One Step . . .

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Many moons ago, Jim and I sought counseling together . . . for the second time . . .

I never felt able to be completely open and honest about the abuse in our relationship at counseling, because Jim was sitting right there.  So, we only talked about the things that Jim seemed able/open to talk about . . .

And they were things that needed talking about, but no real progress was made . . .

Counseling quickly went by the wayside, as Jim felt the counselor was "siding" with me, or more aptly, against him.

I suppose when you're wrong and refuse to admit it, counseling might feel that way . . .

So, we stopped going.  We were supposed to begin counseling with someone else, but as you might imagine . . . That never happened . . .

During a "crisis" moment I called our counselor to speak with him about said "crisis", and I was finally honest with him . . .  It was my first time to ever speak to him alone . . .

Me:  "Jim can sometimes be very verbally abusive, and it has on occasion become physical."

Counselor:  "I know."

Those two little words are were so powerful.  They conveyed to me that my abuse is not so invisible as I imagine, and I am not crazy . . .

Since that conversation - we spoke at length about the situation at the time - I haven't had any professional help in evaluating the mess that is my life.

Today I called.

Today I made an appointment.

Today I took a step toward help.

I don't know where counseling will lead.

I don't know how often I'll go.

But I know it's a step in the right direction . . .

And I will continue plodding along . . . one step at a time . . .

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Let's Talk Addictions . . .

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Hi.  My name is Abigail, and I have a jewelry addiction . . .

Really.  I'm not kidding.  

Jim:  "Every time I turn around you're wearing something new.  What is it?  Do you have a jewelry addiction?"

Me:  "No!  This isn't even new . . ."

Jim (as if I've said nothing):  "You wouldn't like it if I were to just start gambling our money away would you?"

Me:  "No, of course not, but I hardly think that's the same thing, and once again, this isn't new."

Jim:  "You don't need to lie about it.  I just don't want my money being wasted on things that don't matter."

I just let it go . . . because, why bother?

All of my jewelry can be summarized as follows (this includes everything: necklaces, bracelets, lapel pins, rings . . . everything):

-- I own 26 pieces of jewelry in total.

-- Of those, 11/26 were acquired after Jim and I met, with only 7/11 being acquired after we were married.

-- Furthermore, of the 26 pieces of jewelry, Jim's funds, or joint funds have only been expended on 5 pieces for a total jewelry expenditure of approximately $260.00 (this INCLUDES my wedding set) over the course of a DECADE.

-- And of the pieces Jim did contribute toward, he put zero effort into the selection of any of them.  I'll admit, during sentimental moments this grieves my heart.  To me it's kind of romantic to think a man might love you enough to actually put thought into buying a piece of jewelry for you . . . especially something as important as an engagement/wedding ring.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is the crap abusive relationships are made of.  Arguments that shouldn't be arguments.  Absurd accusations (like jewelry addiction in this case).  And a largely successful, very exacting grip of control over EVERYTHING . . .

It can happen any time . . . any place . . . about any thing . . .  And, it will happen many, many times . . . over and over again . . . f o r e v e r . . .

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Sitting in the Lull

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"The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun."  Ecclesiastes 1:9


Sometimes I become so focused on myself and my hurt that I forget I'm not alone.  I forget that there are others who have been here before me, and sadly others that will follow.


I want to help others understand why I stay, but really I want to help myself understand.


For years as I looked at my husband, I didn't see an abuser.  I saw a man.  A good man.  A broken man.


He needed someone to take care of him, heal the brokenness inside him, fix him.  And I was up for the challenge.


And as we went through the cycles, the highs were oh so high, and the lows so devastatingly low.  And every time we hit bottom, I was crushed, until finally I am the one who is broken.  I am the one who needs saving.


And while I know I am not alone, I know that I am the only one who can save me . . . and it seems impossible, sometimes even unreasonable.


There have been no real lows now for 2 months, but there have also been no highs.  I've come crashing down so many times now that I simply cannot trust anymore.  I cannot believe.  I cannot be hopeful.


So, I'm here.  Just traveling through life . . . living with a man with whom I share a child and have sex, but otherwise have no real relationship.


It's hard for me, when things are going along fairly smoothly, to look at the reality of my situation.


The reality is, I want to love.  I want to trust.  I want to hope.  I want to dream.  I want to live.  I want a marriage . . . a real marriage, where I love, and trust, and hope, and dream, and live with someone.


But the reality also is that my emotionally disconnected marriage is somewhat stable, if not fulfilling.  I may not be fulfilled in this state, but I also am not afraid of where I am.  I'm afraid of where I'm going . . .


I may be existing in relative calm, but I'm also existing in emotional limbo, for at this moment I see two options and view them both with trepidation:  moving forward with an empty relationship or moving toward a completely unknowable future . . .


And I sit here, because sometimes it's easier to just sit in the lull than to rock the boat . . .


And I look out from my place to a whole new fear . . .  Maybe I'll wait too long . . .  One day I'll swallow my fear and jump and swim, and all of the people coaxing me from the safety of the shore will have given up on me . . . and there'll be no one there to pull me out . . .

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Missing - Have You Seen This Girl?

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More than thirty three years . . . to date, this is the time my life has encompassed.  But it's the people that have touched my life over the years that really make it special.

It's the friend from church when I was small.  We always went home with one another on Sunday.  Always.  Then my family changed churches . . .

It's the friend from my first elementary school . . . I named my favorite doll after her.  Then I changed schools . . .

