old stuff
In an attempt to get this stuff out of my head I am going to try to write some of it down.
I have to admit that a lot of the things that happened to me and subsequently my children were abuse.
Stuff will still trigger this weird consuming desire to just run away from everything. I remember when I went to the beach with Brian and Lisa and rather than listen to their idiotic chatter about whether someone on the beach with no tan had just gotten out of prison, I wanted to just swim away from everything. Dive until everything got quiet. I stayed under until I got light patterns in front of my eyes, then I looked up at the surface of the water from beneath it and watched it ripple and glitter until I finally had to come up. Even now when things get difficult or uncomfortable for me, I sometimes wish I could just swim further out, away from it all. I used to spend hours, sometimes whole days, swimming, as a child, at the pool or the lake. We lived pretty close to Lake Huron and I had a lot of friends with pools. I would spend the night, wait til they went to sleep and sneak back out to the pool. I still have trouble sleeping in strange places, and pools and bodies of water still comfort me, but I don't sneak in by myself anymore.
Even once while Brian was chasing me, throwing cold water on me to keep me from falling asleep so he could scream at me more, the only place I could think of to run to was the shower, fully clothed, with the hot water on, so the cold water wouldn't be so bracing. I hate cold water now, and it's a shame because I used to be so brave, I would always be the first to throw myself in, no matter how cold it was. Now I have to kind of pep talk myself into swimming if it's the least bit chilly.
It feels like I've been perpetually cold for about 4 years now, even when it's blazing hot outside, I worry about the next time it will cold.
I remember first when I lived in the cabin with Brian, waking up and seeing my breath, making sure Ian was warm next to me (I was afraid he would freeze in his own bed, and it's possible he would have). I would dread getting up, plunging my naked feet into the frigid air outside the blankets, placing them on the slick, uneven floor, occasionally glancing between the floorboards realizing I could see the frozen ground a few feet underneath them. The owner of the cabin could trace it back to 1904 but he didn't know how much older it was than that. I would dash as quickly as I could to find my clothes (I had learned that sleeping with little clothing next to other people was an effective way to stay warm enough to stay asleep) and to find clothes for Ian. I would first put Ian in a onesie, then leggings, then a sleeper, then a snuggle sack, and I would put on leggings and a t-shirt on over my underwear, then sweatpants and a sweatshirt, then two pairs of socks, work boots and then a jacket with a hood. I had learned the effectiveness of layers living up north. If we had had long, thermal underwear, I would've worn it. When we didn't have electricity I would have to fight with the woodstove for about an hour to make it produce enough heat to get something placed on top of it lukewarm. I would stomp outside, pluck a few ice-encrusted pieces of wood from the pile at the edge of the yard, and plop them in the ominous brown box. If I was lucky, I could get the wood to light with kindling and paper, most of the time I resorted to lighting plastic, polyester, or something else that emitted noxious and probably deadly fumes, to get the wood to burn. Then it would be warm for a few hours and I could wash dishes with icy water brought from a spring about a mile away.
Once we got electricity, I resorted to turning on the electric range for a bit of heat while I tried to get to woodstove to co-operate, plus I had actual hot running water, and I could make it even hotter with a kettle on the range. I drank a lot of tea, and ate a lot of instant oatmeal and cream of wheat. Ian would babble happily and paint his face with it, I suppose he probably ate some of it, too.
