from r.h. in washington county
Dear Utah,
After two bad marriages, I reached out to an old friend from high school. I thought he would be the perfect man for me as I remembered him being all those years ago. The dating was a whirlwind. I had told him I didn't want to get married, but he coerced me by saying he wasn't going to "play house" forever (it had only been a few months), so, of course, I was terrified of losing a "good one" and being all alone again to raise my five kids that I gave in and accepted his proposal.
I had convinced myself that he was a perfect angel sent to rescue me and put all my shattered pieces back together. The horrible thing is he did do just that. He took the time to put each piece back in place the best he knew how just to completely shatter me to pieces on his own and then step on each piece and grind it into dust. The first time I was scared of my him, we had been having a conversation about religion, and he started screaming and demeaning me so much that I sank to the ground, pushed my back against the wall, and brought my knees up tight to my chest as I wrapped my arms around them and hung my head down and sobbed. This became a constant position with me for the next 8 1/2 years. He enjoyed the position because he could stand above me and yell at me. He would take a nap or go to sleep and wake up as if nothing had happened. No apology, no empathy.
The longer we were married the more the fighting persisted. Everything was a fight to him. I was never right; I couldn't be trusted, I was a horrible mother, horrible spouse, all of these things in the home. When we were with friends or family, however, I was the most amazing woman on the planet, a unicorn of human beings as he referred to me constantly. I knew what would set him off and I would be so careful as to make sure things were always as he liked them. I made sure the kids were never too loud; I told them they couldn't have opinions on things that would cause arguments with him. It's best to just keep him happy and calm rather than deal with the wrath. As soon as I would get used to one form of abuse and not show emotion over it he would introduce a new one; he would count food items so that none of us ate more than we should of "his" food. If I made something he didn't like he would spit it out or throw the dish, if his laundry wasn't done and put away just right, I would be woken up by clothes being torn or drawers being thrown, if I liked a gift someone got me more than I liked his gift he gave me he would break something of his so he could receive some type of attention, money was spent on everything he wanted and the rest of us got the bare minimum; if that.
The years went by, and I felt so trapped, so alone. He withheld affection as punishment. Intimacy was a guilt trip that was never for my benefit but always so he could have affection and his needs met. Finances became strained; he would spend thousands of dollars on phone games, hobbies and food while we struggled to get by, and I would have to hide money just to try and pay our bills. My health quickly declined, and it was in those moments of fighting for my life and him blaming the children for it that I realized he was the one killing me slowly. I slowly started working on healing myself so I could leave him one day. I started writing positive notes on the bathroom mirror to myself which he, in turn, would make into "jokes" and would get mad when I erased his writing. I started building my strength mentally, physically, and emotionally.
The abuse had spread like wildfire to my three kids left in the home. I needed to save us all. I had sent my son to live with his dad hoping it would help, but it didn't it just made things worse. The night I finally had the strength to fully stand up for myself had been after 6 months of intense hell leading up to it. He had never laid a finger on me before, but I begged him to hit me as he kept threatening he would just so at least the cops would be called and he would be hauled away. However, he took a breath and stepped back and I walked out the bedroom door and locked myself in my son’s old room. He yelled through the door he could break that door in and take care of me anytime he wanted to. He walked out of the house, got my two kids, and locked them in the room with me. We went to sleep huddled together. I woke up to quiet in the house. I knew in that moment it was now or never. I woke my kids up, had them pack a small bag, and stood in between them and our abuser as they walked out of the house and got in the car. I wish I could say it got easier after that, but it didn't. It was another couple months, as the restraining order fell into place and the divorce finalized that we were able to start building a safe home of our own. It has now been almost two years, and the healing still continues for all of us. The financial abuse lingers with his death grip, the words yelled at me still replay in my mind over and over, the nights of waking up in a panic listening for any sign of him even though I know full well he isn't around anymore.
Through it all, I am finding a stronger side of me, a calmer side of me, a more understanding side of me, a side of me that my whole life no one has tried to listen to and understand and love me for me. She is there, and she is so very proud of how far I have come and that I continue to fight and speak up for anyone in DV. It's not my fault it was NEVER my fault, I didn't deserve a lifetime of abuse and pain. The cycle stops with me and my 5 kids.