Toxicity

As he paced behind me like a penitent heading to a confessional, the stairway became more narrow with each step. We were about to explore a luxury that we assumed most people of color couldn't afford, therapy. Contrarily, I was taught by a devout Catholic woman that therapy is for crazy people who don't have faith in God. If they had more faith, prayed a little more everyday and repented, they'd be delivered. Where to? I don't know, but I know my mom hadn't been delivered either because of her violent mood swings, profanity, and regular conversations with herself. Nonetheless, we had arrived here. Our relationship was defined by ten years of toxicity: lying, cheating, fighting, vandalism, addiction, jail and the list goes on. If this was judgement day, we felt only one of us was leaving for good.

"Why are you both here? More importantly, why did you stay for so long?" Dr. Frida asked. If I told you this wasn't the life I envisioned for myself, you'd say, "well, duh!" Dr. Frida was a slightly older and more rational representation of me. She too was a young and beautiful African American woman raised by a single Haitian mother. She was a mother that had been betrayed by the man she loved. She was clinically depressed, crying uncontrollably and unable to get out of bed. However, I was a single woman trying to salvage what little dignity I had left in this heartbreaking relationship. Dr. Frida was smart and strong enough to divorce her husband.

After I threw Kaleb's phone at his head threatening to leave, worry wore on his face. Everything he loved was at stake. He didn't want permission from a court order to visit his children like his father. All Kaleb ever wanted was his family under one roof. Counseling was his attempt to keep us together, but it was his last chance. My eyes were puffy from crying every night. I couldn't hold back the tears during the therapy session. We had done so much damage to one another over the past ten years. All the good and bad memories were flooding my mind all at once. I realized I had been gasping for air trying not to drown in depression for years. Every time Kaleb hurt me, I may have overreacted a tad.

After our first daughter, Melody, was born. I threw some of his clothes outside my apartment, threw bleach on it and lit a match. I went back inside and fell asleep as if nothing was wrong. Needless to say, my neighbors thought I was a maniac. The police that tackled me to the ground after I broke his sideview mirrors off his car may have thought I was a menace. I may have bruised Kaleb's ego when I wrote in permanent marker on his bedroom wall profanity that attacked his manhood for all his concubines to see. Let's just say neither one of us were perfect in our relationship. My temper is deplorable, and I've never been proud of it.

Her eyebrows rose from astonishment, and Dr. Frida asked, "do you have a diary?" I did, but it was full. However, I have a little black notebook at home that I wrote poetry in. Her face changed to elation, and she advised that I continue to write in my black notebook. "Every time you're angry or hurt, attack a page with a pen rather than Kaleb." She uncovered so much pain that was hiding between us. We argued over everything and nothing daily. Our serious arguments were about his misogyny and inability to be monogamous to one woman. He claimed it was a sex addiction. However, Dr. Frida diagnosed him with "an inability to commit" influenced, primarily, by his Muslim father who had two wives.

Our regular conversations were more casual on topics about pop culture, politics, economics and religion. If anything offensive was said, the conversation morphed drastically into an argument. We interacted with each other like close friends sleeping with each other rather than a serious couple. In fact, we did a full 360 back to where we started. Once, we were college acquaintances that kept the same circle of friends. Then one day, we began to talk about our failing love lives. His high school sweetheart turned down his proposal by starting another relationship. I was taking a long break from a two-year relationship while exploring my dating options.

On a random summer day, I was hungry, and my sorority sister wouldn't accompany me to get some delicious stir-fry. Kaleb wasn't doing anything, so I asked him to join me. Before I knew it, he slept on my couch when he was without power. Then, he was always at my place criticizing the male suitors that took me out. Soon after, we were laying next to each other in my bed watching television, sleeping too but without sex. I didn't want Kaleb to be one of my many suitors. I, sincerely, cared about him. One night, I was dancing in a nightclub with friends and saw my most recent ex-lover kissing another woman. My insecurities led me to Kaleb's apartment for comfort.

Suddenly, we were each other's rebound and friends with benefits, but we became addicted to one another. After work, he would come to spend the night regularly. Eight weeks later, I was reading a positive pregnancy test with my sorority sister in a public restroom after conducting a fundraiser. In disbelief, I took six more pregnancy tests until a nurse handed me a piece of paper stating "term of pregnancy: six weeks." I broke the news to Kaleb in my car. His reaction was very much like mine. We both put our heads down while breathing heavily, mumbling curse words. He mentioned the abortion route, but the notion was rejected nervously by words of faith and hope. All I needed to know was whether he was going to be involved or not. We left each other that night with the feeling of uncertainty.