We were it the cabin because Brian's mother had kicked us out of her house, he had screamed and thrown things at her, punched a hole in her wall. We had lived with her maybe a month, there because Brian had had a nervous breakdown (or the after-effects of 250 dollars worth of acid, I later found out) and could no longer handle working. I still have a tiny scar on my nose from him hitting a construction cone and the passenger mirror shattering in my face. So we moved from the crumbling trailer to his mother's house, and then to the cabin. We lived in the cabin for about a year, and I had held a few foodservice jobs, the last one was at Taco Bell, I worked 12 hour shifts and the normally ended around 4 am. Brian, when he was home, would try to bully me into quitting, insisting I was seeing someone else because I was gone so long. I didn't really mind being away from him, he was gone a lot of the time anyway, but I did miss Ian terribly. I tried to wake up early, with Ian, so I could spend time with him before I went to work. Tacking on the 45 min drive made for some long days, and sometimes I would simply forgo sleep. I started popping ephedrine pills and downing energy drinks to stay awake. I was more than 100 pounds overweight at this point and a co-worker told me the pills would probably help me lose weight. I had watched Brian snort countless legal and non-legal things up his nose, so I shrugged and swallowed them with Red Bull, hoping for a few more hours of energy so I could be awake enough to drive home. I did that for a few weeks, and then awoke one morning, got in the shower, and lost control of half my body. I awoke a second time in the hospital, unable to move or speak. The doctors weren't sure what had happened, but told me it may have been a stroke, and I would have to go to physical therapy to learn to walk and talk again. I spent the week I was in the hospital re-training myself to speak, and then write and then walk, but I wouldn't try to drive again for a year or more.
While we were out of the cabin, it burned to the ground. The volunteer fire department assumed it was abandoned, so they just let it burn, it was on the front page of the county paper, I still have the photo. They weren't sure what caused the fire, and didn't really bother investigating because there was so much damage. We moved back in with Brian's mother, and then back out when we found a place cheap enough to rent. Brian went back to work at the same job he had run screaming from a year and a half ago. I made friends with a neighbor, she was 2 years older than me, she had a led a turbulent life up until that point, and I tried to help her when I could. Brian got to know her as well, and I was impressed that he wanted to help her too, he hadn't liked any of my friends all that much when we got married, save for one he was intensely attracted to, then despised, when she rebuffed him. I don't know if they ever slept together, he told me he loved her a some point, but had stopped. I suppose I shouldn't have been all that surprised when he told me he was sleeping with her (the neighbor), but I was only 21, and it did surprise and hurt me. I was so ashamed of myself at that point I simply asked Brian if he would stay with me anyway, I was pretty sure there wasn't a way out that didn't involve admitting to family that they had been right, I should never have gotten married, and now I was a fat worthless wreck that no one would want. My husband had told me as much. He broke things off with her, and swore his fidelity to me (again) I accepted it, for I felt it was all I could do. We had a few fights, I slowly realized that Brian would lash out violently when he felt guilty, so I tried not to make him feel guilty, but other people, who didn't know he took it out on me, would sometimes say things to him. About 2 weeks after he told me about the affair, he was pulled over, the car was uninsured and he didn't have a driver's license, so he drove away. In another week, he was arrested and spent 3 months in jail. I got another food job and my co-workers encouraged me to leave him. One of them was attracted to me and told me as much, but he had many of the substance abuse problems that Brian had, and I ended up telling him it couldn't work.
I visited Brian while he was in jail, and tried to tell him I was leaving, he swore he would never let me divorce him, killing me if necessary. I had seen the damage he could do to others that had crossed him, and he was a large man. He was strong enough to throw me to the floor, and at the time I was heavier than most men. I tried to maintain my strength and independence while he was gone, but by the time he got out, I was behind on the rent and the bills, and I was still afraid to drive. His mother, who had helped me by watching Ian while I was at work, expected me to take her son back, or so I gathered. He offered to go back to work and help with the bills, so I let him move back in. Things were okay for about a week, then he lashed out at me for my brief involvement with my co-worker. He threw things at me and broke a mirror and a light fixture, this wasn't the first time he broke something in anger, but for some reason I remember it very vividly. He had thrown a jar of food at the mirror and the food (tomato sauce, I thing) clung to the wall a bit and bits of glass were stuck in it. I remember crying, but trying to do it quietly because I had learned if I was loud, it made him feel guilty, therefore, angrier. Ian heard us fighting, and woke up crying, I calmed down enough to get him back in bed. I've become so good at switching off my more volatile emotions that I can't seem to cry now, even when I would really like the release. I ended up cleaning up the glass and food, while he drove away. He returned a few hours later, woke me up, apologized and chided me for 'even dealing with him when he was like that'. Bewildered and exhausted, I accepted his apology.
