The End?
- Ashley
- Jun 26
- 7 min read
First off, before I even get into the stories I was told after I left that house for the last time, I want to thank each and every person who has read, whether it was out of actual care, curiosity, or to scrutinize. You brought my secrets and trauma that had been living in the dark for 10 years to light.
You helped me be seen, and heard, and made to feel as though I didn't have to carry this baggage by myself anymore. I'm still trying to unlearn the habit of holding it all in, and trying to work through things by myself after doing it for so long.
I appreciate you all. For any aspect you had in getting my story out there and allowing me to take up some of your time to have you hear it.
Now lets wrap this shit show up and debrief.
Trigger Warnings & Disclaimer
Abortion
Dissociation
Abuse
This part contains some things I went through after leaving and don't pertain to J. I ask you to understand why I did what I did, and not judge me for it. I did all that I could do at that point in time, and if I hadn't, I wouldn't have the beautiful husband & kids I do today. Be kind. If you're gonna judge, go ahead and close this blog.
C and I took Weston and moved to Woodstock to a shack (Literally a shack, it was one room that was big enough for our full size bed, a pack n' play, a dresser, tv, stove and fridge. Special shout out to the bathroom sink that doubled as a place to bathe Weston and wash dishes) on his family farm. I was an hour away from everyone I knew.
But I could breathe.
Kinda.
I thought that the effect that J had over my life for 7ish years would be gone, but it wasn't. I was still mourning Johnny, I was figuring out how to be a mom while being away from the women who I could learn from and lean on.
And with that, my Mom wasn't allowed to babysit Weston for me if C and I ever needed a break. She was able to ONE time and within an hour she was messaging me, asking when I would be there to get him because J didn't like that he was there.
His voice still rang in my head constantly. I was a shit mom. I was useless. I was fat. I was going to make nothing of myself.
J's behavior didn't get any better after we left.
Instead, he turned the aggression that he had been directing at me towards my brother and mother, and started having an affair with one of Johnny's old friends' moms.
My Mom asked him if there was any point to continue their marriage and he said no.
At this point, my brother was 14 and had been couch surfing because J didn't want him there, and he had no want to be there himself.
I do want to say, Austin was better than me. He talked back. He spoke up and said it with his chest to J. Regardless of the outcome of that. And that makes me the proudest big sister ever.
The last time I stepped foot in that house, was the day my family rallied together to move my Mom and brother out and into Mama's house while waiting for their apartment move in day. J had left so he didn't have to see anyone.
I remember going into the house and it felt... different.
The memories still loomed in the air, but the threat wasn't there. And I felt no sadness as you typically would leaving a place for the last time. It felt like we had won. We had made it.
I hadn't gotten that feeling when leaving to go to the shack in Woodstock. Maybe because I knew he would be out of my life, for good.
Even though he wasn't. And I didn't know he would be a leech on my soul for years to come.
The temptation to take Johnny off the mantle was strong, but I knew that would cause a plethora of issues that I was not mentally capable of dealing with at the time. In hindsight, I should have just thrown a bag of sand in there and taken his remains to somewhere safe, somewhere J didn't have his beady little eyes on him.
I still wait for the day I find out J has passed and I can inquire about getting Johnny out of that house. Because I know he's still there, trapped. And I WILL put him to rest. I promise that.
But we packed up everything for my Mom and brother onto a trailer, into cars, and left. And that was the last time I ever stepped foot in the house of the man that broke me.
My life might not have had J in it, but it didn't get easier. That type of trauma doesn't leave when you're no longer in the situation. It lingers until you deal with it.
C and I quickly fell apart. I was a young girl who attached herself to any boy that made her feel like she was good enough. Whether he was healthy for me or not.
I continued living my life, working at the corn stand his family owned. Bringing Weston with me, having my friend Janae and her daughter come hang out with us, or swapping watching each other's babies to work.
Funny thing about Janae, is remember that girl Johnny got caught with in the mental hospital? Yeeeeahhhhh. Her and I became good friends after having babies and she was my rock out there when I started the new chapter of hell, and a huge reason as to why I am where I am today.
I found out early October of 2015 that I was pregnant again. C and I were not doing well, period. I was a naive girl who thought I could handle a second baby at 18 years old, over an hour from any supportive family.
I was going to keep the baby. I didn't care how old I was, I didn't care how stupid it was, I was going to do it. I went for my first ultrasound. Saw the tiny gummy bear on the screen. I was so scared, but I was excited and cried and loved that sweet little being already.
But things quickly turned sour. I had horrible morning sickness. I was sleeping all day, Weston was spending days in the pack n' play at 10 months old while I heaved and had episodes of passing out.
A few days after that ultrasound, arguments started turning into altercations. I started to fear for Weston and I, and started questioning if this was a life I wanted for myself, for Weston, and for this unborn baby.
I remember calling Janae crying around 11 pm that night. She came and picked me up with her daughter in the backseat. I brought Weston with me, both babies sound asleep while I cried, and she comforted me. I came to the realization that I had to get the fuck out of there, for Weston. And that I would not be able to be a single mom to two babies under two at 19 years old. They would have had no quality of life at all. I didn't even know where I was going to go with Weston.
But Janae looked at me and told me that I needed to get out. Now.
Things had already started to turn physical and I couldn't expose Weston to it any longer.
So I did.
I refused to put my son through hell like I had been through. So I left. With no plan, no job, no license. Nothing but my belongings.
I left.
I decided that an abortion was a regret that I would have to live with in order to give Weston the best I could. That bringing a child into the world with a father who stated simply that he would not acknowledge that child as his own, and he refused to take care of another baby if I went through with the pregnancy was a disaster waiting to happen. I was a wreck.
In hindsight, I think I cared a lot about what people would think of me if I had another baby with the man that I had left, especially so young. And J's voice rang in my head, that he was right, I was just going to "pop out a bunch of puppies and do nothing with my life".
October 31st, I went to planned parenthood. I got an ultrasound. Sat in silence with my Mom. Got moved to a small office where a doctor sat and explained the process and gave me the first pill to end the baby's life, and the 4 pills I was to take the next day to pass the pregnancy at home.
Looking back, it felt like I was watching myself outside of my body. I stared at the pill in my hand and cried. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to.
I didn't fucking want to.
But I did.
The following day, my Mom and brother moved into their new apartment in Colchester. After everyone helped finish moving everything in, and it was just me, my mom, and brother in the other room, I took the remaining four pills (buccally, for however many minutes), threw up, and went to sleep. C had come by to be with me during the process, as he didn't want to accept that I was actually leaving and not coming back to the shack. He expected to bring me home after the process was over.
I passed the pregnancy a few hours later.
C left me there alone to bleed and mourn what I had just done.
My Mom helped me get comfortable, we curled up on the couch, ordered food and watched shitty reality tv.
Little did I know after all the hell I had endured over the last 7 years of my life, I would be meeting the man I would marry and build a beautiful life with only weeks later.
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