Tossed outside freezing weather

If I ever decide to write a book, I will have to try to put things in chronological order. But for now I am writing things as I need to. Yesterday I wrote about Jeff using his perceived idea that I was disobeying him by bringing up the subject of water. Today I am going to write about him pushing me outside almost naked at night during a cold snap.

After my daughter was born, we moved into another trailer in the same trailer park. It was larger (3 bedrooms, rather than 2). We worked it out with the landlord to buy it on a rent to own basis. 

At first things went well. I continued school. Jeff worked odd jobs wherever he could find them. Money was very tight. During the summer before my daughters first birthday, I was offered a well-paying job. After much discussion (arguments), Jeff agreed to let me take the job. I enjoyed it very much, and for the first time in years, we didn't have to pinch pennies. 

Jeff stayed home with the children. He didn't drink during the day, but he also didn't do housework, cooking, laundry, or anything around the house. That was my responsibility after working all day. When I would mention that it would be nice to have some help, it would result in arguments, with me backing down because of his threats of physical violence. 

At work, I became friends with the manager (who was also the bosses wife). We would go out for lunch together. It felt good to have a friend. One day she came in with a black eye. Her story was that a bird had flown into the garage and while trying to get it out, she had hit her face on something. I could tell it wasn't true, because it sounded as far-fetched as some of the stories I had told to explain away bruises I had received.

A couple weeks later, my friend came in with other bruises. That day at lunch, I told her that she didn't deserve to be hit. I then started crying and told her about Jeff hitting me. We became even closer, although neither of us knew what to do about the abuse. We did both agree to not let our respective spouses know that we were talking about what was happening.

I kept my job through the summer. When school started in the fall, my boss was agreeable to working with my school schedule. I carried a full load of classes (4 classes-12 credit hours), and worked 37 hours a week. I also did everything at home that needed to be done, because Jeff felt it wasn't a man's place to do any type of housework, even though he didn't have a job. 

The Monday before Thanksgiving, my friend came to work with a broken arm. At lunch that day she confided that she was going to be leaving her husband (my boss). I asked her to please keep in touch with me. She said she would. That was the last time I saw or heard from my friend. I hope that she escaped to a safer and happier life.

When I returned to work, my friend did not come with me. That afternoon, my boss called me into his office and asked me if I knew where she was. I said I didn't know (true). He didn't believe me, but couldn't do anything to make me say anything else. He then told me to go home until after Thanksgiving. 

When I came home early, Jeff got mad. I didn't tell him why, just told him that it was slow because of the holiday. We had an argument about it, with him making accusations of me slacking, being stupid, etc. I lost my temper and started yelling about how lazy he was, accused him of being a drunk, and that I was sick of it. He called me a bi.ch and walked out.

That night he came home very late, very drunk, and very mean. I took both children and locked ourselves in my son's room. Even went so far as to move the dresser in front of the door. Jeff kept hitting the door, yelling for me to get out of there. It continued for a while, but then I heard some banging outside and yelling. Jeff stopped hitting the door. A short time later, there was a knock on the door. Someone told me they were police and asked me if everything was okay. I told them to give me a few minutes.

I moved the dresser, opened the door, scared that this might be some kind of a trick. There was a police officer standing there. I came out, telling my son to stay in his room and watch his sister. I spoke to the officer. One of the neighbors had called them. The officers partner had Jeff outside, talking with him. They were there for about 45 minutes. By the time they left, Jeff seemed to have calmed down. He was not arrested. His physical abuse stopped for a while, the verbal abuse continued. I could tell he wanted to put his hands on me, but was afraid. I walked on eggshells.

When I went back to work after Thanksgiving, my boss again asked me if I knew where my friend was. I again told him I had no idea. I worked there for another two weeks. It was hard because everyday my boss would ask me over and over where my friend (his wife) was. After a couple weeks, he called me into his office, told me I had one last chance to tell him, when I refused, he fired me. This was two weeks before Christmas, and I was getting ready to take finals. I was devastated. I was afraid if I told Jeff I had lost my job, his temper would explode, but I also knew I had to tell him.

Jeff took my job loss well. He hugged and kissed me, telling me that it was good because I had a job taking care of the house and kids. I was shocked, but accepted it. My finals went well. Christmas was good. Jeff stayed calm, with only a few criticisms and name calling. I continued to walk on eggshells, because I couldn't believe that things were going so well.

In spite of an unusual cold snap which resulted in icy roads, on the morning of New Year's Eve, Jeff's mother took both children to spend the night with her. Jeff decided we would stay at home and celebrate. He went out and bought a bottle if whiskey, a bottle of rum and two 12-packs of beer. About noon, Jeff started drinking. He insisted I drink with him. I had a couple of beers, but the third one I nursed. Jeff drank several beers, then started drinking the whiskey. By 8 pm he was so drunk, he could barely walk. He decided to be affectionate. I agreed and we went to bed, where he promptly passed out.

After laying there a while, I got up, went into the front room and started watching TV. I dozed off in my chair. Suddenly, I was pushed out of the chair onto the floor. Jeff had woke up, I wasn't in bed, and when he saw me sleeping in the chair, it made him mad. I apologized and suggested we go to bed again. He cursed at me, then asked where his whiskey was. I hurried and got it off the dining room table where he had left it. He sat in his chair and drank from the bottle.

I told Jeff  I was going to bed. He told me to get my a$$ by him and sit down. I did. Then he asked me if I was too good to drink with him. I told him no, but didn't want to drink. He kept his voice low, but was very nasty in telling me that I thought because of my getting some schooling, I thought I was better than him. I tried to reassure him. He got up, got the bottle of rum, handed it to me and told me to prove it by drinking with him. I took a very small sip.

Jeff laughed and asked me if I thought that was drinking. I tried to tell him I didn't want to get drunk. He said it was a celebration to bring in the new year and how stupid I was because I couldn't even keep a job. He told me that in spite of my high and mighty education, I was still nothing but a worthless, stupid bi.ch. He said that because of me begging to go to work, he hadn't been able to. That someone had to stay home and take care of the house and brats (his words). I retorted that if he felt he was taking care of the house, that we might as well live in a garbage dump.

He then turned sweet and said he was sorry. I was right, he didn't help as much as he should. He said that his drinking was the problem. He opened his arms, asked me to forgive him. Like the fool I am, I came into his arms. He put his arms around me, then held me tightly and told me I was going to drink with him, whether I wanted to or not. While holding me, he put the bottle of rum to my mouth. I kept my mouth closed at first. He grabbed my chin, slapped me, and forced me to open my mouth. As he poured the rum in my mouth, I gagged and chocked, trying to spit it out. After pouring about half a pint into my mouth, and a good portion spilling all over me, Jeff let me go.

I ran to the bathroom and started gagging. I felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't, and eventually the gagging stopped. I washed my face and hands. Then because I had the rum which had spilled on me, I then proceeded to take off my clothes and got in the shower. When I got out, Jeff was standing in the bathroom. We did not have a door to close. He told me I was fat. I just agreed with him. I was feeling slightly sick from the rum I had swallowed. 

I then went into the bedroom and started getting dressed. I had just put on panties, when Jeff grabbed me from behind. He held me close, whispered in my ear that the way I was dressed was sexy. All I wanted to do was get away from him right then. I didn't do anything except stand there. I knew if I refused, he would take what he wanted, so I did nothing. He pushed me onto the bed and proceeded to take his clothes off. I still did nothing, just laid there. He looked at me, asked me what my problem was. I told him I was feeling sick and just wanted to go to sleep. He said that was fine with him, he wasn't going to waste his time on me. He then picked up his clothes and left the bedroom. I gave a sigh of relief.

I laid there a couple of minutes, then got up to finish putting on some clothes. As soon as I got up, he came into the bedroom again. He had gotten dressed, I was still wearing just my panties. He kept his voice low, then told me that I was a worthless piece of s&/t and he wanted me out of his house and his life. He grabbed me by my hair and one arm and started dragging me into the front room. I yelled at him to stop. He told me I was leaving right then. I told him, I would leave as soon as I got dressed. He said, nope, I was out of there. Jeff then opened the front door and pushed me outside so hard, I fell down four steps into a slushy half frozen puddle of water. I was outside, soaking wet, wearing just my panties. The temperature was 21 degrees F, with a wind chill of 14. 

I realized the predicament I was in immediately. I went up the steps, tried to open the door, but it was locked. I knocked on it and called Jeff's name. He came to the door, didn't open it, but asked who it was. I asked him to please let me in, it was cold. He laughed and told me I was where I needed to be, out of his house and life. He then laughed again and told me that all he wanted was to have a little drink with me, but I was such a bi.ch, I couldn't even do that. I begged him to open the door, promising to drink with him. I was shivering and my bare feet were starting to go numb. He told me to go away. After that he didn't respond to my knocking, crying and begging. I think he passed out.

I went over to the car, checking the doors, all locked. I didn't know what to do. I knew that if I didn't do something, I would freeze. I started crying, wondering which of the neighbors I could go to for help, as I didn't know any of them, when the woman neighbor across the street came outside carrying a blanket and without saying anything, put it around me. She then asked me if I wanted to come inside her trailer for a little while. Gratefully I followed her. 

When we got into her trailer, she offered me some dry clothes, suggested I take a warm shower to warm up. I did. It helped a lot. We talked most of the night. Finally I went to sleep in her couch. The next morning, she asked me if I wanted to call the police. I thanked her, but declined. She told me that even if I didn't file a complaint, she would. I thanked her. I stayed at her house until late afternoon. 