A few months later I got another job, my younger brother, his younger sister, her son and boyfriend, moved in with us and things were okay for awhile. His sister had been my best friend since before I had known him, and I have tried my best to hide the uglier parts of my relationship from her. They eventually all moved out, though. The fighting was never really a daily thing, it would happen sporadically, sometimes most of a year would pass before the pressure would start to build again. I started working for a temp service, and had lost about 40 pounds working 12 hour shifts at a plastic factory, then I started getting sick. Though my periods hadn't returned, I found out I had managed to lose enough weight to be fertile again. I couldn't continue working at the factory, it was too dangerous. We had another huge fight when it took me a few weeks to find another job, he was angry because money was too non-existent for him to get high. I was about 2 months pregnant, he threw me into the wall and my head rang and my ear made a horrible thud against it and throbbed as I slid to the floor. He left, and I cried until I vomited, then fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, I called a friend of mine and tried to tell him how bad I felt, but couldn't, instead I just chit-chatted and promised to send pictures of the new baby when it was born (I didn't yet know the gender). I collected myself, and by the time Brian got back late that night, I realized I probably wouldn't be able to ask for help, or leave in time to escape his grasp, I accepted a weak apology. In a few days, I got a call for a pretty good job, and went to work. It was office work and I was able to work until the week Jane was born. She was very healthy, 8 lb 15 oz at birth, and except for some initial latch problems, nursed like a champ. I was happy about this, since I hadn't really been able to nurse Ian. I had hoped to take my full maternity leave, but had to go back to work when she was 6 weeks old, because money was non-existent again. Soon after I returned to work, Brian and I had another fight, he broke another mirror (hung in the same spot, over the kitchen sink, I still remember cutting my hands on the glass trying to get it out of the sink, after he left, numbly watching my blood ooze down the drain). This time I had been holding Jane when he started yelling, he scared her and she started crying, he tried to take her and leave, but stopped when she screamed and clung to me. Again he left, calmed down, returned hours later. I went back to work, missed Jane and Ian, but looked forward to my friends I had made at work.
When Jane was about six months old, Brian got sick, and stayed sick. I finally dragged him to the hospital, he was diagnosed with advanced heart failure, cause unknown. The doctor at the ER had him transferred to a bigger hospital, the doctors there told him he wouldn't live with out a transplant. He was put on medication, told to quit smoking and drinking, and sent home. The next month was a blur of breakdowns and withdrawal. Then our landlords told us they had sold our house, we had to move. The meds made Brian so sick, he spent a lot of the day in bed, Brian's mom and sister stayed with him and the kids while I worked, I taught Ian to dial 911, and how to check his dad's pulse and make sure he was breathing, he was only 4, but he took it very seriously. When Brian was lucid, he would bounce between hopelessness and suicide threats and told me he wanted me there when he died. He did slowly start getting better. We managed to move but were only in our new house for 6 months before it was sold and our new landlord wanted more money for rent, so we moved again.
By this time, Brian felt good enough to start drinking and smoking again, his doctors had told him with his history of drug abuse, he would never get a transplant, he told me he would rather die happy and stoned than in a hospital bed. I continued to work, my company lost it's contract, I got a job with the new company that had won the contract. I was making more money than I had ever before, but was still struggling to pay rent and finance Brian's addictions. One night Brian picked me up from work with his friend's wife in the car, he had beaten her so badly, her jaw was broken and half her face was deep maroon and bloated. There was dried blood around her ear. I agreed to let her and her young son stay with us. She and Brian would leave the kids with Brian's mom and supposedly look for work, but more often than not, actually look for drugs. After she had lived with us for about two weeks, Brian told me he was in love with her, at this point, it failed to shock me. I assumed it was an infatuation that would fade after they slept together, and it did. He stopped caring what happened to her, she went back to her husband, Brian and her husband, she did manage to leave him permanently (and custody of her son) are still friends, and both despise her, I suppose. We lost contact after she left, I was glad she left her ex, but sorry to hear she lost custody of her son.
