Posted by: anniewilson | November 10, 2008

Murder Confession Continued

I didn’t know what to think about the cameras. That’s not something I had considered although I did expect some media attention.

As the “paddy wagon” backed into a side entrance of the courthouse, I tried to mellow myself out a bit. I wasn’t sure what was going on because I still didn’t have an attorney. But, as I said, I wasn’t worried about that. Nothing mattered if it didn’t take place in front of a judge and that’s apparently where I was headed.

As Ol’ Man pulled me out of the van, I looked straight ahead to the electronic door and used my tunnel vision skills. I couldn’t tell you what was happening around me at that moment. Before I really looked around, I was in a small cell where prisoners wait to see the judge. I stretched out on the metal bench and tried to clear my mind.

I should have left it where it was because instead of thinking clearly about how to address the judge, I was wondering how I could have been so wrong. I don’t have any words to state this anymore forcefully so these words will have to do…I gave up my entire life and my entire self to a man who said that he would never leave me and for that I am truly an idiot. My bad.

I married a liar. Once my father told me that for every lie you catch, the liar has gotten away with 10. It works so damn well for them, why wouldn’t they keep lying? There are two kinds of people on this planet, honest people and dishonest people. That’s all there is to it. I should have known better. But, like a mother who refuses to see the little brat that she bounces so happily on her knee, I trusted that my husband would always be there, no matter how many times he screwed up or how many hoe’s he screwed. How lame was that?

Hindsight can be a cruel 20/20.

I see all the lies for what they were now. And if he lied another ten times for the ones I’m aware of, how many women did he screw that I never found out about? The tortuous thoughts kept running through my mind long after I had sensed a certain physical numbness. It had to have been an ancient human defense mechanism to guard us from pain…a sort of emotional endorphin that kept me from sensing a dreadful ache that humans are not prepared to perceive.

But the thoughts kept coming. How could he do this? What the hell happened? Was any of the past 25 years real? And if so, which parts? I have to know. I can’t stand not knowing and not knowing is pretty much how I had spent my marriage to this bastard. I never knew. From the first lie, I never knew.

But somehow, even though I never knew, I still found the insanity to place that shithead on some sort of “Honor” pedestal upon which I could never hope to stand. I had me a good man, an honorable man, a soul mate for life. Anyway, that’s what he said.

So, if I didn’t have the soul mate, does that mean that there was never an honorable man in the first place? These sorts of thoughts can keep parts of your soul comatose for hours. Does that make any sense? Does it matter?

Then I think to myself how gently and kindly I would have let him down if I had to do so. I would have held onto him tightly and told him softly that I loved him. I would have shown respect for the years that we shared if not for the love that we supposedly found in our youth. It would have hurt but I would have found the strength to do it. I would have done it for him if I could have. But, how could I if he knew the truth and I didn’t?

Imagine looking into your life and not knowing what is real. If he had given me the truth, I could have figured it all out. Instead, I was left to stare into some abyss of bullshit that was my life. How could I put any of it together? I didn’t know which parts were real. There was only one thing that I ever needed in order to put myself all back together and figure out my next move…and that was the one thing that he wouldn’t ever consider giving me…simply, the truth. I was paralysed without it.

I even gave the yahoo openings. I gave him chances to be honest with me.

I spent my days calling the man who once would call me, just to say, “I love you.” But those calls stopped and busy signals took over. In all the years that I had known him he had never spent so much time on the phone while he was working…ever. But he was always johnny on the spot with the answer to any and all questions such as, “Who were you speaking to for so long?”

God, he was an amazing liar.

More than once I said to him, “Please, I’m begging you, man-up and tell me what’s going on so that we can both go out and find a life.” Not once did he take the bait and tell me the truth. I couldn’t get it out of him to save my life, much less my marriage.

The begging didn’t stop there. I remembered begging him to make love to me. How degrading that was, let me tell you…never, in my entire life did I ever have to beg my own man to make love to me. I remember a time when I would have never crawled so low. Where was that woman?

You know, he said that was what he wanted. He said that he wanted the “confident young woman” that he married. That SOB murdered that her with his first affair and his inherent dishonesty. If he would have just stopped, just stopped lying for “one year”, I could take the leap of faith again. But not one year of our entire quarter century together went by without some lie that would completely frazzle my nerves and send me into some insane forensic detective mode.

When the empty shell of that confidant woman needed a little human touch, what did he say? He told her that, “The intensity that I used to feel with you is gone.” When he said that to me, I realized that I was right…he was screwing me to shut me up. That was screwing me under false pretenses and that’s a step away from rape. And all the time he was thinking about someone else, there was no other excuse. I recognized the behavior of a man distracted by another woman. But he never, not once in his entire miserable life, ever told me the truth unless I had so much hard evidence that he had no choice.

Instead of trusting myself, I became obsessed with finding the proof that I needed to walk away. Unfortunately, I didn’t see it when I crawled right over it. I was looking for the wrong signs.

