…and thus, I fell into the trap of the abused wife.
At this point, my hip had begun to regularly pop out of place, and standing for longer than a few minutes would make me dizzy, so housework kind of fell more to the wayside than even I was comfortable with (and I can stand some clutter).
I was constantly belittled about my lack of housekeeping skills, and was told (basically – this is by no means verbatim) that since I was worthless around the house, I should get a job, because all I was doing was taking up space and being annoying.
I looked, but couldn’t find anything in Covington. It was suggested that I fill out a substitute teacher form, but one was never picked up for me (another promise Wasband made that he never followed through with…something I was getting used to, unfortunately), so I remained without money and means to do anything for myself.
I applied for a credit card so that I would be able to buy my prescriptions and pay for my doctor visits, because Wasband stopped doing that, as well. I was gaining weight and needed new clothes, but was told that we had no money, so I used the credit card to buy jeans that fit, and more tee shirts and underwear.
I found out later that Wasband was squirreling money away in savings, ostensibly for us to buy a house, but given how the last few months of our marriage went (basically, the entire time he was working), I can’t believe that, any more. He was willing to put half of his paycheck into savings, rather than keep a little extra out to follow through on his promise of taking care of me.
He found out about my credit card (I didn’t tell him because it was only in my name, and I knew it wouldn’t be received well) by OPENING MY MAIL, then wouldn’t speak to me for several days for my “betrayal” (which was done because of HIS betrayal…fucked up, yes?).
That last month of our marriage, I discovered so many lies that the rage took hold of me, and I ended up slicing my leg up pretty badly toward the end of September 2010, while under the influence of Ambien (trivia: both times I cut myself on Ambien, I was with Wasband). I went to St. Louis to spend a week with my mom, and when I came back, Wasband treated me like a leper. He also suggested that we separate, but when I pointed out that I literally had nowhere to go, and he realized that if he left me in the house by myself, I could hurt myself and blame it on him (hah), that “plan” came to an end.
I wanted to escape, but I had no money, nowhere to go (in my mind, I would have been a burden to my local friends, and the people I knew in Memphis had lives that I figured wouldn’t have room for a battered wife), and wanted to kill myself. I started cutting on my legs, which was something I hadn’t done (while not under the influence of Ambien) since I was a teenager.
In mid-October, on a Monday, Wasband came home late from work, again, and informed me that he wanted to take my gun away from me, because he was afraid I would shoot him. I told him that if he didn’t know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t do that, then clearly the past two years spent together were a waste.
He said he’d take it if I didn’t give it to him, and I told him to go ahead, if he honestly thought I had the capacity to kill him when he wasn’t attacking me. My gun stayed on my nightstand. I wouldn’t have used it on myself or anyone else, unless they were trying to harm me. He knew better, but was apparently building me up as an abusive bitch in his own mind (and that of his family, I later learned) in preparation.
I threw a blogger party at a friend’s farm on October 23, 2010. Wasband came to deliver my phone to me, since I’d been missing calls from folks needing directions, and it ringing was bugging the shit out of him, and he’d told me that he couldn’t stay because he had papers to grade. When I suggested bringing my friends Paul and Tracie out to his parents’ house to see Cloud, the cat they gave me who ended up being a perfect outdoor, country cat, Wasband said that it wouldn’t be a good idea, since he and his family would be busy moving things around between his parents’ and grandparents’ houses (they lived about 1/2-mile from each other).
Honestly, I was relieved, because I could have fun, be myself, and not have to worry about putting on a show that my marriage was okay. By that point, the farm’s owners knew it was going sour, but aside from a few jokes here and there at his expense, I didn’t mention how much I loathed Wasband at that point.
The next day, October 24, 2010, Wasband came to pick me up in the afternoon, and was very affectionate with me in a way he hadn’t been in MONTHS. I was caught off-guard, and was so glad for the positive attention that I hugged him back and sat with him on the porch of the cabin I’d stayed in, watching the rain while I leaned my head on his arm. He told me that he was so happy with me right then, and that he wished that moment would last forever.
We gathered my things, cleaned up, and left. On the way home, he excitedly babbled about our future, talking about houses he was looking at, and making promises about how we would deal with things in the future. He agreed to see a counselor with me (after promising back in August, after my birthday when I had a breakdown at my dad’s house and he stayed in the other room, avoiding the situation – THAT was fun), and I was, again, pleasantly surprised that he was suddenly taking so much initiative.
A block from the house, still driving, his tone suddenly changed, and he said there was something he wanted to talk to me about.
You know when you’re a kid, and you do something wrong, and you hear your name called in an ominous tone that reeks of butt-smacking? And it freezes your blood? That’s the exact feeling I got, except to my knowledge, I hadn’t done anything wrong.
We got to the house, and I immediately noticed that his piano was missing from the living room. I asked why, and he told me to sit down, then told me he loved me, but he couldn’t “do this any more”. He presented me with what was basically a hand-written (in his MOTHER’S handwriting…he’d dictated it to her) Marital Dissolution Agreement, and a list of demands for what I had to do if I wanted him to come back.
The list included items like not having any alcohol in the house, cleaning the whole house every day, cooking dinner for him every night, and other things that were basically his way of trying to force me into the Southern Belle Housewife role, despite my ever-increasing illness. I was told that I couldn’t argue with him or contradict him, etc. Clearly, he’d made this list knowing I would say no, so that he’d have an “out”.