When Jeff's mother drove up with the children, I went back to our trailer. Jeff was bleary and hungover. He said nothing about his pushing me outside. Later when I said something about it, he denied it. He claimed he had no memory of it, that I was lying. I then told him that one of the neighbors (didn't tell him which one), had filed a report with the police. I also told him that if the abuse didn't stop, I would have him arrested. He told me that if I did leave or have him arrested, I would never see the children again. I stayed because I was afraid that he might take my children. However, it was several months before he used his fists on me. 
              
My refusal to drink with Jeff, and respond to his sexual overtures, caused him to try to force me to obey him. When his threats did not work, he changed tactics, using the humiliation of my public nakedness and a very real threat to my life due to the weather to force me to do as he wanted.   

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

The Olden Days?

When my younger son was 6 months old, after my second beating, my abuser decided we would move. We moved to a mobile home on five acres, located about 2 miles from a very small community. I knew no one, and was very isolated. Although we had electricity, propane and a phone, we did not have water or hookups to a sewer or septic system. Jeff promised within two weeks it would be hooked up. In the meantime we could haul water and use an outdoor privy. After 3 months of this, I asked when we would get the water and septic system set up, Jeff told me that I could deal with it and stop nagging him. I dropped the subject.

That evening, after putting the baby to bed, Jeff decided to bring the subject up again. He told me that in the "olden days" that there weren't all the modern things and people were much happier. I didn't argue with him, but was unsure where this conversation was headed. He then told me the subject was closed and to not bring it up again.

Two weeks later, Jeff came home from work, walked up to me, then without saying anything he slapped me. I was holding the baby and struggled to not drop him. I sat down and put the baby down. He was 9 1/2 months old and crawling well.  I told him to go play with his toys, which he did. Jeff stood there and said nothing. Once the baby had crawled away, he told me to get my lazy "a$$" off the floor. I stood up, and he proceeded to hit, slap, and kick me. I screamed, asking him why he was hitting me. When I screamed it made the baby cry, so I tried very hard to not make any noise. I cried though because it HURT!!! 

Jeff never said anything while he hit me. When I was finally no longer able to stand. He said that he knew I was going to bring up the subject of the water again and he wanted me to know that he expected to be obeyed when he said a subject was closed. I tried to think back to something I had said that might make him think I was going to bring the subject up, but the only thing I could remember was mentioning that morning that we would need to get more water the next day because we only had 10 gallons left. 

When Jeff was finished, he went and sat down on the couch. The baby was crying and went to his dad and tried to climb into his lap. Jeff pushed the baby out of his lap, onto the floor, then laughed at him, telling him he was clumsy. The baby started crying, I called the baby and he came to me. I held him, cuddling him, reassuring him until he calmed down.

As is typical of abusers, Jeff kept me isolated. I had no friends, and had lost almost all contact with my family. He also used any excuse to beat me. He claimed his "right" as "King of the Castle" to have his demands accepted unconditionally. Any type of disagreement could, and often did result in a beating. 

 If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

Long term effects of domestic violence

The long term effects of domestic violence have not begun to be fully documented. Victims suffer physical and mental problems as a result of domestic violence. Battering is the single major cause of injury to women, more significant that auto accidents, rapes, or muggings. (O'Reilly, 1983) In fact, the emotional and psychological abuse inflicted by batterers may be more costly to treat in the short-run than physical injury. (Straus, 1987) Many of the physical injuries sustained by women seem to cause medical difficulties as women grow older. Arthritis, hypertension and heart disease have been identified by battered women as directly caused by or aggravated by domestic violence early in their adult lives. (Corrao, 1985)


If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

The verbal abuse

When I found out I was pregnant, I was thrilled. I was tired a lot of time. All I wanted to do was sleep. The physical abuse stopped, but the emotional and verbal abuse kept on. It was more the tone of his voice and the looks than anything. When he would start, I would just close my eyes, ignore him as much as I could, put my hand on my belly, and in my mind talk to my baby.

My son (age almost 5) was excited about the baby. He did tell me that he wanted a sister, not a brother. He said that he wanted to be the baby boy and no one else could ever be my baby boy. Since my older son had visited when my younger son was 11 months old, I had not mentioned him again (actually I had been forbidden by Jeff to mention him). My younger son didn't remember his big brother. (When my younger son was older and I did remind him about his brother, he got angry and refuses to accept he has an older brother).

Although it made Jeff angry, I went and applied for food stamps, WIC, and a medical card. I felt it was the right thing to do. I knew I was a high risk pregnancy and wanted to be sure that I received the medical care I needed. Jeff didn't want me to use the food stamps, claiming only "trash" used food stamps. We had words several times about it. He raised his fist to me, I glared at him, told him to go ahead and hit me. I also told him if he did that I would call his mother and tell her.  Then I closed my eyes and waited for the blow. It didn't come. He finally said "ok, you stupid bi.ch, use them, but go to the (insert racial remark here) part of town to use them. I smiled and said ok. (note, I went by myself and went to the store I wanted to go to, because they had the best prices). Jeff might not have wanted me to use food stamps, but he sure didn't mind eating the food I bought with them.

The pregnancy was very hard for me. I was tired a lot. Most foods upset my stomach. Strong smells upset my stomach. Jeff dipped tobacco snuff, and spit. He would spit in an empty jar. The smell made me very ill. One night for some reason, he set it on the edge of the kitchen sink. I went to the sink to get a glass of water. I didn't turn on the light, because I didn't want to disturb anyone. I bumped the jar of his spit, it fell onto the floor. The smell make me ill, and I threw up. I turned on the light to clean it up, but wasn't able to do anything, because whenever I smelled it, I got sick. Finally I left the kitchen, woke Jeff up, told him he had to clean it up. He yelled at me for waking him up, loud enough to wake my son. I told my son to watch his step in the kitchen. Then told Jeff to clean it up, don't clean it up, I couldn't go in the kitchen until it was cleaned up. He finally did clean it up. 

I felt a small thrill of victory that I had stood my ground and Jeff had actually done it. Jeff complained for several days about it. He called me several names. One time after his verbal barrage, my son called me a bi..h. I told him that was not okay. He didn't call me a bi..h but after that when he would get mad at me, he would call me "B". Just the letter, not the word. I tried to explain that even that was not ok, but his dad laughed and encouraged him.

One afternoon I was very tired, and asked Jeff if he would take our son outside to play, while I took a nap. He agreed. I laid down and fell asleep. I am not sure how long I was asleep, but Jeff woke me up to tell me our son had fallen off the swing, and couldn't walk. Jeff had carried him from the yard to the couch. My son was crying, saying his leg hurt. I looked at his leg, felt it and told Jeff I thought he needed to go the Dr. Jeff said it was just a bump and that it would be okay in the morning. He said a few more things about making the boy into a sissy. I started to insist, but realized it would do no good. I gave my son some children's pain medicine and did what I could to make him comfortable. I do give Jeff credit for helping as much as he did, as I wasn't able to pick my son up to help him to the bathroom or other things like that.

I asked my son what happened. He told me that he was on the seesaw swinging part of the swing and told his Daddy that he was a teenage mutant ninja turtle and was going to jump to the top of the trailer and do a back flip at the same time. He said his daddy was smoking one of his funny looking cigarettes (marijuana) and told him to go ahead. My son said he jumped backwards off the swing, fell and the swing came back and hit him. He said his daddy stood there and laughed at him and finished his cigarette. Then his daddy came over to him, told him to get up and when he couldn't, picked him up and carried him into the house.

The next morning, my son's leg was worse. I suggested we take him to the Dr. This time Jeff agreed, but then told me to stay home, because there wasn't room in the truck for the three of us, without hurting the boy's leg. I suggested he call and ask his mother to borrow her car. Jeff's mother took us to a local hospital emergency room. My son had broken his leg in two places. The boy got a big cast.

While we were at the hospital, I was in the examining room and my son was in X-ray, the Dr came in and asked me what happened. I told him that I was asleep, and told him what my son had said (leaving out the funny cigarette part). He told me about the double break and that it was a very unusual break. I asked him what he meant. He said it was just unusual. 

When my son came back in the room, he told me that he had got to talk to a real nice lady that said she was like a cop. I asked what he had told her and he said, she just asked him about his leg. They talked about the turtles and things like that. He said that the lady said she was going to go talk to his daddy. A little later, the woman talked with me. She was a social worker and was just checking things because the break was the type of break usually seen when there was abuse involved. I told her that it was just an accident. She said she agreed, but that now there was a record of it and she hoped that there wouldn't be anymore "accidents". I told her that I would do my best to be sure there weren't. She gave me her card and said when we had an appointment for a follow up to call her because she wanted to see us. I said okay. 

When I told Jeff about the social worker wanting to do a follow up, he panicked. He denied any abuse (I believe him). He said that once a child is part of the system that the parents had no rights and then blamed me, saying that because of me getting food stamps and a medical card, it brought us to the attention of THEM. I started laughing, because it sounded so silly at the time. That made him madder. I told him to just be quiet and not to worry. My son was sitting in a wheelchair, and Jeff's mother was waiting for us. 

We went home. Jeff calmed down by drinking and smoking his funny cigarettes. My son had everyone sign his cast. Life continued. Jeff seemed mad most of the time and talked nasty to me. I ignored him, took care of my son, slept a lot, and sang. 

