It Was His Money, Not Mine

(*Steve stationed in Germany when he was a US soldier).

During our discussion in December 2011 to have a child, Steve had said he would purchase my maternity clothes, should I fall pregnant sooner rather than later. In fact, he told me I wouldn’t have to work at all. (See “My Green Card Application“). As I was returning to the UK for seven weeks before my permanent move to the US, I figured it was a good idea to have a Contingency Fund. So, within the this time, I was paid for the last of the T.V., Film, Commercials and Corporate Videos work I had completed, sold my car, got my deposit back from the apartment I was renting, got all credits due to me from utility companies (I always overpaid) – it all came to $6,500.00/£4,642.00 A nice little sum for a rainy day.

It all went wrong from the moment I got to the US. I had to pay for his car (see “Paying For His Car And More Lies“); buy a dinning table and chairs so I wouldn’t have to eat off the floor, (when I was allowed to eat, which was very little); buy a sofa as I was sitting on the floor which was making my back worse during my pregnancy; plus more for the household; buy him clothes as he was constantly complaining that he needed some and would discard items after one wear. I ended up with only $87.00/£62.00 to buy my own maternity clothes. When I reminded him of what he had said just months earlier, he said he had no money, so what did I expect him to do. Wow…really? Instead, this is what I was offered:

• I had to walk to the hospital on numerous occasions wearing broken shoes, limping in agony whilst he spent what little money we had on things he wanted, such as cigarettes, cigars and junk food. These were the same broken shoes I would have to use as slippers once I was admitted to hospital to have our son. There was no money for hospital parking for me to attend my appointments (even though prices started at $3.00), nor was there ever enough money for gas/petrol to take me in the first place.

• He’d bought me a $7.00/£5.00 cotton nightdress for the hospital, because I was wearing my pyjamas for hospital visits as well, but it didn’t last long. Upon leaving the hospital, he ripped it off me because he bought it and we had had a disagreement.

• I was wearing pyjamas on the street as I had no clothes. In fact, I remember a bunch of immature guys in a car ridiculing me for the way I looked. I felt so low. It was at that point I knew I’d really hit rock bottom.

• I was so upset, I found myself wandering and crying in the street. A guy approached me and asked me what was wrong. I told him I’d come from the UK and was homeless and hadn’t eaten. He could see I was heavily pregnant and offered to buy me food. Out of nowhere, Steve approached and told the guy I was over-reacting because there was food at home. You could see the guy didn’t believe him so Steve’s classic one-liner came out “I’m a veteran“. Every time he looked bad, he’d used this line. I was livid. I screamed that he wasn’t a veteran because I saved his career (see “I Saved Him From Being Kicked Out Of The Army“). The guy didn’t seem concerned about him at all; he was more concerned that I hadn’t eaten. The police were called and Steve disappeared.

• My hands were wrinkled and sore from all the cooking, washing and cleaning I had to do for Steve. I remember telling him how terrible I looked and felt, and my hands looked like that of a hundred year old woman! He ‘told me off’ for complaining about my hands, and told me they didn’t matter. Besides, what was the obsession with them? (I was not obsessed, I was merely stating how awful they looked since I gave up a better life in the UK for him).

• He gave me his hand-me-down male clothes which could no longer fit him, as he was getting bigger and bigger from eating too much in front of me, whilst I was shrinking in size, although pregnant, because he would take food away from me, telling me his money bought it. He told me he didn’t need to get me a coat during the winter because he had a perfectly good mac and fleece jacket I could wear… although they were in storage in New York and we couldn’t get to them, as we were in Marietta, Georgia.

• Even when WIC (Women, Infants and Children) started supplying me with vouchers just a week before I was due, to buy staple food such as eggs, rice and milk, he’d have it all. One time, after purchasing twelve eggs with one of the vouchers, he sat in front of me and ate seven in one go. He drank all the juice I was allowed to purchase at any one time. He wouldn’t allow me to purchase brown rice as he didn’t like it, so instead, got tortilla wraps which he promptly threw away, because they weren’t as nice as he thought they’d be.

• I had to buy comforters/duvet sets as we didn’t have any. Something he was supposed to buy before I moved out there. Is it me, or does this go without saying?

• He made sure he always had an allowance each week, regardless of whether bills were paid or there was food for me or not.

• Even when there was only enough money to just about cover rent for the week, he’d still want to go out to eat, and curse me for being responsible, because I felt keeping a roof over our heads were more important.

These are just some of the things that happened to me because it was his money. I never treated him like that when I was earning, and cannot wrap my head around how someone could possibly behave in such a way, and not feel any guilt nor remorse for it.

(*Not his real name)

So… This Is Me! A Major Fan Of Dita Von Teese And Burlesque

To save what (feels like) little sanity I have left, I have decided, it would indeed, be a good idea to not steer away from my experiences, but to mix things up a little. Thank you Amy at Picking Up The Pieces.

I must admit, I am a MAJOR fan of Dita Von Teese. I love her style of dress, and love burlesque in general (not the nude part though!). I was asked to be in a live show a few years ago, but I over slept and didn’t make it. I’m still kicking myself now! 🙂

The amount of fun I had on this shoot is unforgettable. As it was the first time I’d done anything like this, I made sure I had some bubbly so I didn’t feel so nervous. Not to the point I was drunk, but certainly to the point that I thought “Yes, I’m ready, let’s go!”.

