While recovering from abuse, it is two steps forward and one step back. Sometimes it feels like one step forward and two steps back though. After 20+ years of abuse, and 5 years out of it. I still have issues and problems. Most I have managed to overcome, but occasionally it's those backward steps that come up, slap you in the face, and make me wonder what might have triggered it. After two months of good nights with no nightmares, last night I had one of those screaming, hard to wake from and shaking for hours after. My husband had to wake me, then held me, until I calmed down. I can't think of anything that might have caused it either. I am okay this morning, just trying to keep myself busy, because I have a lot of nervous energy.
I am going to tell my nightmare, so if it will bother anyone, please stop reading. I find for me writing about the nightmares helps me.
In my nightmare I had gone to somewhere to do some work (dark area, no streetlights, bad neighborhood). My abuser and my youngest son (age 25), showed up and trapped me in a room. My abuser had some kind of scar on his face and he kept yelling at me that I had caused it, and that I needed to pay for damaging him. I tried to leave the room, but my son stood by the door and would push me every time I tried to get out the door. I ran to a window and screamed to a woman that was digging through a dumpster outside to call the police. She told me to watch her son while she found a phone. I yelled, take your son, run away, call the police. She said something in another language and left. My abuser then grabbed me, threw me against the wall and started hitting me, while my son held me. When my husband woke me up, I was screaming "Run away, Run away"
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Then I cry
People keep asking why I stayed with my abuser. There were a lot of reasons. I think the main reason was fear. I was afraid that I would lose my children. If he was able to get custody, then I wouldn't be able to protect them (in the end I wasn't anyway). If he didn't get custody, then when they visited with him, I wouldn't be able to protect them. I was also afraid that if I left, he would make good on his threats to kill me. He also told me so often no one would ever want me, and that I was lucky that he was willing to accept me, in spite of my being stupid, a failure, worthless, etc. that I believed him and was afraid to be alone forever. I can go on about the why's, but I did stay. People who were not in my situation can never understand it, heck I don't understand it. My fear and his abuse lead to me having an intense fear of failure. Because I was so afraid of failing, a lot of times I didn't try. Then I hated myself for not trying. A perpetual cycle of self-loathing.
Although I can't remember a lot of the terrible things, or how often, that my abuser told me both as part of a fight, or even when it was said in what was supposed to be a loving way. Those things have been stored in my brain, in my memory. The emotions I felt, the fear, the emotional pain, even connected to the physical pain. It is all there. Sometimes those emotions and feelings will be triggered by an unrelated event. I have no control over them. My reaction to them is generally overwhelming. It can be a fight or flight reaction. Most of mine are a flight reaction. I withdraw. If I can't physically withdraw, I get very upset, anxious, crying. I may tremble, shake, or scratch myself as if I have an itch, until I bring blood. When I realize that I am that upset, I will pick up something, a book, some crocheting, even a stuffed toy, anything to fill my hands so they aren't free.
I feel sometimes as if I have been murdered. All the things I could have been, might have done, the person I was meant to be, murdered. There are times when I feel like I am only a half a person, a stick figure, a shadow of what I was meant to be.
I grieve over it. It is hard for me to understand how one person can set out to deliberately destroy another person in such a way.
I get angry, but then that anger scares me, so I suppress it.
I hate myself for not being able to be angry, and then I cry.
Although I can't remember a lot of the terrible things, or how often, that my abuser told me both as part of a fight, or even when it was said in what was supposed to be a loving way. Those things have been stored in my brain, in my memory. The emotions I felt, the fear, the emotional pain, even connected to the physical pain. It is all there. Sometimes those emotions and feelings will be triggered by an unrelated event. I have no control over them. My reaction to them is generally overwhelming. It can be a fight or flight reaction. Most of mine are a flight reaction. I withdraw. If I can't physically withdraw, I get very upset, anxious, crying. I may tremble, shake, or scratch myself as if I have an itch, until I bring blood. When I realize that I am that upset, I will pick up something, a book, some crocheting, even a stuffed toy, anything to fill my hands so they aren't free.
I feel sometimes as if I have been murdered. All the things I could have been, might have done, the person I was meant to be, murdered. There are times when I feel like I am only a half a person, a stick figure, a shadow of what I was meant to be.
I grieve over it. It is hard for me to understand how one person can set out to deliberately destroy another person in such a way.
I get angry, but then that anger scares me, so I suppress it.
I hate myself for not being able to be angry, and then I cry.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Response to a comment
This was posted as a comment to my last blog "This too shall pass" I am copying it and my response, so it doesn't get lost. I feel the comment and questions are valid and deserve a response.
Begin comment:
I have read all of your blogs, and I have a couple questions if you don't mind me asking.
How old are your children?
What makes you think the "abuse" has affected their lives?
If my mom was in your predicament while my two sisters and I were in the household she would have killed an s.o.b. If it was that bad why didn't you?
What forced you to live with him?
When he followed you to California, why didn't you get to your parents house with your kids and then have him arrested?
What is the real point in this blog? You call your kids out a lot. Remember Hun, you raised them.
End of comment
Begin my response:
Thanks for reading my blog. First you are correct, I raised my children, however due to the situation, I had little influence over them. Their father made sure I had minimal control or influence over them. Most things I did make decisions about, he over ruled. Which additionally undermined my ability and authority as a parent.
Why do I "out" my children...when they contact me with threats and other things, it affects me, therefore I talk about it. Current abuse will be discussed first. I refuse to be threatened, bullied, or accept any type of abuse from my children or anyone else.
My children from my abuser are now ages 24 and 19. As to how it affected my children..my son has already been arrested for domestic violence, for grabbing and pushing his pregnant girlfriend. My daughter has other issues that I prefer not to put out on a public forum. Both my son and daughter have "typical" behaviors associated with having been raised in a violent household.
Note here while the majority of victims of abuse are women, men can also be abused, therefore any information includes victims of both genders.
As for why women stay (and why I stayed), there are many different reasons. Most women stay because of the children, and that was my primary reason, although there were other reasons.
Have you done any research at all on domestic violence? What about in-depth research on Battered Women's Syndrome? If not, here are several places to start:
http://www.dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/
http://www.mamashealth.com/abuse/bwomensyndrome.asp
http://www.oregoncounseling.org/Handouts/DomesticViolenceWomen.htm
http://www.peoples-health.com/battered_womens_syndrome.htm
That will give you a lot of answers as to why women stay. Besides staying for the children, fear is a major factor. Did you know that:
The most dangerous time for a woman involved in a violent relationship is when she tries to leave?
Battered women increase their risk for murder when they try to escape. (New York City Department of Health)
Thirty-four percent of the women homicide victims over age 15 are killed by their husbands, ex-husbands or boyfriends. (National Women Abuse Prevention Project)
By the mid 1990's, at least fifteen hundred women each year were murder victimes from domestic violence.
Perhaps your mother would have reacted differently, and for that I applaud her. Perhaps it will prevent you from becoming a victim. For your sake, I hope you never have to face that type of situation or choice.
California, my parents were both dead, so I was not going to a family home. I wasn't even sure that any of my siblings would be willing to see me. As for having him arrested. I have not posted about the things that happened in California, therefore how can you assume that I didn't? I will not say now what happened, it is a post for another time. He has been arrested for domestic violence, convicted, etc. I have book of documentation of things that happened.
As for the real point of the blog, it is as I stated in the beginning, it is to help me to get over the things that happened to me. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am not sure how much you know about it, however one of the therapies is to explore the event(s) and try to stop the memories. Is it helping? I don't know, sometimes I have to stop posting, because it is so painful to remember. My night terrors, depression, flashbacks, anxiety attacks, memory loss, etc. still continues.
I don't know if you will read my response to your comment. I hope you will, and if you have any additional questions or comments, please post or email them to me.
Begin comment:
I have read all of your blogs, and I have a couple questions if you don't mind me asking.
How old are your children?
What makes you think the "abuse" has affected their lives?
If my mom was in your predicament while my two sisters and I were in the household she would have killed an s.o.b. If it was that bad why didn't you?
What forced you to live with him?
When he followed you to California, why didn't you get to your parents house with your kids and then have him arrested?
What is the real point in this blog? You call your kids out a lot. Remember Hun, you raised them.
End of comment
Begin my response:
Thanks for reading my blog. First you are correct, I raised my children, however due to the situation, I had little influence over them. Their father made sure I had minimal control or influence over them. Most things I did make decisions about, he over ruled. Which additionally undermined my ability and authority as a parent.
Why do I "out" my children...when they contact me with threats and other things, it affects me, therefore I talk about it. Current abuse will be discussed first. I refuse to be threatened, bullied, or accept any type of abuse from my children or anyone else.
My children from my abuser are now ages 24 and 19. As to how it affected my children..my son has already been arrested for domestic violence, for grabbing and pushing his pregnant girlfriend. My daughter has other issues that I prefer not to put out on a public forum. Both my son and daughter have "typical" behaviors associated with having been raised in a violent household.
Note here while the majority of victims of abuse are women, men can also be abused, therefore any information includes victims of both genders.
As for why women stay (and why I stayed), there are many different reasons. Most women stay because of the children, and that was my primary reason, although there were other reasons.
Have you done any research at all on domestic violence? What about in-depth research on Battered Women's Syndrome? If not, here are several places to start:
http://www.dvrc-or.org/domestic/violence/resources/C61/
http://www.mamashealth.com/abuse/bwomensyndrome.asp
http://www.oregoncounseling.org/Handouts/DomesticViolenceWomen.htm
http://www.peoples-health.com/battered_womens_syndrome.htm
That will give you a lot of answers as to why women stay. Besides staying for the children, fear is a major factor. Did you know that:
The most dangerous time for a woman involved in a violent relationship is when she tries to leave?
Battered women increase their risk for murder when they try to escape. (New York City Department of Health)
Thirty-four percent of the women homicide victims over age 15 are killed by their husbands, ex-husbands or boyfriends. (National Women Abuse Prevention Project)
By the mid 1990's, at least fifteen hundred women each year were murder victimes from domestic violence.
Perhaps your mother would have reacted differently, and for that I applaud her. Perhaps it will prevent you from becoming a victim. For your sake, I hope you never have to face that type of situation or choice.
California, my parents were both dead, so I was not going to a family home. I wasn't even sure that any of my siblings would be willing to see me. As for having him arrested. I have not posted about the things that happened in California, therefore how can you assume that I didn't? I will not say now what happened, it is a post for another time. He has been arrested for domestic violence, convicted, etc. I have book of documentation of things that happened.
As for the real point of the blog, it is as I stated in the beginning, it is to help me to get over the things that happened to me. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am not sure how much you know about it, however one of the therapies is to explore the event(s) and try to stop the memories. Is it helping? I don't know, sometimes I have to stop posting, because it is so painful to remember. My night terrors, depression, flashbacks, anxiety attacks, memory loss, etc. still continues.
I don't know if you will read my response to your comment. I hope you will, and if you have any additional questions or comments, please post or email them to me.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
This too will pass
I have been depressed all day. I am not sure why. I woke up in the middle of the night with my pillow wet and my face feeling like I had been crying.
Gary said earlier I had come out into the den where he was. He said I was crying hard and just hugged him and kept crying very hard. He asked me what was wrong, but all I did was cry harder. When he asked me what was wrong all I did was shake my head and cry harder. He said he then took me back to bed.
I don't remember crying, or going into the den. I don't know why I was crying or why I am so depressed today. Gary says he didn't think at the time I was awake, even though I told him I was.
I am seeing a nueropsychologist about the PTSD and trying to learn to live with it. When I was on the truck, I didn't seem to have as many problems with it, but it has been determined that I was in a very small area, with a fairly structured environment. That I felt safe because I was seldom in the same place for very long. Whereas now I am in a stationary place. I know I am safe here, because even if Jeff came near the house, he wouldn't be able to harm me. That is the rational thought, the emotional thought is something very different.
I keep telling myself that this too shall pass.
Domestic violence has such long lasting effects. I hope those who are in that type of relationship are able to escape.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Gary said earlier I had come out into the den where he was. He said I was crying hard and just hugged him and kept crying very hard. He asked me what was wrong, but all I did was cry harder. When he asked me what was wrong all I did was shake my head and cry harder. He said he then took me back to bed.
I don't remember crying, or going into the den. I don't know why I was crying or why I am so depressed today. Gary says he didn't think at the time I was awake, even though I told him I was.
I am seeing a nueropsychologist about the PTSD and trying to learn to live with it. When I was on the truck, I didn't seem to have as many problems with it, but it has been determined that I was in a very small area, with a fairly structured environment. That I felt safe because I was seldom in the same place for very long. Whereas now I am in a stationary place. I know I am safe here, because even if Jeff came near the house, he wouldn't be able to harm me. That is the rational thought, the emotional thought is something very different.
I keep telling myself that this too shall pass.
Domestic violence has such long lasting effects. I hope those who are in that type of relationship are able to escape.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Taking a few days off from posting
I am going to take a few days off from posting on my blog. I might send information about domestic violence and it's affects, but it will be a few days before I post more about my abuser.
Although it helps me to write about these things, it also makes me very sad.
Although it helps me to write about these things, it also makes me very sad.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Domestic Violence Video Why Doesn't She Just Leave
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INY0WT6mDhg&sns=em
Although this video is an advertisement for a book, the information is valid. A lot of women stay for their children. It is the main reason I stayed. Unfortunately my children learned to also be abusers.
