that this is probably getting old for you. I guess I’ve needed to put these things into words for a long time. This is a way for me to do that. Hopefully, someone will read this, and maybe it will help them realize that the situation they are in is not their fault, and that they are not to blame.
It wasn’t always horrible. There were ok times, and there were good times, but most of the time, I was surviving. Especially towards the end. I felt as if I was walking on egg shells most of the time. Never knowing when something I said or did would push him over that edge. I told you about the first time he physically hurt me. Let me tell you about the last.
Once again, I don’t remember what the argument was about. At this point, I was coming to realize that my marriage was abusive, that I was what they called a “battered woman”. I hated that term. I still do in a way. I am more than that, I was more than that. I hadn’t reached out for help yet, but I was close. It was Memorial Day, 2000. My family has a tradition, we all get together and go camping every Memorial Day weekend. He was off that weekend, and so we had gone camping with my family. We had to come home on Sunday though because he had to work Monday night, and he didn’t want to have to come home, unload from the lake, then pack up to go drive for three days. Anyway, Monday morning, something happened, we argued. I remember the kids were in their rooms playing. They were 4, 3 & 1 at the time. When it started to get physical, I was trying to get past him to go to the bedroom. I could get in there and hide in the bathroom. I did that a lot. It was one of the only places where there was a lock. He wouldn’t let me by. He pushed, I pushed back. That was it. I don’t remember all the details. I remember him yelling, saying horrible things. Then he punched me, in the face. I hit the floor. He isn’t a big guy, but he’s strong, and it floored me. I don’t think I lost consciousness, but I don’t know. The next thing I remember was crawling on the floor to get away from him. I could hear the kids crying, and I was telling him to stop. Not to do that in front of the kids. I got to the corner of the dining room behind the table, and I remember looking up at him. He was holding one of the dining room chairs over his head, and then I looked down, and I can remember seeing the kids standing behind him, crying. All three of them. I guess he heard them, I don’t know. I just know that he put the chair down and left.
When he came home, a couple of hours later, the bruise was starting. It wasn’t horrible yet, but it was starting. He had gone to get a haircut, and while he was there, he paid for me to get my hair cut & colored. Wasn’t that nice?