My Precious Girls, Oxanna And Phoenix

oxy & fifi

(Oxy -tortoiseshell; Fi-Fi – grey and white)

This too painful to even think of what to write. I started this post on March 29th, and haven’t been able to continue. Apologies if there are any typos, as I will not be reading back over this post (as I normally do) to correct them.

The last of my kittens, Oxanna Monroe and Phoenix Azalea (Oxy and Fi-Fi for short), were meant to follow me back to the UK. Because of new rules for pets to travel, I couldn’t take them with me when I initially left on March 12th 2013. At this time, *Steve still wanted to believe we were still together, which bought me time to try and raise funds for my beautiful girls.

Everything was going OK. His Basic Allowance for Housing (BAH) was coming through, as well as his unemployment money. He agreed to get the girls micro-chipped (he had previously spent the money for this a few months earlier), and to make sure their shots and paperwork were up to date, and he agreed that he would pay for their travel.  I wanted them so bad and boy, did he know it. I’d had them since they were around five to six weeks old. They helped me through my pregnancy. Oxy was a ‘tomboy’. Fi-Fi was a diva who loved to look at herself in the mirror. When Max was born, it was literally impossible to keep Oxy out of his crib. She’d creep in there and sleep at his feet. I guess she was protecting him.

I had already told him we were over, but Steve insisted we weren’t, and even went as fair as to post  how he missed his family on Facebook (as in Max and I). Whatever. As long as he was treating and feeding the girls well, I played along with it. It wasn’t long before I noticed that he was acting odd. My girls were starting to look scared, especially Fi-Fi, when I asked him to take pictures of them to send to me. He told me there was nothing wrong, but I knew in my heart there was.

He would tell me he didn’t want to part with them as it would mean he wouldn’t have any of his family around him.

Then he started to threaten me that he would “accidentally on purpose” misplace my cats. I was thrown into panic mode.

He sent me an email on May 28th that he had taken them to the pound via email.

He did the same again the next day May 29th. I asked him which pound, but he refused to tell me.

I called around. Nothing. By May 31st I reported them missing.

Fast forward… I got online for almost six painstaking weeks looking for Oxy and Fi-Fi…

On July 10th 2013, with the help of Angels Among Us Pet Rescue (AAU) and other animal advocates, I managed to track down my girls at Cobb County Pound, Georgia. Fi-Fi had been euthanized on June 10th. She had been in the pound for 10 days. Oxy was euthanized ten days after her sister on June 20th. My precious girls were dead.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t do anything.

I can’t even begin to imagine how they felt in their last days separated from one another, in cages. They were so close.

Upon calling the pound, I asked the woman who answered the phone to explain what the hell had happened. She said Fi-Fi was scared and had become vicious so had to be put to sleep. As for Oxy, she had contracted Upper Respiratory Infection (URI). Bullshit. That’s a high kill pound, and if Steve had checked it out, he would have known that… or maybe the c**t did. (Sorry, I’m getting really angry again. I only use that word in extreme circumstances). It’s just what staff had decided to put on their records. I went on to ask who turned them in. She said the owner did. I asked her who the owner was. She couldn’t tell me, so I told her his full name. She said yes, it was him. “He wasn’t the owner” I told her. “He said he was“.  OK. There was one way to solve who the owner was. She had the micro-chips. I told her which site to go on.

There was silence.

I’m so sorry…

She couldn’t stop apologising to me. I had indeed proved, that not only was I the owner, and my friends were listed as their next of kin with all her details available, but that they were also reported missing the same day he had taken them to the pound. Her voice became a whisper as I continued to demand an explanation.

Not one of the fuckers had scanned my girls to check whether or not they had micro-chips. Isn’t that the whole purpose of them?

I can’t go further. It hurts too much. But the post “Facebook Message” whereby I received a message from *Britney relates to this incident. I sent them both a private message saying that my cats had been euthanized, and that I hope they were please with themselves. At first Steve said he couldn’t afford them. Then he said that it was my own fault they had died. I told him that he was a lying murderer and that he should go fuck himself.

Here is a gallery of my girls, playing, sleeping and hugging each other. Just being their usual cute selves.

fifioxyplaying kitties 2

playing kittiessharing a boxsleeping kitties

R.I.P. Oxanna and Phoenix. You must have been so confused. I’m so sorry I had to leave you with that monster. Mummy couldn’t do any better at the time. I thought you would be safe , but I was wrong. I am so sorry I let you down. But please know mummy never abandoned you. I fought for you both, but I ran out of time. A piece of me will be missing for the rest of my life. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of you. I found out you were separated from each other and I am so sorry for that too. I hope you found each other at Rainbow Bridge. We will meet again. I love you both with all my heart. Please forgive me. Lots of love always, Mummy. ❤ ❤ xx

(*Not their real names)

Tank Driving ~ ‘Red Letter Days’ Gift

tank driving

(Yes, this is me!).