Note: most victims of domestic violence are women, however men sometimes are victims of domestic violence.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Personality of the batterer
Domestic violence does not occur because the woman instigates it. Abuse occurs because of witnessed abusive behavior in childhood. The father is notably strict. The mother is inconsistent and cautious in order to pacify the father’s brutal and violent behavior. Women sometimes learn to appease the male’s behavior because of early conditioning in childhood where women are taught by their mother to smooth over tense situations in the home.
The abuser:
Ridicules and insults women as a group
Ridicules beliefs, race, and religion
Withholds affection, approval, and appreciation
Constantly criticizes through name-calling and shouting
Humiliates the victim in public
Refuses to socialize
Controls all money and decisions
Refuses to work
Takes the keys from the victim
Threatens harm and abandonment
Threatens to kidnap children
Manipulates and lies
Destroys furniture
Punches holes in walls and breaks appliance
Tortures animals and kills pets
Uses weapons and guns to threaten
Violence and abuse are never excuses for administering harm on another individual. Women that become victims from the trauma of the abuse are at risk not only for serious developing psychological complications but more importantly, their lives.
The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) estimated the following data:
A woman is beaten every 18 seconds
21% of all women that enter emergency rooms have been abused
39% of all women that are murdered, are murdered by their husbands, boyfriends, or ex-partners
50% of African American women suicides are due to battering
“Women living in violent relationships pay a heavy price with their physical and mental health and sometimes even their lives"
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Credit to:
Battered Women
Understanding Domestic Violence
By Candy Brown
December 9, 2007
Located at:
http://www.suite101.com/content/battered-women-a37486
The abuser:
Ridicules and insults women as a group
Ridicules beliefs, race, and religion
Withholds affection, approval, and appreciation
Constantly criticizes through name-calling and shouting
Humiliates the victim in public
Refuses to socialize
Controls all money and decisions
Refuses to work
Takes the keys from the victim
Threatens harm and abandonment
Threatens to kidnap children
Manipulates and lies
Destroys furniture
Punches holes in walls and breaks appliance
Tortures animals and kills pets
Uses weapons and guns to threaten
Violence and abuse are never excuses for administering harm on another individual. Women that become victims from the trauma of the abuse are at risk not only for serious developing psychological complications but more importantly, their lives.
The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) estimated the following data:
A woman is beaten every 18 seconds
21% of all women that enter emergency rooms have been abused
39% of all women that are murdered, are murdered by their husbands, boyfriends, or ex-partners
50% of African American women suicides are due to battering
“Women living in violent relationships pay a heavy price with their physical and mental health and sometimes even their lives"
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Credit to:
Battered Women
Understanding Domestic Violence
By Candy Brown
December 9, 2007
Located at:
http://www.suite101.com/content/battered-women-a37486
Thursday, January 27, 2011
In the workplace
At different times during my relationship with my abuser, I was not allowed to work, or even allowed out of the house or into the yard alone. I wouldn't drive when Jeff was with me because sometimes he would hit or slap me while I was driving and I was afraid I might lose control of the vehicle. I was scared of hurting or killing either my children or someone else. I lead a very lonely life at times.
Being more greedy, and lazy, than having a desire to keep me isolated, there were times when Jeff would allow me to work. I almost always had more earning potential than he did. At first, he would take me to and from work, even when it would have made more sense for me to take the car after dropping him off. When it became logistically difficult for him to drive me, He would let me drive, but check the milage. Later when I had a cell phone he would call often to check on me. Sometimes as often as 10 or more times in an hour, unless I was talking to him.
The abuse I was suffering at home sometimes caused problems for me at work. I had many different employers over the course of the years. The most common problem I had was when Jeff would call several times during my work shift. Two of my employers finally told him not to call, but when he continued his harassment, I would be let go. This would make him angry and cause him to blame me for being a failure.
I often went to work with bruises. When co-workers would mention them, I always had an excuse or story to explain the bruises away. I was clumsy, things fell off shelves, doors shut in the dark. I would never say that the bruise was because I was being hit. I was afraid to say anything. Terrified that Jeff would find out and beat me, kill me, or disappear with my children. If a co-worker cared enough to try to help, I would tell them to mind their own business, and sometimes even quit. Fear sometimes makes a person do irrational things.
After 15 years of leaving bruises, Jeff finally stopped hitting me in a way that left marks. His abuse was more subtle, and somehow more devastating. He would threaten to hit me, often swinging his fist at me (causing me to duck or cringe to avoid it) pull hair, pinch or hit my breasts, push me into the wall, lock me in a closet for hours without allowing me anything to drink, eat, or access to a bathroom, (I finally started hiding adult incontinence pads in the closet), or other things that kept me in fear and submission.
The last job I held, before finally escaping my abuser, was a high profile high stress job. I made every attempt to handle my job well, while continuing to hide the things happening to me at home. Two of my co-workers left for other jobs and instead of replacing them, the workload was transferred to me. When I wasn't able to preform alone as well as three people, I was reprimanded. One day my boss (a woman) came into the office where I was working, shut the door, leaned against it, then said something. I started panicking and asked her to open the door. She refused. She tried to explain why she was there, but all I could see is that I was trapped. I again asked her to open the door or at least move away from it, again she refused, telling me I was being silly. At that time, I sat in my chair at my desk, put my head down, covered it with my arms and started begging....please please open the door, let me out, please. My boss came up behind me and touched my shoulder, started to say something, but at her touch, I jumped up, ran to the door, opened it and headed outside.
I sat outside on some stairs until I calmed down. My boss stood in the door, asking if I was okay. I told her I would come inside in a few minutes. When I was able, I went back in, apologized to my boss, told her I had claustrophobia. She then apologized for not opening the door. After that when she needed to talk privately with me, she wouldn't close the door completely and would stand or sit on the other side of me, allowing me access to the door if I needed it. On very nice days, she would ask if I wanted to go outside to talk. This woman could be very cruel and demanding at times, but I am grateful that in this she was understanding.
At this job, Jeff would call several times a day, but I had asked my secretary to put his calls through only to my voicemail. I would also turn off my cell phone so his calls went also to voicemail. It felt good to have the peace and ability to ignore him.
My reaction to something as simple as being in a room with the door closed is a direct reaction to the abuse I was suffering. I still find it very uncomfortable to be in a closed room, and I am scared of being alone in the dark.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Being more greedy, and lazy, than having a desire to keep me isolated, there were times when Jeff would allow me to work. I almost always had more earning potential than he did. At first, he would take me to and from work, even when it would have made more sense for me to take the car after dropping him off. When it became logistically difficult for him to drive me, He would let me drive, but check the milage. Later when I had a cell phone he would call often to check on me. Sometimes as often as 10 or more times in an hour, unless I was talking to him.
The abuse I was suffering at home sometimes caused problems for me at work. I had many different employers over the course of the years. The most common problem I had was when Jeff would call several times during my work shift. Two of my employers finally told him not to call, but when he continued his harassment, I would be let go. This would make him angry and cause him to blame me for being a failure.
I often went to work with bruises. When co-workers would mention them, I always had an excuse or story to explain the bruises away. I was clumsy, things fell off shelves, doors shut in the dark. I would never say that the bruise was because I was being hit. I was afraid to say anything. Terrified that Jeff would find out and beat me, kill me, or disappear with my children. If a co-worker cared enough to try to help, I would tell them to mind their own business, and sometimes even quit. Fear sometimes makes a person do irrational things.
After 15 years of leaving bruises, Jeff finally stopped hitting me in a way that left marks. His abuse was more subtle, and somehow more devastating. He would threaten to hit me, often swinging his fist at me (causing me to duck or cringe to avoid it) pull hair, pinch or hit my breasts, push me into the wall, lock me in a closet for hours without allowing me anything to drink, eat, or access to a bathroom, (I finally started hiding adult incontinence pads in the closet), or other things that kept me in fear and submission.
The last job I held, before finally escaping my abuser, was a high profile high stress job. I made every attempt to handle my job well, while continuing to hide the things happening to me at home. Two of my co-workers left for other jobs and instead of replacing them, the workload was transferred to me. When I wasn't able to preform alone as well as three people, I was reprimanded. One day my boss (a woman) came into the office where I was working, shut the door, leaned against it, then said something. I started panicking and asked her to open the door. She refused. She tried to explain why she was there, but all I could see is that I was trapped. I again asked her to open the door or at least move away from it, again she refused, telling me I was being silly. At that time, I sat in my chair at my desk, put my head down, covered it with my arms and started begging....please please open the door, let me out, please. My boss came up behind me and touched my shoulder, started to say something, but at her touch, I jumped up, ran to the door, opened it and headed outside.
I sat outside on some stairs until I calmed down. My boss stood in the door, asking if I was okay. I told her I would come inside in a few minutes. When I was able, I went back in, apologized to my boss, told her I had claustrophobia. She then apologized for not opening the door. After that when she needed to talk privately with me, she wouldn't close the door completely and would stand or sit on the other side of me, allowing me access to the door if I needed it. On very nice days, she would ask if I wanted to go outside to talk. This woman could be very cruel and demanding at times, but I am grateful that in this she was understanding.
At this job, Jeff would call several times a day, but I had asked my secretary to put his calls through only to my voicemail. I would also turn off my cell phone so his calls went also to voicemail. It felt good to have the peace and ability to ignore him.
My reaction to something as simple as being in a room with the door closed is a direct reaction to the abuse I was suffering. I still find it very uncomfortable to be in a closed room, and I am scared of being alone in the dark.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The pothole
This is a somewhat spotty memory, but some things I remember.
Jeff had beaten me two days earlier. He had used his fists and hit me on the side of my head, by my temple. His blow was hard enough to knock me to the ground. I passed out but do not know for how long.. When I awoke, I was sick to my stomach, very dizzy, had trouble with judging distance when walking, and light bothered me. I was also very confused and had difficulty in understanding some of what people were saying. I tried to hide it for the sake of the children. Although I couldn't remember why I had been beaten, there still was guilt, somehow believing I had done something wrong. (wish my younger son or abuser would tell me, it's a blank spot).
The family got in our current vehicle and went to the town near where we lived. Jeff dropped me and my daughter off to do something elsewhere (I am thinking post office...but not positive) while he and my son went to the grocery store. When he dropped me off, Jeff told me to walk over to the store when I finished (a distance of about 3 blocks). As I was walking to the store, holding my daughters hand, my coordination was not as it should be. I had trouble judging the distance between my feet and the ground, so I was trying to walk carefully. I didn't see the hole in the pavement, and when I stepped in it, I fell. As I laid on the ground, I couldn't comprehend what I needed to do to stand up again. I knew I needed to get up, but the mechanics of it were beyond my ability at the time. My daughter stood beside me, crying and shouting at me to get up. I heard her and wanted to comfort her, but also didn't understand how to do so. I finally was able to sit up and hug her. When I looked around, I saw my son and Jeff sitting in the car watching me and laughing. It seemed like several minutes with them laughing and my daughter crying, hugging me and trying to get me to stand up, before Jeff finally came over and helped me up. When I was standing, he started laughing again and told me it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.
I managed to get into the car, while Jeff strapped my daughter into her car seat. We went home, where I went to bed and remember very little for two days. I managed to function, but have only a spotty memory of it. Jeff and my younger son over the years would often bring up the time I tripped over a pothole. I asked them a few times to not mention it, but they continued to do so. I finally laughed with them, while crying inside.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Jeff had beaten me two days earlier. He had used his fists and hit me on the side of my head, by my temple. His blow was hard enough to knock me to the ground. I passed out but do not know for how long.. When I awoke, I was sick to my stomach, very dizzy, had trouble with judging distance when walking, and light bothered me. I was also very confused and had difficulty in understanding some of what people were saying. I tried to hide it for the sake of the children. Although I couldn't remember why I had been beaten, there still was guilt, somehow believing I had done something wrong. (wish my younger son or abuser would tell me, it's a blank spot).
The family got in our current vehicle and went to the town near where we lived. Jeff dropped me and my daughter off to do something elsewhere (I am thinking post office...but not positive) while he and my son went to the grocery store. When he dropped me off, Jeff told me to walk over to the store when I finished (a distance of about 3 blocks). As I was walking to the store, holding my daughters hand, my coordination was not as it should be. I had trouble judging the distance between my feet and the ground, so I was trying to walk carefully. I didn't see the hole in the pavement, and when I stepped in it, I fell. As I laid on the ground, I couldn't comprehend what I needed to do to stand up again. I knew I needed to get up, but the mechanics of it were beyond my ability at the time. My daughter stood beside me, crying and shouting at me to get up. I heard her and wanted to comfort her, but also didn't understand how to do so. I finally was able to sit up and hug her. When I looked around, I saw my son and Jeff sitting in the car watching me and laughing. It seemed like several minutes with them laughing and my daughter crying, hugging me and trying to get me to stand up, before Jeff finally came over and helped me up. When I was standing, he started laughing again and told me it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.
I managed to get into the car, while Jeff strapped my daughter into her car seat. We went home, where I went to bed and remember very little for two days. I managed to function, but have only a spotty memory of it. Jeff and my younger son over the years would often bring up the time I tripped over a pothole. I asked them a few times to not mention it, but they continued to do so. I finally laughed with them, while crying inside.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
I will not be silent
I left Jeff in November 2006. I escaped from him. I learned to drive an 18-wheeler and team drove with my best friend (a man I had known since 1999, but had not told about the abuse and who is now my husband). I filed for a divorce from Jeff in January 2007. Jeff would call me while I was out on the road, begging me, pleading with me, making his worthless promises. I learned to ignore his calls, would get angry at him, and eventually when I did answer, would give my anger free rein. One day he called stating he had a question about if he should allow our daughter (age15) to attend a band function, I told him to stand up and act like a man. Our daughter had chosen to live with him, and she had been attending band functions for 3 years, so why was he bothering me with this kind of BS. He commented that he didn't understand what had gotten into me, because I used to know my place. My response was "I have grown a set of balls, and they are bigger than any you have ever had." he called me a name and hung up.
