Marrying A Crackhead (This is not recommended)

I was with  HIM for 14 years, 12 of those were hard time. We were married in 1994 and divorced in 2006 on my birthday. I should have seen the writing on the wall when i got his ghetto-ass proposal.
 He'd been up all night doing blow. When i woke up, he had made me breakfast in bed. It consisted of freezer-burned waffles and juice. While i was chocking down my breakfast, he asked me to marry him. He said that his grandpa was upset we were living in sin. OMG, if his grandpa only knew the pool of sin his grandson was swimming in on a daily basis. No ring, just 2 freezer-burnt waffles. We had been living together for a few years and I didn't have any other options. I thought if we got married, things would get better. Boy, was I wrong.

Looking back, I feel so stupid. All I wanted out of life was to be a mother. That was my only true goal at that time. I was living with him, not happily, but I was convinced I could change him.
We were married on the same day as his parents, and his grandparents, February 4th. We were married by the same pastor, at the same church. The highlight of my wedding (after i took a handful of Valium, which gave me the balls to say my vows) was our friends that attended, the prime rib and my cake with the fountain in the middle. The cake was amazing. the marriage was not.
Within months of our marriage, He graduated from powdered cocaine to rock cocaine. There was no ceremony, no diploma from Crack University. But he definitively was in love with the rock. I was being cheated on with a glass dick full of chore-boy and crack. Its hard to compete with that.

He began eating away at my self esteem. I have suffered from a skin disorder, psoriasis, since I was 15. Stress makes it worse. He said I looked had lizard skin and I was disgusting. He constantly told me that no other man would even want to touch me. I felt so ugly. In the 14 years we were together, i never felt good about myself.
Plus I was always trying to hide the fact that my husband was smoking crack on a regular basis (2-3 times a week). I sent him to a rehab (several times). I had a pretty good job and very good insurance. After 28 days of peace (for me), his sobriety would last 3 months and then he started smoking pot, moved to drinking and finally got back on his crack horse. Unfortunately, he didn't ride off into the sunset.
I was exhausted and I couldn't tell my mom how bad it was getting. We had no couple friends. I had friends, but I had to hide the fact that he was on crack. I'm not a drinker and I've NEVER even tried crack ( he wouldn't have share with me anyway, lol). I knew our relationship needed at least one functional person in it.
 I was still trying to get pregnant. I know, i know. I know whats going through your head, what you are thinking, dumb bitch, but I thought if he was a father, he'd be motivated to clean his act up. Plus, I needed a child. I didn't feel whole as a person and i just wanted to be a mother so bad.
I found out on Valentine's day, 1998, that I was pregnant. I was so happy and came home to tell him, only to find him smoking crack. When he smokes crack, he stares out the window for hours, stopping only long enough to put the glass dick in his mouth.

FUNNIEST CRACK MOMENT.
He had been smoking crack for hours in the bathroom. I would just pretend it wasn't happening. That was my coping skill (denial). I would immerse myself into crafts or making jewelery. It was about 4 hrs into his crack marathon when I heard him choking and screaming. I ran into the bathroom and he had his mouth open, pointing to the back of his throat. He had taken a hit from the crack pipe and the Chore-boy that he puts into the pipe to prevent the crack from melting to quick, had been sucked though the pipe and was sizzling on his tonsils. It had melted to the back of his throat.  I told him we needed to go to the ER. While pulling the car up I had busted out into laughter. Talk about "Just Deserts". By the time we got to the ER, he had swallowed the chore-boy. The ER doc examined him and asked what had happened. He told him that he had put a cigarette in his mouth THE WRONG WAY and swallowed the cherry. The doc looked at him like "you're so full of shit". The doc never came back into the room. He sent the nurse in, who gave him a small amount of pain pills and throat spray and sent him home.
 Even now, when I'm scrubbing a pan with chore-boy, I can't help but giggle.