Although there was no physical abuse, there was verbal and emotional abuse. The aim of emotional abuse is to chip away at feelings of self-worth and independence. Emotional abuse includes verbal abuse such as yelling, name-calling, blaming, and shaming. Isolation, intimidation, and controlling behavior also fall under emotional abuse 

The scars of emotional abuse are very real, and they run deep. In fact, emotional abuse can be just as damaging as physical abuse—sometimes even more so. It takes years to recover from verbal and emotional abuse, some people never do. 

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

Writing this blog is hard

As I work through the years of abuse, I wonder why I stayed. I wonder why when I left, I returned. Many times it was because of my children. Other times I don't really know. I cry a lot. I cry for my children, who feel their dad did nothing wrong, and are preventing me from seeing them or my grandchildren. I cry for my older son, whom I chose to stop seeing so I could protect him from my abuser. I cry because I was too lacking in confidence to walk away and stay. I cry because the memories hurt so very much.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas! Had a wonderful time with family. Had a full house, full of love and cheer. May the blessings of the Lord God be on all of you during this time, as we share the wonderful gift God gave us. A Savior named Jesus Christ.

The abuse continues part 1

After recovering from the concussion I had received from the beating Jeff gave me for suggesting I get a job to help the family, I thought about leaving again. We had no phone, and I had not heard from my family in two years. The last I had heard was when my brother had written to let me know that my mother had passed away. I wasn't sure where to go, as I had no money, no transportation, and no friends. Jeff's mother had once told me that if I ever needed help to come to her. So one evening when Jeff was asleep, I took my son, the keys and drove the 10 miles to her house.

Jeff's mother seemed surprised to see me. I asked her if I could stay there and told her what happened. She told me that if Jeff got that angry, it wasn't safe for me to stay at her house. She suggested that I leave my son with her and go to a nearby free camp ground for the night. I didn't want to leave my son, but she convinced me that he would be okay with her and it was better for me to go. So I left my son with her and drove off to spend the night sleeping in the truck.

The next morning when I returned to her house, Jeff was there. Jeff's mother had gone and picked him up. Jeff had denied to his mother that he had hit me. He had told her that it was all in my head, that I was crazy. To me, Jeff apologized, promised me it would never happen again. He agreed to go into therapy and quit drinking. When I refused to consider going back to him, he said that he was going to have me committed until I calmed down. Then he told me that he had spoken to an attorney and that he could get me committed for at least 3 days and once he did that I had no chance of custody or visitation. He said, so come back to me or never see my son again. I agreed, but made him promise to go to therapy and stop
 drinking. He agreed.

Needless to say, there was no therapy, and the drinking continued. The abuse, for a while, became no more than verbal. I was called names such as cow, bitch, ugly, stupid, crazy, and a few too vulgar to write. He told me that what happened had home had better stay at home. He told me if I complained or said anything to anyone that it showed disrespect and that would make him angry. We both continued going to school. I tried very hard to do well in my classes. I didn't talk to anyone, would sit in the back of the room, seldom responded in class, but turned in my homework, did very well on my tests, and got good grades. 

I had one teacher who tried to talk with me a couple times after class. I was polite, but did nothing more than answer in monosyllables. I had nothing to say to him. He finally asked me if I was okay. I told him I was just very shy ( I was actually just scared). He gave me his number and told me that if I ever needed someone to talk with, or help with anything to call him. I thanked him. He then said that I needed to remember that sometimes people did things to other people that weren't right. The only way to make it stop was to reach out and take a helping hand. I told him that I didn't need a helping hand and to leave me alone. I never called him. I ask myself now, what did he see that would make him reach out to help me? Why was I too scared to take that offer of help? 

Christmas approached. I love Christmas. I would put up the Christmas tree, decorate, and sing and play Christmas carols. That year when Jeff wasn't around I would read the story of Jesus to my son. I also read "Twas the Night Before Christmas". We bought books, color books, crayons, and trucks. Most of the smaller toys were from the dollar store. I wanted a Christmas, but knew we didn't have a lot of money. Jeff left one evening and came home with a very expensive video game system. When I asked where he had gotten it, as I knew we didn't have the money for it, he responded that it didn't matter, it was ours now. I started to ask again, but the look on his face told me if I said anything else, I would regret it. Note: I don't know if the system was stolen or not. I knew we didn't have the money for it. I suspect it may have been, but for all I know his mother could have bought it. 

A week after Christmas, Jeff insisted my son go back to day care. I was enjoying the time with my son, and asked why. Jeff got so angry for me asking. He wanted to know why I was questioning his authority, that the boy needed to go and that was all there was to it. I said I wasn't questioning his authority. I just wanted to know why. He hit me on the side of my head with his fist, told me to shut up and stop arguing with him. He called me several names, then proceeded to slap and hit me, until I just laid on the floor whimpering. 

The next day, Jeff took our son to day care. He then came home, proceeded to drink until he had finished a 12-pack of beer. Then I found out why he wanted my son to back to daycare. 

I got pregnant. I found out three weeks later when I went in to get my tubes tied. I couldn't get it done because of being pregnant. First I cried. Then all I could think of was how precious another baby would be. Jeff wanted me to get an abortion. I refused. Jeff got angry, threatened to beat it out of me. I told him I would get an amniocentesis, and if there was anything wrong, then I would consider it. He agreed. Jeff has a cousin with Down's syndrome, I was 36. It was considered high risk for birth defects. 

I made a decision that no matter what, I was going to have my baby. This was my 11th pregnancy, I had two live births, one still born (at 26 weeks gestation), and seven miscarriages. I had not wanted another baby, but since it happened, I was thrilled, even if Jeff was not. I had the amniocentesis, but waited to get the results until it would have been too late to do anything. 

One time during my pregnancy, Jeff slapped me. He did it in front of his mother. His mother got in his face and told him that if he hit me again while I was pregnant, she would castrate him. He didn't hit me again, not while I was pregnant. It was about 3 months after my daughter was born before he hit me again. His verbal and emotional abuse continued. I just accepted it. I was tired all the time, in addition to the pregnancy and taking care of my son, I carried a full load of classes. All I wanted to do was sleep.

It is obvious that he is following the abusers pattern of dominating his victim and demanding (undeserved) "respect". He also was letting me know he was doing this for my own good just like the old plantation owner, he was the "Massa", discipling (beating) his slave while professing to be a "loving'" Master.   

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

School days part 2

Going to school provided me an opportunity to prove to myself that I wasn't stupid. Jeff kept telling me I was, and I believed him. The first semester, Jeff and I took the same class. Machine shop. I did well in the class, but really didn't like it. 

Jeff was working, but decided it was too hard to go to school and work, so he quit his job. This resulted in us eventually having to move. For some reason, Landlords expect people to pay their rent. When I realized we were going to have to move, I started looking for another place to live. One we would be able to afford. There weren't a lot of options. I finally found a small trailer in a trailer park, near the school.

The rent was very low, because the trailer was in very bad shape. The landlord was willing to rent it for just the lot rent, if we would fix it up. Jeff didn't want to, but agreed we had no choice. The first thing we had to do was put a front door on it. Jeff got a piece of plywood, hinges and a padlock. He put it up as the door. It worked, I suppose. It looked terrible. At night we locked it on the inside, daytime when we left, locked on the outside.

When we got more money, we paid the rent for the next few months. The extra money, Jeff used to buy a privacy fence. He said that the neighbors were nothing but trash and he didn't want anything to do with any of them. The neighbors where mainly lower class, working people. It was more that he didn't want me or our son to get to know any of them. Abuser use isolation as a method of control. I was used to not having friends at that point, so I gave no argument.

Both Jeff and I continued school. Our son went to daycare. I realized I didn't want to keep taking machine shop. The shop teacher suggested I take some academic classes. He said I would do well in them. I did. I found I liked taking the classes. I learned. I made good grades. 

Money was very tight. Jeff got a part time job at a nearby convenience store. He would take (steal) cigarettes and used the extra money to buy beer. I suggested using the money to fix our home up, rather than buying beer He reacted that he gave enough da.m money to the family and needed to be able to relax after spending all his time working and going to school. He asked me what I was doing to support the family. I suggested me getting a job...wrong suggestion.

Jeff exploded in anger. He started screaming at me, hitting me, kicking me. He pulled my hair, knocked me to the ground. I at first tried to fight back, but when I did the blows got harder. He liked to hit me in the head with his fist. Even when I was down on the floor, begging, he continued hitting me. I passed out. 

When I came to, Jeff was sitting in his chair, drinking a beer. My son was laying next to me crying, asking me to hug him. I did held him close and told him how much I loved him. Jeff told me to stop my whimpering and get my lazy a$$ off the floor. I did. I was dizzy, felt sick to my stomach, and disoriented. I looked at Jeff, told him I was sick, struggled to bed and passed out. 

The next morning, I still felt very ill. I got up, fixed breakfast for my son and myself. I didn't go to school, just sat very quiet. My head hurt so much. My son stayed close, and wanted to sit in my lap. He put his arms around me and started singing a song I would sing to him when he was sick. I dozed off and on. I had no energy. My son kept singing to me. He also kept going and getting me water and telling me that if I drank I would feel better.

Jeff came out of the bedroom about noon. He asked me what the hell I was doing sitting on my a$$. He told me to get up and fix him something to eat. I told him I was not feeling well. He told me he didn't care, it was my job and get off my lazy a$$. I started to get up, but was so dizzy, I fell down. He started laughing at me. Then told me to forget it, to stay laying on the floor like a dog, all he wanted was a beer.