We were both hours from home, and had two semesters left to graduate college. The next day, Kaleb behaved completely differently. He was excited about being a dad. He had rules to keep his baby safe and healthy; "no pork!" He came to almost every doctor's appointment singing and listening to music. All his family and friends were aware. Meanwhile, I waited to tell my mom; I was having a baby out of wedlock. I was miserable. I wasn't able to stop vomiting. I was losing weight alarmingly. I had to take several medications to keep both the baby and I healthy. Amidst all the morning sickness and stress, we tried to define our relationship but couldn't. He was still seeing other women. I was having a baby, so without a second thought, I stopped playing all the games. I worried about my baby's future all the time. The arguments would get out of hand, and I would stop speaking to him for days at a time. We became extremely distant. However, I had to complete my final semester.

During this short time, I had to complete two internships and two classes working a full-time night job. My sister moved in with me to help raise Melody along with my sorority sisters and Kaleb's fraternity brothers. My days were 19-20 hours long. A month before my graduation, I fell asleep behind the wheel and got into a car accident. My car was totaled. Fortunately, Melody and I were unharmed. This all happened during the ladder part of the recession, and my mother had been unemployed for about two years. My father and I weren't speaking because of his destructive relationship with my mother. Financially, I was on my own. I couldn't afford another car, paying utilities, rent and taking care of an infant. Thus, I dove into postpartum depression. Kaleb did not make it any better.

Every other month, I would break it off because of another woman. When our daughter was born, he became more disrespectful with the lying and cheating. He fell in love with another woman he was dating for eight months while we were still involved. Eight months after my daughter was born, I spent a night in jail for attacking Kaleb with a Swiffer mop and breaking the rear view mirrors off his car. Kaleb's guilty conscience began to kick in, so he asked me to move in. Crazy, huh? I couldn't afford everything by myself anymore, so I agreed. For some strange reason, I thought he was changing. He became a remarkable father by changing diapers, rocking Melody to sleep (so I'd sleep), feeding, burping, and watching non-stop cartoons with Melody. I continued to have my reservations, but we fell in love. He was my confidant, we talked about everything including his interest in the 'Metu Neter' and my fascination with crystal magic. We were polar opposites, so our energy was magnetic, and our chemistry was explosive.

After ten years, I failed to notice, Kaleb was still exhibiting old habits. I fought daily for us to be better examples for the three daughters we had together. No matter how hard I tried, he was determined to live his way. When his father had a stroke, he started self-medicating more medicinally. Shortly after, he was discharged from the military, and we struggled financially. He started "trapping." Of course, he didn't tell me; I found out with a knock on my door from law officers questioning me. Urgently, I asked my boss for a relocation back to his home state, so he didn't succumb to the drug life. A year later, I took out a personal loan to bail him out of jail for a warrant arrest due to a speeding ticket.

Finally, he received a call for a great opportunity. He had to study for a couple of months to get a couple of licenses, but he was offered a position to trade stocks and manage other people's wealth. He was exceptional at it, and became more ambitious. Everything appeared to be great between us. We were getting ready to put a down payment on a house with an unexpected $20,000 bonus he received from the best and most stable career he ever had. Then, it all came crashing to a halt. I found out he was still unfaithful. He showed me a social media post on his phone, and an explicit text came through the screen. There were many messages, many women, many lies and the fury of Sekhmet came over me. I launched his phone at his head and attacked.

Like my father, Kaleb was very headstrong. I was daddy's little girl until I saw him abuse my mother physically, emotionally and mentally. My father lied, cheated and had multiple families. I didn't speak to him for five years. After I watched my mother's heart and soul break for so many years, I refused to let a man do that to me. Kaleb and I tried everything to be the opposite of our parents, but we inversely became them after all. We had been through everything, and I was ready to stop fighting and raise my white flag. We loved each other, but didn't know how to show it.

Unlike our parents, we had more knowledge and time to change the direction of our family. Again, I chose to stay, but not for me. We didn't want our daughters to develop the same insecurities or be raised in another broken family. They would not inherit the generational cursesthat damaged us emotionally and mentally. Dr. Frida professed, "Love is there. For your children, let's start over." We left her office feeling uncertainty once again, but hopeful.