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.
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