Scary to think these photos were taken in December 2009/ January 2010 for my work portfolio. How time has flown. Now I’m a mother, I don’t think this level of confidence will ever come back… not even with the aid of a little alcohol! 😀

Married Or Not, No Means No

It had gone way past the point that I even wanted *Steve to touch me. He made my skin crawl. Although four months pregnant with our child, I knew in my heart from June 1st 2012 our relationship was over; he’d put me through too much. In fact, I told him to his face, but he said he wasn’t letting me go. He also wished me luck in trying to get away from him. It would take another nine and a half months before I actually did.

I had not physically slept with him since May. I mean, we slept in the same bed, but I always turned my back to him. I hated looking at him. He made my life hell and I was sick of it. I was sick of him and his bullshit. On July 12th 2012, during my pregnancy, he raped me.

The conversation goes as follows:

 Me: And do you not remember me saying straight after that you had raped me because I said no?

Steve: Persia of course I remember so can we please move on to Max?

Me: So how could you not hear “no”? I know you did because you said you didn’t think I actually meant no afterwards. I told you I felt dirty as you had just raped me. Do you remember that?

Me: Then we’ll talk about Max, Just need to clear this up. Thanks.

Steve: Yup I remember and remember this you are the controlling one

Me: No, you’re the controlling one. You think I am but you know it’s you. Even *Dawn warned me that you are controlling. You raped me whilst pregnant with your son. You just admitted it. So how are you not controlling?

Me: I suppose you’re still not going to apologise for it?

Steve: I did at the time, after it happened

Me: Despite me telling you how you left me feeling dirty and low

 

I was having physiotherapy at the time. The reports show I was improving until this point, whereby all progress made took a turn for the worst.

What makes him think this was OK? I’m not his property. No means no, regardless of being married or not… and I clearly said “No”.

(*Not their real names. Dawn is his daughter’s mother, who also left him whilst she was pregnant due to his behaviour. See “Our Trip To See His Daughter In Montana“).

Back In Georgia, Staying In Marietta

After leaving New York, we arrived in Marietta, GA. Accommodation and money was scarce, but I managed to scrape a little together for one night’s stay in a hotel. Again, we had to sneak the kittens in because no pets were allowed. Luckily I cleaned up after them really well, so it was hard to detect our pets staying in any room we had been in. With four weeks to go before our son was due, *Steve and I still had nowhere permanent to stay. We would be on the move again in the morning. This was wearing me out.

        

(Left to right – mouldy curtains and the air conditioner that didn’t work properly; clutter due to lack of space; closet/wardrobe area and where we had to hang our clothes to dry; close-up of mouldy curtains; kitchenette area where the hobs didn’t work properly).

The next day (Friday), a room became available in The Metro Extended Stay Hotel. It smelt of damp and stale cigarette smoke. It needed renovating badly and was certainly no place to bring a new born baby back to. However, we had no choice but to take the room. Pets weren’t allowed and cleaners came once a week – every Tuesday. They would come at any time during the day, which meant the poor kittens would have to sit in a crate in the car for long periods of time in the cold. I did my best to keep them warm. The same day we moved in, Rupert was dumped (see “Kittens – Rupert, Stewart And Jacob“). We were left with Oxanna Munroe and Pheonix Azalea. My beautiful little girls.

  

(Left – Mould growing up the bottom of the crib, along with the mouldy curtains. Right – Mould underneath where the crib was).

It was a nightmare. There wasn’t much space for all of us and the furniture was falling apart. There was mould everywhere. When we eventually bought a travel crib, after a short time being in the room, mould was creeping up and around it. I told Steve we had to get out of there, but he said we would have to stay put. He was comfortable. Besides, we had to do whatever he decided upon, and there was always money for him to what he wanted, no matter how little we had. He was the only one who wasn’t sick throughout the duration of us living there. Could things get any worse…?

We were here for a total of eleven weeks before moving to another extended stay hotel. During this time, our son was born and I honestly thought he was going to be taken away from me because we wouldn’t have somewhere to live once I left the hospital; we would struggle to meet the weekly rent whilst he bought cigarettes, cigars and junk food; the abuse would get worse and worse during and after the latter stages of my pregnancy. I thought I was going to die, along with our unborn son on numerous occasions.

(*Not his real name)

Kittens – Rupert, Stewart And Jacob

(*Steve with Rupert shortly after we got him).

Steve and I had three kittens by September 2012. I love cats. Due to the way he was treating me, and I was always home alone, he suggested that we go to our local PetSmart to adopt one as there was an adoption event there every Saturday. Of course, we couldn’t afford one because we had no money in the bank account. (No surprises there). I suppose it  was his way to get me to stay with him. As we were leaving the store, a tiny ball of black fluff was brought in, who was found in an exhaust pipe. He was sick and was going to be put down if we didn’t take him. I couldn’t allow that to happen.

