The meaning of THE THIRD TIME IS THE CHARM is —used to say that two efforts at something have already failed but perhaps the third will be successful.
I signed the paperwork and cannot recall exactly how I got home. I know it was from someone at the bond agency. The man I was speaking of in the post prior was after the last arrest. Details coming.
I retrieved my vehicle from my house and drove to the Walmart parking lot. I called my Mama.
Me: Hey Mama. I am out. Again.
Mama: Hope, how in the hell do you keep getting out? This is ridiculous! I hope you are not at the house. Eric is done with you.
Me: I talked to the bondman, and he let me out because I have no family here.
Mama: You are acting crazy! You need help. When are you going into rehab? Me and your Daddy agree you need to check yourself in if you want to see your kids again! you will have to or you will never see them. Eric has already said you will never see them again and he has all the power to do what he wants.
Me: How can he do this to me? Mama this is not right, and you know it.
Mama: You need to come home now. There is nothing in GA for you. You will go back to jail.
Me: I cannot leave my babies.
Mama: Hope, are you high? What are you not understanding? You sound like you are on something. You need to get back to yourself! Never in a million years would I have thought this would be you!
Me: Click. (I hung-up)
I remember that night clearly. I turned on the song by Carrie Underwood, CRY PRETTY, and cried and then awaited to get drunk again. I walked in Walmart and walked out. Realizing that the last change I found would need to purchase vodka not food. I was starving. My emotional pain outweighed my physical hunger. Spiritually, I was depleted.
I counted the hours down until 9AM. 9AM the liquor store opened. I stopped by and purchased my vodka and began back...home. I know what you are thinking...why? Well, good question. And I do not have a logical answer. The only answer I have is insanity and the quest to overrule everything Eric was doing to me. Or depending on your perspective that I was doing to myself. Either way, something was fueling my erratic behavior and relentless attitude. In my mind, my children were worth fighting for. I was fighting to see my children no matter what procedures Eric put in place. Back then, it was Eric's circus, and I was the mischievous puppet. It was demoralizing having everyone (family) watch me become unraveled and out-of-character. When everything you love is taken, you will have to fight the good fight of faith. Before I built my faith, I fought by my own means. I was unsuccessful.
After arriving to the house, I was dumbfounded (not really) to find that I was locked out. Well, a locked door did not stop me. I figured I had only one realistic choice. Break-in my own house. I walked to the back of the house and thought very shortly about my next move. "I need to shatter the backdoor's glass, open the door, and then call to fix it before Eric gets home from work." Did I mention I was severely impulsive while high? I had already been drinking and the idea just suited what I wanted to accomplish! I shattered the glass and called a local company to come fix my backdoor. I used my Daddy's American Express to do so. While the man was there installing new glass unto my backdoor, I drank shots, swallowed a few benzos and went on about my merry day. I called my Daddy without a care in the World to inform him that I was out of jail...again...and that I would pay him back and that I had used his credit card to fix the backdoor I shattered with a rock.
I was unhinged.
The conversation was short and sweet. My daddy cancelled his credit card and wished me luck. "Jill, you need to get out of the house immediate. You have lost your f*cking mind. Go to Charlene's and I will call you back later. You need a plan that will not land you in jail."
Well, I should have taken my Daddy's advice. I could not. The war was raging, and I was not going to throw up my white flag.
Later afternoon, I saw Eric drive up. I was on the look-out, but our house had a lot of windows throughout that I could gaze from different rooms. I decided to hide in a closet. Thinking maybe I can stay hid and not have to sleep in my car overnight. Insanity-yet again. He knew I was home from the glass that was in the trash can. I heard him cursing and calling the police. "Hope, you are going to jail. Police are on their way. What have you freaking broke?" I did not come out until the officers opened a closet door. As I am walking down the stairs, I then think I should make a run for it. I began to run out the back door with a Hispanic officer following behind. Only to realize that outside the house more officers await. As I was running, my vodka bottle came out of my pants. I did not have crap, but I was going to make sure I clung to the bottle like a baby cling's to its mother's breast. My safety blanket was destroying me and stopped keeping me safe. I threw up my hands and was arrested and placed in the back of the cop car. I was barefooted. They asked me if I needed to grab anything. I asked for my phone and shoes. Eric walked out with my phone and red-high heels that looked like I was about to dance on a pole. I never wore them. I said, "Are you f*cking kidding me? The officer hands me the heels and I threw them in the yard. "He's playing with me." I shut-up and was taken back to Gwinnett County. I went through the motions and can assume I probably went to sleep after. I had no sleep, food, and was coming down from booze and pills. Withdrawing from a deadly combination: alcohol and benzodiazepines.
I was bonded out and I cannot recall a lot of my stay in jail. For some reason that is a blur. What is referred to as a blackout. When using high quantities of substances blackouts may occur. Alcohol-related blackouts refer to the lapses in a person's memory for events that took place during intoxication. These lapses occur when an individual consumes sufficient alcohol to temporarily impede the process of transferring memories from short-term to long-term storage, a process called memory consolidation, which takes place in a part of the brain known as the hippocampus.
I signed my bond. The third time in a week. I was due for court within a couple of days.
The kind man that looked high agreed to take me home. (from the end of my last post)
The kind drug impaired man that agreed to take me home did not know what he was getting himself into. I let me know in a very vague manner that I had an order against me that I was not welcomed back home. I let him know there was no reason to worry that I would obtain my vehicle and leave. When we arrived, Eric, my dearest husband, was nice enough to leave my keys in the minivan (he knew I would be back) and he left a pillow and a bag full of random clothes in the back seat. I guess in a weird manner he was still trying look after me giving the present circumstance of putting me onto the streets. Pissed me off. It fueled my hatred further. My thoughts were, "he is a nut job. how dare him throw me out with nothing and hand me a pillow. Like, good luck out there. Hope you do not die. Sleep well my dearest bride."
The kind drug impaired acquaintance of mine stuck around to make sure I left safe and sound. But- there was car trouble. My vehicle had been "acting up" due to the radiator. I had been randomly pouring water into the radiator to cool my engine because it was overheating. I did not have money to fix it. Well, I did not have any money- period. Leading up to this moment, I had pawned a silver chain necklace I had found and took every 2-dollar bill and loose change in the house. I was desperate, and crazy. I will say it again, but desperate times will bring out desperate measures. Does not make it right. Sometimes it can be comical after the fact. Definitely not in the moment. I looked like a straight up "crack head" paying for alcohol and food with 2-dollar bills; or a stripper but it was not one-dollar bills! Had I found myself close to a stage, I cannot say I would not have jumped on to make a few bucks. I did not. But there was no stage. It was me, myself, and God. It's easy to judge, a lot more difficult to understand. That is what I love about Jesus. I can come as I am. Dysfunction past and all and he understands and loves me all the same.
I maneuvered my vehicle out of the driveway (to avoid another arrest) to an estimated 500 feet and the car started to run hot. I stopped and the guy pulled behind me to help. He said the car needed antifreeze. We rode to a close by gas station; he purchased the antifreeze. He came back to my car, pours the antifreeze in, and left after I repeatedly told him "Thank you for helping me." He reminded me of my older brother, Dex.
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