After she moved out, I told Brian, I didn't particularly care if he chose to sleep with other women (we had pretty much stopped being a couple in that sense since he was diagnosed) but I didn't really want to meet them. He agreed that this was reasonable, but then another woman appeared in our car, and she was also homeless and didn't know where to go and also had a toddler, and a drug problem. She made an effort to clean up and get a job, but only for about a month. Brian's family criticized him for so blatantly ignoring any shred of a marriage we had left between us, he took his frustration out on me, and ran to our 'room mate' for comfort. Honestly, I was glad for him to have an excuse to leave me alone. I tried to formulate plans to leave, I stayed with my brother for a few days, but failed to tell him how bad things had gotten. Brian's fascination with the new foundling ebbed. They fought, she left. His interest in me miraculously returned. I tried to tell him I was leaving, he got sicker and begged me to stay. He went back to the hospital, I quit my job, we were evicted for lack of rent, I moved our things into his mother's house. He was out of the hospital long enough to get a decrepit trailer next to his mother's house set up, and then had to return for the better part of a year. He was unconscious for about 4 months, his other sisters came down, his aunts offered to help. His doctors told me how unlikely it was that he would survive. I tried to care for him, asked his doctors to reduce his pain medicine enough to let him wake up and talk to his children, they did, and he very slowly got better. I helped him while he was in the hospital, tried to help him control his diet and follow his release orders, keep his appointments.
He eventually got well enough that I felt comfortable leaving him (and the kids) with his mother to look for a job. I got another food job, while I was working he fell back into old habits. He penchant for self-medicating with chemicals obtained illegally re-surfaced. His jealousy returned, even though he pretty obviously didn't want me as a romantic partner, he had come to depend on me to communicate to the outside world on his behalf. He didn't know the names and dosages of most of his medications, and I had talked with his doctors more than he had, I had even filled out his disability applications three times. He had always been very possessive, and suspicious, even before his bouts of infidelity had begun.
After one of our arguments, he left big purple marks on my arms where he had tried to drag me out into the cold after soaking me with cold water. I had lost a lot of weight following the diet his doctors prescribed for him, and could not longer put up much of a fight. I showed the bruises to friend, he told me I had to get out. I agreed, and tried to hide money to leave. I have saved about half of what I needed for a deposit on an apartment when one of his friends stole my purse. The arguments got more frequent, he broke things and raged at me, threw me into walls and doors. The car we had was slowly dying, I spent a few nights that winter stranded at gas stations until morning. They would give me free coffee, at least.
I finally started talking to my co-workers about it. Women who had escaped nightmarish marriages started describing patterns that sound all too familiar. One co-worker offered to keep the money I was saving safe so Brian couldn't find it. I decided to trust him. He helped me fix my tire, and tried to help me fix the other problems with me car. He was easy to talk to, and I very slowly started to tell him why I was afraid to go home sometimes. I had once again told Brian that I was leaving, he said he would see me dead first. One day, he hovered over me with his knee on my chest and his forearm on my throat screaming at me, the neighbor heard him and came over, he went to answer the door and I crept out the back door to his mother's house, still dizzy from the pressure in my head. He left a bruise on my throat. I didn't tell his mother what had happened, just started doing the laundry, she didn't ask.
Then he wrecked the car. I told him I was still leaving, I gave him what little money we had and asked him to fix the car or find another one. He bought a truck. It cost a third of my paycheck just to get to work. He promised he would change, he threatened me, he threatened to take my children, I didn't back down, I told him I was leaving. I tried to do it gradually and explain to my kids why we had to leave. However, one night we had a another huge fight, and he hurt me so badly I had trouble walking.
I showed my friend the bruises and welts, and he said he couldn't let me go back. I still wonder if Brian would've killed me, he could have, easily, and reminded me often enough. Josh called the police, but they told me there was nothing they could do if I didn't press charges. I was too shaken to do much. The next day, I saw Brian and he told me I would never see my children again and filed an Emergency Protective Order against me. I filed one against him and a motion for temporary custody of my children, Josh helped me rent my own apartment and Amy helped me set it up. I was awarded custody of my children and they moved into the first place with reliable heating they had ever lived. Brian destroyed most of my things, but I didn't care. He refused to sign the divorce papers for two years, but finally signed them about 5 months ago.
In another few weeks it will be final. I'm still kind of amazed I got to this point. Of course, tons of other stuff happened in the interim (like, twin boys!) but these are the parts I have trouble talking about. So thanks, if you've made it this far.