A number of years ago, I was a fortunate and very excited recipient of one of the best gifts I would ever receive in my life. A Red Letter Days voucher for tank driving!

From the age of sixteen, my dream was to join the Army. I was absolutely gutted that my mother as my guardian, would not sign on my behalf, not even when I turned seventeen. I wasn’t even allowed to join the T.A. (Territorial Army) either. Instead, I continued my education obtaining six G.C.S.E.’s (aged sixteen) in Double Science, Business Studies, English Language, English Literature and Media Studies. I then went on to obtain three A-Levels (aged nineteen) in Classical Music, Performing Arts and Media Studies. Still, my mother didn’t want me to join, so I decided to study Music. I had played a number of instruments, to include the drums (full drum kit), trombone, piano, guitar and flute (to name a few!). However, a career advisor crushed that idea when she told me “There is no career in music or the Arts. Choose something else”. So, I went on to achieve a Bachelors Degree (aged twenty-two) in Psychology & Sociology with Politics and American Studies. I took and completed one more course – Journalism (aged twenty-eight).

My ex-husband *Matt (the first one, not Mr. Crazy *Steve, whom I am still unfortunately, legally married to) had known from the beginning of our eleven year relationship, that joining the Army had indeed, been my dream. To be honest, I’m still not sure how I would have gotten away with not wanting to fire a gun :/ ! Anyway, one day on the bus home, Matt said he had something for me, but I would have to wait until we had gotten home before he would give it to me. It wasn’t my birthday, nor was it Christmas… there was no celebration to be had, so I had no idea of what it could be. How could he say that and seriously expect me to wait for it?! So after much bantering, he gave up and handed me an envelope. I opened it and everyone on the bus was looking at me laughing! I’d gotten carried away with the excitement of what I had seen, and without realising, was screaming with joy on this crowded bus! A WHOLE day of driving tanks and being a soldier using paintball guns – YES!! My mother definitely couldn’t say no to this! 😀

The day was absolutely brilliant. As I’m only five foot, three inches, I could barely reach the foot peddles in the tank! I was smiling for days afterwards from this unforgettable experience. Words cannot describe how this gift made me feel. Matt made my dream come true as best as he could. It was the closest I had ever gotten, and I will cherish the experience forever.

I can’t believe how thoughtful Matt could be. I can’t believe how well he treated me. I did not want nor did need for anything. A hard working, gentle, loving man… who ever settles with him, is one lucky lady – providing his jealous, interfering, destructive mother stays out of it.

I have had some wonderful experiences.

I have some wonderful memories.

For that, I am grateful.

(*Not his real name)

Our Son Is Born

hospital photo

Our son Max was born in Wellstar Hospital, Marietta GA on December 15th 2012. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was happy about having my son, but it was not as joyous as it could and should have been.

All *Steve could think about was eating. When the nurse came round to get my food order, I’d order what he liked just so he would shut the hell up. I simply went without. I was used to it anyway. as I’d been going without for quite some time now. He just thought about himself. It was all about him. Don’t worry about me, the person carrying our son, who had to have the longest, most frightening looking needle inserted to the base of my spine, preparing me to be cut open. No, I should have thought about how he felt, no matter what situation I was in…

I ended up staying just two nights in the hospital. Having been told I could stay longer if I wished, I declined, because unknown to them, I had no idea where we were going to live just four days after I would leave the hospital. Rent at the mouldy Extended Stay Hotel would be due by Friday at 11:00 am. I needed to give a physical address for hospital records; P.O. Box’s are not accepted. I was so afraid I was going to lose my son, so I left early. I’m just so glad it wasn’t the case of someone coming to check to see whether or not the place was suitable for a new born. I was also worried about my remaining two kittens Oxanna Monroe and Phoenix Azalea. I wanted to make sure they had eaten and their litter tray was clean.

Needing strong pain killers and antibiotics, there of course, was no money for medication. Steve had bought junk food the night before and God knows what else, yet there was no money for parking either. Due to having medical cover from the Army (Tricare), my medication was discounted, so we should have definitely been able to afford the costs. But no. I couldn’t even wait for someone to come along with a wheelchair to take me to the car, due to not being able to afford $5/£3.50 for a whole day’s parking! When I swiped the debit card I had on me, it was declined. Trying again, the same thing happened. In the end, the nurse helping me to check out of the hospital paid for my medication out of her own pocket, because Steve hadn’t left any money in the bank account.

