Domestic Violence Isn't Just Black and Blue

Mother's Day...  May 12, 1991 I married my way into an abusive marriage.  I didn't know it at the time.  Oh, there were signs...if I knew what to look for, but domestic violence was not part of my vernacular.  I wish it were not part of my language now...but it is.

Reading over my journals written during that seven-year period is gut-wrenching...something I do once a year because I NEVER want to forget. As I go through page after page of horrific experiences I find it hard to believe that this woman's experience was in fact mine.  That horror story is mine.  My reality.  I lived through it with my children.  I'm here.  We are on the other side. Stronger. Wiser. And vow to myself and children to not go back there with any man ever again.

As I read the words of a younger, more naive me I'm filled with varied thoughts and emotions.  I want to tell this younger Kristy LEAVE NOW..please leave now...tell your parents dammit! In fact...don't marry him..don't tell him you're pregnant...it will save you so much heartache.  I want to tell her that worse times are still ahead as I flip through the pages.  I want to tell her...his behavior is not your fault, what is happening...is truly happening...it's not your imagination, don't allow him to make you doubt your experiences, your fears are justified & leaving will cost you in ways you cannot even imagine, but...years from now you will be stronger, wiser and it works out, the kids will be alright...the justice system SUCKS don't rely on them for help...please leave sooner....oh God...please leave sooner.  But I didn't.  I didn't know how.  I had lessons to learn...and I learned them well.

Friends and family have asked me, "Why did you stay?" , "Why didn't you tell me?" There is no easy answer to these questions.  It wasn't like the abuse started up immediately and I just stayed with him because I was a weak person...although those ignorant of the dynamics of domestic violence believe this to be true.  The most dangerous time is when the abused partner and children (if any) leave their abuser.

The way it works, at least in my case, is the abuser slowly turns you against yourself.  They are masters at manipulation, the ultimate Spin Doctors who weave you into a web of self-doubt.  What self-esteem you once had is beaten to the ground easing you into submission...until you feel crazy.  

After our daughter was born he whispered in my ear, "If you ever leave me and try to take my daughter from me...know I would rather see you dead than share her with you."  Then he laughed like it was a joke.  I didn't know what to think so I shook my head and laughed.  I mean...who says that and means it?  What I didn't know, couldn't know...he was serious.  Dead serious.

Years later I was able to see the truth in those whispered words.  Through my sanity journals, a cycle emerged on the pages.  Actually, I started writing a journal to track what was happening...to see if I was indeed crazy or if it was him.  It was him. He was my Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  I married and loved Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde was our abuser.  

The grand cycle took three months to complete.  Normalcy was the first part of the cycle which progressed into a period of manic behavior...his creativity increased..making me things like filigree copper landscape lighting overnight, he would go without sleep claiming he didn't need as much.  During the manic cycle he would spend more money than our limited budget allowed...all my fault...everything was for me after all.  

Obsession with money concerns soon turned into depression.  This isn't the sad, tear-filled depression.  It was "other".  The happy-go-lucky guy that did goofy things to make me laugh or engage me in thought-provoking conversations vanished.  His drinking increased as well as his use of marijuana.  He knew I'm totally against drug use, but he waited until we were married for several months before telling me, "I smoke pot.  I've always smoked pot and will continue to smoke pot.  Now we're married...too bad."  He lied to me to get me.  I learned to lie too.  "I don't know what happened to your pot.  It's not like I smoke that crap...maybe you misplaced it."...when in fact I flushed it down the toilet while he was at work.

Depression turned into blind rages and violence.  He hit me once with the back of his arm to my shoulder blades early in our marriage.  Why?  Because he missed the World Series...which I recorded for him but didn't tell him as a surprise..he complained, I giggled (because I had a surprise for him), he thought my giggle was out of some perverse cruelty and backhanded me in the back.  Nice, huh?