.
I have to admit that a lot of the things that happened to me and subsequently my children were abuse.
Stuff will still trigger this weird consuming desire to just run away from everything. I remember when I went to the beach with Brian and Lisa and rather than listen to their idiotic chatter about whether someone on the beach with no tan had just gotten out of prison, I wanted to just swim away from everything. Dive until everything got quiet. I stayed under until I got light patterns in front of my eyes, then I looked up at the surface of the water from beneath it and watched it ripple and glitter until I finally had to come up. Even now when things get difficult or uncomfortable for me, I sometimes wish I could just swim further out, away from it all. I used to spend hours, sometimes whole days, swimming, as a child, at the pool or the lake. We lived pretty close to Lake Huron and I had a lot of friends with pools. I would spend the night, wait til they went to sleep and sneak back out to the pool. I still have trouble sleeping in strange places, and pools and bodies of water still comfort me, but I don't sneak in by myself anymore.
Even once while Brian was chasing me, throwing cold water on me to keep me from falling asleep so he could scream at me more, the only place I could think of to run to was the shower, fully clothed, with the hot water on, so the cold water wouldn't be so bracing. I hate cold water now, and it's a shame because I used to be so brave, I would always be the first to throw myself in, no matter how cold it was. Now I have to kind of pep talk myself into swimming if it's the least bit chilly.
It feels like I've been perpetually cold for about 4 years now, even when it's blazing hot outside, I worry about the next time it will cold.
I remember first when I lived in the cabin with Brian, waking up and seeing my breath, making sure Ian was warm next to me (I was afraid he would freeze in his own bed, and it's possible he would have). I would dread getting up, plunging my naked feet into the frigid air outside the blankets, placing them on the slick, uneven floor, occasionally glancing between the floorboards realizing I could see the frozen ground a few feet underneath them. The owner of the cabin could trace it back to 1904 but he didn't know how much older it was than that. I would dash as quickly as I could to find my clothes (I had learned that sleeping with little clothing next to other people was an effective way to stay warm enough to stay asleep) and to find clothes for Ian. I would first put Ian in a onesie, then leggings, then a sleeper, then a snuggle sack, and I would put on leggings and a t-shirt on over my underwear, then sweatpants and a sweatshirt, then two pairs of socks, work boots and then a jacket with a hood. I had learned the effectiveness of layers living up north. If we had had long, thermal underwear, I would've worn it. When we didn't have electricity I would have to fight with the woodstove for about an hour to make it produce enough heat to get something placed on top of it lukewarm. I would stomp outside, pluck a few ice-encrusted pieces of wood from the pile at the edge of the yard, and plop them in the ominous brown box. If I was lucky, I could get the wood to light with kindling and paper, most of the time I resorted to lighting plastic, polyester, or something else that emitted noxious and probably deadly fumes, to get the wood to burn. Then it would be warm for a few hours and I could wash dishes with icy water brought from a spring about a mile away.
Once we got electricity, I resorted to turning on the electric range for a bit of heat while I tried to get to woodstove to co-operate, plus I had actual hot running water, and I could make it even hotter with a kettle on the range. I drank a lot of tea, and ate a lot of instant oatmeal and cream of wheat. Ian would babble happily and paint his face with it, I suppose he probably ate some of it, too.
We were it the cabin because Brian's mother had kicked us out of her house, he had screamed and thrown things at her, punched a hole in her wall. We had lived with her maybe a month, there because Brian had had a nervous breakdown (or the after-effects of 250 dollars worth of acid, I later found out) and could no longer handle working. I still have a tiny scar on my nose from him hitting a construction cone and the passenger mirror shattering in my face. So we moved from the crumbling trailer to his mother's house, and then to the cabin. We lived in the cabin for about a year, and I had held a few foodservice jobs, the last one was at Taco Bell, I worked 12 hour shifts and the normally ended around 4 am. Brian, when he was home, would try to bully me into quitting, insisting I was seeing someone else because I was gone so long. I didn't really mind being away from him, he was gone a lot of the time anyway, but I did miss Ian terribly. I tried to wake up early, with Ian, so I could spend time with him before I went to work. Tacking on the 45 min drive made for some long days, and sometimes I would simply forgo sleep. I started popping ephedrine pills and downing energy drinks to stay awake. I was more than 100 pounds overweight at this point and a co-worker told me the pills would probably help me lose weight. I had watched Brian snort countless legal and non-legal things up his nose, so I shrugged and swallowed them with Red Bull, hoping for a few more hours of energy so I could be awake enough to drive home. I did that for a few weeks, and then awoke one morning, got in the shower, and lost control of half my body. I awoke a second time in the hospital, unable to move or speak. The doctors weren't sure what had happened, but told me it may have been a stroke, and I would have to go to physical therapy to learn to walk and talk again. I spent the week I was in the hospital re-training myself to speak, and then write and then walk, but I wouldn't try to drive again for a year or more.