A few hours later, I felt better, Jeff was very drunk. I took my son outside to play. I stepped outside the gate to speak to one of the neighbors. Jeff came out the door, asked me what I was doing. I told him, being polite to the neighbor and watching our son play. Jeff stood there until I finished the conversation. When I came back into the yard, he walked up to me, put his fist against my cheek, told me he didn't want me talking to our trashy neighbors.

My son saw his dad, ran over, kicked him, then ran out the gate and started singing the theme from "Cops" ... "bad boy bad boy...what ya gonna do, what ya gonna do when they come for you?"  Jeff walked outside the gate, grabbed my son's arm, dragged him into the yard, shut the gate, then turned him over his knee and paddled him. It was a open handed spanking, not a beating. My son did not deserve it. I yelled at Jeff to stop and he said if I said anything else that I would be next.

I pushed Jeff on the back, my son got away. I told my boy to go to his room and shut the door. He did. Jeff pushed me to the ground, then kicked me twice. He called me a bitch. Then told me if I ever got in his way when he was disciplining HIS son again, he would kill me. He then went in the house, sat down and drank himself into a stupor.

I got my son from his room, went outside, and we stayed out until after dark. We went in one time, to use the restroom and then get something to eat. We had a picnic outside. I pointed out some stars. My son asked me if his daddy was a bad boy. I just hugged him and told him that sometimes people do bad things, but that no matter what I loved my baby boy. I told him he was my Monk-Monk and always would be.

Jeff used alcohol as an excuse to batter, but that is all it was, an excuse. He later stopped drinking, but still found excuses to hit both me and our children. Jeff also would react violently whenever I would disagree with him, or suggest he do something he didn't want to do.

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

Cycle of Violence

Cycle of Violence

Tension Building
Abuser starts to get angry
Abuse may begin
There is a breakdown of communication
Victim feels the need to keep the abuser calm
Tension becomes too much
Victim feels like they are 'walking on egg shells'

Incident
Any type of abuse occurs (physical/sexual/emotional)

Making-Up
Abuser may apologize for abuse
Abuser may promise it will never happen again
Abuser may blame the victim for causing the abuse
Abuser may deny abuse took place or say it was not as bad as the victim claims

Calm
Abuser acts like the abuse never happened
Physical abuse may not be taking place
Promises made during 'making-up' may be met
Victim may hope that the abuse is over
Abuser may give gifts to victim

The cycle can happen hundreds of times in an abusive relationship. Each stage lasts a different amount of time in a relationship. The total cycle can take anywhere from a few hours to a year or more to complete. 

It is important to remember that not all domestic violence relationships fit the cycle. Often, as time goes on, the 'making-up' and 'calm' stages disappear.  
 

Adapted from the original concept of:  Walker, Lenore. The Battered Woman. New York: Harper and Row, 1979. 

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

School days part 1

The year after I returned to Jeff was peaceful. I believed that he truly had changed. At first we lived in a small 2 bedroom trailer in a bad part of town. Jeff worked. I stayed home, spent time taking care of my son and Jeff. I tried very hard to make him happy. Jeff drank, but didn't take any anger out on me. He was too busy fighting with one of the neighbors. It wasn't that the neighbor did anything, but he still found reasons to curse and threaten them. He didn't change, he just directed his anger elsewhere. One night the neighbor threatened to shoot him. We moved two days later.

We moved into a house in a larger city, within walking distance of a shopping mall. I had my sold car, so was happy there was someplace I could walk to.  There were often things going on at the mall, including a visit by "The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." my son's favorite super heros.   

Jeff lost his job. I don't remember where he was working at that time. He had several jobs, some as short a time as a week. Some he would leave, some he would be fired from. The job loss was never his fault, it was always someone else's fault and he was just the victim of it. Everyone was out to get him. I am sure that his drinking himself into a stupor every night, smelling like stale beer, and his temper had nothing to do with anything (because none of those things would EVER affect job performance, right?).

I took a part time job. It was not a great job, but it helped. It was also close enough  so I could walk to work. It annoyed Jeff that I had found a job, so he accepted a job that took him away from home for six to eight weeks at a time. He had not been able to find a job close, and felt this job would open up opportunities for promotions into a much better paying job. He would leave the truck with me under strict orders not to drive unless it was for shopping or an emergency. He informed me that he would keep track of the milage. I agreed and took him to the terminal where he would be leaving from for his new job. 

While Jeff was gone, I got to know some of the neighbors. I would babysit for them. During the day a lot of the kids played at my house, both white and black children. My son learned to finger paint, play with play dough, color with crayons, and other things that he loved. I took a coloring book, traced some of the pictures onto the wall of his bedroom and painted them. He helped me do it, by handing me paint when I asked for a different color. We played music, sang silly songs, danced and laughed...laughed a lot. It was one of the happiest times I remember. 

I talked to Jeff's mother and sister two or three times a day. One or the other would call, claiming to care and asking about my day. They wanted to know what I had done, where I had gone, and who I had talked with. I really thought they cared. I found out later that Jeff had asked them to call and keep track of what I was doing. The way I found out was that during a fight many months later, Jeff started berating me for some things I had done. He told me that the children that I allowed our son to play with were nothing but (insert racial remark here) and trash.  

The first time he came home, he was kind and patient for a week, then started drinking. The morning he was leaving, he told me I had put too many miles on the truck. He asked me if I was whoring around. I denied even thinking about any man but him. He then laughed and said he already knew I wasn't cheating, but that I was putting too many miles on the truck (note, I drove him to and from the terminal, and to the grocery store, no where else). On that note, I drove him to the terminal for his next few weeks away. 

That was when I learned how to disconnect the speedometer cable. The second time he came home, the only milage showing was to take him and pick him up. 

The third time Jeff was gone, I saw on TV an advertisement for vocational training and financial aid at a local community college. I called and talked to a counselor. I went to the college, checked out the day care, talked to the Vo-tech teacher and the financial aid officer. I then applied to the program. Then I was accepted, and received a financial aid letter stating my tuition would be paid, plus an additional $3,000 per semester. 

When Jeff came home that third time, I said nothing about my school plans, as I wasn't sure if I was going to go. Things were going well, until the school called, and Jeff answered the phone. He was pleasant to the person on the other end of the phone, even asking questions. It was after he hung up that his temper exploded. He was sober, so he couldn't use being drunk as an excuse for the beating he gave me, the first one since I had returned to him, actually 356 days later. 

When he was finished, he sat in his chair, holding our son. As I struggled to fix supper, he told the boy what a bad Mama I was. I said nothing. Jeff told our son to tell me what a bad Mama I was and when the boy refused, he was slapped. I spoke up and told him to say whatever his daddy told him to say so he could come and sit at the table to eat his supper. My son looked at his daddy and said "My Mama is not bad. She is beautiful and you are bad. I hate you." I gasped, ran and grabbed my son from his dads lap, then locked both of us in his bedroom. Jeff kicked a hole in the door, then yelled we weren't worth it and left, coming back very late and very drunk. He parked the truck on the front lawn.

The next morning, Jeff went through all the drawers, throwing everything onto the floor. He finally found the letter from the college, read it, then said "well I'll be da.m.d". If I can get a chunk like this, then I can go too and keep you company. Heck we can help each other with homework too. I just nodded, feeling trapped.

Jeff didn't go away again. I found out he had been given a verbal warning for smuggling alcohol and drinking it at work. He felt his employer was wrong, so he quit. He found another job and enrolled in school. We rode together everyday, took the same classes and his verbal assaults continued both to and from school, his physical assaults also continued at home. A month into the semester, he quit his job saying it was too hard to go to school and work. When we got the extra money from our financial aid, he took my share and told me he would handle it. In school days part 2, I will go into what happened after he quit his job, and us getting kicked out of the house.  

Even after Jeff graduated, I continued going to school. I would give the extra money to Jeff as a "bribe" to let me continue. It was my way to get away from him and to show myself that I wasn't stupid. Although it took many years, I ended up with a bachelors degree and two masters degrees. I carried a 3.3 GPA (out of a possible 4.0). I was accepted into a Ph.D program, but I did not continue. 

I still felt stupid. If I wasn't stupid, why did Jeff keep telling me I was? Why did I believe him in spite of the evidence to the contrary? Because I had heard it so often, it was almost impossible not to believe it.

Abusers use any method they can to maintain control, including belittling accomplishments, verbal and emotional abuse.        

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.  

Myspace blog post Sept 27, 2006

This is something I posted on myspace on September 27, 2006. It has not been modified or changed in any way. I finally escaped my my abuser in November 2006. The day this blog was originally posted, I was angry and tired. I took two classes at school, worked a full time job (making much more than he did), and did everything around the house. I drove an hour and fifteen minutes to work, and an hour and fifteen minutes home. I was forced to sign my paycheck over to him, so he could deposit it and given an allowance of $20 per week, plus a tank of gas. He claimed that he was paying all the bills and just didn't want me to have to worry about it. I found out that he was paying only his bills, not mine (I had a few medical bills that my medical insurance had not paid). I had to account for every bit of time that I was away from home. He would call me several times an hour to check on me, always asking when I would be home. I hated my cellphone and reached a point where I would turn it off, but then I had to explain why my phone was off. I also was expected to bring receipts to show him I wasn't spending my "allowance" foolishly.
So now that you have the background....    
    
Wednesday 27 September, 2006
I shouldn't complain. It is only as I expected. Just one more reason why I get so angry and am looking forward to being divorced.