When I told Steve what had happened, he was not bothered at all. I said we needed to send the money back to her and to say “thank you”, but he refused to pay her back. Just like he refused when I said we should send *Peter’s mother some money for our eight night stay in their home. (See “Finding Ourselves In Up State New York“).

The doctor said I had to relax for two weeks. No household chores. As soon as I got ‘home’, I had to clean straight away. It took forty-eight hours with no sleep to clean up, whilst Steve rested, which could have ripped open my stitches.

Max ran out of formula at three days old. Yes, that’s right, there was no money to even buy our son something to eat, but there was money when he wanted to eat and to buy cigars and cigarettes. The nurses at the hospital had been very generous, supplying me with extra diapers/nappies and ready made formula. I’m pretty sure they sensed something was up, but didn’t want to ask. But there was only so long that all they had given to me was going to last. I didn’t have my valid credit card with me. The new one had arrived at my mother’s house in the UK. The one I had with me had expired.

I was frantic. I wasn’t producing enough milk, so I had no idea how my baby was going to eat. All because his father had been and was still being irresponsible with money. I checked store after store online. None of them allowed you to shop and pay online, then go into a store to collect. Finally, I got to Babies ‘R’ Us. I was able to order and pay online, then collect the items two hours later. I bought formula on my UK credit card using details my mother had given to me months earlier via Skype. Thank God they accepted international payment methods and I didn’t have to present an actual card to them. The relief was so great… my baby would not go hungry after all.

Max got ‘lucky’ again the next day when we took him to see a paediatrician. She gave us two cannisters of formula (powdered), which would last at least a month. I cried in front of her. She hugged me tight. I didn’t have to say a word, for she sensed something wasn’t right, and told Steve that he had to make an effort to help me; to support me; to save our relationship. Was it that obvious we had fallen apart?

Two days after that, we had to register with WIC (Women, Infants and Children) who would give me vouchers with specific items on them. Max would get the amount formula he needed, without me having to worry how he was going to eat the next day or the next week. He was my only concern. They did give vouchers to me too, for eggs, milk, beans etc – basic nutritional foods. Once I started obtaining these food items, Steve would eat them in front of me. (See “It Was His Money, Not Mine“).

As a mother, as a responsible parent, I will never just sit back and let my son do without the basic means to live, to survive. First and foremost, I make sure he has food in abundance. I would and will go hungry for him. Secondly, I make sure he gets all the medication he needs when he needs them, without me having to panic that if he is sick, I won’t be able to afford it. I would and will go without medication for myself for him. Thirdly, I make sure he has clothes, outerwear and footwear, unlike when we arrived in the UK with literally just the clothes on our backs. I would and will go without for myself for him. My son will always be my number one priority. He doesn’t need his selfish, narcissistic father. He has me.

(*Not their real names)

Well, Hello Mr. Crazy

beauty and the beast

Calling him “Mr. Crazy” is putting it mildly to say the least. There are things he did, which no ‘normal’ human being would do. It never ceased to amaze me just how low *Steve would stoop, nor how far he would go to get his point across. Thinking about it, I believe he’s gone past controlling (I’m not even sure if that’s possible, or even what the next stage would be called!). I have to admit, I can see why his family does not talk to him, and why he has very few friends – if any at all. Here are some of the things to explain why I have awarded him such a title:

  • He took the locks off the extended stay hotel door so I couldn’t shut him out. That way, he could come in and out as he pleased, taunting me, laughing as he did so.
  • I found text messages in his phone to *Peter whom we stayed with in Upstate New York, calling me “crazy bitch”, not to mention someone else he had been texting too. He was calling me a crazy bitch because I was sick of being penniless, homeless, tired and hungry. (See “Heavily Pregnant, Hungry And Homeless“). I’m sure you’ve guessed that he had not mentioned any of these things. His sole purpose was to make me look like the bad person.
  • Being six foot and  260 lbs+ (and getting bigger still, yet I wasn’t allowed to eat), he threw his weight against the front door on numerous occasions, so I couldn’t leave the apartment. His weight would be one of the reasons the Army wanted to chapter him. (See “I Saved Him From Being Kicked Out Of The Army“). I am five foot three inches, was pregnant and weighed approximately 140 lbs before my pregnancy.
  • After moving to the US on March 3rd 2012, a week later, we attended the Military Ball. It would be at this point that I would really find out the degree of his lying.  Steve had told his colleagues that when I was still living  in the UK, I wouldn’t allow him to go out; I would only allow him to go to work, then come home and talk to me on Skype. Yet it was I who suggested he go out and have a life, but he told me he didn’t like them. He only spoke to them because he worked with them. To top it off, they confronted me and asked me why I wouldn’t let him go out. I told them it was untrue, so he was left unable to explain why he had lied. What he did say, was that we all misunderstood him.
  • I found messages to one of his ex’s dated August 2010, yet when we started talking in September 2010, he told me that he hadn’t spoken to her for a year. This is the same ex whom he had been engaged to and had been dating (apparently) for three years, but had only seen once. The same ex who found out she couldn’t have children, so when I fell pregnant, he promptly contacted her gloating that I, his wife, was pregnant. You have got to be a really twisted individual to get satisfaction from something like that.
  • Wanting to go out to get away from him, without realising, as the main account holder on our cell/mobile accounts, he set up a tracker on my phone. For a couple of days, I’d notice that he wouldn’t fight me if I wanted to leave. Once I’d left the apartment, he still find out where I was – my exact location. One day, I left without my phone. He didn’t show. I enjoyed the time away from him. When I returned he was so mad that I hadn’t taken my phone. At first I thought it was because he had tried calling. I checked. He hadn’t. Upon checking the bill, it all made sense. The phone company had introduced a tracking app for parents who wanted to know their children were safe. It must have been during one night when I was asleep that he installed it onto my phone.
  • When we’d go to the supermarket straight after he’d finished work (which meant he’d still be wearing his uniform), people would take the time out to thank him for his service (if only they know the truth…). He either walk off, or grunt. He even had the nerve to say to me that those people were fake. They had no respect for him. They wouldn’t show the same respect if he wasn’t wearing it. OK, Mr. Crazy, they don’t actually know you… It was nothing short of rude and embarrassing. I used to make it my duty to apologise to them and thank them on his behalf.
  • He took me to the hairdressers – once. Whilst getting my hair done, which surprisingly, he paid for, Steve bought me a pair of Nike flip flops. Returning with them, in front of every one he got down on his knees and put them on my feet. I knew it was all a show and felt ill. He just wanted his ego fed by the strangers around me, who would ultimately (I assume) think he was a wonderful guy. It was nothing to do with making me feel good. When we argued later, he’d remind me that he had taken me to the hairdressers and that he had bought me footwear, which he didn’t have to do.
  • Roses are my favourite flowers. One day, whilst in the supermarket I saw a  rather large, deep red one. It was beautiful (and discounted!). He saw me looking at it and said we had no money for it. I just wanted to look at it’s beauty for a moment, and certainly was not expecting him to buy it. As we were queuing at the checkout, he went back to get the rose, which I was unaware of. The checkout was very busy. When it was our turn to be served, he picked up the rose in front of everyone and got down on one knee asking him to marry him all over again. I must say, I have to give him props for a great show! Well done Steve! *Sarcasm*. Of course people who did not know him were smiling. The cashier said something to me (I can’t remember what it was, I just wanted to get the hell out of what felt like a freak show), but I do remember telling her she could have him. Again, it was all about feeding his narcissistic, psychotic, sociopathic, egotistic self.


The reason I had given him so many chances to begin with, was because I thought the distance was to blame. To be honest, I’m glad he forced me to move to the US with him. The reason? If we had kept a long distance relationship like we had in the beginning, it would have taken me much longer to see his true colours in full. I would have given him more years than I already have. I’m just grateful it was only two and a half years, of which only one year was spent living with him full time. The experiences though, was enough to last me a lifetime.

(*Not their real names)

Financial Abuse


It was very clear that *Steve did not like spending his own money. He would place anyone in a situation where they, like myself, would end up paying for what he wanted. (See “Our First And Second Shopping Trip To The Mall Together“). There was always the promise that he would pay me back, or if we went out for a meal, say that the next time, he’d pay. There were also times where I would purchase an item for myself, and he would want me to tell people that he had purchased it for me…

