So I have been avoiding writing this, mainly because there is a lot of it, but also because I don’t think I am going to like seeing it in written form – having to endure it was bad enough, but writing and reading it with a more objective eye is not a pleasant thing for me.
All right, enough stalling…
So things came to a head a little less then three years ago (9/08 -10/08). I had a computer fall on my foot at work more then three years before that (6/05), and I had been collecting workmen’s comp for two of those years (from 6/05 thru 6/07). The third I had lost my claim (unjustly, seeing how my foot is still screwed up and will be for the rest of my life). Even though I had been looking for a job that I could do at home, I had found none and money was beyond tight. I had started to make ends meat by using a credit card (yeah yeah, I know, not good), but soon that was going to max out. I know, why didn’t I just tell him about the money problems? I was terrified to, that’s why. He can be beyond mean and nasty and vile when he wants to, and I was trying to avoid it.
Well, as you can guess, I did have to finally put everything out there. And just as I thought, he was beyond mad. He changed his direct deposit to go into his personal account; I had to now gather each and every bill and prove to him what I need to pay the bills. If I had bills that were online only (no paper bill delivered), then I had to print them up for him. He would then go over everything with a fine tooth comb and decide if he was going to transfer the monies need to pay said bills. (there was one month where I couldn’t find the gas bill, and even though I had even payments set up and it was always the same, since I didn’t have the bill, he wouldn’t give me the money to pay it). This was only the beginning.
My grocery money had been cut over half to $50.00 a week (this was suppose to feed the three of us and two cats); he had taken my bank card and credit cards and cut them up (I usually paid for groceries and gas with my bank card); he went into my purse and took all my car keys and the key to the mail box; I was not allowed out of the house without him – he drove me to the grocery store; I was not allowed to take personal calls (he would stand over me if I did and interrogate me about who it was afterward).
He also started to rev up his verbal and emotional abuse to me (he had been doing this for a very long time before this, but he was taking it to a whole new level now). There wasn’t one thing I could do right – from laundry, to dishes to cleaning the house, to making the bed. He had been quite venomous with his attacks on me, and they kept escalating. It seemed his motto was “go for the pain, not the kill” (many times I wished he would just go for the kill and get it over with, in all sincerity). And his rules for doing said chores changed from day to day, so even though I thought I had done things to his satisfactory, it never was. I was so terrified whenever he was around – and I had daily panic attacks every day around 5:00 pm. He was going to be barreling through the door in 45 minutes, and I had to make a mad dash around the place to make sure everything was done.
I was constantly told that I wasn’t worth anything and I was useless, and why couldn’t I do the simplest of tasks. And of course I was forever being told how much of an idiot I was, and he said it with such hatred in his voice – true hatred and disgust. I prayed that I would die every night. I would have ended it right there for me if it weren’t for my youngest son. I couldn’t leave him alone and unprotected with this monster.
Was he ever physically violent? Well, he had punched my son in the chest once, to which I informed him that if he ever, EVER hit him again, I was going to call the cops on him. (it was a scary thing to watch; I saw the anger in T grow and build and then saw it explode on my son). Since then he hasn’t touched him, but he had a tendency to put him in the corner for over an hour several times, as well as the usual verbal and emotional abuse.
And as for me, well he had cracked me across the side of my head only once – never before then, never after then. But yeah, my logical side tells me once is once too much, and that it can happen again, and far worse. My irrational, distorted side tells me that as long as I don’t screw up, he won’t (bad game of Russian roulette, I know).
I also smoked. Yeah yeah, it’s bad for me, blah blah blah, I know, but it helped with my nerves, calmed me down. But of course that had to end – he had informed me that I was no longer allowed to smoke so poof – I had to quit cold turkey (it was not a pretty sight, let me tell you)…and yet another step in the process of controlling every aspect of my dismal existence. Also he had decided that coffee was too expensive, and I wasn’t worth the price, so I was no longer allowed that (I put milk in my coffee, and that was another expense that I wasn’t worthy of).