While we were out of the cabin, it burned to the ground. The volunteer fire department assumed it was abandoned, so they just let it burn, it was on the front page of the county paper, I still have the photo. They weren't sure what caused the fire, and didn't really bother investigating because there was so much damage. We moved back in with Brian's mother, and then back out when we found a place cheap enough to rent. Brian went back to work at the same job he had run screaming from a year and a half ago. I made friends with a neighbor, she was 2 years older than me, she had a led a turbulent life up until that point, and I tried to help her when I could. Brian got to know her as well, and I was impressed that he wanted to help her too, he hadn't liked any of my friends all that much when we got married, save for one he was intensely attracted to, then despised, when she rebuffed him. I don't know if they ever slept together, he told me he loved her a some point, but had stopped. I suppose I shouldn't have been all that surprised when he told me he was sleeping with her (the neighbor), but I was only 21, and it did surprise and hurt me. I was so ashamed of myself at that point I simply asked Brian if he would stay with me anyway, I was pretty sure there wasn't a way out that didn't involve admitting to family that they had been right, I should never have gotten married, and now I was a fat worthless wreck that no one would want. My husband had told me as much. He broke things off with her, and swore his fidelity to me (again) I accepted it, for I felt it was all I could do. We had a few fights, I slowly realized that Brian would lash out violently when he felt guilty, so I tried not to make him feel guilty, but other people, who didn't know he took it out on me, would sometimes say things to him. About 2 weeks after he told me about the affair, he was pulled over, the car was uninsured and he didn't have a driver's license, so he drove away. In another week, he was arrested and spent 3 months in jail. I got another food job and my co-workers encouraged me to leave him. One of them was attracted to me and told me as much, but he had many of the substance abuse problems that Brian had, and I ended up telling him it couldn't work.
I visited Brian while he was in jail, and tried to tell him I was leaving, he swore he would never let me divorce him, killing me if necessary. I had seen the damage he could do to others that had crossed him, and he was a large man. He was strong enough to throw me to the floor, and at the time I was heavier than most men. I tried to maintain my strength and independence while he was gone, but by the time he got out, I was behind on the rent and the bills, and I was still afraid to drive. His mother, who had helped me by watching Ian while I was at work, expected me to take her son back, or so I gathered. He offered to go back to work and help with the bills, so I let him move back in. Things were okay for about a week, then he lashed out at me for my brief involvement with my co-worker. He threw things at me and broke a mirror and a light fixture, this wasn't the first time he broke something in anger, but for some reason I remember it very vividly. He had thrown a jar of food at the mirror and the food (tomato sauce, I thing) clung to the wall a bit and bits of glass were stuck in it. I remember crying, but trying to do it quietly because I had learned if I was loud, it made him feel guilty, therefore, angrier. Ian heard us fighting, and woke up crying, I calmed down enough to get him back in bed. I've become so good at switching off my more volatile emotions that I can't seem to cry now, even when I would really like the release. I ended up cleaning up the glass and food, while he drove away. He returned a few hours later, woke me up, apologized and chided me for 'even dealing with him when he was like that'. Bewildered and exhausted, I accepted his apology.
