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.