Read Online Getting It Through My Thick Skull by Mary Jo Buttafuoco - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Jo Buttafuoco
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sun rose, I heard his car pull up in the driveway.
I ran to the door to meet him. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried! I called the shop, and you didn’t answer!”
“I was there, honey. I just didn’t hear the phone. I got so tired that I fell asleep in one of the cars and just woke up a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to worry you . . . I thought you’d be sound asleep. You waited up all night for me? How sweet! Do you know how much I love you?” And he wrapped his arms around me in a big, comforting hug.
I was relieved to see him alive and unhurt, but I had to ask, “Were you out all night doing blow?”
“Absolutely not!” he answered firmly, looking me straight in the eye. “I told you—I was working and fell asleep!”
But then it happened again . . . and again. The disappearances started happening every few weeks or so, and I could not imagine what had gone wrong with my marriage. “I’m just running over to the shop for an hour,” he’d say after dinner—then fail to come home for two days. I failed to comprehend that I was dealing with an addict. In my mind, someone who did lots of cocaine every day was an addict. Joey could stay away from it for weeks or months at a time, so I was sure he wasn’t really “addicted.” Then he’d binge until he worried that I really would leave unless he quit. He’d stop again, we’d have a few relatively calm months, and then the whole cycle would play itself out again.
Boy, could he ever lie! He would look me right in the eye and spin the most preposterous stories about where he was, what he was doing, and why he looked and acted so odd. His manner was more convincing than the lie itself; he had an answer for everything, never skipping a beat or getting flustered by my pointed questioning. Sincerity seeped from every pore, constantly assuring me how much he loved me and that I was the most beautiful, understanding woman in the world. He was a master manipulator, playing on my need to be a perfect wife and mother.
Wanting to believe my husband, hoping for the best, I refused to face the fact that he was a liar. I loved Joe, we had a beautiful son, and I was in this marriage for the long haul. I thought I could help him. I thought I could fix things. Bottom line: I just couldn’t leave, though there were times when I really believed I’d had enough. More than once, he’d come home after a three-day binge, and I’d have my mind made up. I simply could not raise a child and deal with his drug use and disappearances. Usually, I was driven to hysteria by the time he came in the door, but sometimes I was oddly calm. “Joe, I can’t live like this anymore. We are going to have to get a divorce,” I would say, and mean it.
“Oh, no, no . . . you can’t leave me, I love you . . . I swear, Mary Jo, I’ll never do it again.” These rare showdowns really scared Joe. He would write the most beautiful, heartfelt letters, bring me expensive jewelry, and make a million sinceresounding promises. He swore it would never happen again. I wanted to think that, this time, he meant it. And he was so convincing that I bought his story—every time.
CHAPTER 4
GOING BONKERS
IN BALDWIN
O ur relationship wasn’t all unrelieved misery and worry. Life could run along smoothly and happily for months. That was the crazy-making part, the reason I stuck it out during the bad times, because the good times were fantastic. We took family vacations to the Bahamas and Florida, hung out with our friends and their babies, doted on Paul, sang to each other along with the radio as we drove around town, and laughed. We laughed all the time! Then one night without warning, he’d disappear, make me frantic with worry, eventually return, and beg my forgiveness. Soon enough, he’d wear me down, talk me into staying, and “behave” for a few more months—at one point for such an extended period that we agreed it was time to have another baby. It was a
I ran to the door to meet him. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried! I called the shop, and you didn’t answer!”
“I was there, honey. I just didn’t hear the phone. I got so tired that I fell asleep in one of the cars and just woke up a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to worry you . . . I thought you’d be sound asleep. You waited up all night for me? How sweet! Do you know how much I love you?” And he wrapped his arms around me in a big, comforting hug.
I was relieved to see him alive and unhurt, but I had to ask, “Were you out all night doing blow?”
“Absolutely not!” he answered firmly, looking me straight in the eye. “I told you—I was working and fell asleep!”
But then it happened again . . . and again. The disappearances started happening every few weeks or so, and I could not imagine what had gone wrong with my marriage. “I’m just running over to the shop for an hour,” he’d say after dinner—then fail to come home for two days. I failed to comprehend that I was dealing with an addict. In my mind, someone who did lots of cocaine every day was an addict. Joey could stay away from it for weeks or months at a time, so I was sure he wasn’t really “addicted.” Then he’d binge until he worried that I really would leave unless he quit. He’d stop again, we’d have a few relatively calm months, and then the whole cycle would play itself out again.
Boy, could he ever lie! He would look me right in the eye and spin the most preposterous stories about where he was, what he was doing, and why he looked and acted so odd. His manner was more convincing than the lie itself; he had an answer for everything, never skipping a beat or getting flustered by my pointed questioning. Sincerity seeped from every pore, constantly assuring me how much he loved me and that I was the most beautiful, understanding woman in the world. He was a master manipulator, playing on my need to be a perfect wife and mother.
Wanting to believe my husband, hoping for the best, I refused to face the fact that he was a liar. I loved Joe, we had a beautiful son, and I was in this marriage for the long haul. I thought I could help him. I thought I could fix things. Bottom line: I just couldn’t leave, though there were times when I really believed I’d had enough. More than once, he’d come home after a three-day binge, and I’d have my mind made up. I simply could not raise a child and deal with his drug use and disappearances. Usually, I was driven to hysteria by the time he came in the door, but sometimes I was oddly calm. “Joe, I can’t live like this anymore. We are going to have to get a divorce,” I would say, and mean it.
“Oh, no, no . . . you can’t leave me, I love you . . . I swear, Mary Jo, I’ll never do it again.” These rare showdowns really scared Joe. He would write the most beautiful, heartfelt letters, bring me expensive jewelry, and make a million sinceresounding promises. He swore it would never happen again. I wanted to think that, this time, he meant it. And he was so convincing that I bought his story—every time.
CHAPTER 4
GOING BONKERS
IN BALDWIN
O ur relationship wasn’t all unrelieved misery and worry. Life could run along smoothly and happily for months. That was the crazy-making part, the reason I stuck it out during the bad times, because the good times were fantastic. We took family vacations to the Bahamas and Florida, hung out with our friends and their babies, doted on Paul, sang to each other along with the radio as we drove around town, and laughed. We laughed all the time! Then one night without warning, he’d disappear, make me frantic with worry, eventually return, and beg my forgiveness. Soon enough, he’d wear me down, talk me into staying, and “behave” for a few more months—at one point for such an extended period that we agreed it was time to have another baby. It was a
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