Last night as I was driving home from taking a test for a class I am enrolled in, I received a call from my daughter's cell phone. She had gone to a school function with some of her friends. The call was from the woman chaperone. It seems my Daughter had been injured at the function. She had fallen onto her knee and was in severe pain, unable to walk or bend her leg. I picked her up and decided to take her to the emergency room to be checked. I am glad I did, as it appears she may have torn some ligaments in her knee.

I didn't mind taking her to the hospital; it is my responsibility to do so. I even tried to get her mind off her pain, by making her laugh a couple times as we waited. The thing that bothered me was when her father called and I asked for her SS # (I had forgotten to write it down). He made a couple of smart remarks about Okay he was awake, I had done it again, sorry he was trying to sleep. He then hung up on me.

I hate being hung up on and excuse me, he called me, I didn't call him. What the hell was the problem? I was sitting in the emergency room at the hospital at midnight . I knew I would be there for at least two more hours, and would still have to get up to go to work the next day. He was complaining because he called and I asked him for something? He was the one with his fanny sleeping, not me. He was the one that would get enough sleep to function the next day, not me. I swallowed my anger, and focused on my daughter, she was what was important right then.

Her Dad called a few minutes later, and was angry still. I told him I didn't have time to deal with his crap and hung up on him, then turned my phone off. It was almost 1:30 am before we were finally finished. She had a brace on her leg and crutches. Hobble along Cassidy I called her. She laughed about it. We drove home, getting into the house at about 2:45 am .

At 3:30 when the alarm went off, I tried to wake up her Dad for work. He muttered he wanted to sleep a little longer. When the alarm went off 10 minutes later, I sat up and said "Try to be considerate once in a while, get up so I can sleep some before I have to get ready for work."

He said I didn't have to be so nasty about it, but he did get up. I reset the alarm for 6:15 am . While he was getting ready for work, he kept waking me up to talk to him, I was glad when he finally left at 4:30 am . The alarm seemed to go off only a few minutes later. I struggled up, asked my daughter if she was going to school, at which time she said no. I then drank enough coffee to wake up, and as I was walking out the door, my daughter informed me she wanted to go to school. I should have stopped and waited for her to get ready, but didn't. I was afraid of being late to work. I take her everyday, we leave at a certain time, and it was much later then that, she wasn't dressed because she had at first thought she would be staying home. I asked my son if he could get one of his friends to take her to school, he said okay, therefore I left for work.

When I was about 10 miles from work, my daughter called me and told me that with her leg in the brace she couldn't get in her brother's friends car. She was trying to find another way to school. It seems she had a test and did not want to miss it. I suggested she stay home, she started crying. I told her I would call her back. I called her Dad at work. I asked him if he could run and take her to school. It would have taken him about 30 minutes. He said he couldn't he was already on the clock. I suggested clocking out early for break, as he would often do it if he wanted to go somewhere or do something during the day. He said to just tell her to stay at home. I called my daughter back, again suggested she stay at home. She said that one of the neighbors said they would run her to school. I said okay.

So I am sitting at work, tired, and annoyed. Her Dad calls me, and apologizes for being so snappy at me last night when he had called me. He also said that he should have taken off except he was in the middle of something. It made me angry and I let loose on him. I told him it was always that way, that he never took any responsibility when it came to the family. He always wanted things his way, but couldn't even help out at all. I was tired of him always being the way he was, then thinking an apology would make things all better. He retorted back he was sorry he had called me, and I told him he should be. He hung up on me.

I am asking too much of him I guess. Take some responsibility, or at least if you don't be a bit considerate at times. Is that really too much to ask?

Last night as we were sitting in the waiting room, my daughter and I talked. She told me she was glad she had one responsible parent. That if she had to depend on her Dad, she would be a mess and miserable. Then she told me I had what they called the Mother Bear syndrome. I asked for an explanation. She said the Mama Bear took care of her cubs, hugging and protecting them when they needed to be hugged and protected, but at the same time, encouraging independence. She said if her Dad had his way he would keep her a prisoner. Then she told me she was glad I had friends that I was going out to be with, but to please not move away until she graduated from high school, so she could at least stay with her friends until then. I reassured her, she didn't have to worry about it.

I love my daughter very much. She is my baby, the child I thought I would never have. I will be grateful to her dad, for he is the one who made it so I could have this beautiful intelligent child. I will stay with him until it is time to leave, for her sake. I think he knows though that I no longer consider us to be married.

--------------------------------------end

Abusers make their victims beg for money. They give an "allowance", and then demand an accounting of how that allowance was spent.  Abusers check up on their victims and make them give an accounting of their time.

 If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233. 

Alabama

About a month after my older son visited me, we had a visit from Child Protective Services. I was not at home. Jeff was at work. I had placed my younger son in a wagon and walked the two miles to the nearby small community. It was something I had started doing everyday if the weather permitted, without his knowledge or permission. I would wave to people and had started even talking to them, trying to make friends. Once a week the mobile library bus would make a stop and I was always waiting.

That day, I had stayed in town a little longer then usual. When I got home, there was a notice on the door from CPS. It stated there had been a complaint of child abuse and neglect. There was a phone number with a request for us to call. I didn't call, but waited until Jeff came home, then showed him the note. He panicked, telling me that we were going to go to jail and never see our child again. He then ordered me to get some clothes for us together, we had to leave right away. I asked why and where we were going. He said he didn't know, but for me to hurry before the law showed up.

A note here. Jeff was terrified of police. He hated them. He always blamed them, stating they were out to get him. He has had several DUI's. Each time it was never his fault. He was arrested (much later than this story) for attempted burglary, and claimed it was a conspiracy. I knew his feelings about police, so didn't argue with him.

I did as Jeff ordered me to do, and gathered some clothes and toys for myself and the baby. I also packed a bag with a few snacks, as we had not eaten supper. We all loaded into the truck and drove off. I asked where we were going. His answer was, we were going to his Mother's house. She lived in another state, and about 6 hours away.  I returned one time, a week later, to help Jeff pack and load all our belongings into a rental moving truck. The last thing I did before leaving was return my library books. 

I stayed with my mother-in-law for about 3 weeks. Jeff went alone to Alabama to find a job and a place for us to live. He stated that a couple of states away from where we had lived would be far enough away for us to be safe. He found a job delivering pizza, and rented a trailer at the end of a rural dirt road.

The first month was quiet. Jeff worked long hours and when he came home would bring pizza. It reached the point where I hated pizza. One evening I made the mistake of complaining about having pizza again. This made Jeff angry. He accused me of not appreciating everything he did ( gee how dare I not appreciate him for stealing pizza from his employer). There were many more words, cruel and violent, that brought me to tears. I kept apologizing. Jeff pulled my hair and slapped me several times, but did restrain from using his fists. (how thoughtful of him). 

Life continued, Jeff worked, brought home pizza, and almost everyday called me names and subjected me to verbal abuse. I spent my days playing with my son, going outside with him, taking walks, and wishing I wasn't such a terrible person.

My son celebrated his second birthday in Alabama. Two days later, Jeff lost his job. (for stealing pizza from his employer). That night he took his anger out on me, with his fists. He threatened to kill me and then brandished a knife. He made several swings at me, almost cutting me twice. I ran into my son's room and locked the door. He proceeded to repeatedly hit and kick the door, cursing at me, telling me to come out so he could kill me. My son stood on his bed crying and screaming in terror. I opened the bedroom window, picked up my son and put him outside. I then climbed out, picked him up and ran.

I ran as far as I could, then walked, still carrying my son. I was wearing shorts, a t-shirt and was barefooted, as I had not had time to put on shoes. Thank God it was summer. My son was in his pajamas. When I would see headlights, I would get off the road and hide in the bushes. Jeff drove by four times, calling my name, but did not see me. Although I only walked for about an hour, it seemed much much longer.  

The first lighted building I came to was a Fire Department. I didn't know if I would be able to get help there or not, but I was so tired and wanted to just sit somewhere for a little while. My son had finally fallen asleep and was now deadweight on me. The people inside the fire department were very helpful and called the police for me. 

The police officer wanted to arrest Jeff, but all I wanted was to get away. I was too scared that night and felt certain that if I had him arrested, he would kill me once he was out.  The officer took my son and me to a battered woman's shelter. Once I was inside, I broke down and couldn't stop crying. It was the first time in two years that I felt safe.

The workers at the shelter helped me find a job and day care. I stayed there for a month, then rented a small trailer near my job. I bought a car, went to work, loved my son, made friends with my neighbors and was happy... 

After two more months of blessed peace, I returned home to find my abuser sitting in the open door of my trailer, drinking beer. He greeted me, cursing and screaming that I was stupid if I thought I was going to keep his son. He threatened to kill me. I backed out as quickly as possible and drove off. 

I drove most of the night, stopping only once to get something to eat for my son and myself and gas for the car. I stayed in a motel in the city where I finally stopped for some rest. I was able to quickly find a job which included a place to live. I did not go back for any of our belongings. I found out later that Jeff had packed up and stored everything. I lived in the city for four months before Jeff contacted me again. I do not know how he found me.

Jeff claimed he had been in therapy (a lie), was changed (a lie), and really loved me. He begged me to give him another chance. He told me he had missed me, and our son. He told me that a boy needed a father. He used every argument he could. He treated me with the charm he had in abundance. So, like a fool, after 7 months of peace, I returned to the relationship.  He was a changed man for about a year before the abuse began again.