Yes, Jeff, I still have a set of balls. I survived years of your abuse, and I am going to shout it from the rooftops. I am going to tell the world what you did to me and that you are an abusive sadistic monster. If I find out that you are dating, I will print a copy of my blog and send it to her. If I have to, in order to protect another woman from your abuse, I will take out an ad in the paper. She needs to know what you are.
You can't shut me up, not you, not your son, not your daughter.
I will not be silent and condone your 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.
Yes, Jeff, I still have a set of balls. I survived years of your abuse, and I am going to shout it from the rooftops. I am going to tell the world what you did to me and that you are an abusive sadistic monster. If I find out that you are dating, I will print a copy of my blog and send it to her. If I have to, in order to protect another woman from your abuse, I will take out an ad in the paper. She needs to know what you are.
You can't shut me up, not you, not your son, not your daughter.
I will not be silent and condone your 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.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Generational Domestic Violence
The really sad thing about domestic violence is that it tends to pass from one generation to another. Children who are raised seeing violence in the home tend to either be abusers or abused. My youngest son denies his father abused me while he was growing up. He, however, would often times try to stop his father from beating me, resulting in him getting hit, slapped or punched rather than me. His father often referred to him as a "stupid son of a bi.ch" "no good mother f..ker", "fat lazy a$$hole". It is very sad as my younger son is an intelligent young man who has already been arrested on domestic violence charges against his girlfriend. Right now he is directing his anger toward me, because I refuse to stop writing about the abuse his father directed at me.
Some facts about generational domestic violence:
Violence is a learned behavior. Many children who witness abuse grow up to repeat the behavior as spouses and parents: children repeat what they have been taught.
More than 3 million children witness acts of domestic violence every year in their home: the place they should be the safest. In homes where one parent perpetrates violence against the other parent, the children are abused at a rate 1500% higher than the national average. National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, Washington D.C.
Little boys who grow up in homes where domestic violence is occurring are 100 times more likely to become abusers than boys in violence-free homes. Senator Joseph Biden, Violence Against Women: Victims of the System (Washington D.C.: U.S. Senate Committee on the Judiciary
81% of men who batter had fathers who abused their mother. "The Effects of Domestic Violence on Children", N.J. Department of Community of Community Affairs, Division of Women
As violence against the woman becomes more severe and more frequent in a home, the children experience a 300% increase in physical abuse by the adult male abuser. Straus & Gelles, Physical Violence in America
63% of young men 11-20 years of age who are serving time for homicide have killed their mother’s abuser. The March of Dimes
A history of child abuse increases a person’s likelihood of being arrested by 53%. Penn State University
Violent juvenile delinquents are four times more likely than other youths to come from homes in which their fathers batter their mothers. Women's’ Action Coalition
Children who experience violence at home often turn this violence out on the community. A high percentage of juvenile delinquents are battered children. 80% of men in prisons grew up in violent homes. Breaking the Cycle, 2002
Often, teenagers from violent homes turn to drugs and/or alcohol for release and comfort. Many escape into early and poor marriages and/or pregnancies. Breaking the Cycle, 2002
A child’s exposure to the father abusing the mother is the strongest risk factor of transmitting violent behavior from one generation to the next. Report of the American Psychological Association Presidential Task Force on Violence and the Family, APA, 1996
In my younger son, I see this cycle continuing. I pray that he will get the help he needs before it is too late.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Some facts about generational domestic violence:
Violence is a learned behavior. Many children who witness abuse grow up to repeat the behavior as spouses and parents: children repeat what they have been taught.
More than 3 million children witness acts of domestic violence every year in their home: the place they should be the safest. In homes where one parent perpetrates violence against the other parent, the children are abused at a rate 1500% higher than the national average. National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, Washington D.C.
Little boys who grow up in homes where domestic violence is occurring are 100 times more likely to become abusers than boys in violence-free homes. Senator Joseph Biden, Violence Against Women: Victims of the System (Washington D.C.: U.S. Senate Committee on the Judiciary
81% of men who batter had fathers who abused their mother. "The Effects of Domestic Violence on Children", N.J. Department of Community of Community Affairs, Division of Women
As violence against the woman becomes more severe and more frequent in a home, the children experience a 300% increase in physical abuse by the adult male abuser. Straus & Gelles, Physical Violence in America
63% of young men 11-20 years of age who are serving time for homicide have killed their mother’s abuser. The March of Dimes
A history of child abuse increases a person’s likelihood of being arrested by 53%. Penn State University
Violent juvenile delinquents are four times more likely than other youths to come from homes in which their fathers batter their mothers. Women's’ Action Coalition
Children who experience violence at home often turn this violence out on the community. A high percentage of juvenile delinquents are battered children. 80% of men in prisons grew up in violent homes. Breaking the Cycle, 2002
Often, teenagers from violent homes turn to drugs and/or alcohol for release and comfort. Many escape into early and poor marriages and/or pregnancies. Breaking the Cycle, 2002
A child’s exposure to the father abusing the mother is the strongest risk factor of transmitting violent behavior from one generation to the next. Report of the American Psychological Association Presidential Task Force on Violence and the Family, APA, 1996
In my younger son, I see this cycle continuing. I pray that he will get the help he needs before it is too late.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Email exchange
My younger son is angry about this blog and told me he wanted nothing to do with me. He has refused to allow me to see my grandson, or discuss the things his father did to me. He says his father never did anything to me, and that he himself never raised a hand against me. He has said that I was the abuser, when all arrest records, court documents, medical records and other documentation show that I am the one who was abused.
So I was very surprised yesterday when I received an email from him about some changes in his wedding plans with a request for my phone number. I responded and gave him both my home and cell number. I thought perhaps he was taking a step toward a reconciliation. I found I was mistaken. It was another of his cruel learned abusive behaviors. I chose to respond to his emails, because in the past when I was bullied or pushed, I cowered in fear and backed off. I will no longer be bullied or pushed. No one will make me feel worthless or take the blame for their abusive behavior.
To share his learned abusive behavior, I am going to copy the emails, in full, only removing any names that may prove to closely identify anyone or provide a location. This is a matter of protection of everyone's privacy.
His first email to me
January 22 at 10:07am
So a little update... Instead of my grandparents we are thinking the beach. Dress would obviously be sun dress, khaki shorts, floral shirts, etc. No skimpy bikinis or anything like that please. Inbox me your address pretty please. :)
My response to this was to send my address.
His second email to me
January 22 at 10:23am
Also (girlfriend) needs phone numbers! We should have a specific location very soon. With it being on the Coast instead of Central MS, please let us know if that's a problem for you. If it is for the majority, plans may change to accomidate.
My response to this was to send him both my home and cell numbers
His third email to me
January 22 at 10:30am
That went to all members listed as "Attending". It wasn't meant for you. You know that.
(My thought was..."I did? How would I know that, since it was sent to me?" but I didn't ask).
My status message January 22 at 10:50am
Little boys who grow up in homes where domestic violence is occurring are 100 times more likely to become abusers than boys in violence-free homes. Senator Joseph Biden, Violence Against Women: Victims of the System (Washington D.C.: U.S. Senate Committee on the Judiciary.
His fourth email to me
January 22 at 11:24am
Good thing I love my family. However, I am fortunate to be over the years of sexual, physical and mental abuse you inflicted on me. Now go away.
My email to him
January 22 at 11:32am
I don't believe I was the one who started sending emails first, and I won't stop telling and posting about the abuse your father committed against me. You may chose to deny it, blame me, or block it out, but it happened.
His fifth email to me
January 22 at 12:04pm
First, I didn't send you specifically an email. I need you to remove yourself from MY wedding page. You're not welcome, because you aren't a friend or family.
As for you being the new face of domestic violence victims, that is fine. Write your silly little status messages until you are blue in the face. I'm sure the three people who read them feel really sorry for you. I don't care, neither does anyone else who knows us. We all know it is tales of lies and trickery.
You are trying to push me into a "war of words" or whatever it is you internet addicts get off on having, and you finally got it. Once again, your bullying is hurting someone who used to love you. So, congratulations. You managed to remind me why we don't want anything to do with you until you get the help you so desperately need.
I don't ever want to hear from you again. Neither does anyone else in my family. Now go away.
My response to him
January 22 at 12:32pm
It is obvious you have the same controlling attitude your father has, along with the excuses and platitudes that he spouted. I do admit that I was negligent for not having you arrested for those times you hit and or threatened to hit me. Perhaps then you could have received the help you need. Sad isn't it that you have already been arrested for domestic violence against (his girlfriend)? As for getting the help I so desperately need, not a lot of help for the damage caused to my brain from the repeated blows that your father gave to my head, is there? Google Chronic traumatic encephalopathy for additional information. Check the view stats on my page, none of those views are from me. I will send you a signed copy of the book when it comes out, along with a copy of the article from the magazine which has interviewed me. Anytime YOU initiate an email, I will respond. I won't initiate an email, but feel it is rude for me not to respond to one sent to me. I wish only the best for you, (removed name of girlfriend and child) Love always, Mama
His sixth email to me
January 22 at 1:12pm
How many teeth does (grandson's name) have? Is he walking? Crawling? Standing on his own? What foods does he eat? What is his favorite? What words can he say?
How many of those can you answer? That's the saddest part of all. You've only wanted to see him once since he was born.
My response to him
January 22 at 1:46pm
It is not that I have not wanted to see him, it is that you have not allowed it. Does that mean I do not care? No, it only means that you are using a common tactic of abusers, threatening to, or actually, preventing access and visitation to a child or grandchild. I would love to know about the number of teeth (grandson) has, if he is walking, standing, or crawling. I would love to know what foods he eats, as well as his favorite food. Knowing what words (grandson) can say would thrill me. However, as long as you continue to be abusive and prevent me from seeing or knowing anything about him, then these are things I may never know.
Mama
My son did not respond to that email. It does sadden me that he is following in his fathers footsteps. Although he has been arrested already one time for domestic violence against his girlfriend, perhaps he is only directing his anger and verbal abuse towards me, and not toward his girlfriend and child. I pray for her, because if he follows the patterns of generational abuse, it will soon be directed at her.
I spent 21 years married to an abuser. I speak out against domestic violence. No one deserves to be physically, verbally, and/or emotionally abused. No one deserves to be cut off from friends and family. No one deserves to suffer from long term physical and psychological damage as a result of being abused.
No one!!!
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
So I was very surprised yesterday when I received an email from him about some changes in his wedding plans with a request for my phone number. I responded and gave him both my home and cell number. I thought perhaps he was taking a step toward a reconciliation. I found I was mistaken. It was another of his cruel learned abusive behaviors. I chose to respond to his emails, because in the past when I was bullied or pushed, I cowered in fear and backed off. I will no longer be bullied or pushed. No one will make me feel worthless or take the blame for their abusive behavior.
To share his learned abusive behavior, I am going to copy the emails, in full, only removing any names that may prove to closely identify anyone or provide a location. This is a matter of protection of everyone's privacy.
His first email to me
January 22 at 10:07am
So a little update... Instead of my grandparents we are thinking the beach. Dress would obviously be sun dress, khaki shorts, floral shirts, etc. No skimpy bikinis or anything like that please. Inbox me your address pretty please. :)
My response to this was to send my address.
His second email to me
January 22 at 10:23am
Also (girlfriend) needs phone numbers! We should have a specific location very soon. With it being on the Coast instead of Central MS, please let us know if that's a problem for you. If it is for the majority, plans may change to accomidate.
My response to this was to send him both my home and cell numbers
His third email to me
January 22 at 10:30am
That went to all members listed as "Attending". It wasn't meant for you. You know that.
(My thought was..."I did? How would I know that, since it was sent to me?" but I didn't ask).
My status message January 22 at 10:50am
Little boys who grow up in homes where domestic violence is occurring are 100 times more likely to become abusers than boys in violence-free homes. Senator Joseph Biden, Violence Against Women: Victims of the System (Washington D.C.: U.S. Senate Committee on the Judiciary.
His fourth email to me
January 22 at 11:24am
Good thing I love my family. However, I am fortunate to be over the years of sexual, physical and mental abuse you inflicted on me. Now go away.
My email to him
January 22 at 11:32am
I don't believe I was the one who started sending emails first, and I won't stop telling and posting about the abuse your father committed against me. You may chose to deny it, blame me, or block it out, but it happened.
His fifth email to me
January 22 at 12:04pm
First, I didn't send you specifically an email. I need you to remove yourself from MY wedding page. You're not welcome, because you aren't a friend or family.
As for you being the new face of domestic violence victims, that is fine. Write your silly little status messages until you are blue in the face. I'm sure the three people who read them feel really sorry for you. I don't care, neither does anyone else who knows us. We all know it is tales of lies and trickery.
You are trying to push me into a "war of words" or whatever it is you internet addicts get off on having, and you finally got it. Once again, your bullying is hurting someone who used to love you. So, congratulations. You managed to remind me why we don't want anything to do with you until you get the help you so desperately need.
I don't ever want to hear from you again. Neither does anyone else in my family. Now go away.
