As Ron stood out front, yelling "You stupid f-ing b@stard!" at the departing police officers, I realized NO neighbor in the subdivision would ever allow a child in my yard.  The loud, drunken, "prayer" (mainly profanities, about me, directed at "God"), in the backyard, the drama, the police, the shouting... yeah.  No kids in my yard.

So, no matter what, I don't have to worry about THAT anymore.  It was actually pretty funny.  Ron is a very proud man; remember this. 

Over a week ago, I went to the store.  I asked Ron if he wanted anything, he said no.  I got him a little bag of chips anyway, because he has a habit of changing his mind.  After I finished shopping, I offered him the chips.  He got mad "I SAID no!  I don't want them!"  I said OK.  Later on, while eating my snack, I offered them again, and he emphatically said NO. 

So,  days later, after Ron had gotten his own bag of Fritos at the grocery store, I ate the other chips.  I paid for them, I was hungry, and I didn't want to eat our inventory instead.  No big deal. 

Nope.  Yesterday Ron, after "some" wine, demanded the chips.  I said I had eaten them, because he didn't want them.  Of course Ron had a different version.  One in which he pleaded with me to save them, and I selfishly ate them anyway. 

Ensue tirade.  It was also a great excuse to "comfort" himself with more booze, and he was pouring one glass after another.  He went off in his room for a while and I called my sister.  We had a good talk.  Ron went out back while I was talking to her and I accidentally locked the back door.  He banged on the door and I let him in.  He was furious - how dare I lock him out, and he had just decided to forgive me for the chips, but that was over!  I was a failure, I had locked him out AND stolen his chips (this is where the "verbal" started).  He went in and out, in and out, of the back door. 

I realized he was 1.  Going to leave my backdoor unlocked, and it's in my bedroom.  2.  Leave the blinds open, giving me no privacy, and 3.  Keep me up all night staggering in and out.  I also realized Ron wants me to react to the verbal abuse, but I didn't have to talk.  So I didn't, even when he was shouting profanities at me.  Jesus did the same thing before he was crucified. 

Normally, I hang MY keys on a hook, inside my bedroom door.  I decided I had better reclaim MY keys.  I took them off the hook and put them in my backpack.  If Ron really wanted to use the back door, I reasoned, he could use his key.  He has his own. 

If you thought the chips were bad, you should have seen it.  In his mind, the chips, accidental lock-out, and the loss of the keys snowballed into a horrendous, unforgivable, offense.  I had to be punished. 

"I tried to protect you" he slurred sadly as he staggered to his room "But I won't anymore.  You're going to have to go to jail."  He called the police, told them I was bipolar [strongly implied, dangerously], had locked him in the yard, and he wanted back in.  He said all this while sitting in the house. 

In Houston, we have a lovely mental health team, police officers.  In a case like mine, they dispatch the special officers who have a strong grasp of mental illness, and how to deal with it.  So, these poor bastards showed up. 

Ron is sitting on the front porch.  He had decided he wanted me locked up for a week, long enough to teach me a lesson without hurting the business. 

The officers showed up.  See, like I said, Ron is a proud man - and "shaming" is a typical emotional abuse trick.  I decided not to react.  I greeted the officers cheerfully and introduced Ron as an alcoholic.




"No, I'm not!  You BISH!" He lunged out of his chair at me.  The male officer grabbed him, and I went into the house. 

The female officer followed me (she was wearing the mental health team logo jacket) and I just sat in my chair.  I didn't say much as Ron raved at the officer, and staggered all over.  She asked me about his drinking problem, had he ever sought help, I said, no, he won't admit he has a problem.  I was just calm and resigned, so much for "crazy". 

The male officer, properly concluded there wasn't a problem, and prepared to leave.  Ron started cursing at them.  The female officer said "Sir, YOU HAVE A DRINKING PROBLEM.  YOU NEED TO GET HELP." 

"Shut up, bitch" Ron replied. 

When he realized they were leaving, and I wasn't going to be locked up for my "offenses", he followed them out to the car.  I could hear the profanities he shouted, as I sat on my bed, in my bedroom.  With the doors shut.  Like I said, no kids in THIS yard anymore.  All the neighbors got a really good show. 

Ron started up again with the verbal abuse, so I called Mom & Dad, let them get an earful on the voicemail.  I did the same with my aunt, and then concluded, after a lot of threats, that it would be better to leave.  It wasn't the "I'm going to fix you, bitch", it was farther along than that, but you get the general idea.  Threats.  And, while I could duck him while awake, sadly, he would be able to find me while asleep. 

I think it is safe to conclude, that while family may understand the GENERAL concept of "verbal abuse", letting them actually hear it is another matter entirely.  Mom was livid, my aunt and uncle horrified.  They came to get me. 

While they drove, Ron called the police, again, and they sent out another officer who also concluded that Ron was just a very angry drunk.  Ron was just raving at everyone, God, me, the officers, my aunt and uncle.  He even called me aunt at 10 PM and tried to get her to wake my uncle up. 

And, even though I had to sleep on the floor last night, no one here has called me a bitch.  [sigh]  So goes my life. 

I am hoping Mr Proud remembers enough of this today, to realize he has a problem and needs some help.  I don't know, it could go either way.   I think, in his eyes, my "offenses" completely justify all of HIS subsequent behavior.  I could see that. 

He's lucky they didn't arrest him.