At 18, I first met my then girlfriend. She had just dropped out of school shortly before finishing for reasons incomprehensible to me, but I didn't really care about it at the time. She was unemployed for about a year and looking to get more education. She started the new education program and a few months later I broke up with her. I felt trapped and had hardly any contact with my friends, parents, and siblings even though I still lived at home. I wish I could say that the story ends here and both lived happily ever after, but it isn't so. After about a month, she was already with someone new. This wasn't a problem for me at all because I didn't have feeling for her anymore. I had hardly any contact with her because we had a different group of friends. About six months after our breakup, we had a chance encounter at a village festival, and we spoke about the past and what was new. During the conversation, we started to fall for each other again. Finally she broke up with her boyfriend and we were a couple again. Here the real horror begins. She always talked a lot in her sleep and so after about a month, she confessed to me while sleeping that she had cheated on me with her ex. I spoke to her about it and she admitted it and assured me that it would never happen again, and after some reflection, I decided to forgive her. This should have been the second red flag, but unfortunately I didn't pay attention to it.
The following month, we tried to forget the past and build trust again. Everything worked, but not like I had imagined at the beginning, and I slowly started to think about leaving her for good. But fate had other things in mind because despite birth control, she got pregnant. Although I didn't want to be a father at 21, it quickly became clear that she wouldn’t abort the child, and I couldn't do anything about it. Because I didn't want my child to grow up without a father, I decided to try to stay with her. We moved in together and she finished her second education program early against my wishes because she was far along in the pregnancy. About a year after the birth of our absolutely adorable son, we got married. At this point I had already resigned myself to spending the rest of my life with a wife I didn't really love, so I loved my son even more. But then came the moment my life completely changed. After only nine months of marriage, she left me shortly after moving in with me. I immediately began to cry, not because of her but because of our child. Without further ado, I went to visit relatives for about four weeks and then moved into my own apartment. When we divided our property, I got the car, and she got the rest. I had to use my parent’s credit to pay for my new apartment and furniture, as well as the divorce that followed.
A few weeks later, she met someone new. Two months after that, she moved in with him along with my son. Three months later, he threw them out and she lived with her parents for two weeks. I now know the reason. My son was just about to have his third birthday, which meant no more spousal support from me and that she would have to find a job. So she had tried with all her might to convince him to have a child. He didn't want to, however, and couldn't trust her with birth control pills or condoms (you can ruin them with a needle), so he ended it. After two weeks with her parents, she moved into a new apartment and met someone new not even two weeks after the move. Three months later, she was pregnant by him and three months after that she moved in with him in a new apartment, and then married him shortly after.
Now for my confession: I hate my ex-wife because she forced me into our relationship and gutted me without my noticing. The furniture for all of the apartments together amounted to about 8,000 Euro of my cash, and the wedding for 2,000 Euro of my savings was still relatively cheap. The divorce took another 3,000 Euro from my bank account. Our whole relationship, I worked hard to feed her and our child. Afterwards, I paid her a hefty amount in spousal support for a whole year. I hate her because she's manipulative and bossy. I hate her because she occasionally turns my son against me, she tells him things that I supposedly did, while I don't tell him anything and worry that his little heart won't bear it. I hate her because she convinces him he should persuade me to agree to change his last name to be the same as her new husband. He's four years old now and cries when he's with me because he wants to change his last name, but what should I tell him? That I don't agree with it because I think she'll divorce her husband in two years and then they'll be a new husband and a new child and a new last name? He sits with me and cries because he's already moved six times and has been in three different preschools. This is why I hate my ex-wife. When I'm with her to pick up our kid, I smile and act friendly. I don't want my son to have to see us argue; children from divorced parents have it rough. I also hate her because to this day, I can't be sure if he really is my son, but I'm too scared to do a paternity test. If he wasn’t my son, it would certainly help my financial situation, but I love him so much that I really don’t want to know.
While I wait for her to leave her new husband and find a new spouse able to support her, I hope that the time until my son turns 10 or 12 passes quickly. I think he'll be old enough then to understand, to wonder what happened. I hope that he'll come to me then and ask what all took place, and I'll tell him bluntly. Furthermore, I hope that he takes after me and hates his mother just as much as I do. This hope gives me the courage to endure each day. In case it's her reading this, yes, I mean you. Hopefully there's not another person on earth who fits this story. I'm sorry for this extremely long story, but I could definitely add a lot more details. This is really just a rough outline of what was and what will be.
Posted on 25.10.2012, 06:01:16 CET