My response to him
January 22 at 12:32pm
It is obvious you have the same controlling attitude your father has, along with the excuses and platitudes that he spouted. I do admit that I was negligent for not having you arrested for those times you hit and or threatened to hit me. Perhaps then you could have received the help you need. Sad isn't it that you have already been arrested for domestic violence against (his girlfriend)? As for getting the help I so desperately need, not a lot of help for the damage caused to my brain from the repeated blows that your father gave to my head, is there? Google Chronic traumatic encephalopathy for additional information. Check the view stats on my page, none of those views are from me. I will send you a signed copy of the book when it comes out, along with a copy of the article from the magazine which has interviewed me. Anytime YOU initiate an email, I will respond. I won't initiate an email, but feel it is rude for me not to respond to one sent to me. I wish only the best for you, (removed name of girlfriend and child) Love always, Mama
His sixth email to me
January 22 at 1:12pm
How many teeth does (grandson's name) have? Is he walking? Crawling? Standing on his own? What foods does he eat? What is his favorite? What words can he say?
How many of those can you answer? That's the saddest part of all. You've only wanted to see him once since he was born.
My response to him
January 22 at 1:46pm
It is not that I have not wanted to see him, it is that you have not allowed it. Does that mean I do not care? No, it only means that you are using a common tactic of abusers, threatening to, or actually, preventing access and visitation to a child or grandchild. I would love to know about the number of teeth (grandson) has, if he is walking, standing, or crawling. I would love to know what foods he eats, as well as his favorite food. Knowing what words (grandson) can say would thrill me. However, as long as you continue to be abusive and prevent me from seeing or knowing anything about him, then these are things I may never know.
Mama
My son did not respond to that email. It does sadden me that he is following in his fathers footsteps. Although he has been arrested already one time for domestic violence against his girlfriend, perhaps he is only directing his anger and verbal abuse towards me, and not toward his girlfriend and child. I pray for her, because if he follows the patterns of generational abuse, it will soon be directed at her.
I spent 21 years married to an abuser. I speak out against domestic violence. No one deserves to be physically, verbally, and/or emotionally abused. No one deserves to be cut off from friends and family. No one deserves to suffer from long term physical and psychological damage as a result of being abused.
No one!!!
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The monster in my nightmares
I have nightmares on average three to four nights a week. Some are quite vivid, resulting in me screaming and crying in my sleep. Most of the time, my husband has to wake me up. He says it is usually very difficult, and takes several minutes. He will then try to get me to tell him about it, mainly to be sure that I am really awake, as sometimes I will tell him I am awake even when I am not, then go right back into the nightmare. At times my dreams have been so terrifying that I will quake in terror even after I am awake. Many times the most terrifying make me afraid to go back to sleep. I have written down some of them and have come to understand that there is a monster in my nightmares. The fears and terrors I have felt and buried are coming out at night in my dreams.
Several of my nightmares are very similar. In most of them I am helpless and in a pretty precarious situation. Some are very different, but none the less terrifying. I am posting four different nightmares, three are ones with a similar theme that occur at least twice a month. The fourth is recent and I consider an epiphany.
Nightmare 1 This dream happens about twice a month.
I am sleeping in my bed, dreaming something very pleasant, laughing and feeling very happy. Suddenly I seem to awaken needing to use the bathroom. I sit on the side of the bed for a minute and then stand up. It seems very real to me and I go through everything I go through when I actually am awake. In my dream, I get to the bathroom, go inside and shut the door, then turn on the light (as I do in waking life). As soon as I turn on the light, I see blood everywhere. It is in a scatter formation, like something or someone has been brutally slaughtered in there. It is on the floor, the walls, ceiling, in the shower and tub, and on the mirrors. I am horrified and my heart starts pounding. Then I look in the mirror and I am covered in blood and it looks like my skin has all been pulled off. This is a serial dream because I sometimes am able to wake myself up, calm down, then go back to sleep, but will fall right back into the dream. It repeats several times (the least times that I remember it repeating is three, the most is seven in a row) until I start screaming aloud and my husband wakes me up. When this nightmare occurs, I am so terrified, I can not go back to sleep for several hours. (Did you know that at 2 am there is nothing on except infomercials, but if I want to call that 1-900 number there are hot sexy girls in my area just waiting to talk with me...blah!)
Nightmare 2 This dream happens about twice a month, and is odd as both my parents have been dead for several years.
I am a teenager at the high school I went to for three years. Becoming very ill, I am sent to the hospital in an ambulance. While strapped on the gurney, red and blue lights flashing through the windows, I can see the equipment and paramedics, and hear the heart monitor and the siren. The paramedics are talking and laughing about something, but I can't understand what they are saying. I know it is English, but the syntax is confusing, only understanding a word here and there. I try to ask them to speak clearly, but can't seem to talk.
Suddenly I am in the hospital emergency room, lying on the floor of the waiting room, curled into a fetal position and very cold. A Dr comes out and says he is going to give me a shot to make me feel better. I ask him what it is, and he tells me, but I can't understand what he says. After he gives it to me, I feel paralyzed and start crying, but no one pays attention. There are people around, some step over me, but no one pays attention to me or my crying.
I continue to cry. The Dr returns, asking if I can move. Trying to answer, and also ask if he'd called my parents, I am unable to speak. He pushes me over onto my other side, lifts my eyelids and shines a light into my eyes. He stands up and goes through some swinging doors. He comes back out with two men and a gurney. I can see a sword on the gurney. I am shouting in my head asking if my parents have been called and crying. The two men pick me up and start to put me on the gurney on top of the sword, so it will pierce me. I wake up shouting "Did you call my parents?!"
Nightmare 3 This nightmare I have at least once a week.
I am in bed and have to use the bathroom. I sit on the edge of the bed and notice on the wall there is a very large spider. It has red glowing eyes and a face. I know it has a face, but can't see it clearly enough to recognize who it might be. Every time I move, it moves and if I act like I am going to stand up, it puffs up larger and seems to stand taller on it's legs. Almost as if it is getting ready to attack. If I don't move, it watches me and makes a rattling sound, similar to the sound a rattlesnake makes before it strikes. I am scared to move and afraid to make any noise for fear it will attack me. I do move as slowly as possible towards the middle of the bed and away from the spider. When I feel myself against my husband, I wake up, always in a sitting position, facing the wall, terrified, with my back against my sleeping husband.
The epiphany dream
A few nights ago (1/17/2011), I dreamed I was on my knees, my hands tied behind my back. Standing over me is a big, ugly dark monster holding a gun to my head and laughing at me. (It is more of a presence than a form. I can't describe it clearer, anymore than a child can describe what the boogie man looks like) The monster was telling me to beg for my life. I dreamed I was screaming, crying, and begging. I was shouting please... Please!.. PLEASE!!! My husband woke me up, because each please was louder, more intense and I sounded terrified. Just as my husband woke me up, I saw the face of the monster, and it was Jeff.
Even though it has been four years and three months since I escaped the 21 years of abuse at the hands of a sadistic monster, he still haunts me in nightmares.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Several of my nightmares are very similar. In most of them I am helpless and in a pretty precarious situation. Some are very different, but none the less terrifying. I am posting four different nightmares, three are ones with a similar theme that occur at least twice a month. The fourth is recent and I consider an epiphany.
Nightmare 1 This dream happens about twice a month.
I am sleeping in my bed, dreaming something very pleasant, laughing and feeling very happy. Suddenly I seem to awaken needing to use the bathroom. I sit on the side of the bed for a minute and then stand up. It seems very real to me and I go through everything I go through when I actually am awake. In my dream, I get to the bathroom, go inside and shut the door, then turn on the light (as I do in waking life). As soon as I turn on the light, I see blood everywhere. It is in a scatter formation, like something or someone has been brutally slaughtered in there. It is on the floor, the walls, ceiling, in the shower and tub, and on the mirrors. I am horrified and my heart starts pounding. Then I look in the mirror and I am covered in blood and it looks like my skin has all been pulled off. This is a serial dream because I sometimes am able to wake myself up, calm down, then go back to sleep, but will fall right back into the dream. It repeats several times (the least times that I remember it repeating is three, the most is seven in a row) until I start screaming aloud and my husband wakes me up. When this nightmare occurs, I am so terrified, I can not go back to sleep for several hours. (Did you know that at 2 am there is nothing on except infomercials, but if I want to call that 1-900 number there are hot sexy girls in my area just waiting to talk with me...blah!)
Nightmare 2 This dream happens about twice a month, and is odd as both my parents have been dead for several years.
I am a teenager at the high school I went to for three years. Becoming very ill, I am sent to the hospital in an ambulance. While strapped on the gurney, red and blue lights flashing through the windows, I can see the equipment and paramedics, and hear the heart monitor and the siren. The paramedics are talking and laughing about something, but I can't understand what they are saying. I know it is English, but the syntax is confusing, only understanding a word here and there. I try to ask them to speak clearly, but can't seem to talk.
Suddenly I am in the hospital emergency room, lying on the floor of the waiting room, curled into a fetal position and very cold. A Dr comes out and says he is going to give me a shot to make me feel better. I ask him what it is, and he tells me, but I can't understand what he says. After he gives it to me, I feel paralyzed and start crying, but no one pays attention. There are people around, some step over me, but no one pays attention to me or my crying.
I continue to cry. The Dr returns, asking if I can move. Trying to answer, and also ask if he'd called my parents, I am unable to speak. He pushes me over onto my other side, lifts my eyelids and shines a light into my eyes. He stands up and goes through some swinging doors. He comes back out with two men and a gurney. I can see a sword on the gurney. I am shouting in my head asking if my parents have been called and crying. The two men pick me up and start to put me on the gurney on top of the sword, so it will pierce me. I wake up shouting "Did you call my parents?!"
Nightmare 3 This nightmare I have at least once a week.
I am in bed and have to use the bathroom. I sit on the edge of the bed and notice on the wall there is a very large spider. It has red glowing eyes and a face. I know it has a face, but can't see it clearly enough to recognize who it might be. Every time I move, it moves and if I act like I am going to stand up, it puffs up larger and seems to stand taller on it's legs. Almost as if it is getting ready to attack. If I don't move, it watches me and makes a rattling sound, similar to the sound a rattlesnake makes before it strikes. I am scared to move and afraid to make any noise for fear it will attack me. I do move as slowly as possible towards the middle of the bed and away from the spider. When I feel myself against my husband, I wake up, always in a sitting position, facing the wall, terrified, with my back against my sleeping husband.
The epiphany dream
A few nights ago (1/17/2011), I dreamed I was on my knees, my hands tied behind my back. Standing over me is a big, ugly dark monster holding a gun to my head and laughing at me. (It is more of a presence than a form. I can't describe it clearer, anymore than a child can describe what the boogie man looks like) The monster was telling me to beg for my life. I dreamed I was screaming, crying, and begging. I was shouting please... Please!.. PLEASE!!! My husband woke me up, because each please was louder, more intense and I sounded terrified. Just as my husband woke me up, I saw the face of the monster, and it was Jeff.
Even though it has been four years and three months since I escaped the 21 years of abuse at the hands of a sadistic monster, he still haunts me in nightmares.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
The little things
During the time with my abuser, there were many other events of humiliation and degradation, not all so dramatic as throwing me out in freezing weather or beating me in the head until I passed out. They were, however, designed to control and bring me into submission.
Jeff dipped tobacco. This meant he almost always had a pinch between his lower lip and his teeth. When a person dips, it generates saliva, which mixes with the tobacco juice. The resulting spitle stinks, is slimy, and very disgusting. At times when Jeff was displeased with me, for some real or imagined slight or failure, he would spit on me. It was usually into my face, but my hair, on my clothes, or any other place he could target on me was just as acceptable. I can't even begin to count the times it happened. It was one of his favorite things to do.
Another of his preferred tactics was tripping me. Jeff seemed to think it was funny to deliberately put his feet in my way. Of course, as I struggled to get up, he would claim it was not intentional, while laughing and calling me clumsy. Jerking the chair out from under me when I was trying to sit down was a hoot for him. His cruel laughter, when I would fall to the floor, still rings in my memory. When Jeff and I first got together, I wasn't clumsy. Over the years, my coordination became much worse. I am not sure I can pinpoint an exact time when I noticed a difference, but I can look back and see how it gradually happened. I suspect it might be due to some of the beatings I received.
Jeff loved to throw his food. His excuses were minor, such as too much or not enough salt, undercooked, overcooked, or wasn't what he felt like that night. For him, it was always best if he could hit me with the plate of whatever it was he was throwing, but if it struck the wall or cabinet, that was just as acceptable. If the plate happened to break, that was even better, especially if I was barefooted. Eventually all the dishes we owned were plastic, with me using the reasoning that it was less likely the children would break them and hurt themselves. I can remember him grabbing me by the back of the neck, pushing my face into my filled plate, forcing the food up my nose, into my mouth and eyes. My food gorged nasal cavities and pharynx caused me to gag and choke. Sometimes the engorgement was so severe, I couldn't even gag, causing me to fear I was choking to death. Even now the memory of my nose being filled with mashed potatoes makes me tremble with fear.
On many occasions he would complain that we seemed to be in a rut with our meals, but I learned not to be creative or try different things. Foods I enjoyed, that he disliked were removed from the menu. Heaven forbid I should even suggest making a meatloaf. Although I am not the best cook in the world, I tried. The things I prepared were edible. My years before Jeff had been spent cooking simple meals just for myself or fast foods, but I was taught to cook by my mother, and at least knew the basics. In the beginning, he seemed to enjoy my cooking. Heck I even fixed gravy for him. We would sit down together once a week to plan meals. He would go to the grocery store to purchase what was necessary. I seldom went, as I was not allowed to shop unsupervised.
