Wherein I speak about abuse

Emotionally, mentally, verbally, physically, sexually.

For years I hid it. I know what happened to me was just a fraction of what other women suffer, but it was enough to turn me inside out, upside down and twist me all around to a point where I did not recognize myself anymore. Some days I wished he would just haul off and hit me. It would have been easier to leave.

Verbal abuse is an odd one. It can be covered up as a joke and it can be hidden from public view. It becomes his word against yours. It does not show itself in big ugly bruises on the skin and it cannot be treated in the Emergency Room. It is next to impossible to file for a restraining order because no one ever witnesses it. It's easy to cover up for a while. It can have you feeling like it is all your fault. You blame yourself. I sure did. If only I tried harder. If I only woke him up the right way. If I could do the dishes like he wants me to do or fold his laundry with the creases in the right place.

The first time it happened, I was completely shocked. It cut so deep and so quick that I didn't know how to react. After the initial shock wore off, I was able to question what happened, but that's when the game started. The reason for his outburst was caused by me. It was my fault. Now never having been spoken to that way in my LIFE, of course I questioned it. I didn't want to keep bringing it up with him because I was only perpetuating the problem... making it go around and around in circles. So I learned to keep my mouth shut and sweep it all under the rug. I then bent over backwards and walked on eggshells so that it wouldn't ever happen again.

The hook had been cast.

There would be about a three month honeymoon period and then it would happen again. This time worse. Again my fault. Again. And again. And again. After it happens enough, you start to believe it. You start to think that you are worthless, selfish, self-centered, smug, fat, a liar, rude, stupid, a cunt, a bitch, disgusting, a whore. And then I was chastised for not doing enough for him. Really? I didn't want to be anywhere near him. I learned to keep my distance to keep the abuse from happening. But it still did. And it was still my fault.

And then I was punished for it. He would go out and drink. He knew I hated it. He isolated me. He used his abusive nature to shove his own alcohol problem down my throat. My fault. What I did or didn't do made him go and drink. Nice. And what did I do? I covered for him. I would drive him places for him to drink. I would push my plans aside. I would pick him up from strip clubs and bars in the middle of the night. I even picked him from from a hotel when I was sick with pneumonia. I broke plans with my family because I was embarrassed to have him at family functions and holiday gatherings. I never brought him around my friends. I even lost friends because of him.

Verbal abuse then branches out. It takes a toll on you emotionally and physically. You begin to isolate yourself beyond what he is doing to you. You begin to get sick. The toll that it takes on your body is just unbearable. That is where the physical abuse and sexual abuse take a step into the picture. By this time you are so worn down to a pulp that you do not want to even bear the thought of getting into bed with your "husband". He gets angry. He blames his impotence on you when you know full well it's the alcohol and his own mental issues. He can jack off to porn on the computer, but when he tries to have sex with you, he can't get it up. He makes darn sure that you know that and leaves the lotion and the rag out for you to see. Again - your fault. You get pushed, shoved and forced. Of course it's never enough for you to go to the police over. Just below the threshold. He reminds you that he can pass a lie detector test if he has to take one. He reminds you that he is capable of killing you. He reminds you that he is a sniper and can shoot someone in the skull from over 500 yards away.

Afraid to go to the police? Yep. Absolutely. Afraid to tell anyone? Yeah.

For the better part of my marriage, nobody knew what was going on. My mother had an inkling and I spoke to my best friend about it. All I could do at that point was rationalize it and make excuses. I believed in my marriage vows. Never mind that he had broken them almost from the get-go, but I didn't see that until much later. I didn't want to check the "Divorced" box on applications. I didn't want to raise my son alone.

But I did get out.

It took a long time to be able to recognize the woman in the mirror again, but I can see myself again. And that is for another entry.