A few months later I got another job, my younger brother, his younger sister, her son and boyfriend, moved in with us and things were okay for awhile. His sister had been my best friend since before I had known him, and I have tried my best to hide the uglier parts of my relationship from her. They eventually all moved out, though. The fighting was never really a daily thing, it would happen sporadically, sometimes most of a year would pass before the pressure would start to build again. I started working for a temp service, and had lost about 40 pounds working 12 hour shifts at a plastic factory, then I started getting sick. Though my periods hadn't returned, I found out I had managed to lose enough weight to be fertile again. I couldn't continue working at the factory, it was too dangerous. We had another huge fight when it took me a few weeks to find another job, he was angry because money was too non-existent for him to get high. I was about 2 months pregnant, he threw me into the wall and my head rang and my ear made a horrible thud against it and throbbed as I slid to the floor. He left, and I cried until I vomited, then fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, I called a friend of mine and tried to tell him how bad I felt, but couldn't, instead I just chit-chatted and promised to send pictures of the new baby when it was born (I didn't yet know the gender). I collected myself, and by the time Brian got back late that night, I realized I probably wouldn't be able to ask for help, or leave in time to escape his grasp, I accepted a weak apology. In a few days, I got a call for a pretty good job, and went to work. It was office work and I was able to work until the week Jane was born. She was very healthy, 8 lb 15 oz at birth, and except for some initial latch problems, nursed like a champ. I was happy about this, since I hadn't really been able to nurse Ian. I had hoped to take my full maternity leave, but had to go back to work when she was 6 weeks old, because money was non-existent again. Soon after I returned to work, Brian and I had another fight, he broke another mirror (hung in the same spot, over the kitchen sink, I still remember cutting my hands on the glass trying to get it out of the sink, after he left, numbly watching my blood ooze down the drain). This time I had been holding Jane when he started yelling, he scared her and she started crying, he tried to take her and leave, but stopped when she screamed and clung to me. Again he left, calmed down, returned hours later. I went back to work, missed Jane and Ian, but looked forward to my friends I had made at work.
When Jane was about six months old, Brian got sick, and stayed sick. I finally dragged him to the hospital, he was diagnosed with advanced heart failure, cause unknown. The doctor at the ER had him transferred to a bigger hospital, the doctors there told him he wouldn't live with out a transplant. He was put on medication, told to quit smoking and drinking, and sent home. The next month was a blur of breakdowns and withdrawal. Then our landlords told us they had sold our house, we had to move. The meds made Brian so sick, he spent a lot of the day in bed, Brian's mom and sister stayed with him and the kids while I worked, I taught Ian to dial 911, and how to check his dad's pulse and make sure he was breathing, he was only 4, but he took it very seriously. When Brian was lucid, he would bounce between hopelessness and suicide threats and told me he wanted me there when he died. He did slowly start getting better. We managed to move but were only in our new house for 6 months before it was sold and our new landlord wanted more money for rent, so we moved again.
By this time, Brian felt good enough to start drinking and smoking again, his doctors had told him with his history of drug abuse, he would never get a transplant, he told me he would rather die happy and stoned than in a hospital bed. I continued to work, my company lost it's contract, I got a job with the new company that had won the contract. I was making more money than I had ever before, but was still struggling to pay rent and finance Brian's addictions. One night Brian picked me up from work with his friend's wife in the car, he had beaten her so badly, her jaw was broken and half her face was deep maroon and bloated. There was dried blood around her ear. I agreed to let her and her young son stay with us. She and Brian would leave the kids with Brian's mom and supposedly look for work, but more often than not, actually look for drugs. After she had lived with us for about two weeks, Brian told me he was in love with her, at this point, it failed to shock me. I assumed it was an infatuation that would fade after they slept together, and it did. He stopped caring what happened to her, she went back to her husband, Brian and her husband, she did manage to leave him permanently (and custody of her son) are still friends, and both despise her, I suppose. We lost contact after she left, I was glad she left her ex, but sorry to hear she lost custody of her son.