Name calling was a common thing. I was fat, stupid, a b.tch, a cow, a nag, lazy, an idiot, among other things. I stopped denying it and just agreed. In fact, I heard it so often, I began to believe it. As mentioned in an earlier blog, in between the beatings and acts of humiliation, I managed to finish college, receiving not one, but two, Master's degrees, proving I am neither stupid nor lazy, but I still felt worthless.
Jeff used any opportunity to slap, punch, push, shove or pinch me. The common result was bruising. When the bruises were noticed by others, I used the excuse that I was clumsy and bruised easily. Gee if a person gets punched, isn't that a pretty easy way to bruise?
Rape was frequent. If he wanted sex, he took it. His idea of foreplay involved beating, slapping or other sadistic methods of forcing me into submission. It was painful and unpleasant, the agony often lasting for several days. Over the 21 years we were together, I would estimate that he raped me about 30 or more times. Often there would be a short period between the rapes, sometimes it was as long as a year. When Jeff lost interest in me sexually, I was relieved. Please don't get the idea that I dislike sex, I love it, but there is a vast difference between a loving sexual relationship and being raped by a sadistic monster.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Jeff dipped tobacco. This meant he almost always had a pinch between his lower lip and his teeth. When a person dips, it generates saliva, which mixes with the tobacco juice. The resulting spitle stinks, is slimy, and very disgusting. At times when Jeff was displeased with me, for some real or imagined slight or failure, he would spit on me. It was usually into my face, but my hair, on my clothes, or any other place he could target on me was just as acceptable. I can't even begin to count the times it happened. It was one of his favorite things to do.
Another of his preferred tactics was tripping me. Jeff seemed to think it was funny to deliberately put his feet in my way. Of course, as I struggled to get up, he would claim it was not intentional, while laughing and calling me clumsy. Jerking the chair out from under me when I was trying to sit down was a hoot for him. His cruel laughter, when I would fall to the floor, still rings in my memory. When Jeff and I first got together, I wasn't clumsy. Over the years, my coordination became much worse. I am not sure I can pinpoint an exact time when I noticed a difference, but I can look back and see how it gradually happened. I suspect it might be due to some of the beatings I received.
Jeff loved to throw his food. His excuses were minor, such as too much or not enough salt, undercooked, overcooked, or wasn't what he felt like that night. For him, it was always best if he could hit me with the plate of whatever it was he was throwing, but if it struck the wall or cabinet, that was just as acceptable. If the plate happened to break, that was even better, especially if I was barefooted. Eventually all the dishes we owned were plastic, with me using the reasoning that it was less likely the children would break them and hurt themselves. I can remember him grabbing me by the back of the neck, pushing my face into my filled plate, forcing the food up my nose, into my mouth and eyes. My food gorged nasal cavities and pharynx caused me to gag and choke. Sometimes the engorgement was so severe, I couldn't even gag, causing me to fear I was choking to death. Even now the memory of my nose being filled with mashed potatoes makes me tremble with fear.
On many occasions he would complain that we seemed to be in a rut with our meals, but I learned not to be creative or try different things. Foods I enjoyed, that he disliked were removed from the menu. Heaven forbid I should even suggest making a meatloaf. Although I am not the best cook in the world, I tried. The things I prepared were edible. My years before Jeff had been spent cooking simple meals just for myself or fast foods, but I was taught to cook by my mother, and at least knew the basics. In the beginning, he seemed to enjoy my cooking. Heck I even fixed gravy for him. We would sit down together once a week to plan meals. He would go to the grocery store to purchase what was necessary. I seldom went, as I was not allowed to shop unsupervised.
Name calling was a common thing. I was fat, stupid, a b.tch, a cow, a nag, lazy, an idiot, among other things. I stopped denying it and just agreed. In fact, I heard it so often, I began to believe it. As mentioned in an earlier blog, in between the beatings and acts of humiliation, I managed to finish college, receiving not one, but two, Master's degrees, proving I am neither stupid nor lazy, but I still felt worthless.
Jeff used any opportunity to slap, punch, push, shove or pinch me. The common result was bruising. When the bruises were noticed by others, I used the excuse that I was clumsy and bruised easily. Gee if a person gets punched, isn't that a pretty easy way to bruise?
Rape was frequent. If he wanted sex, he took it. His idea of foreplay involved beating, slapping or other sadistic methods of forcing me into submission. It was painful and unpleasant, the agony often lasting for several days. Over the 21 years we were together, I would estimate that he raped me about 30 or more times. Often there would be a short period between the rapes, sometimes it was as long as a year. When Jeff lost interest in me sexually, I was relieved. Please don't get the idea that I dislike sex, I love it, but there is a vast difference between a loving sexual relationship and being raped by a sadistic monster.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Brain Damage
Over the weekend I tried to put together a sort of timeline of my life (1985-2006) with my abuser. I realized that it was difficult to set an exact date for some of the abuse.. I could get a general time, such as a month and year, but no actual date. I remember things, but not when, even to the year, but can picture where it happened. The clarity is outstanding, even to remembering smells, sounds, my emotional reaction, weather, and colors. It helps to establish a general idea within a year range time frame, but still not within a specific day or month.
Although I have mentioned that my Dr has diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Also known as PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome PTSS), the sub category I have is battered women's syndrome (BWS). A major impact of BWS is to the cognitive and memory areas. Here, the victim begins to have intrusive memories of the abuse (flashbacks) or may actually develop psychogenic amnesia (extreme memory loss that is caused by extensive psychological stress) and not always remember important details or events. The victim may have trouble following her thoughts in a logical way, being distracted by intrusive memories that may be flashbacks to previous battering incidents. The victim may disassociate herself when faced with painful events, memories, reoccurring nightmares or other associations not readily apparent to the observer. This is the psychological aspects of domestic violence.
My Dr is sending me to a Neurologist to check for possible brain damage. A brain scan was done to rule out the possibility of a stroke, a brain tumor, or other brain disease. Although a brain scan showed nothing amiss, the other symptoms I have indicate possible brain damage that may not show up on a brain scan, but which can be determined through tests given by a Neurologist.
Every time I got thrown against the wall, onto the ground, slapped, hit in the head, hair pulled, or any of the many other things that were done to me physically, my brain would get sloshed forcefully against the inside of my skull resulting in the death of brain cells. The effects of it are cumulative, which means every time Jeff hit me, more brain cells died, resulting in a gradual loss of cognitive function. Meaning, his abuse has probably caused irreversible brain damage. Which explains why I have difficulty counting, making change, remembering dates, and trouble telling time, among other things, when formerly I was able to understand advanced statistics and financial mathematics. That is the physical aspect of domestic violence.
I read a recent civil case where a victim sued her abuser, and won. It brought it all into the open. After reading about the case and some of the transcripts, it makes me wonder if suing Jeff might help me bring closure to some of the flashbacks and anger I feel. That would be the only result, as he has never had, doesn't have now, and most likely never will have anything. But then I think, if I do, perhaps it will bring media attention and make others aware of the long term devastating effects of 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.
Although I have mentioned that my Dr has diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Also known as PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome PTSS), the sub category I have is battered women's syndrome (BWS). A major impact of BWS is to the cognitive and memory areas. Here, the victim begins to have intrusive memories of the abuse (flashbacks) or may actually develop psychogenic amnesia (extreme memory loss that is caused by extensive psychological stress) and not always remember important details or events. The victim may have trouble following her thoughts in a logical way, being distracted by intrusive memories that may be flashbacks to previous battering incidents. The victim may disassociate herself when faced with painful events, memories, reoccurring nightmares or other associations not readily apparent to the observer. This is the psychological aspects of domestic violence.
My Dr is sending me to a Neurologist to check for possible brain damage. A brain scan was done to rule out the possibility of a stroke, a brain tumor, or other brain disease. Although a brain scan showed nothing amiss, the other symptoms I have indicate possible brain damage that may not show up on a brain scan, but which can be determined through tests given by a Neurologist.
Every time I got thrown against the wall, onto the ground, slapped, hit in the head, hair pulled, or any of the many other things that were done to me physically, my brain would get sloshed forcefully against the inside of my skull resulting in the death of brain cells. The effects of it are cumulative, which means every time Jeff hit me, more brain cells died, resulting in a gradual loss of cognitive function. Meaning, his abuse has probably caused irreversible brain damage. Which explains why I have difficulty counting, making change, remembering dates, and trouble telling time, among other things, when formerly I was able to understand advanced statistics and financial mathematics. That is the physical aspect of domestic violence.
I read a recent civil case where a victim sued her abuser, and won. It brought it all into the open. After reading about the case and some of the transcripts, it makes me wonder if suing Jeff might help me bring closure to some of the flashbacks and anger I feel. That would be the only result, as he has never had, doesn't have now, and most likely never will have anything. But then I think, if I do, perhaps it will bring media attention and make others aware of the long term devastating effects of 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.
Friday, January 14, 2011
All I wanted was a hug
The last four years with my abuser, I had a very well-paying job. I made about twice the amount he made. I would sign my paycheck over to him, and he gave me an allowance of $20 for lunch and a tank of gas. He said it was the man's job to handle money. I had been emotionally beat down so much, I didn't argue.
Although I made a lot of money, I hated my job. I didn't agree with many of the things this (non-profit) organization did. When I started there were three people doing my job, however as people left, they were not replaced, and their work was transferred to me. It was impossible for one person to carry the workload that was now my responsibility. The stress was unbelievable.
We lived in an area that was hit by Hurricane Katrina. A tree fell on our home, property we owned on the Mississippi Coast was buried in water, trash, and mud. I am thankful we received no more damage than we did, however the damage around us was devastating. I cried about it. Jeff told me I was over reacting and to stop being a sissy. I couldn't stop crying and fell into a depression.
Two months after Katrina, we received an insurance check to repair our roof. Jeff deposited the check, put a temporary patch on the roof and said he had better uses for the money. The roof was not fixed, it leaked into the attic. It was not a bad leak, but it was slowly causing damage. I found out later the the money was gone, and Jeff refused or was unable to explain where it had gone. He became verbally abusive when I would ask about it, or any of our other finances.
I drove an hour and a half to work, and an hour and half home, it was only about 30 miles, but took that long because it was rush hour. After working all day, I was expected to prepare supper, clean house, laundry,and do whatever was necessary to maintain the home. My son was college age and my daughter was in high school. The only help I was able to get from them is they did their own laundry. I reached a point where I told them they were old enough to do it, and I refused to do it. When they ran out of clean clothes, they did it. I tried that tactic on Jeff and received slaps, hits, and cursing for even trying.
In addition to working and doing almost everything around the house, I took two online classes. I didn't take them because I wanted to take them, but because Jeff didn't want me to pay back my student loans, even though I made enough to do so. He felt it was a waste of money. I took the classes to prevent them from going into default. I slept about 4 hours per night. My son then decided he couldn't live in the college dorm and returned home. He drove an hour to school and an hour home. His truck broke down. He asked me if I would drive him to and from school. I told him to ask his dad. Jeff refused, saying it was too far, and then told me to stop being a selfish bi.ch and do it. To keep peace in the family, I did. My son never said thank you, nor offered to help me with my workload at home. My sleep time dropped to 3 hours per night.
When I would ask for help from Jeff, he would curse me, tell me to just do what I needed to do and stop talking about it. He said it was woman's work and was I trying to make him into a fagot by expecting him to do woman's work? Jeff averaged 9 hours of sleep a night. He drove less than 15 minutes to his job, and offered no help, only verbal and emotional abuse. Jeff would also call me every 10 minutes while I was driving to or from work, asking me where I was. He claimed he was checking to be sure I was okay, but if I didn't answer by the second ring, he would go into a tirade of abuse, claiming I was talking to someone and accusing me of cheating. One evening while driving I was talking to my older brother about a family matter and did not answer. During the 25 minute conversation with my brother, Jeff called me 15 times. When I finished the call, I called Jeff. I apologized for not answering and told him I had been talking with my brother. He started telling me how worried he was and how inconsiderate I was for not answering his call. When I tried to explain what my brother and I were talking about, he started cursing, telling me that I was putting my brother before the needs of my real family. I protested because it had been almost a year since I had spoken to my brother. This made no difference to Jeff. His voice got louder and he became more verbally abusive. I finally set the phone down on the console. His voice was so loud that even without my cell being on speaker, I could still hear him. He continued until I drove into the driveway at the house. His verbal abuse continued even after I came into the house.
A lack of sleep and overwhelming stress at work were taking their toll on me. I had started seeing a psychiatrist for depression. One evening when I came home, I put on supper and went into the bedroom where Jeff was doing something on the computer. I walked up behind him, put my arms around him and asked how his day had gone. He turned off the monitor, stood up and asked me what the hell I wanted. I put my hand on his arm and told him I needed a hug because I was having a rough day. He slapped my hand away, told me not to start hanging on him, that I wasn't the only one who might have a bad day, and to just shut up and leave him alone. I stepped away from him and sat on the bed as he continued his abuse. I bit the inside of my mouth until it bled to keep myself from crying. I finally told him supper would be ready soon. He informed he that I had upset his stomach so much that he didn't know if he could force himself to choke down the sh.t that I cooked. I told him I only did the best I could and was told it wasn't good enough and never had been. I smiled, apologized and left the room. All I had wanted was a hug.
