Super bowl Sunday!
At the spur of the moment I asked if her boyfriend could drive the box spring and exercise bike to the new apartment. He is the only person I know with a truck. I knew they had all been sick and their little boy had just gotten out of the hospital with a serious condition, so I knew I was just grabbing at straws. I have known her for over a decade now and she has always been a very good friend; I knew if it was at all possible for her to help me she would. But when I read her response it set me off kilter for a moment. “Can we move it the middle of the week or next weekend?” She just
did not get it.
First, I felt anger rush through my veins, but not because they were not able to help me. I understood how big a favor I was asking and I was okay with them being unable to help. The anger was a second of the fight or flight response before I could get control of myself. Then I wanted to cry because the overwhelming knowledge that I am truly alone in this world hit me like a brick wall. But then I was thankful that she
did not understand. I was thankful that she did not know what her request in an attempt to help me would have cost me. Thank God, she just
did not get it.
At first I too
did not realize the heaviness of the situation. There are little things I remember. I recall just little moments attached to feelings of disbelief, shock, and numbness. I am afraid. How could I not be afraid? I looked into his calm golden eyes across from me at the restaurant and listened to him tell me how he would kill me. I had heard the jokes about my death, where he would bury me, and how long it would take somebody to discover I was gone. I had heard the jokes for years. How could I not be afraid? On our daily walk he told me that he wanted to see the life drain from somebody’s eyes, and that he thinks about killing. How could I not be afraid? But it is not the fear of death that holds me paralyzed; it is the fear of everything except death that holds me in this freeze.
I heard once that drowning victims find calmness once they are past the panic and that dying that way is very peaceful. I did not believe that at first, but I believe it now. On Van
Buren the panic was overwhelming as he knelt on my chest with his large powerful hands around my throat. The blank stare of his golden eyes was unnerving. My husband was no longer behind those eyes. I gasped with air hearing the wheeze of my breath force itself in and out. My airway was not completely blocked; however, I could not raise my chest up and down to let in air. Mortified at the knowledge that he could crush my windpipe and that my children were just on the other side of the door. I was unable to yell to them. I was unable to tell them to leave and go someplace safe. I was unable to yell for help. The panic was severe, but the fight was still cursing threw my veins until I realized he was stronger than me and I was not going to be able to change this situation.
The tears dried up almost immediately. I knew I was going to die at the hand of the man I loved. I felt the calm. A surreal floating sensation came over me and I was no longer aware of my limbs and their movement. I knew I was not going to feel any more pain, panic, or fear. I thought about the drowning victim. I thought about forgiveness, and I thought about the afterlife. I knew at that moment it was their within my grasp, and then he lifted off my chest.
So, yes I was thankful she just
did not get it. The hitting, the bruising, and even the yelling are not where the fear comes from. The fear comes from the knowledge that he is capable of doing more. The knowledge that he wants to do more and that he thinks about doing more to me. The disturbing reality is that he feels no remorse for the behaviors he does. He once kept it all under wraps and quiet. He would get very upset if his “private business” was discussed anywhere, but now he grows more bold.
He stuck me four days last week and one time in front of my four year old granddaughter. Each time he was angry he told me terrible things, ordered me to leave, and tried to convince me I was crazy, a mess of mood swings and the only one to blame. However, thanks to my prayers I have now again found rational and sound thought. Over the past five years I am not sure I always had that, but now I know that I am not the one who has a screwed up sense of self and the world around them.
I no longer question how he is able to think the way he does. I was baffled when his mother stood in my carport and looked me in the eye to tell me that she did not believe that her beloved son could do what I had claimed. I just looked at her blankly befuddled because I knew the purple bruise of his knuckle prints were still very clear and vivid on my chin. Just a hint of green remained on my throat, but I
did not think it was easily missed. Her denial and enabling personality started to become clear to me that day.
As a guest in her home I have heard her talk to herself in an abusive manner and go from calm to almost hysterics over a missing curtain rod. She actually voiced, “Somebody broke into the house and stole the curtain rod, now I have to go out and buy a new one” as she began to get ready to go make that purchase. I had a discussion about corporal punishment with her where she stated, “in some instances I believe kids should be hit to make them mind.” However, all she says these days is that she did not raise him that way. He too is just hitting me to make me mind just like he was raised. But I still cling to stay well grounded.
It was hard to keep focused when I watched him enter our home in the middle of an obvious hallucination. I calmly watched him spin in circles frantically, shout hurtful and confusing things, and speak to people that were not present. I recall the fear I felt as I ran up the stairs behind him unsure of what he was going to do. I stood in the bathroom doorway across the hall of our bedroom and watched him fight with somebody who was not there and then jump out the second story window. I ran to my kids huddled in the corner of the dining room confused and scared. I remember feeling relief when his truck tore out of the driveway because he was still alive and he was leaving. I remember the phone call two weeks later that opened with “I’m in Florida, why
aren’t you here?” and ended with, “I would come get you, but I just took my shoes off.”
It was hard to keep myself image up when he denied me sex for the first six weeks we were back together. So, finally one day when he was calm and polite I asked what was wrong. He calmly looked at me and said, “You are not going to like the answer.” Of course, then I had to know and I insisted. I don’t think the numbness wore off for at least three months after I heard him say, “You are too fat to fuck.” I had just lost 50lbs! He looked me in the eye and spoke calmly and then he put his hand on my knee. That was almost five years ago and he still has not changed his mind.
So many crazy moments became clearer after that. He would refuse sex with me and then masturbate to porn instead. One day I forgot something when I left for work and returned home to get it. When I arrived home he was nowhere to be found, so I went to the bedroom and it was locked! After I pounded on the door a couple of times he finally answered completely naked. Over the past 16years I have learned that his underwear is almost as secure as Ken Barbie’s are. I entered the room and could not find who or what was better at pleasuring him than I was, but the look on his face and the mood in the air has always been unsettling.
My sanity is intact. No, I cannot wait until the middle of the week or next weekend. I cannot stay another moment. I am overwhelmed by the reality that I am alone, but thankful that I alone carry this fear. Apparently, I hold it all together very well.
From the moment I first walked down the halls of Bayonet Point Hospital with my first black eye I have met three kinds of people; those who ignore it completely, those who justify his illegal activity and tell me how to keep us apart, and those that would rather tell me how they would do better. The problem of abuse has been an epidemic that is out of control. His enabling mother learned to behave that way because of the abuse she endured, and that abuse was allowed to happen because both society and his wife condoned it. Those who ignore it completely simply promote it because doing nothing is doing something. Life is all about choices and not choosing is a choice. I cannot say that loud enough.
Abuse is a tango and it does take two to tango. I have to take my blame for playing the part. I learned it from my father and he is mother. I don’t know how many times I have said “I know how to keep the peace.” However, it only makes sense that if I can keep the peace I can encourage the anger as well. The evil in this disease is subconscious behavior. To those who stay and those who ignore, when the abuse is allowed to continue it creates a following generation.
To the self righteous who knows they would do better I am so thankful you just don’t get it. Statistics show that most women don’t leave and most continually go back when they do leave. Statistics also show that leaving is the most dangerous thing to do, and often ends in the woman’s death. And, yes we know leaving may kill us! When was the last time you were in a life or death situation? Nobody knows what they will do until they are put in that situation. Please when somebody being abused reveals their secret stay away from condescending arrogant comments and simply ask them what they need.
Yes! You did raise him that way!