The happiest thing I remember about that time away from Jeff was Christmas. He did not want to celebrate Christmas. He said that it was something those "neo-Nazi baptists" (his words) did to force people to go to church. I bought a Christmas tree and decorations. My son "helped" me put it up and loved the lights. He wanted to sleep under the tree, and kept begging me to read to him about Jesus. 

Less than 3% of abusers will actually stop battering. Women leave an abuser an average of 7 times before finally leaving for good. The most dangerous time is when a person tries to leave an abusive relationship. Every 21 days a woman is killed by domestic violence.   

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

The loaded gun

When my older son (from a previous marriage) was 13 years old and my younger son was 11 months old, my abuser "allowed" my older son to visit me. We lived in a mobile home on five acres  located about 2 miles from a very small community. We had electricity, propane and a phone, we did not have water or sewer. We would haul water and use an outdoor privy. I knew no one and had no friends in the community. 

When my abuser first mentioned my older son visiting, I was hesitant. Not because I did not want to see my older son, but because I was unsure of Jeff and his potential for abuse. I suggested that instead of my older son visiting, that I might take my younger son and go visit him at his home. Jeff told me that I wasn't taking his son anywhere and if I left alone to visit that I could not come back AND would never be allowed to see my younger son again. 

I still was hesitant and told Jeff I didn't think it was a good idea for my older son to come here. He asked me why. I didn't say why, just repeated it wasn't a good idea. He then promised that he would not drink and would be on his best behavior during the visit. (he brought this up, not me. It shows he was aware that his abuse was not acceptable.) He also promised that not only would he pay round trip airfare, but would also give me $1500 so my older son and I could go and have some fun. I finally relented, though still hesitant. Smiling, Jeff told me that he was glad he was able to make me happy. I called my older son and his Dad to make arrangements for his visit for a week. The next day Jeff and I went to the airport and purchased the round trip ticket.

I looked forward eagerly to my older son's visit. I sent for brochures of different tourist attractions that were close. My older son and I discussed them on the phone and made plans to visit some of them. He even made the suggestion to be sure that we went places that my younger son would enjoy. My older son had not yet met his brother and looked forward to it. 

Jeff seemed content and happy. He displayed none of the signs that showed he was going to explode. He also didn't drink. I was happy and would even sing and dance in his presence, something I seldom did as these signs of me being happy seemed to upset him.

The first day of my older son's visit, Jeff started drinking. I was terrified. I asked him for the money he had promised so I could take my older son elsewhere. Jeff laughed at me and told me that he wasn't giving me a dime to waste on that little MF. I reminded him that he had promised not to drink during the visit, and had promised me some money. He grabbed the front of my shirt, jerking me to him and told me to shut my nagging mouth before he slapped the s##t out of me. I shut up. I was terrified of what he might do. My older son was not in the room and I was thankful he had not had to witness this.

After I calmed down, I went to my older son and told him that something had come up and we weren't going to be able to do the things we had planned. I didn't go into any details. He said it was okay, he was just glad to be able to visit with his mom and brother. We made plans to do things outside.

The weather seemed to be with us, as the days were beautiful summer days. Both my sons and I spent much of our time outdoors, with my younger son shadowing his big brother. Jeff stayed inside drinking. Then one day Jeff decided to come out to see what we were doing. He was drunk. He started yelling and cursing at my older son, because he was playing with his little brother. Then my abuser went back inside.

My older son looked at me, then picked up his brother. Suddenly Jeff reappeared, this time holding a gun. He started his verbal assault on my older son. I screamed at him to stop. Jeff looked at me and told me to shut the "F" up. He then turned back toward my older son, laughed and told him that it would take only one shot to get rid of his worthless a$$. My older son was shocked, stood dumfounded, and just continued to hold his brother. 

Then Jeff took the gun, aimed in the direction of my children, and fired several shots hitting the ground beside them.  I cried out and begged Jeff to put down the gun. Jeff just laughed, returning inside, still carrying the gun. 

I told my older son to get in the truck. He hurried to comply, still carrying his brother.  I went inside, quietly getting the truck keys. Jeff either did not see or hear me, or chose to ignore me. I hurried to the truck and drove off. 

A few miles down the road, I pulled over and started crying. I asked my older son if he was okay and he hugged me and his brother close and told me he was fine. Then he asked if I was okay and I assured him I was. Then I drove to a phone and called the airline to see if I could get him a seat back to his home that day. I wasn't able to. 

There were two days remaining in his visit. I didn't know what to do. I had no place to go with him and I asked him what he wanted to do. I told him we could go to a park or campground if he wanted. We spent the day at a park near a river, then went back to where I lived. 

I spent the next two days terrified for my older son. I tried to keep him away from Jeff and when it was finally time to take him to the airport I took both my sons and left Jeff alone. I love my son and was so very happy to see him, but when he walked onto the plane, all I felt was a profound sense of relief that he was still safe and able to return to his home.

After much soul searching and pain, I made the decision not to see my beloved older son again while I was still with my abuser. It was several years later, and only after I had left my abuser, that I was once again able to get to know the wonderful man he has become.

My abuser alienated me from my family, destroyed my self-esteem, threatened harm to my children, isolated me, and left me feeling I had no other options but to stay with him and accept his continued abuse. 

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.

My daughter-revised post

My daughter

From my marriage to my abuser, I have two children. I have posted about my son and his potential to be an abuser. I also have a daughter. She is beautiful and intelligent.  When she was younger, I would call her my angel baby. She graduated high school at age 16, and started college. I was very proud of her.   She chose to stay with her father when I left. I begged her to reconsider, but she was adamant. Since she was 14 and the courts would allow her to live with the parent she chose, I had no option but to let her stay.  

After leaving my abuser, I learned to drive an 18-wheeler. I drove cross-country, and was gone for 6 weeks at a time. I had remarried and team drove with my husband. I was sitting in a truck stop in Reno, NV waiting to deliver my load the next day. My daughter called me, stating it was urgent that she talk to me. She said that she was alone and if she didn't talk to me right then, she might not be able to tell me later. 

My daughter proceeded to beg me to let her move in with me at my home. (she was 17 at the time, almost finished with her first year of college). When I asked her why, she told me things that made me sick to my stomach. She told me her father forced her to get naked and walk around in front of him. She told me her father and brother would hit her and call her names. She told me many things. It got me very upset. She said after much abuse and monitored phone calls, she was tired of it and wanted to get out.

Child Protective Services and the local police department have the records of this and her statements attesting that these things happened. Also because she told me these things were happening, I believed her.

I won't go into details of it, but I did rescue her. 

Children of abusers are often victims of abuse. This abuse may be physical, emotional, or sexual abuse. 

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233

A tirade of hate

As I post things about my life with an abuser, I have received phone calls and emails from two certain people whom I love and tried to protect as they were growing up.  

They beg me to take down this blog. They claim that I was a bad parent with deep rooted problems, they tell me I will never see my grandchildren. They claim it is a tirade of hate against someone who laughs and is glad that I am gone.

One email excerpt states:
" Instead of admitting you were a bad parent with deep rooted problems, you continue a tyrade of hate against someone who frankly laughs because he's glad to be done with you." (direct copy, including misspellings). 

Is it a tirade of hate? I think not. If it is kept behind closed doors, then the abuse will only be a shameful family secret. I have the strength now to speak out. I will continue to speak out.

As for my abuser laughing at me and being glad he is done with me? So be it. I am glad I had the strength to LEAVE him, even though he begged me to stay, making his worthless promises, even crying, telling me that we belong together, that he wouldn't be able to find anyone else. (unless he has changed, which most abusers do not, I hope no woman is insane enough to want to be with him).

I was not a perfect parent, but there are few who are, I tried to be. I loved my children, I wanted only to protect them. I kept them fed, clothed, read to them, encouraged them to get good grades in school, helped with homework, talked to teachers when necessary, stayed up all night when they were sick, went to Drs with them, sold my personal items when their father refused to buy medicine, prevented their father from beating them, but mostly I tried to show them love.

Deep rooted problems? No argument there, heck I stayed with a man for 20 years who got pleasure from beating me, how normal is that?  

I was isolated, alone, and scared. Before I married my abuser, I had had two ribs cracked ( not by him). He beat me badly enough to crack my ribs again. He gave me a concussion, addled my brain enough so I lost memory for a while, broke one of my fingers, and would hit my breasts, among other things. I now often have lumps in my breasts, which have the potential to become cancerous, which, according to THREE different medical doctors, are a direct result of repeated hitting and damage.

So I ask again, is it a tirade of hate?  