That night I laid in bed and thought about how peaceful it would be if I was dead. For the dead feel nothing at all. I got up and got one of the guns from the closet, loaded it, cocked it and put the barrel into my mouth. As I sat on the floor of the closet with the gun in my mouth, all I could think of was how much better everyone would be without me. I was such a worthless person. Before I pulled the trigger, I started praying for forgiveness. Then I took the gun from my mouth and told myself to wait until the weekend when it would give my family time to clean up without interrupting their schedules too much. Even when I was so depressed I wanted to die, I put my family first. I had spent 21 years being physically, verbally, and emotionally abused, first by my husband, then by my son, and I was concerned my death would interrupt their schedule.
The next morning I got up and went to work as usual. I prayed on the way to work again for forgiveness, looked forward to and planned for the weekend. I knew my pain would soon be over. I went through my morning in almost a daze, mindlessly doing my job, not putting forth any effort, as I felt it didn't matter any more. At lunchtime I fell asleep, as I was sleeping I dreamed I was wrapped in warmth and a hand touched me. I dreamed I was wrapped in a big hug. I heard a voice saying "Do not fear, I am here. I will strengthen you and help you." When I woke up, I felt at peace and no longer wanted to die. There are some who will laugh and scoff ay my belief, but I know that God reached out and touched me.
Thank You God for giving me a hug and lending me Your strength.
A few days later a person whom I had been friend with since 1999, but had not heard from in three years called me to say hello, and, although it was several more months, that was the first step towards my freedom.
Jeff, like many abusers, would withhold affection, making me beg for it, then abusing me physically, verbally, and emotionally when I did. He also expected me to do more than was possible for one person to accomplish, then abusing me for my failures. Even when I did manage, he would still abuse me, claiming it wasn't good enough. He also kept control of finances and money, restricting me to an allowance. He would monitor me and would become verbally abusive and accuse me of cheating when I was not immediately available, no matter what my current situation might be.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Although I made a lot of money, I hated my job. I didn't agree with many of the things this (non-profit) organization did. When I started there were three people doing my job, however as people left, they were not replaced, and their work was transferred to me. It was impossible for one person to carry the workload that was now my responsibility. The stress was unbelievable.
We lived in an area that was hit by Hurricane Katrina. A tree fell on our home, property we owned on the Mississippi Coast was buried in water, trash, and mud. I am thankful we received no more damage than we did, however the damage around us was devastating. I cried about it. Jeff told me I was over reacting and to stop being a sissy. I couldn't stop crying and fell into a depression.
Two months after Katrina, we received an insurance check to repair our roof. Jeff deposited the check, put a temporary patch on the roof and said he had better uses for the money. The roof was not fixed, it leaked into the attic. It was not a bad leak, but it was slowly causing damage. I found out later the the money was gone, and Jeff refused or was unable to explain where it had gone. He became verbally abusive when I would ask about it, or any of our other finances.
I drove an hour and a half to work, and an hour and half home, it was only about 30 miles, but took that long because it was rush hour. After working all day, I was expected to prepare supper, clean house, laundry,and do whatever was necessary to maintain the home. My son was college age and my daughter was in high school. The only help I was able to get from them is they did their own laundry. I reached a point where I told them they were old enough to do it, and I refused to do it. When they ran out of clean clothes, they did it. I tried that tactic on Jeff and received slaps, hits, and cursing for even trying.
In addition to working and doing almost everything around the house, I took two online classes. I didn't take them because I wanted to take them, but because Jeff didn't want me to pay back my student loans, even though I made enough to do so. He felt it was a waste of money. I took the classes to prevent them from going into default. I slept about 4 hours per night. My son then decided he couldn't live in the college dorm and returned home. He drove an hour to school and an hour home. His truck broke down. He asked me if I would drive him to and from school. I told him to ask his dad. Jeff refused, saying it was too far, and then told me to stop being a selfish bi.ch and do it. To keep peace in the family, I did. My son never said thank you, nor offered to help me with my workload at home. My sleep time dropped to 3 hours per night.
When I would ask for help from Jeff, he would curse me, tell me to just do what I needed to do and stop talking about it. He said it was woman's work and was I trying to make him into a fagot by expecting him to do woman's work? Jeff averaged 9 hours of sleep a night. He drove less than 15 minutes to his job, and offered no help, only verbal and emotional abuse. Jeff would also call me every 10 minutes while I was driving to or from work, asking me where I was. He claimed he was checking to be sure I was okay, but if I didn't answer by the second ring, he would go into a tirade of abuse, claiming I was talking to someone and accusing me of cheating. One evening while driving I was talking to my older brother about a family matter and did not answer. During the 25 minute conversation with my brother, Jeff called me 15 times. When I finished the call, I called Jeff. I apologized for not answering and told him I had been talking with my brother. He started telling me how worried he was and how inconsiderate I was for not answering his call. When I tried to explain what my brother and I were talking about, he started cursing, telling me that I was putting my brother before the needs of my real family. I protested because it had been almost a year since I had spoken to my brother. This made no difference to Jeff. His voice got louder and he became more verbally abusive. I finally set the phone down on the console. His voice was so loud that even without my cell being on speaker, I could still hear him. He continued until I drove into the driveway at the house. His verbal abuse continued even after I came into the house.
A lack of sleep and overwhelming stress at work were taking their toll on me. I had started seeing a psychiatrist for depression. One evening when I came home, I put on supper and went into the bedroom where Jeff was doing something on the computer. I walked up behind him, put my arms around him and asked how his day had gone. He turned off the monitor, stood up and asked me what the hell I wanted. I put my hand on his arm and told him I needed a hug because I was having a rough day. He slapped my hand away, told me not to start hanging on him, that I wasn't the only one who might have a bad day, and to just shut up and leave him alone. I stepped away from him and sat on the bed as he continued his abuse. I bit the inside of my mouth until it bled to keep myself from crying. I finally told him supper would be ready soon. He informed he that I had upset his stomach so much that he didn't know if he could force himself to choke down the sh.t that I cooked. I told him I only did the best I could and was told it wasn't good enough and never had been. I smiled, apologized and left the room. All I had wanted was a hug.
That night I laid in bed and thought about how peaceful it would be if I was dead. For the dead feel nothing at all. I got up and got one of the guns from the closet, loaded it, cocked it and put the barrel into my mouth. As I sat on the floor of the closet with the gun in my mouth, all I could think of was how much better everyone would be without me. I was such a worthless person. Before I pulled the trigger, I started praying for forgiveness. Then I took the gun from my mouth and told myself to wait until the weekend when it would give my family time to clean up without interrupting their schedules too much. Even when I was so depressed I wanted to die, I put my family first. I had spent 21 years being physically, verbally, and emotionally abused, first by my husband, then by my son, and I was concerned my death would interrupt their schedule.
The next morning I got up and went to work as usual. I prayed on the way to work again for forgiveness, looked forward to and planned for the weekend. I knew my pain would soon be over. I went through my morning in almost a daze, mindlessly doing my job, not putting forth any effort, as I felt it didn't matter any more. At lunchtime I fell asleep, as I was sleeping I dreamed I was wrapped in warmth and a hand touched me. I dreamed I was wrapped in a big hug. I heard a voice saying "Do not fear, I am here. I will strengthen you and help you." When I woke up, I felt at peace and no longer wanted to die. There are some who will laugh and scoff ay my belief, but I know that God reached out and touched me.
Thank You God for giving me a hug and lending me Your strength.
A few days later a person whom I had been friend with since 1999, but had not heard from in three years called me to say hello, and, although it was several more months, that was the first step towards my freedom.
Jeff, like many abusers, would withhold affection, making me beg for it, then abusing me physically, verbally, and emotionally when I did. He also expected me to do more than was possible for one person to accomplish, then abusing me for my failures. Even when I did manage, he would still abuse me, claiming it wasn't good enough. He also kept control of finances and money, restricting me to an allowance. He would monitor me and would become verbally abusive and accuse me of cheating when I was not immediately available, no matter what my current situation might be.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Battered women's syndrome
NOTE: While men are also victims of domestic violence, the concept of battered woman syndrome typically refers only to women. For this reason, the following description will follow this format but recognizes that the same or a similar mindset could hold true for battered men as well.
Common Characteristics of Battered Women
have low self esteem
be a traditionalist about the home, may strongly believe in family unity and the prescribed feminine sex-role stereotype
accept responsibility for the batterer's actions
suffer from guilt, yet deny the terror and anger she feels
have severe stress reactions with psychophysiological complaints
use sex as a way to establish intimacy
believe that no one will be able to help her resolve her predicament
Common Characteristics of Batterers
have low self esteem
be a tradionalist believing in male supremacy and the stereotyped masculine sex role in the family
blame others for their actions
be pathologically jealous
present a dual personality
have severe stress reactions during which they use drinking and battering to cope
frequently use sex as an act of aggression to enhance self-esteem
not believe the violent behavior should have negative consequence.
Similarities in Stories of Battered Women
initial surprise
unpredictability of acute battering incidents
overwhelming jealousy
unusual sexuality
lucid recall of the details of acute battering incidents
concealment
drinking
extreme psychological abuse
family threats
extraordinary terror through the use of guns and knives
omnipotence
awareness of death potential
Source: Walker, Lenore, The Battered Woman (1979)
Reaction of Women Being Beaten
Denial or minimization of the abuse: "It really wasn't that bad." It only happens every few months.
Self blame: "If I can figure out how to make him happy, I can prevent the battering.
Seeks help: goes to friends, relatives, clergy, shelters, or even to a motel.
Note: All these can be going on at once, they are not necessarily single steps.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Common Characteristics of Battered Women
have low self esteem
be a traditionalist about the home, may strongly believe in family unity and the prescribed feminine sex-role stereotype
accept responsibility for the batterer's actions
suffer from guilt, yet deny the terror and anger she feels
have severe stress reactions with psychophysiological complaints
use sex as a way to establish intimacy
believe that no one will be able to help her resolve her predicament
Common Characteristics of Batterers
have low self esteem
be a tradionalist believing in male supremacy and the stereotyped masculine sex role in the family
blame others for their actions
be pathologically jealous
present a dual personality
have severe stress reactions during which they use drinking and battering to cope
frequently use sex as an act of aggression to enhance self-esteem
not believe the violent behavior should have negative consequence.
Similarities in Stories of Battered Women
initial surprise
unpredictability of acute battering incidents
overwhelming jealousy
unusual sexuality
lucid recall of the details of acute battering incidents
concealment
drinking
extreme psychological abuse
family threats
extraordinary terror through the use of guns and knives
omnipotence
awareness of death potential
Source: Walker, Lenore, The Battered Woman (1979)
Reaction of Women Being Beaten
Denial or minimization of the abuse: "It really wasn't that bad." It only happens every few months.
Self blame: "If I can figure out how to make him happy, I can prevent the battering.
Seeks help: goes to friends, relatives, clergy, shelters, or even to a motel.
Note: All these can be going on at once, they are not necessarily single steps.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
No Doctors Allowed
Several times during my life with my abuser, he would claim I was a hypochondriac. I seldom went to the Dr, even when I probably should have.
One time, I caught a cold, or something and couldn't get rid of the cough. Over the counter medications didn't help. Sometimes I would cough so hard, I would almost pass out. I begged him to allow me to go to the Dr, but he said it was nothing more then a cough and stop being a sissy. I had that cough for 5 months. I still don't know what it was, but now when I get a cold or cough, it lingers, in spite of everything I do. A cold or cough is very likely to put me in the bed for a week, and shortness of breath for several more days. So needless to say, I try to be very careful about getting a cold.
Jeff enjoyed hitting me in the head, and slapping my ears. Shall I talk about the hearing loss this has caused?
My heavy menses continued for years, starting in 1996 He said I didn't need to see a Dr. In 2003, I was so weak that I passed out and ended up at the emergency room again, the Dr scheduled a D&C. He said I was bleeding to death. The D&C helped for about 5 months before I started having problems again. The Dr suggested a Endometrial ablation. This is a procedure where the lining of the uterus is burned out. I had it in 2004. It didn't work. About 3 months later, I started bleeding again. My menses were worse. After 6 months, they were almost non-stop. I went to the Dr again. The tests the Dr ran showed I was pre-cancerous. He suggested a hysterectomy. When I told Jeff, he told me that the Dr was a quack, that having a hysterectomy would make me not a woman and he forbade me to even consider it. I scheduled an appointment with another Dr for a second opinion. That Dr told me that if I waited another month, I would not only have to have a hysterectomy, but I would also probably have to have chemotherapy. I scheduled the surgery with my Dr for the following week. When I told Jeff I had scheduled surgery, his comment was that I was a hypochondriac, and then made a smart remark about this being the surgery for this year and what would it be the next year. Jeff told me he didn't want me to have the surgery and he wasn't taking me to the hospital. I told him fine, I would drive myself, have the surgery and worry about getting home later. I also made arrangements to have someone from work take me.
Jeff did relent and take me, telling me the whole time that I was going to die, and asking if my life insurance (120K) still had him as a beneficiary, and that if I lived I would only be half a woman.
During my recovery period, my daughter help a lot. Jeff ignored me, except to ask me when I was going back to work. My Dr had said the recovery period would be at least 6 weeks, but possibly as long as 10 weeks. I went back in 3 weeks, but couldn't work. So I stayed home for an additional 3 weeks.