We took Rupert home and were I nursed him back to health. He was such a cutie! Because of what I had to do for him, the bond I had with him was great. I loved him as if he were my own child. It also meant I had the company I never had since going to the US. Steve called him Rupert Ellington (rounded of with his surname). He also decided that Rupert needed company, so we should get another kitten. I told him I thought one was enough, but once Steve had made his mind up about something, then he was going to do it regardless of what I thought. Bearing in mind, I was cleaning the litter tray when I wasn’t supposed to because I was pregnant. He did however, tell the doctors and nurses that it was he who was cleaning up after the kittens so he didn’t look bad.

Along came Stewart Gilligan (with his surname) in September. I remembering telling Steve that this particular kitten would be a lot of work, as he seemed scared. I was right. Shortened to Stewie, he would urinate and excrement all over the place. The carpets were light in colour, plus we didn’t have permission to have pets where we were, so I told Steve we would have to return him to the adoption centre. He refused. I was left scrubbing and cleaning every day, all day long whilst Steve was at work. I was not happy.

Next was Jacob Bartholomew (with his surname) in September 2012- just two weeks after Stewie. We had heard him meowing real loud and saw him trembling in an adoption cage in PetSmart when we had gone to get a few things for our kittens Rupert and Stewie. He was tiny and a sorry sight. Once I’d held him, he calmed down somewhat. When it was time to put him back in his cage, he started up again. I felt crushed, so Steve said we should adopt him. Three kittens? I said no. I walked off to go look for what we had originally gone there for, and by the time I had returned, Steve was filling out the paperwork.

(The trio didn’t initially get on, but did towards the end).

This next part is going to be incredibly hard for me to write, so please excuse me if it doesn’t make any sense. Each of these kittens didn’t deserve what happened to them.

Rupert – After enduring the journey up to New York and back again; being homeless and cold; once we arrived in Marietta, GA and had to live in a mould infested room just one month before our son was due, he was dumped in the cold and dark in November 2012. I can only hope he was found and placed into a loving home.

Stewie – Steve came home one day in early October 2012, and was angry because I told him I was fed up with cleaning up cat mess, urging him to return the kitten to the adoption centre. I’m sure someone would have found the time to train Stewie properly. Steve knew the mess could affect our unborn son. What did he do? Waited for nightfall, ran out of the door with the kitten, jumped in the car and drove off into the night. I didn’t even realise what was happening until I couldn’t find Stewie. I frantically called Steve. His phone rang, but I was baffled as to why I was able to hear it… He’d deliberately left his phone at home. When he did eventually return, I asked what the hell was going on and where the kitten was. Handing me his work duffel bag, I opened it to find Stewie bleeding. He was in agony. The skin on his paws were red raw, he had a busted lip, he had what felt like broken ribs. What he told me would and will haunt me for a long time. He had strung up the kitten and beat him senseless. Then strapped him up and threw him against a fence of some sort. I pleaded with Steve to take him to an emergency vet. He refused. He took away the extra car key I had in my bag to ensure I couldn’t take the poor thing to get help. I was mortified. I was in pain. In an instant, the kitten was snatched from me, and off Steve went again into the night. It took a little while for him to return – without Stewie. He enjoyed me begging him for an hour or so to take me to the place where he taken the dying kitten. There was nothing but darkness. No trace of him at all. I asked Steve if he was certain about the location. He said yes and that Stewie had probably joined the pack of cats he’d seen down the road earlier. I didn’t believe him then and I don’t believe him now.

Jacob – Mid October 2012, Jacob had soiled himself. Steve came home to find Jacob in the (empty) bathroom sink where I had placed him, to keep him away from the carpet so I could clean it. Asking what had happened, I told Steve who told me to finish up what I was doing and go rest. He’d wash Jacob as he had excrement in his fur. Wow. Was I hearing right? Had Steve finally changed into a decent man? I welcomed the rest; I needed it. My back was killing me and I was weak from not eating properly. So, after cleaning up, I lay on the bed in the master bedroom and closed my eyes. About half an hour passed when I heard my name. “Persia! Persia! Come here!”. It took me a little while to realise that I wasn’t dreaming. I moved as fast as I could. The kitten was barely breathing… He died in my hands. Steve had drowned him. I was the last thing poor Jacob saw, rather than that of his murderer. We argued something fierce. He told me he didn’t know what happened, the kitten just gave up. I cried and told him we had to tell of what had happened. As always, he refused and warned me not to say anything. Picking up the dead kitten, Steve put him into a plastic bag and threw him into a dumpster.

I feel bad and guilty for not reporting him at the time. Would anyone have believed me? He had gotten rid of the evidence each time. If no-one did, I would have to go home with this monster and suffered, no doubt affecting my unborn son – who might I add, hadn’t moved for three days during all of this when I was seven months pregnant. I still have a flashbacks about it, and I know it’s not all about me, but no wonder I suffer from PTSD after being with this lunatic.

Rest In Peace Stewie and Jacob. Hopefully reunited at Rainbow Bridge. I’m sorry I let you both down and am sorry for the suffering you both endured from Steve.

Rupert, I hope a lovely family took in in and you are living the life you deserve, second time round.

(*Not his real name)