Then he finally gave me the ultimatum – I had two weeks to get a job, or he was kicking me out of the house. I was frantic, scouring the internet for something that I could do at home (as much as he wanted me to get a job, he liked me being home – I could do all the “womanly” chores, and plus I wouldn’t have any type of social activity).
And then I found it – a job that let me work at home, set my own hours, and had promised good money. I had gotten a job a PSO (that’s a phone sex operator). One that specialized in the AB/DL fetish, though was not restricted to that alone. I IM’d T and told him I got a job – gave him the name and the link. He couldn’t argue – he had given me an ultimatum and I complied. He just couldn’t see me talking about sex all day (boy, was he wrong, lol. Of course the subject of sex is another whole can of worms for another post I think; we’ll see). Now it wasn’t like he didn’t want me to do that type of work, he is pretty kinky himself, so that type of work didn’t bother him.
I think it was around here that I had started cutting myself, though I can’t be sure – it might have been before I got the job. I started with my fore arm, I had tried to hide it from T, but he eventually saw. Being the clueless fellow that he is, he just thought it was the cats scratching me (a bit too deep for cat scratches, but like I said, clueless). When I started cutting on my upper arm, he said, you can’t tell me that was cats. I simply told him no, I never said it was. And when he asked what they were, I told him the truth – that I did it and it was a way of coping with the inner pain. He never said anything. What could he say? He knew he was cruel to me – he did it on purpose. As he said, passive aggressive behavior was his “thing” (no lie – he said it like he was proud of it and it was a very conscience thing on his part. So when I say he went out of his way to hurt me, he most definitely did).
I was doing what I had to in order to survive. I was rolling coins from the coin tub to help pay for extra groceries. I had a spare key to the car that he didn’t know about so I would run to the 24 hour grocery store when he was asleep. (I also had a spare key to the mail box that he didn’t know about). I couldn’t use my car because the battery was dead and had a radiator leak, and of course he would not pay for such an expense – it was only my car and not worth the expense (I wasn’t going anywhere so what was the point?).
Now I should mention at this point that I had two cats; cats that he did not like because I gave them love and attention and they reciprocated; cats that he wanted to get rid of, but I have vehemently had said that I wasn’t going to get rid of another animal (another issue of ours); cats that cost money by eating and pooping.
Then came that fateful date – the day in which I told him that I needed money to pay a tax bill. He seized the opportunity and told me that I needed to get rid of the cats if I wanted the money. That if we lost the house to auction because of an unpaid property tax bill, then we were threw (yeah yeah, I should have cut my losses then), and I had to get rid of them that very day. What could I do? The bill was beyond over due and it needed to be taken care of immediately. I had to agree.
I was crying hysterically, my son was crying hysterically (this all happen before he went to school in the morning). He was so upset that he was brought down to the guidance counselor’s office. There, one of the teachers said she would take one of the cats and pick her up after school – one cat down, one to go. The other cat was a stray kitten we brought in (T had actually caught him, if you can believe it – the irony). He was never neutered or declawed, so I came up with the idea of just opening up the door and letting him go that way. (that way I might be able to still see him). I had made a little shelter for him, and put food and water out for him there.
But that was it – the last straw. I had chatted with my boss, and asked her if there was any way to split my check, and she said yes! I needed to put away money if I was ever going to have the option of getting away. What ever love, be it warped as it was, was dead. The key to the mailbox came in handy for this. I didn’t have an account of my own, so she sent my separate check through the mail. So I would have to go down to the mail boxes after it was delivered, but before he came home to get it.
By this time I was allowed to go to the grocery store on my own, but I had a time limit (an hour and a half), and I had to show him the receipt each time (which is kinda redundant because I only had the cash he gave me for groceries). I would use the opportunity to cash the check through the drive through that was open on Saturdays. But to open an account, I needed $100.00 and go during the day and during the week. The garage had once put some stuff in the radiator, and it stopped leaking. So with my newly found personal income, I got the same stuff; we have a battery charger, so I charged the dead battery. I now had a way to open an account during the day when he wasn’t home, and so I did. I had a ray of hope. As long as I split the groceries so I had a receipt that said only 50 bucks I was ok. I now had a way to pay for cat food for my wayward cat that was living in the back yard.