There are many other incidences where I needed to go to the Dr, but didn't. I don't understand why Jeff didn't want me to see a Dr. If it was due to a lack of medical insurance, there was a very fine state funded hospital nearby. Later when I had medical through my employer, I was still not allowed.
Again, this puzzles me. I also wonder if he was hoping I would get so sick I would die. But then if he wanted me gone so much, why wouldn't he let me just leave? Perhaps if I was dead, he knew I wouldn't be around to influence the children.
This is just another example of how an abuser exhorts control over a victims life.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
One time, I caught a cold, or something and couldn't get rid of the cough. Over the counter medications didn't help. Sometimes I would cough so hard, I would almost pass out. I begged him to allow me to go to the Dr, but he said it was nothing more then a cough and stop being a sissy. I had that cough for 5 months. I still don't know what it was, but now when I get a cold or cough, it lingers, in spite of everything I do. A cold or cough is very likely to put me in the bed for a week, and shortness of breath for several more days. So needless to say, I try to be very careful about getting a cold.
Jeff enjoyed hitting me in the head, and slapping my ears. Shall I talk about the hearing loss this has caused?
My heavy menses continued for years, starting in 1996 He said I didn't need to see a Dr. In 2003, I was so weak that I passed out and ended up at the emergency room again, the Dr scheduled a D&C. He said I was bleeding to death. The D&C helped for about 5 months before I started having problems again. The Dr suggested a Endometrial ablation. This is a procedure where the lining of the uterus is burned out. I had it in 2004. It didn't work. About 3 months later, I started bleeding again. My menses were worse. After 6 months, they were almost non-stop. I went to the Dr again. The tests the Dr ran showed I was pre-cancerous. He suggested a hysterectomy. When I told Jeff, he told me that the Dr was a quack, that having a hysterectomy would make me not a woman and he forbade me to even consider it. I scheduled an appointment with another Dr for a second opinion. That Dr told me that if I waited another month, I would not only have to have a hysterectomy, but I would also probably have to have chemotherapy. I scheduled the surgery with my Dr for the following week. When I told Jeff I had scheduled surgery, his comment was that I was a hypochondriac, and then made a smart remark about this being the surgery for this year and what would it be the next year. Jeff told me he didn't want me to have the surgery and he wasn't taking me to the hospital. I told him fine, I would drive myself, have the surgery and worry about getting home later. I also made arrangements to have someone from work take me.
Jeff did relent and take me, telling me the whole time that I was going to die, and asking if my life insurance (120K) still had him as a beneficiary, and that if I lived I would only be half a woman.
During my recovery period, my daughter help a lot. Jeff ignored me, except to ask me when I was going back to work. My Dr had said the recovery period would be at least 6 weeks, but possibly as long as 10 weeks. I went back in 3 weeks, but couldn't work. So I stayed home for an additional 3 weeks.
There are many other incidences where I needed to go to the Dr, but didn't. I don't understand why Jeff didn't want me to see a Dr. If it was due to a lack of medical insurance, there was a very fine state funded hospital nearby. Later when I had medical through my employer, I was still not allowed.
Again, this puzzles me. I also wonder if he was hoping I would get so sick I would die. But then if he wanted me gone so much, why wouldn't he let me just leave? Perhaps if I was dead, he knew I wouldn't be around to influence the children.
This is just another example of how an abuser exhorts control over a victims life.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sometimes I get so angry
Sometimes I get so angry at Jeff that I wish he would die a slow painful death. I laughed very hard when I found out his truck was repossessed. He would tell me that his truck was more important than I was, that I wasn't allowed to drive it, and one time when I accidentally put a 1/2 inch scratch on it, he threatened to beat me.
I pray very hard for the strength to forgive, for the anger to go away.
I wonder sometimes if writing this blog is bringing up more bad memories or helping me to work through them. I know when I write about it, it upsets me at the time, but then I look at it, feel the emotions of it, relive it and the flashbacks about it seem to be less.
I also talk with my husband about the things my abuser did. That helps a lot. It helps him also to understand why I react certain ways to different things. My husband and I have been friends since 1999. We have been married for 3 years. He knew me when I was with my abuser, although I never told him about the abuse until 2006.
I have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as a result of the 20 + years of abuse. It was something that my Dr had considered, but didn't give the diagnose until a few days ago.
I think I also get angry at myself for not leaving. I can make no excuses. I can hear voices out there saying, heck if it had been you, you would have just left. Perhaps you would have, but you weren't in my situation, you don't know what was going on in my head or my life. I stayed because I felt I had no choice and I was scared.
Then I think about all the years of abuse, get angry at Jeff for what he did.
I asked the Pastor at church if I was wrong to blog it, if it was better to forgive and forget. He said forgive, but the worst thing a Christian can do is to be silent. Jesus spoke out against evil and those that are unrepentant. My abuser denies the abuse and remains unrepentant.
I pray everyday for strength to keep forgiving him, and to keep telling the world what a devastating effect domestic violence has on a person.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
I pray very hard for the strength to forgive, for the anger to go away.
I wonder sometimes if writing this blog is bringing up more bad memories or helping me to work through them. I know when I write about it, it upsets me at the time, but then I look at it, feel the emotions of it, relive it and the flashbacks about it seem to be less.
I also talk with my husband about the things my abuser did. That helps a lot. It helps him also to understand why I react certain ways to different things. My husband and I have been friends since 1999. We have been married for 3 years. He knew me when I was with my abuser, although I never told him about the abuse until 2006.
I have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as a result of the 20 + years of abuse. It was something that my Dr had considered, but didn't give the diagnose until a few days ago.
I think I also get angry at myself for not leaving. I can make no excuses. I can hear voices out there saying, heck if it had been you, you would have just left. Perhaps you would have, but you weren't in my situation, you don't know what was going on in my head or my life. I stayed because I felt I had no choice and I was scared.
Then I think about all the years of abuse, get angry at Jeff for what he did.
I asked the Pastor at church if I was wrong to blog it, if it was better to forgive and forget. He said forgive, but the worst thing a Christian can do is to be silent. Jesus spoke out against evil and those that are unrepentant. My abuser denies the abuse and remains unrepentant.
I pray everyday for strength to keep forgiving him, and to keep telling the world what a devastating effect domestic violence has on a person.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Abuse
Abuse
Caution this posting contains adult material and information, which some people may find offensive. It covers aspects of sexual abuse.
The relationship I had with my batterer was filled with violence, hatred, cruelty. It included physical, emotional and sexual abuse. Jeff considered me as his property, and as such, I would have to meet his needs, including sexual. If I refused or hesitated, then he would resort to violence to insure my cooperation. Rape is a crime that involves forced sexual activity, usually including sexual penetration, against the will of the victim. Another form of sexual abuse is coercion or forcing the victim to preform degrading or humiliating sex acts.
As I tell this, please bear with me, while I give some background information.
In early 1996, I was working and still attending college. I also was doing anything that was done around the house. Jeff had stayed home during the summer of 95, because both our children had come down with chicken pox. Not at the same time, but one after the other. He had not as yet found a job. I suspect he wasn't looking. I had purchased a computer so I could do homework at night and weekends. We had a phone line and Internet service for the same reason. Jeff spent a fair portion of his time drinking and downloading pornography from the Internet. He discovered things like bondage, S&M, Urolagnia (urine play), rape and kidnapping, and wife-swapping. All of which excited him.
In February, I was starting into peri-menopause. It was a very difficult time for me, as I would have very heavy menses lasting 6 to 8 weeks at a time. This resulted in me having problems with anemia. I passed out from it one time at work and ended up in the emergency room. My options were to stay in the hospital or go home and stay in bed. I chose to go home, because of my children. That evening, Jeff came into the bedroom and told me he was going out to shoot some pool at a local bar. I begged him to stay home. I didn't feel comfortable staying at home alone as sick as I was. He told me I was just a hypochondriac and faking. He told me that I wasn't meeting his needs because of the problem I was having. My comments about having been to the ER fell on deaf ears. He left.
A few minutes after Jeff left, I got out of bed to check on the children. They were playing quietly in the living room in front of the TV. I laid down on the couch and told the children to play quiet and let me know if they needed anything. I left their grandmothers phone number by the phone in case of an emergency and dozed lightly. Both my children behaved very well, with my son offering me water when he noticed I was awake. At bedtime, my daughter curled up on the couch with me, while my son went to his room. My daughter and I slept on the couch that night.
The next morning when I woke up, I went to my bedroom, Jeff was not home. It was a Saturday, about 8 am. My children were awake, so I fixed breakfast, did the dishes and went and laid back down on the couch. I did wonder where Jeff was, but admit that I was glad he was not home. I was not sure if I could handle him drunk. I slept, the children played quietly. I had asked them to bring some of their toys into the front room, so I could watch them. My son was about 9, my daughter was 4. I was very weak and sick.
At about noon, I got up and fixed lunch. Jeff still was not home. While the children were eating, I called his mother to ask if she had heard from him. She had not. She did however offer to see if she could locate him. I thanked her, hung up and went back to the couch. About 2 pm, she called me to tell me Jeff was in jail. My first thought was that he had been arrested for a DUI (it would have been his fourth in two years). I was wrong. He had been arrested for attempted burglary. Jeff's mother told me she was going to get him bailed out, but that the Detective wanted to talk with me. She gave me his number, and I called him.
The Detective was very nice when I called. He explained what the charges were against Jeff. It seems Jeff left the bar at closing time. He then went to another trailer in the park, one belonging to an elderly single woman. He was trying to open the rear door, when the noise woke up the woman. She called 911, and stayed on the phone with them until the police arrived. She then asked who was out there (Jeff was still outside). He yelled for her to open the door. She refused. He began banging on it, trying to force it open. He told her that he was tired of bi.ches holding out on him and it was time for her to learn her place. It woke up her neighbors, who came out. One older man told Jeff to back off, which only made him angrier. The older man wisely did not try to physically stop Jeff (I feel certain that Jeff would have not hesitated to hurt the man). The man went back into his trailer and came out with a shotgun, just as the police arrived. During this time, Jeff continued to attempt to get into the trailer. It took 5 officers to subdue him.
After the Detective finished telling me about it, he asked me what I thought. I asked the Detective what Jeff had said and was told that he said he thought it was his trailer, and I wouldn't let him in. I said that I thought it was doubtful that Jeff even remembered it. He then asked me what Jeff would have done if he had actually gotten into the trailer. I told him I didn't know. I felt sick inside, because I knew when Jeff got very drunk and tended to violence, it excited him, plus he had been downloading so much rape pornography lately, it scared me. I wonder still what he would have done if he had been able to break in. Note here: two days later the woman moved out of her home and in with her adult children.
Jeff's mother bailed him out. When his court date came, he was offered a plea bargain, which he accepted. He was put on probation, fined and ordered to do community service. He did his community service on Saturdays. He wanted me to pay his fine, I refused. No matter what he said or did, I continued to refuse. I told him to get off his butt, get a job and pay it himself. Finally he did get a job, working nights as a bouncer at a strip club. I disapproved, but felt at least he would stop trying to get me to pay his fine.
I kept working, going to school, taking care of my family, and felt weak most of the time. One night, Jeff came home from work excited. I was too tired to
care. I didn't refuse him, just chose to not react. All I wanted was to go to sleep. The next afternoon, when Jeff got up, he said something about how I was worn out and not satisfying his needs. I apologized (but really didn't care if I was or not). He told me that he was going to join a swingers group (wife-swapping) and find someone else. I told him fine, go ahead. Then he said that as a single man, he couldn't and I had to join with him. I refused. He exploded in anger. As weak as I was, I thought he was going to beat me to death. I admit that at the time, I didn't care. My thoughts were that if he killed me, it would finally be over.
I still refused. I wasn't interested in sex with him or anyone else. He beat me again. He beat me almost everyday for a week. One morning I went to work early, to get away. One of my workers (I was a manager), asked me if I was okay. I told her that I was just tired. She said it looked like I had been beat up. I denied it, again stating I was just tired. That evening, after Jeff left for work, I gathered up some clothes and toys, took my children and went to my car. I couldn't start the car. I found out later that he would disable my car when he left for work. I went back into the trailer.
The next day, my son mentioned to Jeff something about we had tried to go on a little trip but that my car was broke. I know my son didn't think anything of what he had told his father, but for me, it was not good. Jeff dragged me by my hair to the bedroom, beat and slapped me, then forced himself on me. I was then told I was going to join the swingers club with him, or else. I finally agreed.
The first time we were to meet another couple, my menses started. So we met the people, but nothing happened. Of course it was my fault. I started my menses on purpose. It lasted 7 weeks. When it finally stopped, Jeff called the couple we had met and set it up for us to come over. As soon as we got there, he disappeared into one of their bedrooms with the woman. I started crying. The man was very nice about it. Jeff heard me crying and came out, told me to stop my whining and come with him to the other bedroom. I went with him, begged him to leave with me. He refused, then told me to do what needed to be done. He then left to go back in with the woman. The man came in and sat on the bed, we talked most of the night, nothing else.
The next morning, Jeff informed me that the woman was the best piece he had ever had. He also told me that I was frigid. He then told me that we were going to a party the following weekend at this couple's house. At that party I also did not participate, but he did. Jeff didn't care if I participated, I was just a ticket for him to get in the parties. I met another woman at that party. She didn't participate either. She did invite Jeff and I to visit with her and her husband at their home.
