<p>The muggy Texas heat greeted me like a brick wall. It was hotter than a tick under a dog&rsquo;s arm-pit. I wasn&rsquo;t here to visit, I was here to live. To live with my &ldquo;betrayer,&rdquo; whom I still loved with all my heart and soul, but wouldn't dare tell him that because I was in mad mode!</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dad&rsquo;s apartment was boring, bleak, virtually empty, and smelled of old stale cigarettes. He didn&rsquo;t care about &ldquo;petty things,&rdquo; like decorating or having much furniture. I was obviously bitter towards him. We were entering into this <em>new</em> relationship with a foundation of anger, distrust and pain. I didn&rsquo;t particularly trust men, and I certainly didn&rsquo;t trust him, yet.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dad never yelled at me or hit me, but he could discourage me, and sometimes did. Paying for the nut house was the pinnacle of pain</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; After a meal one night, my father sipped on his favorite Amaretto. He looked at me gratefully and said, "You're going to make someone a great wife someday." He was complimenting me, and meant no harm in his words, but I felt devastated.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <em>A wife? Is that all he thinks I'm going to be? Get your own maid!</em> I stopped cooking him dinner for a long time after that night. I wore my resentment on my sleeve. I was strong, but not invulnerable. My extremely delicate inner "hospital&rdquo; truce with him was gone. I decided it was past time to <em>show him</em> what a &ldquo;bad teenager&rdquo; was really like.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Urban Sprawl. The West End. Teenage girl stomping grounds. With a highly rebellious spirit and bursting with painful anger, I got into what parent&rsquo;s would call the &ldquo;wrong&rdquo; crowd. Although I don&rsquo;t regret my high-school friends (many remain close today), we were all merely &ldquo;young and dumb.&rdquo; At least to my friends, I could be great in some way; although, I admit, the greatness I exhibited was juvenile and harmful. I skipped school, snuck out of my bedroom window, sampled a variation of illegal drugs, took extreme risks, dated men three times my age, and literally partied with rock-stars. &nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; My father wasn&rsquo;t about to talk to me about sex, he was far too uncomfortable. At sixteen, my notion was that all men craved sex, regardless of morality or consequences. Most should&rsquo;ve just shouted out that all they wanted was sex and arm candy. Men held no boundaries in my opinion, even one of my new Dallas public high school teachers pursued me. It became so intense, he pretended to be my father and called me in "sick" to school. It was then that I begged dad to switch schools, but didn&rsquo;t explain to him why. To err is human, but it can be overdone. I had too many boyfriends, and too little instruction.</p>
<p>I was distrustful of all men. A police officer pulled me over for no obvious reason one afternoon. He merely took my ID, returned it after a few minutes in his car, flashed a smile, and told me to have a great day. Odd as it was, he later knocked on my apartment door, and asked me for a date. Naturally, I said no, and bought a second dead-bolt lock that day.</p>
<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Eventually, I stopped cowering away, morphed into a &ldquo;Betty Bad-Ass&rdquo; persona, and began to abuse love in retribution. There&rsquo;s no excuse for my thoughtless behavior, my choices and mistakes are solely my own. I believed that relationships were only temporary. I had no emotional management and was overemphasizing blunders.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p>