Free to Breathe

I've been mulling this blog entry over for about 2 months. I haven't been able to come up with the right words, words that would truly represent the reality of my life. As I read back over the very few things that I've posted here, I'm shocked at how not like me they sound. It is a difficult thing to admit, but I've lied to you.

I tried to pretend that I was happy and fulfilled. In truth, I'm a shell of the woman that I was before I got married.

Although I'm not completely ready to discuss it all in a public forum, I can think of no other way to begin the process of healing than to shed the protective skin of denile that I've enrobed myself with.

I very recently fled my abusive marriage.

As difficult as it is for me to say that aloud, there is no other way to describe the last three years of my life. For three years I've been held hostage by a person who claims to love me. For three years I've been controlled, lied to, taunted, and beat on.

During the time that we were dating, I could not have been happier. He was charming, intelligent and direct. He was driven to do well in his work, he loved his children and family dearly. He appreciated simple things like a delicious meal, a good movie and cuddling on the couch. He was everything that I ever wanted in a man. So when he asked me to marry him, I said yes because I truly believed I'd found my soulmate. We eloped and the first two weeks of married life were utter bliss. (In retrospect there were red flags that should have clued me in to what was waiting for me once I married the fool but I will have to delve into those in another blog.)

Two weeks after we said our vows, my husband got it into his head that I was cheating on him. (For the record I was not cheating nor did I ever cheat on him) He hounded me and hounded me, calling me every bad name you can imagine. He scrutinized every bit of my sexual history leading up to and including him, using even the most minute of details as justification for brutalizing me with words. Whore. Slut. Bitch. Cunt. And then he would aplogize and come up with some crazy reason why he'd said those things. And of course I would believe every word that he said.

I remember the first time that he hit me so vividly it is as if I am constantly living in that moment. One evening he insisted that I was hiding something and the only way for him to know for sure that I wasn't cheating on him was to go through my cell phone bill, call by call from the day we became a couple until the present. He made me go through each number and tell him who the call was to and what we talked about. This sounds crazy, I know, and a smart woman would have run as fast as her legs could carry her to the county court for an anullment. But at the time I wanted so desperately to  make him happy that he probably could have done anything to me and I would have allowed it. I didn't see what was happening for what it truly was. I thought that if I said or did the right thing that he would see that I loved him.

And then we came across a phone call that for lack of a better word enraged him. It was a 2 minute call to an old boyfriend, one in which if I remember correctly, I had asked him to stop calling me due to the fact that I was in a new relationship. He reached across to me and slapped my face so hard it made my ears ring, and I lost my balance and fell into my stepdaughters toy box. He did not say he was sorry, nor did he attempt to help me up. He simply stood over me and glared as if I deserved to be hurt.

That was the beginning of the cycle.

Things would be awesome, we would be in love and happy to be together. That's the up, up, up part of the cycle. And then there was the descent. This part of the cycle did not include physical violence, but there was plenty of mental and emotional abuse. His anger, his distaste for me would escalate and escalate until it was hard for me to breathe in the same room with him. I feared that any movement might set him off. Then things would hit bottom. He would start fights, looking for an excuse to push, slap or choke me. Always making out that if I wasn't such a bitch or such a whore that he wouldn't have any reason to hurt me or call me names. If I could just learn how to treat him better and be more loving, we could have a good marriage.

I put up with it for 8 months. The 8 longest months of the 26  years on earth. I won't go into the gory details but let it suffice to say I feared for my life and for his life. I often felt I was like a wild animal caught in a trap and biting my way to freedom. 

Finally, at the end of that summer I left him. I went to my grandmothers to live until  I could get on feet and a short time later I moved into my own apartment. But he wedged himself back into my life. He promised me the moon. He told me that I was the best part of him and that he didn't want to lose me. And against my gut feeling I went back to him.

Things were tentative at first. He tried hard to make me believe that I was making a good choice. But slowly over time the control and the emotional abuse creeped back into our existence. I could feel it in my bones that the physical abuse was coming again.

Again I was faced with a choice. I could live in dysfuntion and hurt, and ultimately completely lose myself. Or I could leave again, hopefully for good, to rebuild my life.

I'm putting one foot in front of the other, making it through one single second at a time and trying not to take anything for granted. This is the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life and I am sure it is far from over. There is still a lot of emotional trash that I've got to sort through. And.. I'm scared shitless. But, I feel in my heart like everything will eventually be ok because I'm finally free.