When we did go to their house, Jeff decided to start drinking. The couple also drank. I had two drinks. I talked with the couple. Jeff did not join in the conversation. The couple suggested that we all go to the bedroom, and three of us did. Jeff said he would be in shortly. We three continued our conversation in the bedroom waiting for Jeff. When Jeff did not come in, I went out to see if he was ok. I could see he was angry. He claimed we had just walked away and not said anything. He said he was leaving, and walked out the door. I shouted a good-bye and I would call them, then followed Jeff.
Jeff was in the car and as I was getting in, he started to move the car. I hurried and shut the door. (yes he had started driving off with me only half in the car). I asked him loudly what the the hell his problem was. He backhanded me. He was very drunk, it was storming, and the car started to fishtail. He managed to get the car under control. Then told me to shut up. I did. He drove very fast. It still was storming, we were on a country road, it was very dark, except when there was lightening. Jeff started yelling about how I was a slut, and he was sick of me. I was like..what? He told me that this swinging crap was all my idea and it was over. I started crying. He was insanely jealous. He suddenly slammed on the brakes, almost sliding into a ditch on the side of the road. He hit me full in the face with his fist, then unbuckled my seatbelt, opened my door and pushed me out if the car into the ditch. I slid down until I was waist deep in water. He drove off, with my door still open.
I climbed out of the ditch, looked in the direction Jeff had driven. I was wearing a dress that covered me from my chest to knees, nothing else. My shoes were in the car. I was soaking wet, covered in mud, and it was storming. I started walking, thinking. I made a decision that night that as soon as I could I would leave. I started making my plans as I walked through the storm.
A sheriff's deputy drove up beside me. He asked if I was okay. I told him I was fine, just wanted to be alone to think. He asked if I needed a ride anywhere. I declined. At that point, I wanted to keep walking, wanted to be alone and have my thoughts. He drove off. He did drive by a couple more times, and I waved each time. I don't know how long I walked, before Jeff drove up and stopped. He apologized and asked me to get in the car. I refused, he begged me. I finally did.
The next day, I was still determined to leave when I could. It took me four months to put my plan into action, and I almost made it. He found out. I was going to go to California to be with my family. I had not spoken to any of them for years, but felt since it was 1800 miles away, I would be safe. I did go to California with my children, he followed me.
I will say that after that, Jeff started losing interest in me sexually. He preferred pornography. When he would be in the mood, it would be rough and pleasurable for him. I was always glad when it was over.
Jeff, like many abusers, used sex as a weapon. Instead of being a way to show love, it was a way to show dominance.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Caution this posting contains adult material and information, which some people may find offensive. It covers aspects of sexual abuse.
The relationship I had with my batterer was filled with violence, hatred, cruelty. It included physical, emotional and sexual abuse. Jeff considered me as his property, and as such, I would have to meet his needs, including sexual. If I refused or hesitated, then he would resort to violence to insure my cooperation. Rape is a crime that involves forced sexual activity, usually including sexual penetration, against the will of the victim. Another form of sexual abuse is coercion or forcing the victim to preform degrading or humiliating sex acts.
As I tell this, please bear with me, while I give some background information.
In early 1996, I was working and still attending college. I also was doing anything that was done around the house. Jeff had stayed home during the summer of 95, because both our children had come down with chicken pox. Not at the same time, but one after the other. He had not as yet found a job. I suspect he wasn't looking. I had purchased a computer so I could do homework at night and weekends. We had a phone line and Internet service for the same reason. Jeff spent a fair portion of his time drinking and downloading pornography from the Internet. He discovered things like bondage, S&M, Urolagnia (urine play), rape and kidnapping, and wife-swapping. All of which excited him.
In February, I was starting into peri-menopause. It was a very difficult time for me, as I would have very heavy menses lasting 6 to 8 weeks at a time. This resulted in me having problems with anemia. I passed out from it one time at work and ended up in the emergency room. My options were to stay in the hospital or go home and stay in bed. I chose to go home, because of my children. That evening, Jeff came into the bedroom and told me he was going out to shoot some pool at a local bar. I begged him to stay home. I didn't feel comfortable staying at home alone as sick as I was. He told me I was just a hypochondriac and faking. He told me that I wasn't meeting his needs because of the problem I was having. My comments about having been to the ER fell on deaf ears. He left.
A few minutes after Jeff left, I got out of bed to check on the children. They were playing quietly in the living room in front of the TV. I laid down on the couch and told the children to play quiet and let me know if they needed anything. I left their grandmothers phone number by the phone in case of an emergency and dozed lightly. Both my children behaved very well, with my son offering me water when he noticed I was awake. At bedtime, my daughter curled up on the couch with me, while my son went to his room. My daughter and I slept on the couch that night.
The next morning when I woke up, I went to my bedroom, Jeff was not home. It was a Saturday, about 8 am. My children were awake, so I fixed breakfast, did the dishes and went and laid back down on the couch. I did wonder where Jeff was, but admit that I was glad he was not home. I was not sure if I could handle him drunk. I slept, the children played quietly. I had asked them to bring some of their toys into the front room, so I could watch them. My son was about 9, my daughter was 4. I was very weak and sick.
At about noon, I got up and fixed lunch. Jeff still was not home. While the children were eating, I called his mother to ask if she had heard from him. She had not. She did however offer to see if she could locate him. I thanked her, hung up and went back to the couch. About 2 pm, she called me to tell me Jeff was in jail. My first thought was that he had been arrested for a DUI (it would have been his fourth in two years). I was wrong. He had been arrested for attempted burglary. Jeff's mother told me she was going to get him bailed out, but that the Detective wanted to talk with me. She gave me his number, and I called him.
The Detective was very nice when I called. He explained what the charges were against Jeff. It seems Jeff left the bar at closing time. He then went to another trailer in the park, one belonging to an elderly single woman. He was trying to open the rear door, when the noise woke up the woman. She called 911, and stayed on the phone with them until the police arrived. She then asked who was out there (Jeff was still outside). He yelled for her to open the door. She refused. He began banging on it, trying to force it open. He told her that he was tired of bi.ches holding out on him and it was time for her to learn her place. It woke up her neighbors, who came out. One older man told Jeff to back off, which only made him angrier. The older man wisely did not try to physically stop Jeff (I feel certain that Jeff would have not hesitated to hurt the man). The man went back into his trailer and came out with a shotgun, just as the police arrived. During this time, Jeff continued to attempt to get into the trailer. It took 5 officers to subdue him.
After the Detective finished telling me about it, he asked me what I thought. I asked the Detective what Jeff had said and was told that he said he thought it was his trailer, and I wouldn't let him in. I said that I thought it was doubtful that Jeff even remembered it. He then asked me what Jeff would have done if he had actually gotten into the trailer. I told him I didn't know. I felt sick inside, because I knew when Jeff got very drunk and tended to violence, it excited him, plus he had been downloading so much rape pornography lately, it scared me. I wonder still what he would have done if he had been able to break in. Note here: two days later the woman moved out of her home and in with her adult children.
Jeff's mother bailed him out. When his court date came, he was offered a plea bargain, which he accepted. He was put on probation, fined and ordered to do community service. He did his community service on Saturdays. He wanted me to pay his fine, I refused. No matter what he said or did, I continued to refuse. I told him to get off his butt, get a job and pay it himself. Finally he did get a job, working nights as a bouncer at a strip club. I disapproved, but felt at least he would stop trying to get me to pay his fine.
I kept working, going to school, taking care of my family, and felt weak most of the time. One night, Jeff came home from work excited. I was too tired to
care. I didn't refuse him, just chose to not react. All I wanted was to go to sleep. The next afternoon, when Jeff got up, he said something about how I was worn out and not satisfying his needs. I apologized (but really didn't care if I was or not). He told me that he was going to join a swingers group (wife-swapping) and find someone else. I told him fine, go ahead. Then he said that as a single man, he couldn't and I had to join with him. I refused. He exploded in anger. As weak as I was, I thought he was going to beat me to death. I admit that at the time, I didn't care. My thoughts were that if he killed me, it would finally be over.
I still refused. I wasn't interested in sex with him or anyone else. He beat me again. He beat me almost everyday for a week. One morning I went to work early, to get away. One of my workers (I was a manager), asked me if I was okay. I told her that I was just tired. She said it looked like I had been beat up. I denied it, again stating I was just tired. That evening, after Jeff left for work, I gathered up some clothes and toys, took my children and went to my car. I couldn't start the car. I found out later that he would disable my car when he left for work. I went back into the trailer.
The next day, my son mentioned to Jeff something about we had tried to go on a little trip but that my car was broke. I know my son didn't think anything of what he had told his father, but for me, it was not good. Jeff dragged me by my hair to the bedroom, beat and slapped me, then forced himself on me. I was then told I was going to join the swingers club with him, or else. I finally agreed.
The first time we were to meet another couple, my menses started. So we met the people, but nothing happened. Of course it was my fault. I started my menses on purpose. It lasted 7 weeks. When it finally stopped, Jeff called the couple we had met and set it up for us to come over. As soon as we got there, he disappeared into one of their bedrooms with the woman. I started crying. The man was very nice about it. Jeff heard me crying and came out, told me to stop my whining and come with him to the other bedroom. I went with him, begged him to leave with me. He refused, then told me to do what needed to be done. He then left to go back in with the woman. The man came in and sat on the bed, we talked most of the night, nothing else.
The next morning, Jeff informed me that the woman was the best piece he had ever had. He also told me that I was frigid. He then told me that we were going to a party the following weekend at this couple's house. At that party I also did not participate, but he did. Jeff didn't care if I participated, I was just a ticket for him to get in the parties. I met another woman at that party. She didn't participate either. She did invite Jeff and I to visit with her and her husband at their home.
When we did go to their house, Jeff decided to start drinking. The couple also drank. I had two drinks. I talked with the couple. Jeff did not join in the conversation. The couple suggested that we all go to the bedroom, and three of us did. Jeff said he would be in shortly. We three continued our conversation in the bedroom waiting for Jeff. When Jeff did not come in, I went out to see if he was ok. I could see he was angry. He claimed we had just walked away and not said anything. He said he was leaving, and walked out the door. I shouted a good-bye and I would call them, then followed Jeff.
Jeff was in the car and as I was getting in, he started to move the car. I hurried and shut the door. (yes he had started driving off with me only half in the car). I asked him loudly what the the hell his problem was. He backhanded me. He was very drunk, it was storming, and the car started to fishtail. He managed to get the car under control. Then told me to shut up. I did. He drove very fast. It still was storming, we were on a country road, it was very dark, except when there was lightening. Jeff started yelling about how I was a slut, and he was sick of me. I was like..what? He told me that this swinging crap was all my idea and it was over. I started crying. He was insanely jealous. He suddenly slammed on the brakes, almost sliding into a ditch on the side of the road. He hit me full in the face with his fist, then unbuckled my seatbelt, opened my door and pushed me out if the car into the ditch. I slid down until I was waist deep in water. He drove off, with my door still open.
I climbed out of the ditch, looked in the direction Jeff had driven. I was wearing a dress that covered me from my chest to knees, nothing else. My shoes were in the car. I was soaking wet, covered in mud, and it was storming. I started walking, thinking. I made a decision that night that as soon as I could I would leave. I started making my plans as I walked through the storm.
A sheriff's deputy drove up beside me. He asked if I was okay. I told him I was fine, just wanted to be alone to think. He asked if I needed a ride anywhere. I declined. At that point, I wanted to keep walking, wanted to be alone and have my thoughts. He drove off. He did drive by a couple more times, and I waved each time. I don't know how long I walked, before Jeff drove up and stopped. He apologized and asked me to get in the car. I refused, he begged me. I finally did.
The next day, I was still determined to leave when I could. It took me four months to put my plan into action, and I almost made it. He found out. I was going to go to California to be with my family. I had not spoken to any of them for years, but felt since it was 1800 miles away, I would be safe. I did go to California with my children, he followed me.
I will say that after that, Jeff started losing interest in me sexually. He preferred pornography. When he would be in the mood, it would be rough and pleasurable for him. I was always glad when it was over.
Jeff, like many abusers, used sex as a weapon. Instead of being a way to show love, it was a way to show dominance.
If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
A poem
A poem
I laid on the floor
Crying in pain
Begging for mercy
Feeling only shame
It happened again
Your anger exploded
You used your fists
To make me afraid.
Forgive me you said
I love you you said
I won't hurt you again
You pleaded and promised
It happened again
Offering forgiving arms
I didn't run away
Although I was afraid
I did my best
It wasn't enough
It was all my fault
I made you angry
It happened again
Your fists leave bruises
You beat me senseless
To make me afraid
You said don't leave
You would kill me
You own me
Do as you say
It happened again
To scared to go
To scared to stay
So very afraid.
I walked away
Left everything behind
Running and hiding
So this time maybe
It won't happen again.
You made your pleas
You cried and begged
You wanted me to stay
But I am no longer afraid
I laid on the floor
Crying in pain
Begging for mercy
Feeling only shame
It happened again
Your anger exploded
You used your fists
To make me afraid.
Forgive me you said
I love you you said
I won't hurt you again
You pleaded and promised
It happened again
Offering forgiving arms
I didn't run away
Although I was afraid
I did my best
It wasn't enough
It was all my fault
I made you angry
It happened again
Your fists leave bruises
You beat me senseless
To make me afraid
You said don't leave
You would kill me
You own me
Do as you say
It happened again
To scared to go
To scared to stay
So very afraid.
I walked away
Left everything behind
Running and hiding
So this time maybe
It won't happen again.
You made your pleas
You cried and begged
You wanted me to stay
But I am no longer afraid
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