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233

The arrest

We were living in Arkansas in a trailer park. My younger son was 11, my daughter was in first grade. I didn't work outside the home, because Jeff said that my place was at home. He worked at night and slept all day. After taking the children to the school bus, I was not allowed to make any noise. If I woke him up, he would yell and slap me. Often times I would sneak out of the house and visit with a woman who lived in the park. She was the first friend I had had in about 10 years. Jeff did not know I had a friend.
One day, I dropped some dishes and woke him. He came out of the bedroom in a mood. I apologized, but it wasn't enough. He started hitting me and calling me names. He yelled that I was an ungrateful bi..h. After a few minutes he seemed to calm down, got himself a beer and went into the front room.
I went into the bathroom to urinate. As I was sitting there, he slammed the door open, came in, then I saw him swing a large yellow flashlight at my head. 
I do not know how much longer it was, but I next remember being outside, confused, at first not knowing who or where I was. My friend was holding me and crying my name. I sat down, and after a short time, I came back to my senses. She asked me what happened and I told her. I also told her I didn't remember anything after Jeff had swung the flashlight at me. She told me she was going to call the police. I begged her not to. We both then walked up to the school bus stop, as it was close to time for the children to arrive.
I walked my children home, helped them with homework, fixed supper, without mentioning what their Dad had done. After supper, Jeff decided he didn't want to go to work, he wanted to stay home and drink. I sat in the floor with my daughter playing with building blocks and a wooden train she had. My younger son played with a video game. When it was time for the children to go to bed, Jeff told me to let them stay up for a while. I was sarcastic in my response of "yea, let them stay up all night, miss school tomorrow too, right?" 
Wrong comment, Jeff jumped up and started hitting me and yelling. I ran outside to get away from him. He followed me and continued hitting me. Then I saw red and blue lights. My friend had reported to the police what had happened earlier, and as soon as I ran into the yard, she called them again.
Jeff was arrested. He spent two days in jail before his mother bailed him out. I had a restraining order taken out on him. I tried to find a job, tried to get welfare, anything so I could pay the rent and keep food on the table. I was turned down for welfare because Jeff had a job, even though he wasn't living with us, his income made us ineligible, because we were still married. We lived 15 miles from town, no bus came near, and I had no transportation. A job seemed a remote possibility, even though I wanted one.
A month later, an apologetic Jeff moved back in. I felt it was that or me and my kids would have been homeless. 
And yes, Jeff was convicted of spousal abuse, placed on probation, and has a record for it. If anyone wants to see the records, contact me and I will be glad to tell you how to get copies.

Abusers keep control through financial dependance.

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233

This blog will stay

This blog will stay up. I post nothing untrue, everything I post is documented. For the people asking me to take it down...

DEAL WITH IT!!!!!

Have a nice life.

Sandra B.

My younger son

This blog is making my youngest son angry. He is using my grandson against me (telling me if I continue to tell about it, I will never see my grandson.). He is also writing me, making false accusations of abuse. Nothing true. He claims again that his father never abused me. If it never happened, then why are there police and medical records that substantiate my claims? Does he want me to send him copies?
I pray for him, and hope he will get the help he needs, because he is in serious danger of also being an abuser.
He was 14 the first time he hit me. I admit when he did I lost my temper and slapped him, then screamed at him, telling him he was not going to be hitting me. Several more times as he was growing up, he would threaten me, push me, and call me names. Each time I would react against it. There were times he would push me, then go to his room. I would follow him in there, refusing to allow him to be violent against me, without me letting him know it was wrong.
It seemed like when he was a teen, every time his father got mad at him, then my son would turn it on me. His father would throw my son's things out into the yard, break his things (remember the cell phones?). I would stand up for my son against his father to prevent my ex from attacking my son.
I am not perfect, never claimed to be. I think now, I did my children no favors by protecting them. 
I know I should have left, no excuses. I will say that by the time I was financially able to do so, my self-esteem was to the point where I wasn't able to do so. This is common among survivors of domestic violence. 
It has been 4 years since I left my abuser, after 20+ years of abuse. I am now able to start speaking out about it, after years of counseling. 
So I say to my angry younger son, deal with it, accept it, grow up, get the help you need, I am not going to stop.
I will continue to pray for you, your girlfriend, and my grandson.
 
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233 

Long term affects of domestic violence

Many survivors of domestic violence suffer from depression. Some may suffer Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. 
Long or short term domestic violence can result in long term problems. The person being battered, as well as children who witness the violence can be affected.

Emotional responses include shock, terror, guilt, horror, irritability, anxiety, hostility, and depression. Cognitive responses are reflected in significant concentration impairment, confusion, self-blame, intrusive thoughts about the traumatic experience(s) (also referred to as flashbacks), lowered self-efficacy, fears of losing control, and fear of reoccurrence of the trauma. Biologically-based responses involve sleep disturbance (i.e., insomnia), nightmares, an exaggerated startle response, and psychosomatic symptoms. Behavioral responses include avoidance, social withdrawal, interpersonal stress (decreased intimacy and lowered trust in others), and substance abuse. The process through which the individual has coped prior to the trauma is arrested; consequently, a sense of helplessness is often maintained (Foy, 1992).

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233

Lighter fluid and a lighter

I originally wanted to provide a chronological listing of the abuse I suffered, but I think there are some incidences that proved to be more traumatic than others. These are the ones I want to bring into the open and  deal with, in an attempt to put the memories and flashbacks to rest.

I remember one time when my youngest son was about 7 , and my daughter was about 3. Jeff wasn't working at the time. I had a fairly decent job. I worked sometimes on Saturdays until noon. I came home that Saturday afternoon. The only thing the children had eaten was sugared cola and candy. I had left something for both breakfast and lunch. It was about 2 pm, Jeff was laid out on the couch, drinking. He was already drunk. I didn't say anything to him, just went in and changed my clothes, then went into the kitchen. 
Jeff came into the kitchen and asked me what I was doing. I admit I was mad, but I tried to bite my tongue. I smiled and told him I was going to fix supper. He told me that I didn't need to fix supper, that the kids had plenty of stuff to eat. He was so drunk, I had trouble understanding him. I asked him to repeat what he said, and he started yelling at me, calling me names. I tried to walk away, because I knew if I said what I wanted to say, it would really make him mad. 
As I tried to leave the room, he grabbed my upper arm and twisted it behind me. He pulled me close to him, put his other arm around my throat, and told me not to walk away from him. I just froze. 
My son walked into the kitchen, looked at us, then ran over and kicked Jeff. My son shouted "let my Mama go." Jeff did, but only so he could push the boy away and into a wall. Jeff had his fist raised to hit the child when I grabbed his arm and started screaming at him.  Jeff did turn his attention to me again. 
I told Jeff if he hit my son, I would leave, take both kids and disappear. This made Jeff so mad, I thought he was going to have a stroke. Instead he backhanded me hard enough to knock me into the stove, which caused the pot of very hot water to spill. Since I had turned to stove off when Jeff first came into the kitchen it wasn't boiling hot, but hot enough to hurt. The water spilled all over the floor in front of the stove. I slipped in it and fell. Jeff started his laughing. 
Then Jeff told me if I ever left, he would hunt me down and kill me. Then he would take and bury me so far in the woods, no one would ever find me. I sat there on the floor, in the hot water, crying. My son sat crying where he was. When I asked if he was okay, he nodded yes. 
Jeff went back into the front room, taking my son with him. Shortly after, I got up, mopped up the water and cleaned off the stove. I then sat at the dining room table, trying to be calm. I was attending college two nights a week, so I pulled out my school books and started doing homework. I didn't know what else to do. I could hear Jeff in the front room, ranting to the children about what a "B...h" I was, and if I didn't change my ways, that he would find a way to put me out of my misery. Several times during the next couple of hours, one or the other child would come into the kitchen to get a beer out of the refrigerator for Jeff. The first time they both came in, and both came to me. They both gave me hugs and told me they loved me. Jeff heard them and shouted for them to leave me alone. He told them I was a bad Mama and until I could be better they had best stay away. Both children gave me another hug, whispered they loved me. I hugged them, whispered I love them too, and told them to go play in their room. They did, until Jeff started calling them to get them to get his beer.
Things seemed to have calmed down, when Jeff came into the dining room. He asked me what I was doing. I told him homework. He came over, sat across from me and told me that I was done going to school. I asked him what he meant and he grabbed my papers and books, threw them into the kitchen floor and repeated that I was through with school. When I mentioned I only had three more weeks to finish the semester, he repeated that I was through with school. I stood up and repeated I only had three weeks left to finish the semester. I bent over to pick up my books and papers from the floor. He kicked me in the bottom, causing me to fall onto the top of my books. He told me I was through with school. Then he grabbed a can of lighter fluid and squirted it on the books, splashing some onto me. Then he started laughing, pulled out a lighter and started flicking it so it flamed. I started screaming and scooting backwards. I am not sure what I was screaming, but I do remember screaming he was crazy and was going to kill me. Both children ran into the kitchen when I started screaming. My daughter started crying and my son ran out of the room, yelling he was going to call the cops. We did not have a phone, but my son ran to a neighbor's house and told them to call because his daddy was trying to burn up his Mama. 
I am not sure how long it took for the police to get there, they claim it was 7 minutes from the time they received the call to the time they got there. Jeff must have realized my son had left the house, because he stopped flicking the lighter, grabbed our daughter, and told me to stand up. I did. He told me to go change into my nightgown and if the cops showed up to tell them it was all a misunderstanding. I told him no, that I hoped he went to jail and would rot there for all I cared. He then said that if I refused, he would set the books on fire and toss my daughter into it. He laughed and said that she would burn to death before me or anyone else could save her.
I didn't know if that was true, but it scared me, even more than the thought of me burning. When the cops came to the door, I was in my nightgown, sitting in a chair facing the door, my son was sitting on the floor beside me I answered and told them everything was fine. They said they had had a call, and I told them the screaming was because I had spilled hot water and thought I had burned myself. That my son was mistaken and everything was okay. My son just sat there and cried. When he was asked if that is what happened, he looked at me then nodded. The officers seemed reluctant to leave, but did.
Jeff came out of the kitchen with my daughter, patted me on the head, told me I did good, that I had "earned" the right to finish the semester. He then went to the bedroom and passed out.    

