Mark Pitta Abuse Over Love

I always believed that love could conquer all. Even a person who reveals his darkest side out of nowhere would eventually change with love. How naive of me to believe that Mark Pitta’s dark side wouldn’t resurface over and over.Especially, when I showered him in nothing but love and support. I couldn’t see the signs or maybe I didn’t want to see them. He went to jail, went to court, did his probation, and went to anger management. So why did Mark Pitta abuse me?Anger management seemed more like anger containment. He’d let his fury fester until he’d reached a boiling point of no return. From the beginning of our relationship he unleashed the first of what would become many, hurtful assaults. Today I’m sharing the beginnings of what Mark Pitta used to call “The Incident”. Click on the image below to see the news report from the Marin Independent Journal titled ‘Mill Valley comedian Pitta sentenced for vandalism, assault’  dated 12/13/05.

Mark Pitta abuse

Mark Pitta Domestic Violence Due to Drugs

Here is the Live Journal entry from August 26th, 2005, where Mark Pitta gives his side of what happened and why he did the things he did.

Typing in my underwear. By Mark Pitta

Aug. 26th, 2005 03:02 am No Laughing Matter

I was arrested on Wednesday morning! Me! I’ve never been arrested. I’ve never done things that I couldn’t remember. All this happened because of two things that I mixed in my body: Xanax and Vodka.

Distraught and angry over a personal issue with my girlfriend, I came home and asked her to leave. This was not an easy decision because I knew I still loved her and I will always love her and asking her to leave was a macho bullshit thing to do. I then drove around for three hours giving her time to vacate.

When I returned to a dark house I was depressed and felt like I wanted to disappear. I took my Golden Retriever for a walk, then once back inside, I went downstairs. That’s when I did the stupid thing. I took a FULL Xanax. It is supposed to be for anxiety. I bought them in Mexico and my friends tell me that you still don’t know what you’re getting even though it’s a legitimate drug store. “It’s still Mexico.”

I found out the hard way. I washed it down with Mike’s Hard Lemonade spiked with even more vodka. When I glanced at the living room I saw the same blanket I always see on the couch but underneath it was my girlfriend. She didn’t leave. She had no way of leaving. Her sister in LA has the car and she had called her sister to come get her.

When I saw her I started the argument back up again but this time fueled with drugs and liquor. I found myself saying things I never said before and doing things I’d never done before like throwing her suitcase off my balcony; like taking a baseball bat and beating up the PC I got her for her birthday that’s coming up. I was Nicholson in The Shinning. The Mexican Xanax kicked in but it wasn’t taking an edge off, it was putting one on.

All I remember was breaking a car window with a baseball bat…being handcuffed…and sitting on a hard bench in a holding cell while rubbing my chest which hurt an awful lot.

The rest of the story is not from my memory but from my neighbors because I had to ask them this embarrassing question: “What the hell did I do yesterday?”

When I heard what they had to say, I broke down weeping on their couch. I heard that I had broken ALL the windows of my girlfriend’s sister car and that…and this is as devastating to write as it was to hear…that I threw the baseball bat AT MY GIRLFRIEND! Thank God it didn’t hit her or anyone else. I listened and cried with my neighbors who I will always be in debt for calling the cops on me. I love them for it.

Now for more shockers.

As I type this, I have just gotten off the phone with my girlfriend. We cried together for an hour and then I had to ask her what she remembers and why does she think my chest hurts so much when I breath?

She said that after I woke her up on the couch, we fought; there was a lot of screaming; that I shook her shoulders yelling, “Why did you break my heart?!”

She said I told her to leave again. She said she stood on the street in front of my house and called her sister, “How close are you?”

She said she heard me run up the staris and for some reason I was holding in my hand the book American Splendor. I have no idea why. She didn’t want to turn around but then heard a thud on the wooden stairs. I had passed out. I guess the Xanax kicked in.

Bless her heart, but after all this, she didn’t want to leave me passed out in the cold. I weigh 161 pounds. She tried to lift me up and take me inside but it wasn’t possible for her and in her attempt, we fell down the flight of stairs. “I think that’s why your chest hurts.” She said. “You probably have broken ribs.”

She scraped her face and as her little finger on her left hand began to swell from the fall, she dragged me inside,
“No small feat,” she told me. “It took quite awhile. You big lug.”

She wanted to put me to bed, but all she could do was leave me on the floor inside my house by the door. She then put a blanket over me and turned on the heater.

Later, she said that when I started to make noises, I called her name and I put my head in her lap. She said I hugged her, then reached up, pulled her head toward hers and kissed her mouth.

I type this trough tears recalling what I next asked in our phone conversation. “Then why did I turn so violent?”

She said I stumbled to bed, bouncing off the walls like a pin ball, and returned with the bottle of Xanax. She thought I was going to dump them down the drain but instead she saw me take two more with the vodka!

That explains most of the story and why I was such an idiot.

The experience in the holding cell (from 8:30am – 9:30pm) will be for another time. Right now I wanted to get the record down because when I awoke around 8:30pm, (I had been awake for some 20 hours) I immediately reached over to hug my girlfriend as I always do but she wasn’t there. I didn’t understand why. Then I remember that I got arrested and made my girlfriend leave my house. I wept. A lot.

Then I checked my messages hoping she had called. One of the calls was from a reporter for the Marin IJ. I hadn’t spoken to my girlfriend yet and as it turns out, she had been sleeping all day as well.

I don’t know why but I told the reporter the whole story. My publicist will probably commit suicide. Who knows how it will look in the press? Not good I think because when I called the bail bondsman today to ask him what I was charged with since I couldn’t understand the codes, he said, “Oh, you were charged with Domestic Vandalism. That’s a misterminer. You will appear before the judge and be fined and reprimanded.”

I was still perplexed. “But why is there a flyer with these papers to call the Marin Abused Women’s Services?”

He said, “Not only did you break all the windows in the car but you pulled the girl’s hair.”

I had pulled the hair of my sister’s girlfriend as my neighbor called the police. Earlier, my neighbor told me that she was going to call the cops at three in the morning when all the yelling I was doing wouldn’t stop and things were flying off the balcony. “I wish you had,” I told her. “I wish you had.”

It is a degrading thing to admit not remembering doing despicable acts you thought you were never capable of. I host a weekly comedy show every Tuesday in Mill Valley but this is no laughing matter. Neither is buying or taking Xanax bought in Mexico.

There’s also really no way to end the story because it’s not quite over. All I can say is the broken windows of the car were repaired that day by 4:00pm, and the broken hearts are in the process of repairing. I love my girlfriend and we will hug and cry in person very soon. I apologized to her sister for what I was told I did and she said, “Hey, the widows are fixed and hell… I’ve done things during blackouts.”

My girlfriend is going to drop the charges although, by law, the sheriff won’t. I will still have to appear in court. My court date is set for September 8th which oddly enough, is my girlfriend’s birthday.

Peace.

Again, I’m ashamed. I truly believed he’d never do it again. Oh, how wrong I was. Mark Pitta’s abuse was by choice and not because of drugs and alcohol. Please remember, if you or someone you love is suffering at the hands of a violent partner there is help.