He also left me a letter that was a mindfuck of emotional abuse. It would list something he hated about me, but then he would say he loved me…but he couldn’t stay, because of [stupid reason], but that didn’t mean he didn’t love me, etc.
He’d spent the previous day not grading papers…not helping his parents move things for his grandparents…but moving his things back to his parents’ house, and dictating a list of demands to his mother to write down. Then he wrote that letter, which I have in a sealed box with my other divorce documents. I’m tempted to scan it just to prove how absolutely crazy he is, and to prove that this isn’t slander – it’s the honest truth from my perspective.
He refused to leave the house until I called someone to come over to be with me. As if I would kill myself without him there.
I finally got him to leave by telling him I was calling my mom. I finally got a hold of her at around 10pm (he left the house around 6pm), told her what happened, and she was at my house by 2am on the 25th.
While she was there, Wasband called me on the 26th to tell me he thought he made a mistake, and tried to beg me to forgive him and let him come back. I all but told him I’d sooner see him dead, and he then told me that he regretted marrying me from the first day of our honeymoon. AWESOME.
This was two weeks before our first wedding anniversary.
I found out that the reason he was late coming home on that Monday he demanded that I give him my gun was because he had had a meeting with a lawyer. The lawyer told him to take my weapons, because Bennett told him that I was a dangerous person. He was setting me up to lose everything.
You know what he gave me for our anniversary? A typed, signed, Marital Dissolution Agreement. The gift of paper. I’m not shitting you. ON what would have been our anniversary. He wanted me to read it and sign it right then. I told him to fuck off, that I was having a lawyer look at it.
His mother became more involved at that point, accompanying him to every one of his lawyer’s meetings (my lawyer told me this, and she had no reason to lie, as I was making no demands on her aside from the occasional letter telling them that I didn’t agree with their requests). My dad paid for my divorce for me, and it was $950. From my experience working as a legal assistant, I know that Bennett’s family ended up spending likely 5 figures to finalize…all so that he could avoid giving me any kind of a settlement (or, rather, his mom could keep me from “stealing” from her baby boy).
My divorce was finalized on January 12, 2010, and I did get a small settlement, which lasted me a couple of months.
Literally the same day I got that call, I was diagnosed with Lyme disease by way of the results of a blood test. As I’ve pointed out, I’ve had it since I was in high school, but the stress of being married to Bennett destroyed my immune system and allowed the bacteria to treat my body like a playground.
The rest, you pretty much know. I lived with my dad, that didn’t work out, I re-connected with Forrest (we’ve known each other for 8 years), and started dating him, and then he opened his home to me because I was being emotionally abused at my dad’s (seriously – by both my dad and my stepmom), and needed a place to go, because they were kicking me out due to what basically boils down to a really stupid set of reasons that I’m not even going to go into.
So here I am. Forrest IS actually awesome, and is the bright spot in my otherwise pretty shitty life. I’m trying to find a job, but not being employed since late 2009 looks really bad on an application (If I worked there less than a week, I consider that having not worked there at all), and being sick seriously limits the jobs I can do. In addition, there are the mechanics of being sick with Lyme – the symptoms, the treatment, the costs, etc.
I feel completely justified in blaming Bennett for my current state. He lied to me so that I wouldn’t work, lied to me about helping me with my health, lied about finances, had an emotional affair, lied about me to everyone he knew (including the mutual friend, who was the emotional affair, in case you didn’t make that connection), and badgered me into buying the car I drive now, which is not a horrible vehicle, but fixing it is a drain on my finances. A problem that would cost $100 to fix on a Corolla is over $500 on this car. It’s ridiculous.
I gained weight while married to him, not only because of my eating, but because of the candida that was taking over my body. That infection is the reason I can’t lose weight: I’m filled with toxins and fluid that are both leaking from my small intestine, and my kidneys aren’t able to process the fluid efficiently because of the medication that the doctors he took me to put me on, because they thought I was nuts instead of believing I was sick.
I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if I ever see him again. I am very angry. I am hurt, I have suffered, and I have had no recourse. He got to go on with his life (aside from being fired from his position at the Baptist church where he was the music minister…and he can’t ever be in a position of leadership again, because he’s divorced, LULZ), and he has this massive network of family and friends who think I’m THE anti-Christ, and actually have pull in Covington AND Tipton County government, so if I ever have to go there in an official capacity again (which I might…some issues have come up that I may have to re-visit with my lawyer), I might as well just put a burning cross on my own lawn to save them some time and effort.
I wish that was hyperbole. I really do.
So there you have it. My marriage, in a nutshell.
Abusive, and a complete lie.
I hope he and his mother are very happy together, with their Oedipus and Alexis complexes (Bennett acts very much like his maternal grandfather, which I know his mom is just tickled pink about), their shared loved of bludgeoning animals to death (stories best told in person), and their shared frustration with Bennett’s father, who supports them both silently and without complaint.
Really, he needs to get the hell out of there. I feel for that man.
But Bennett? When I see him in Hell, it will be oh-so-sweet.
I just hope, for his sake and mine, that I don’t see him before then. Like I said…I honestly don’t know what I’d do. That’s not to say that I’d hurt him, or that I’m threatening to do so…I LITERALLY have no clue what would happen. Hell…I don’t know what HE’D do, so I guess we’re even on that score.