White Bedding
Alcohol roulette & a sentencing.
The cliches are many: Till death due us part. Come hell or high water. In sickness and in health. For richer, for poorer. In house arrest or come and go as you please.
I was naive to the Justice system. I knew of one Justice system for twenty-six years: one cult leader, assistant pastor (my “Dad”), three elders, and seven deacons. On multiple occasions, this ‘Justice system’ took precedence over Canada's Justice system. Over the pulpit, the leader vocalized his decision to keep legal matters within the confines of the four walls of the cult, with the consequences and further actions left to the ‘Men of leadership.’
In the spring of 2018, I was fresh prey to the outside world with a foreign entity knocking at our door. Like a fish out of water, I was clueless, but I was sure of one thing: I would stand by his side.
He had committed a crime; this time, those surrounding us were not the “men of god.” There were no threats of losing our spot in heaven and no forcing us to our hands and knees, pleading with tears for forgiveness and another chance. No, this time, surrounding us were lawyers, a subpoena, Judges, courtrooms, a probation officer and the pleading of a lesser conviction.
I kept in the dusk; I knew the basics but was unaware of the depths. “I’m dealing with it, and don’t worry” was as much understanding as I came to receive. I, a woman without a voice and choice, was forced to remain still on the children and the Dayhome. I unthinkingly followed and obeyed my husband up to this point, and I wasn’t about to stop now; he needed me, or so I was taught.
Our future remained unknown. The court dates came and went, and the sentencing remained unspoken. Incarceration, a viable option, kept me up at night. Nightmares constantly played on a reel in my head. On top of the night sweats caused by the guilt of no longer being a ‘child of god,’ I now feared the passageway to tomorrow.
With my eyes kept open, I couldn’t stop tomorrow’s transition into today. It arrived without my approval.
Thursday, I’ve always hated that day of the week. The confidence to stand between midweek and the weekend is awe-inspiring. Taking Thursday from bad to worse, his sentencing came down on this entitled day of the week. I did not know what to expect because he never let me in on the inside scoop. I did not step foot into the courthouse as support, I never met his lawyer, and I never went on to meet his probation officer. To be an open window, without the paper trail, I’d be oblivious.
He (we because it affected me too) received six months of house arrest. The first three months were without leave, and the final three came with restricted tour hours of the outside world between 10 am & 2 pm.
In my fear leading up to this moment of sentencing, I had not vocalized my emotions to him. It was not my place to do so; imagine his stress. (sarcasm) As I followed through with the end-of-day routine, saying, “See you tomorrow” to the Dayhome children and tucking my children into bed, for the first time, I decided to subdue my emotional volcano with substance. As a good wife does, I processed in silence. A good wife supports them; she does not emotionally vomit over him.
I verbally announced:
“I AM GETTING DRUNK!!”
Mind you, I am a twenty-six-year-old drunk virgin. I had no party phase, no drunk university nights, no turning eighteen commemorative drinks, no prom or wedding drink bar. You catch the drift. The closest I had come to alcohol was a lick of beer foam, which condemned me to hell.
A perfect storm of emotions swirled within. I was overwhelmed, disappointed, ashamed, terrified, hurt, helpless and relieved. We’d make it through six months, right? But it was Still. Six. Months. I struggled with balancing protecting him and his choice, which led to this. Till death due us part. I vowed, therefore, that I would hold.
As I sat upstairs in the bonus room, I surrounded myself with beer, seltzers, hard liquor and wine. It was drinking roulette. I pounded a beer and then shot vodka, chasing it with white wine. I’d chug a seltzer while shooting tequila. I had no fucks to give that night; I had to get it out now, for the weight of the world would go onto my shoulders and mine alone in the fucking morning.
I was ounces deep and shouted that I would go to the grocery store. He stopped me, and that made me angrier. How dare he stop me. The fucking audacity as he sat there playing video games as if the gravity of six months of house arrest evaded him. I went to the bathroom, peed, and after wiping my vagina, threw the soiled toilet paper at him. He thought the spectacle of me was hilarious. He led me to our bed and left me there alone. Remember, I had never been drunk before in my entire life. The world was upside down and then right side up. I did not know where I was, but the pain and fear had disappeared for a fleeting moment. I lay on that bed without fear of the passageway to tomorrow.
In house arrest or come and go as you please … as he watched me throw up all over the white bedding, leaving me to sleep in it.
Jayzuz Bre !! What did the sicko do? And how is it the “cult” supported him through this? Did they give him punishment too? Or was being a man’s of god good enough? Damn you have lived through some shit! I’m so proud of you.