It's the friend from junior high . . . then we moved to high school . . . the social makeup shifted . . . we made new friends . . .

It's the friends I met in high school . . . and college . . . 

Life shifts and changes and keeps marching forward, and you just lose touch . . .

Social media has been an amazing thing.  I've reconnected with many of my oldest and dearest friends.  We may no longer have the connection we once did, but at least we can peek in on one another from time to time now and say, Hi!  I still think about you!

I was going through some old photos the other night . . . reliving some old memories and realized there's one girl I miss above all others.  Somehow over the years I've lost touch, and more than anything I'd love to know her again!

She was always so bright . . . so happy . . . just sunny and light!  Sure, she had her down days, but all in all she was pretty well rounded . . . responsible when the situation called for it, but also silly and sure to make you laugh.  I don't think I'm exaggerating.  This is how I remember her . . .  They say a picture is worth a thousand words . . . 

At the end of the day, the person I miss the most is me . . . but when you lose touch with yourself, how do you ever find your way back again?

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Opening the Door

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February 27, 2007 . . .  Most of the events of my marriage run together . . .  Dates are nearly impossible to remember, but this was a special day, so I remember, and this was the day the door opened . . . for me . . .

I don't remember what we fought about.  I rarely do after a little time.  The fights are so often over the insignificant.  But . . . he once again brought up divorce.  Nearly every fight, every argument . . . and there were so many . . . for the first nearly six years of our marriage . . . he brought up divorce.  He brought up divorce.  For me, divorce was not an option.  It didn't exist as a choice.  This marriage was going to work . . .  Until this morning . . .  This time when he said divorce, something snapped inside of me, and suddenly a door opened . . .  Divorce was a possibility . . . It is a possibility . . .

Our relationship began a steady decline after that.  With me no longer fighting to hold this marriage together, it rapidly began falling to pieces, until finally in November 2007, I drafted and signed divorce papers.  He just needed to sign and file them . . .  And instead he talked me into giving the relationship another chance.  He knew so many ways he'd been wrong, and he didn't want to lose me . . .

It's a funny thing though . . . this door to divorce.  Once opened, it never really closes.  And as the relationship hits new all time lows, it even becomes a comfort . . . for there is a way out of this hell.

So, that door stands there . . . open . . . beckoning . . .  But, something holds me back . . .  Something keeps me from stepping through it . . .  fear . . .  Fear of the unknown . . .  I know others find my inaction exhausting . . . frustrating . . .  But, fear is paralyzing . . .  And it is only overcome one step at a time . . .

If knowledge is power, the fear of the unknown is just as powerful.  It is a war fought on mental and emotional battlefields that those outside of the abuse simply cannot comprehend, and any truly positive outcome is excruciatingly slow in its arrival.

Three weeks ago I embraced that door.  I was more powerful than that fear.  I was ready to walk through it . . .  until I was wrenched back from its threshold . . .  and consumed by all new fears . . .

But the door stands . . . open to the blackness of the unknown . . . and I am on an agonizingly slow journey once again . . .

A journey that may someday end in my stepping through the door . . . into the abyss . . . and beginning again . . . beginning anew . . .

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Sleeping With the Enemy

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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 . . .

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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 . . .

Every Little (Empty) "I Love You"

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I watch my little Sam growing up before me.

We run.  We roll and tumble.  We build Lego towers.  We play cars.  We laugh.  Oh, how we laugh.  And I can't help myself.  I grab him up in my arms, squeeze him close, and the words pour out of me, "I love you!"  For if I don't say them, I just might explode . . .

We read.  We cuddle.  We fix uh ohs and boo boos.  Sometimes we cry.  And I pull him up in my arms, squeeze him close, and drop kisses on his head . . . "I love you!"  For if I don't say them, my heart might break.

Every "I love you" . . . so full.

I once read somewhere that for every negative action/statement between intimate partners, it takes seven positive actions/statements to counteract . . .  In my relationship the scales are way off balance, heavily on the negative side . . .

And when the negative comments get to me, as I sit in pain, I hear:

     "I don't care about your feelings, I just care about _____."

     "Stop crying.  Your tears don't do anything for me."

     "You need to quit being so sensitive."

     "You should just suck it up and take it.  Just do it."

Oh, how many times have I heard this and more . . .

But, over time, I suppose, I've complied . . .  I cry less now.  I'm not as sensitive.  I take what he dishes - most of the time.  I just do it.  Feelings?  I don't share my feelings . . . at least not often, and I usually regret it when I do.

Occasionally he's made the comment that I look dead . . .  Perceptive I suppose, since in many ways that's what is happening.  For as I have became more callous and the tears have stopped falling, I have slowly been dying inside.  As I have felt less of the negative, I have felt less of the positive, until now I often feel nothing.

Hugs, kisses, Hello, Goodbye . . . Nothing.  Just motions.  Actions.  Those things we do . . .

And every little, "I love you."  Empty.  Obligatory words as we say goodbye or in response to the same three words . . .  Words that once warmed my heart but now just leave me cold.

And as "I love you" passes my lips, I can't help but wonder if it sounds as empty in his ears as it feels in my heart . . .

Now, when the tears occasionally find their way to my eyes, it's no longer so much about the pain . . .  I feel more like I'm mourning what I've lost . . . for I long to feel something . . .

For now, every empty "I love you" shared with him just makes me feel more distant . . . more removed . . . more numb . . . more empty . . .

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