After she moved out, I told Brian, I didn't particularly care if he chose to sleep with other women (we had pretty much stopped being a couple in that sense since he was diagnosed) but I didn't really want to meet them. He agreed that this was reasonable, but then another woman appeared in our car, and she was also homeless and didn't know where to go and also had a toddler, and a drug problem. She made an effort to clean up and get a job, but only for about a month. Brian's family criticized him for so blatantly ignoring any shred of a marriage we had left between us, he took his frustration out on me, and ran to our 'room mate' for comfort. Honestly, I was glad for him to have an excuse to leave me alone. I tried to formulate plans to leave, I stayed with my brother for a few days, but failed to tell him how bad things had gotten. Brian's fascination with the new foundling ebbed. They fought, she left. His interest in me miraculously returned. I tried to tell him I was leaving, he got sicker and begged me to stay. He went back to the hospital, I quit my job, we were evicted for lack of rent, I moved our things into his mother's house. He was out of the hospital long enough to get a decrepit trailer next to his mother's house set up, and then had to return for the better part of a year. He was unconscious for about 4 months, his other sisters came down, his aunts offered to help. His doctors told me how unlikely it was that he would survive. I tried to care for him, asked his doctors to reduce his pain medicine enough to let him wake up and talk to his children, they did, and he very slowly got better. I helped him while he was in the hospital, tried to help him control his diet and follow his release orders, keep his appointments.
He eventually got well enough that I felt comfortable leaving him (and the kids) with his mother to look for a job. I got another food job, while I was working he fell back into old habits. He penchant for self-medicating with chemicals obtained illegally re-surfaced. His jealousy returned, even though he pretty obviously didn't want me as a romantic partner, he had come to depend on me to communicate to the outside world on his behalf. He didn't know the names and dosages of most of his medications, and I had talked with his doctors more than he had, I had even filled out his disability applications three times. He had always been very possessive, and suspicious, even before his bouts of infidelity had begun.
After one of our arguments, he left big purple marks on my arms where he had tried to drag me out into the cold after soaking me with cold water. I had lost a lot of weight following the diet his doctors prescribed for him, and could not longer put up much of a fight. I showed the bruises to friend, he told me I had to get out. I agreed, and tried to hide money to leave. I have saved about half of what I needed for a deposit on an apartment when one of his friends stole my purse. The arguments got more frequent, he broke things and raged at me, threw me into walls and doors. The car we had was slowly dying, I spent a few nights that winter stranded at gas stations until morning. They would give me free coffee, at least.
I finally started talking to my co-workers about it. Women who had escaped nightmarish marriages started describing patterns that sound all too familiar. One co-worker offered to keep the money I was saving safe so Brian couldn't find it. I decided to trust him. He helped me fix my tire, and tried to help me fix the other problems with me car. He was easy to talk to, and I very slowly started to tell him why I was afraid to go home sometimes. I had once again told Brian that I was leaving, he said he would see me dead first. One day, he hovered over me with his knee on my chest and his forearm on my throat screaming at me, the neighbor heard him and came over, he went to answer the door and I crept out the back door to his mother's house, still dizzy from the pressure in my head. He left a bruise on my throat. I didn't tell his mother what had happened, just started doing the laundry, she didn't ask.
Then he wrecked the car. I told him I was still leaving, I gave him what little money we had and asked him to fix the car or find another one. He bought a truck. It cost a third of my paycheck just to get to work. He promised he would change, he threatened me, he threatened to take my children, I didn't back down, I told him I was leaving. I tried to do it gradually and explain to my kids why we had to leave. However, one night we had a another huge fight, and he hurt me so badly I had trouble walking.
I showed my friend the bruises and welts, and he said he couldn't let me go back. I still wonder if Brian would've killed me, he could have, easily, and reminded me often enough. Josh called the police, but they told me there was nothing they could do if I didn't press charges. I was too shaken to do much. The next day, I saw Brian and he told me I would never see my children again and filed an Emergency Protective Order against me. I filed one against him and a motion for temporary custody of my children, Josh helped me rent my own apartment and Amy helped me set it up. I was awarded custody of my children and they moved into the first place with reliable heating they had ever lived. Brian destroyed most of my things, but I didn't care. He refused to sign the divorce papers for two years, but finally signed them about 5 months ago.
In another few weeks it will be final. I'm still kind of amazed I got to this point. Of course, tons of other stuff happened in the interim (like, twin boys!) but these are the parts I have trouble talking about. So thanks, if you've made it this far.
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