When he left for work in the morning, I would dart to the dirty laundry to hold his dirty clothing up to the light checking for hairs. I would do the same with his pants and naturally I would check the car for odd fibers and the like. I spent hours combing every inch of my home, looking for something, anything that would tell me one way or another if my suspicions were true.

I asked him, of course I asked him. But he told me that nothing was wrong and that I “was doing it all to myself”. You know, that was just crazy enough to be believable. Naturally it was easier to believe that I was a complete and luny moron than it was to believe that the man up on that pedestal was a lying mother fucker. It was also much easier to handle after my entire psyche had been choked dry of all self esteem.

“Well then”, I asked my soul mate, my lover, my best friend…”What should I do to fix this hideous thing that is me?” He decisively sent me to the psychiatrist to deal with my “trust issues” declaring, “The only hope for us is if you get help.”

That was when the hoop jumping was getting tough because of the cancer in my parathyroid glands. Looking back, I had been jumping hoops for years. They were just so easy for me that I didn’t really notice the hurdles until I was just too weak to clear them.

How could I be so stupid? Well, it seems as though, if you are weaned on the little lies, the big lies get easier to swallow. And I swallowed some whoppers, I did.

The summer from hell was the fight of my life and in the end, I did the only thing that I knew how to do. I killed the bastard. It’s the only thing that would ensure a lesser degree of pain than living on this planet while he gives another woman the life that he promised me. I’ll be damned.

I think I was about to fall asleep when the guard dude came to my cell and opened the door. He took me to the courtroom and directly in front of the judge. There waAdd Imagesn’t really anyone else in the courtroom except some press people. I guess they kept the prisoners for last. Lord knows we aren’t going anywhere.

I was in and out in 30 seconds after answering this question, “You’re charged with murder in the first degree, how do you plead?”

“Not guilty”

Next he asked me if I had an attorney and of course I said that I did not. I had to fill out some financial paperwork and then I was taken back to my little cell where I laid back down to see if I could catch a few winks before I was taken back to the jail.

I was so focused on my own personal nightmare that I didn’t notice that the guard was still standing near my cell quite a while after she dropped off the food. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Then she let a tear escape down her left cheek and she whispered to me, “My husband is cheating on me too.”

I looked up to see if there was a camera pointing at me. There probably was but it didn’t matter, that lady guard walked away and I put my head back down without saying a word to her.

Eventually I was taken back to jail and back to my fellow violent offenders. They all seemed to know more about what was happening to me than I knew myself. Apparently I would be going in front of the judge again the following day for a bail hearing.

The girls all wanted to talk about what had gone on in court but there wasn’t anything to tell them. “I sat in a cage all day.” That was pretty much the truth. A bunch of them nodded as though they had spent their own time in holding cells.

Anna Nicole asked me if I met my attorney yet. I didn’t know what she was talking about. She pulled out the morning paper and showed me a blurb about some famous attorney who was speaking out on my behalf. The picture of her was taken in front of the courthouse that I had just come from. She was in this town…for me?

Julie and Claudia, the lesbian couple, grabbed my arm and started singing Leaving on a Jet Plane as they almost skipped around the pod. I couldn’t do anything else. I skipped sang along with them, “I’m standing here outside your door, I hate to wake you up to say good-bye…”

After what had to be a couple of hours, we gave up the skipping and sat down at a table. Julie pulled out some M&M’s and said, “Let’s see how Jean cleans up!”

Five of my cellmates came over and helped Julie “pretty” me up, jail style. What an amazingly resourceful group of women! They used the candy coating of the M&M’s to color my lips, cheeks and eyelids. Then, with some sort of jail type mascara wand, they applied ink to my eyelashes. I was really quite fetching in my jail make up alone. But, when the sisters came over and did my hair, I couldn’t have been more pleased.

“All dressed up and nowhere to go!”, I said to the ladies standing around me.

Someone made a lesbian joke and then one of the sisters, Margaret, shouted out, “That woman is strictly dickly!” I laughed so hard than my laughter turned into tears. I couldn’t make them stop so I walked over to my cot and curled up in a ball until the emotional wave that had gotten the best of me had passed.

When I finally had the composure to look up and face my pod mates, I did so. To a woman they all cracked up as if on cue.

From my left I heard someone say, “The M&M’s will be gone by tomorrow, but that blue ink isn’t going away any time soon.”

Margaret snapped, “Girl, you ain’t supposed to CRY when people put ink on your face!”

Those women helped me more than they would ever know. For a group of women in jail accused of violent crimes, what a lovely group of people they were! Melissa was to become my best friend while I was locked up. She was facing over 20 years probation for an assortment of crimes. She looked like a child to me. She was about 22 years old and as smart as any woman that I’ve ever met.

Unfortunately, her entrepreneurial skills were directed toward criminal enterprises such as prostitution and drugs. Except for her last arrest, assaulting a john who she claims was trying to rape her, you could almost be impressed at all she had accomplished in her young career as a madame. But every single night she sang us all to sleep with Christian music in her lovely voice.

That night was no different. I literally fell asleep listening to her singing Amazing Grace. My mother loved that song.

To be continued.

Beginning of this story:


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