  • By the time I was ready to move to the US, I found messages between him and another woman. The messages were dated back to just when we had started dating, during the ‘Honeymoon’ period, so to speak. She already had a boyfriend she did not wish to leave, but Steve was trying to get her to do just that – leave him. Whilst I was spending money he promised to pay back but he didn’t, for the number of visits I made to go see him, he was cursing me to her, saying I’m high maintenance, I’m moody, I think I’m above everyone, etc. He then went on to offer this woman, who lived in the US, a ticket that he would purchase, for her to go see him in Germany. She refused. Of course it’s easy to guess that he thought me looking through his deceitful messages (as I supposedly ‘hacked’ into his account), was far worse than his own behaviour. His explanation to me was at the time, he didn’t think we would last, nor did he think he was going to fall so deeply in love me me.
  • I purchased a bag out of my own money within a couple of months of moving out to the US. Just because he said he liked it, he told me to tell people he bought it for me as a gift. Obviously trying to keep up the pretence – something I certainly said no to. I can only imagine how much it annoyed him that I refused.
  • Out of $6,500 I had transferred over when I arrived in the US, there was only $80.00 left. I wanted it in case I needed anything (I was pregnant as the time), but he wouldn’t allow me to get it out of the bank before he spent it, because it was all money we had. This is related to the incident where I was left to walk along the highway at night, in my second trimester (see “Emotional And Mental Abuse“). Yet, when I needed to go to the hospital, or needed food, it was his money (see “It Was His Money Not Mine“).
  • The money to pay for mine and my son’s flight was from him claiming for our son on his tax return. Had it not been for this money coming in, I would still be stuck with the wife beating loser. Yet, he told me to tell people that it was a birthday gift from him to me last year (2013). Steve’s portion was eaten up by Montana Child Support as he was and still is in arrears with his daughter.
  • He is in Child Support arrears with Max. Despite everything he had put me through, I had told him that he could contribute whatever he could afford, or if he was short one month, to just let me know in advance and he wouldn’t have to worry about making a payment. Luckily, I had already started a Child Support case when I had gone to the US to try to retrieve some of my belongings the end of May last year (2013), unknown to him. (I will go into detail about this in a later post). It was agreed that he would start contributing on July 1st… Yeah, no… it didn’t happen. I waited until July 3rd to ask him what was going on. I laughed when I got his message. Conveniently, he had his wallet stolen and someone tried to break into his car. Yet, what he had actually done, was moved out of the Extended Stay into an apartment, bought new clothes, eating out up to three times a day. He was living, whilst my family and friends were feeding and clothing our son.
  • Steve owes me $32,000. At the same time Child Support was discussed, I reduced this amount to $15,000 as he is the father of my child. Again, he could pay back what he could afford. Another reason I reduced it, was because he had the cheek to say I owe him rent as I moved out there to be with him! Being married to me, meant the army was paying him $1,200 for Basic Allowance for Housing (BAH) in Savannah GA, for him to live off post and for us to live together. If not married, he would not have received this money.So, to avoid any bullshit, I more than halved the amount. On July 25th, I noticed he still had not attempted to make payment, so I sent him a message asking him about it. His response was that he will no longer be taken advantage of, so he will not be paying me back what he owes me. I wanted to put some of this money into a savings account for Max, to go towards his education when he’s older. I guess, it’s not going to happen…
  • When I returned to the UK last year March, I struggled for as long as I could with no money and no job. I’d paid taxes for nineteen years here, so was entitled to Child Benefit, which is roughly $30.00/£20.30 per week. I told Steve this. He was happy and said “That’s good”. He expected our son and I to live on this, whilst he was living on benefits and Basic Allowance for Housing (B.A.H.) totalling to approximately $667.00/£476.00 per week. His rent at the Extended Stay was $209.00 per week – this price included electric, water, landline, cable, internet and a cleaner once a week, which left him with $458.00 to spend as he pleased. Yet he offered no suggestion on helping me with our son financially, or otherwise for that matter.
  • He wanted to come to the UK after leaving the army, so he could claim benefits and not pay for medical. As he said to me, he liked the idea. That would mean I would have to do the following:- Work full time and look after Max. Pay for gas, electricity, TV Licence, council tax; water, rent, phone, broadband, not to mention food, clothes and whatever else was needed. I told him he’d get bored, but he denied this, saying he would fill his time sightseeing. (See “He Wanted Me To Work Whilst He Stayed At Home“). I went to the US to have a life with him and to work, not to chill, try to claim benefits and not do anything with my life. Did he really think I was stupid enough to bring him to my country to sponge off of a system he’d never paid into? I don’t think so.

Money comes and goes, but the thing that bothers me the most about it all, is that he does not make any contributions to his son nor his daughter. Yet, he has the audacity to say his children have his heart. He has sacrificed relationships with both so he can have a life of leisure, whilst he has no care for how they exist. Steve is indeed a narcissist. This is what they do… They only care about themselves.

(*Not his real name)