He was still being a real prick; at Christmas he wouldn’t get a Christmas tree (being the crafty person that I am, I actually made a four foot one out of wire fencing, green garland and decorated it – it came out really good! So much so that he said we were to use it the next year, which we did).
At this time I will mention that refusal to give him a blow job was not an option. The consequences lasted for weeks, and were not pleasant. Now he rarely would have intercourse with me, and when he did, I hadn’t been allowed to have an orgasm in years (and when I say rarely, I mean 3-4 times a year, no exaggeration, I kept track. And when I say I wasn’t allowed to have an orgasm, I mean he hadn’t been responsible for one – I did masturbate on my own when he wasn’t around or was asleep). But blow jobs, or hummers as he calls them, were a regular thing. He had once said I had ice in my veins, but when one is not allowed an orgasm, would the other actually think that one would want to have sex? FYI – females have their version of blue balls, and it lasts for 2 to 3 days, not fun!
Just a side note – Have I mentioned that we weren’t sleeping in the same bed? That had slowly ended years before that because (and I am going to be perfectly honest here) I snore and he would only allow me to sleep in one position at night – this would leave me in a lot of pain the next day, and the fact that he slept in the middle of the bed and only left me a sliver of the bed didn’t help. So I started sleeping on the pull out couch on the weekends, and eventually ended up out there all the time. After a while I was allowed to get a futon with a spring mattress and that was my bed. Now this “bed” of mine was in a den type room off to the side of the living room – it had a double wide doorway to it and no doors, so there was no privacy and was not like a bedroom or anything like that, but it was better then the couch. Ok, back to the main story…
Ya know what, that’s enough for now. I’ll pick it up another time….maybe, LOL.
Ok so I have these two sides – one is logical, intelligent, and knowledgeable. They other is a bit more… distorted – broken, defeated and even a touch masochistic it seems; and it goes from one end of the spectrum – extremely emotional – to the other – completely detached and no emotions at all. I tell this because I have not really given background to what I have been through, and I know that some of it will sound absurd. How could someone put up with such treatment? The fact of the matter is a lot of the time I blame myself for a lot of the treatment I have endured. Sort of a “you made your bed, now lie in it” attitude. That would be the “distorted” side I think; or maybe it’s the logical side? Guess it could be either. I have a tendency to approach and describe all of this with a detached, analytical eye at times – an “it is what it is” mind-set.
Well, I’ll let everyone else be the judge of that as I let my story unfold…
It occurred to me that I should first introduce the players in the drama I call my life, so here goes:
Me (Marie) – a 45 year old wife of 26 years, mother of two boys
Tony – my husband of 26 years
Anthony – my first born, 26 years old, enlisted in the Air force for the last seven and a half years
Adam – my youngest boy, fifteen years old
There are other characters that are worth mentioning:
David – my dad
Gail – step mom
Ruth – sister
Phillip – brother
Henry – brother #2
Debbie – step sister
Patty – step sister #2
You will notice one name left out, my mother, Marina. She died nearly fifteen years ago at the age of 58. Technically on the death certificate the end reason was breast cancer, though not a scrap of it was found in her body at the time of her death. System/heart failure due to her becoming septic due to infection due to chemo due to breast cancer. So you could say she beat the cancer, but the cure beat her.
Now there are others that will be introduced later as needed, but that will be for another time, i.e. in-laws and nieces and nephews and friends (not my friends – I don’t have any).
So, there ya go, a few of the names associated with my life. Now at least you will know who someone is when I mention them in some rant, LOL.
So, what to say…well, I started this as a place to put down my thoughts, feelings, and events of my life. Basically a journal, a record of my existence, so if the need ever arises, one might be able to navigate through the maze of my altered sanity. That being said, let’s see if I can give a few tidbits:
First off, though Marie is my middle name, I prefer it to my first, so that’s the name I use.
Second, this will probably be a hodge-podge of things from my life, including some ramblings that may be disturbing to some, so be fore-warned.
And third, this, I think, will be my attempt at creating a witness to my life, such as it is – the good the bad and the shocking.