Sleeping With the Enemy

start at the beginning

I have struggled with today's post . . . Is it too much?  Is it too soon?  Are you ready for it?

I hesitate, because you will be outraged.  You will want to do something.  You can't.  I'm sorry, but this is my struggle, and I must find my way out of it.  For you to interfere is for you to make it worse for me.

Part of me wants to skip it . . . write something else, but I started this blog with the promise to be real . . .  This may get long, but here goes . . .

Jim and I started arguing at 5:40 Friday morning when he called me from work.  I didn't care that he called me, but that he started blaming me for someone else's actions started things seriously rolling toward not good.  I will not hash out the details.  The details do not matter.

Just after I arrived at work, as the argument continued (on the phone) I told him I would contact my attorney.  Later in the day he called to tell me I should call my attorney, because he was tired of me threatening and never actually doing it.  Little did he know I'd already called at that point and left a message with the attorney's answering service . . .

Fast forward to Saturday morning . . .

I was trying to go about my day and get a million things done.  I needed to do three loads of laundry, wash dishes and bake/ice/decorate Sam's birthday cake for his party Saturday afternoon.  In the middle of all of this, Jim and I continued a rather dispassionate conversation about our relationship . . .

Jim stood in the hallway telling me how unfair it was that I kept threatening divorce.  Right . . .  He threatened divorce in every fight for the first six years of our marriage, while I refused to believe divorce was a possibility.  Now that I accept that it is, he feels slighted.  Go figure . . .  I calmly told him he was right.  It was unfair of me to keep threatening divorce.  I just needed to go ahead and do it . . .

His voice turned cold with underlying rage . . . "Let me tell you something, Abigail.  If you ever try to take my little boy from me, I will kill you.  I will kill you and your whole family.  Do you hear me?"

Sometimes it just doesn't pay to hold your ground . . .

"I take that as a serious threat . . . "

"You should, you can't look over your shoulder forever."

"But, it won't stop me from filing [for divorce] . . ."

"I'll kill you, Abigail.  I'll kill you . . .  Matter of fact, I'll do it right now."

He threw me into our bedroom.  He closed the door . . .  We wrestled, as he body slammed me . . .  We wrestled, as he threw me . . .  We wrestled as he wrapped his hands over my nose and mouth cutting off my breath . . .  I fought with all of my strength.  I scratched.  I bit. I fought . . .

But the match is unequal.  He's so much bigger . . .  He's so much stronger . . .

I screamed . . .  But the only ears to hear it were those of my little boy.  My precious little boy . . . in the hallway . . . listening to his mother fight for her life . . . crying on the other side of the door . . . "Mama . . . Mama . . . Mama . . . . "

For a moment it stopped.  His voice, calm, cool, almost comforting called through the door, "It's OK Sam, go see saw on your horsie."  Sam grew quiet . . .

And, his voice turned hard again . . . so cold as he began the threats again . . .  I had some responses, but I can't remember everything said, for my mind was racing . . .  I do remember him telling me that he had nothing to lose (by killing me) . . .  This is not good . . .  My mind raced . . .  Oh how I wanted out of that room . . .  If I could get out of that room, maybe I could get myself and Sam to my brother's house or my car before he caught me . . . But, he was between me and the door, and there was no way I could get out a window quick enough . . .  My only hope was to control the situation, because I despairingly realized . . . there was no way out . . .  And then I saw his eyes go hard . . .

"You know, I think I want some more of that."

I braced, and the fight was on again.  I kicked.  I screamed.  I scratched.  I bit.  Sam cried again in the hallway.  I didn't hold back, but I also had minimal impact on him.  If he really wanted to kill me, he could . . .  One of the chopsticks I use to hold up my heavy long hair ended up in his hand, and with a glint of wicked humor in his eyes he told me it could be used as a weapon.  He could stab me with it.  And he raised his arm and came at me . . . and he stopped himself just inches from impact . . .  And he backed off . . . Thank God, he backed off . . .  His rage was spent . . . Or perhaps he sensed that I was beaten . . . if only for the moment . . .

And, then he wanted to talk . . .  He wanted to solve our problems . . .

I wanted to control the situation . . .

He is now in repentant mode.  He is now doing everything right.

And my love for him is dead . . .

Sunday I cut my hair shorter than it's been in 25 years.  I will not have my hair accessories used as weapons against me . . .

Monday I spoke with my lawyer, still making no final decisions.

Each day, I get through the day.  I pray.  I plan.  For escape must be carefully planned . . .

And each night, I sleep with the enemy . . .

next post

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Added notes for those who will ask:
     This is not the first time things have turned physical, and if I stay, I already know it likely won't be the last.
     It's not as easy as calling the cops, because we live in a very rural area.  It would take the sheriff's department a minimum of 25 minutes to get to me . . . at which point I'd be dead, and who knows how many people in my family would be dead as well.
     Yes, I know I could get a restraining order, but he'd never abide by it, and enforcement is too far away.
     I am trying to figure a way out.  A way that is safe for me, my Sam, and my family.  I am already approved for shelter at our Women's Center for Non-Violence, and my attorney deals only with domestic violence cases.
     And, for now I am OK.  It's a pattern I'm accustomed to, and for a while, all will go well, as he tries to woo me back in with his repentance . . .