At the time I told him if he ever hit me again it would be the last he'd see me.  He never did hit me again.  Instead of fists he used his words, size and rages to "beat" me.  Many times I cried wishing I had bruises to prove the abuse.  Domestic violence doesn't always leave you covered in black and blue, but you wish it did.  Other abused women that were hit would listen to my story in group therapy and tell me my situation was worse than the fists they faced.  They did have visible bruises, but they understood the internal ones to be worse...until then I wasn't sure I had it so bad.  I did.  Not knowing this yourself...is part of the violence inflicted on you.

Learning about brainwashing techniques I can see the correlation of tactics used innately by abusers.  Waking me in the middle of the night hitting me (not to hurt, but to get my attention & interrupt my sleep) in the temple with the checkbook screaming that I spent too much money on food. Telling me I wasn't allowed to spend a penny without his approval, then buying several hundred dollars worth of flowers for the yard the next day...for me.  When I stated the obvious...but you said we had to discuss buying anything from now on just last night (after waking me by hitting me in the head with the checkbook)...I was an ungrateful bitch...then he threw the plants ruining them...making the children and me cry.

At the peak of the raging, I would fight back with logic.  A lot of good that did me.  Logic has nothing to do with abuse.  Nothing.  Once I videotaped him during a rage so he could see for himself how he behaved.  It only angered him further.  

When my son was afraid of the dark the way his stepdad comforted him was by removing the light bulbs from his room...because it was too expensive to have the lights on.  Replacing the bulbs ended in Sean becoming the focus of the rages earning him his door being removed from its hinges.  That I could not allow.  I bought my son a flashlight to hide under his mattress.  

Bills would be lined up on the kitchen counter...during this rage cycle he would put his arm on the counter and in one swift motion scoop all of the bills into the trash along with whatever else was on the counter.  If the kids' rooms were not clean...he'd do the same to their belongings...all going into the trash which he'd take to work to dispose of so I couldn't retrieve their belongings the next day.  It wasn't just toys, but shoes and clothing were thrown away...school books, backpacks...homework...things they NEEDED.  

The kids and I walked on eggshells never knowing what would send him into a rage or a fit of laughter.  His mother counseled me to let him have the last word so he could stew over them and feel guilty for what he said.  Later in court, she denied he had any anger issues whatsoever.  Next came the "honeymoon" where he was filled with remorse and apologies.

A classic transition into the "honeymoon" period went like this...my son was in 2nd grade. As a stay-at-home mom, I made his lunch every morning when I made my husband's.  My son refused to use a lunch box so I packed his lunch in a paper bag and placed it on the counter.  I always wrote him a note on his napkin signed Love Mom.  Since my husband worked outside all day his lunch was packed into a cooler.  On this particular morning I had finished packing the lunches and just sat down with my coffee to watch the morning news.  Ready for work Dr. Jekyll enters the kitchen goes to the counter and begins yelling... things I will not repeat.  The gist of his rage was this...you expect a man my size to eat this small amount of food?  How .....stupid are you?  Can't you do anything right?  Then he began throwing the contents of the bagged lunch at me ending his violent outburst with smashing the sandwich with his fist.  I lost it.

Empowered by anger I stood up and walked over to the garage door where I always put his cooler for him.  Picking it up I slammed it on the counter,  opened it and yelled some words I'm not proud of back at him.  Basically, I said something like...NO, I am not stupid...are you?...here is your lunch...when have I ever packed your lunch in a paper bag? NEVER!  That was Sean's lunch...thanks for ruining for him...what the F is wrong with you?  

Somehow it was all my fault that he "misunderstood" that the bagged lunch was his, his throwing the bag's contents was justified with some ridiculous words I ignored and he left in a furry slamming the door behind him.  About 15 minutes later he calls to apologize.  I am expected to forgive him...I must forgive him.  He brings me home flowers.  He does all sorts of sweet things so I won't leave him...it was after all not really his fault he behaved that way.  Other times he'd simply forget about his rage as if it never happened...that's when I learned what "Blind Rage" meant...you couldn't see it afterward.  Sadly, I was conditioned to believe that a good wife doesn't leave her husband.  A good Christian stays and makes the best of her circumstances.  Right?  Wrong.