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233

A memory

This morning, while laying in bed, I started thinking about what my youngest son said about his Dad never using violence. I remember once when he was 17, he stayed out all night with some of his friends. About 5:30 am, the phone rang. It was my youngest son asking if his Dad had left for work yet. Since his Dad left at 5 am, I told him Yes. My youngest son then said that was good because he didn't want his Dad to know that his friends and he had been drinking and while driving around had had a flat tire. He said he knew if he waited that I would help them, and that he wouldn't have to worry about his Dad getting mad and hitting him. I took a jack to the boys to help them. I did lecture them on drinking and driving as well as underage drinking. I did not tell his Dad.
My son did later tell his Dad what had happened and my ex was furious that I had not told him. My ex called my son several derogatory names, telling him he was worthless. I, however, took the brunt of his anger, because I had kept this secret, in an effort to protect my son. 
My thoughts after this were, "Thank goodness, the only bruises I have can be hidden under clothes. At least this time he didn't give me a black eye."

I love my children so very much, and did all I could to protect them from the anger of their Dad. Did I do the wrong thing?

If you are being abuse or someone you know is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233

Now more of my story

I was a very lonely woman.  I worked two jobs, saved money and when I was able would go to Illinois to visit my son. I was too scared (felt fragile) to move back to Illinois, so I just visited. I did visit him as often as possible.

One of the jobs I had offered me a promotion as a traveling manager. I had nothing to hold me, so I accepted. I traveled throughout the southern part of the USA. I landed in Mississippi, where my company wanted to open an office. One weekend I was sitting at a park with a lake and talking with others also at the park. I met a man who seemed nice. We became friends and then more.
His name is Jeff. He was, initially, so different from any man I had been involved with. He was polite, treated me like I was important, and I fell in love with him. We got married, and I almost immediately got pregnant. We were thrilled. The pregnancy was difficult for me. I was a high risk pregnancy because I had in the past had miscarriages. I had to quit my job, which made money tight, but Jeff said it was okay and we would make it. There is 11 years between my oldest son and my next child.
On June 23, our son was born. I thought life couldn't get better. When our son was 6 months old, Jeff came home late from work. He was also drunk and high. He started yelling at me because his supper was cold. Jeff took his fist, hit me in the head hard enough to knock me to the floor. He then started kicking me. I fought back, but it did no good. He was stronger, meaner and drunker than me. I don't know how long the beating lasted because I finally passed out. 
The baby crying finally woke me up. I managed to get off the floor. I hurt everywhere. I wasn't able to pick up the baby, but did manage to change his diaper and feed him. I then laid on the floor and cried. When I stopped, I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Then proceeded to wash the blood from my face. I had cuts and the beginning of bruises. It hurt to move or breath deeply. I later found out he had cracked two ribs. 
I knew I needed to call the police, but we had no phone. I also knew I was in no condition to walk anywhere carrying the baby. I was afraid to leave the baby because I didn't know what Jeff might do to him. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing.
When Jeff woke up, he was sorry, apologized, blamed it on the drinking, said it would never happen again. But it did, over and over.
It was less than a week when it happened again. Jeff came in from work late. I gave him his supper. It was spaghetti. Suddenly Jeff took his plate of food, threw it at me and started yelling, telling me that after working all day, he expected a decent supper. I was shocked because every Saturday we sat down together, made a menu and a shopping list. I tried to tell him that he had suggested spaghetti as the meal for that evening, but all it did was make him angrier. Then he hit me. I went to the ground and started screaming then crawled under the table to get away from him. He grabbed the broom and started poking it at me under the table. I grabbed it and pulled it out of his hands. He started laughing and told me to keep it. Then Jeff got the baby out of the crib, told me he would be back, and left. I ran outside, begging him not to take the baby, but he just kept laughing and drove away.
I cried and decided I was going to leave as soon as I got the baby back. Jeff came back about an hour later, without the baby. He asked me if I had calmed down, or was I going to act crazy. Then he told me that he didn't want to be around a crazy woman. I told him I was calm and not crazy. Then asked him where the baby was. He told me he had taken the baby somewhere safe and until he was sure I was calm, he would leave the baby where the baby was. Then he laughed at me. His laugh sent chills through me. Jeff told me to prove I was sorry for everything I had done wrong. He made me get on my knees and beg for forgiveness. Then he put a plate of dog food on the floor, told me to eat my supper, then lay down and act like a good dog. I did. It humiliated me, but all I could think about was the baby and when I would see him again. I fell asleep on the floor at Jeff's feet. 

The next morning, I asked Jeff about the baby. He told me that he would bring the baby back as soon as he was sure I understood that if I tried to leave or cause any trouble that Jeff would make sure I never saw the baby again. Then Jeff said something that scared me so much, I accepted his terms. Jeff said "if you don't agree, it will be just like your other brat, trying to see him. Do you want to lose another kid?" 

Jeff left, didn't come back until after dark, drunk, but he did bring the baby back. About an hour later Jeff told me it was time for bed. I won't give details about it. Jeff showed me he was "King and Master."

Jeff's abuse this time was physical (hitting), emotional (making me think I was crazy, humiliating me), sexual, intimidation (throwing the food), threats (taking away my child), and shifting the blame to me.

I was too scared to do anything. Jeff never apologized, but it was 4 months before he attacked me again. He also kept telling me how much he loved me.

This is not love!

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233

What is domestic violence?

Domestic Violence is a method of control. It may include physical, emotional, sexual and/or economic. Women who are abused physically are often isolated (physically and emotionally). Their partners tend to control their lives to a great extent as well as verbally degrade them.
Physical abuse includes, but is not limited to:
Hair pulling, biting, shaking, pushing, pinching, choking, kicking, confinement, slapping, hitting, punching, using weapons, and depriving her of food or sleep.

Sexual abuse includes, but not limited to:
forced intercourse, including oral, vaginal, or anal sex, unwanted sexual touching in public or in private, forcing her to view pornographic images, forcing her to have sex with others, nudity, or forcing her out into public inappropriately dressed. 

Emotional abuse includes, but is not limited to:
Insulting her in public or in private 
Putting down her friends and family 
Making her feel bad about herself 
Calling her namesm 
Making her think she's crazy 
Playing mind games 
Humiliating her 
Making her feel guilty 
Using Male Privilege; acting like "Master of the Castle" 
Treating her like a servant 
Making all the big decisions 
Being the one to define men's and women's roles.

Economic abuse includes, but is not limited to:
Preventing her from getting or keeping a job 
Making her ask for money 
Giving her an allowance 
Taking her money 
Not letting her know about or have access to family income 
Not allowing her a voice in important financial decisions 
Demanding exclusive control over household finances.

Threats include:
Making or carrying out threats to do something to hurt her 
Threatening to leave her, or to commit suicide 
Threatening to report her to welfare 
Making her drop charges 
Making her do illegal things.

Intimidation: 
Making her afraid by using looks, gestures, or actions 
Throwing or smashing things, destroying property 
Abusing pets 
Dangerous driving 
Displaying weapons.

Using children:
Making her feel guilty about the children 
Using the children to relay messages 
Using visitation to harass her 
Threatening to take the children away.

Isolation:
Controlling what she does, who she sees, what she reads, & where she goes 
Limiting her outside involvement 
Refusing to let her learn to drive, go to school, or get a job 
Not allowing her to freely use the car or the telephone.

Jealousy and blame to justify actions.
Minimizing, Denying, Blaming 
Making light of the abuse and not taking her concerns about it seriously 
Checking up on where she's been or who she's talked to 
Accusing her of infidelity 
Saying the abuse didn't happen 
Shifting responsibility for abusive behavior 
Saying she caused it.

If you are being abuse or someone you know is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233

A little background

I grew up in California. I was the third of four children. I have an older brother and sister and a younger brother. My family moved often, usually running from bill collectors or the law. My father spent time in prison. Because we moved often, it was difficult to establish friendships. I was jealous of those who stayed in one place and had friendships established in kindergarten. Although I had my brothers and sister, I always felt lonely. 
When I was 12, my family life stabilized and my family stopped moving. I still had difficulty making friends, because I had never learned the skills necessary. I was very lonely.  
When I turned 17, I met a Marine and fell in love with him. At 18, I married him. We moved to Illinois. It was a rocky marriage. I had my first child when I was 20. I left my first husband when my son was 18 months old. I won't go into details about my first marriage, it was very rocky, and my first husband was able to get custody of our son. My ex refused to allow me to see him and made it difficult to find him. I lost custody of my son at age three and next saw him at age seven. I spent four years searching and every extra dime, hoping to be able to be a mother to my son. However the situation allowed me only to be an occasional visitor to the child I loved so much.

That is the background...
I make no excuses, I admit to making a lot of mistakes.

Facts about domestic violence

In 1991, 5,745 women in the United States died as a result of homicide.
Six in every 10 women who are victims of homicide were murdered by someone they knew. About half of these women were murdered by a spouse or someone with whom they had been intimate.
Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women between the ages of 15-44.
Every 21 days, a woman is killed by domestic violence.
Children are involved in 60 percent of domestic violence cases.
More than three million children witness acts of domestic violence each year.
Up to 50 percent of all homeless women and children in this country are fleeing domestic violence.
One in ten calls made to alert police of domestic violence is placed by a child in the home.
More than 53 percent of male abusers beat their children.
One of every three abused children becomes an adult abuser or victim.
Victims and abusers are found in every social and economic class, race, religious group, and sexual orientation.
Factors such as poverty, single-parent households headed by women, and parents with less than a high school education were found to be more common among families suffering abuse.

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233