My Verbally Abusive Marriage

Today was a test. I failed part and I passed part. This is about the part I failed.

I am sick. Flu. Doped up on DayQuil, but it wore off around 1pm and I took a nap. I had set my alarm for 2:15, telling the boys that when I got up, it was time to do homework.

Was I surprised when I woke up at 5pm?! Yes and no. I know I set my alarm; I know I turned it on. I know one of my kids came into my room and turned it off “for me” without waking me up. Why? Homework, remember? They were enjoying their day off and didn’t want to do homework in the middle of their video game.

Plus, we went through a whole “thing” earlier when “someone” was turning off my alarm clock in the mornings before school. Come on, I couldn’t possibly set the thing wrong three days in a row! lalbohh (laugh a little but only half-heartedly) There’s a history. Ever since then, including when I set it this afternoon, I double-check myself. I remember checking the alarm.

So anyway, waking up at 5 pretty much threw off the schedule I had planned for the afternoon, and I was not happy about it.

Here’s where I screwed up.

I loudly said, “Who turned off my alarm clock?!”

No takers.

“I know one of you turned off my alarm clock!”

Defiance from my 16 year old: “Why the hell would we turn off your alarm clock?!”

Um, “hell” and yelling. I interpreted the question as hostile in part due to the cursing (at his mother!) and in part due to his tone of voice.

So I decide to answer the question pretty much the same way I described it to you earlier. Only in all caps.

My younger son takes off. He knows when things are going to escalate. Or at least when they’ve escalated in the past.

Somewhere around here I realize that although my son isn’t showing me any respect, I’m not showing him any either. This is going to go no where. But I’m pissed.

In my head, I’m telling myself to calm down, telling myself to get a grip on the anger and that he’s 16 and an obstinate teenager sometimes. I’m telling myself that it is POSSIBLE that I set the alarm incorrectly, while at the same time feeling hostile because I know he’s wanting me to believe something that is not true.

Like his father.

Marc must see the conflict on my face and decides to keep talking, yelling, about how ridiculous it is for me to think that one of them would turn off my alarm clock and how impossible it is for them to read my mind and know they were responsible for waking me up…

I think, “Not true. This is a confabulation. He is trying to deny what happened to save his butt.” I say, “Go to your room.”

“Why?!” he retorts. “I didn’t do anything!”

I ignore him and he stomps off to his room.

But I’m not done, oh no, not by a longshot. I walk heavily into the kitchen talking to myself (but knowing Eddie was right there) about … what was it again? I know it was angry words and I remember NOT saying the bad word that almost leapt from my lips. And I realized -

- That I was acting like an ass. I was acting like my husband. I was acting like an abuser. I was abusing Eddie.

Holy shit.

Right then, I kicked a box on the floor. The tears were already coming because I knew I messed up, but I kicked the box anyway because my foot was already moving. It was too late to stop.

Now imagine this from my youngest son’s eyes. Oh, never mind. You don’t have to imagine it, you’ve been on the receiving end of this type of anger before. If Eddie experienced it like I do, then he was feeling like he was next. He was about to get yelled at (even though he’d tried to escape) or maybe he would be the box in the next second or two.

I knew the pain was already there.

I’d blown it.

Immediately, I apologized to Eddie. I told him I was sorry, that I shouldn’t have been talking so angrily to myself knowing he could hear and that I shouldn’t have kicked the box at all. I cupped his face in my hand, but then suddenly realized that this apology, heartfelt as it was, did nothing to calm his racing heart.

So I went into the other room for a bit. Cried to myself. Calmed down. Tried to stop blaming myself and to figure out what I could do next that would show him how sorry I was.

I couldn’t think of a damn thing.

Setting boundaries is difficult for people who are victimized by abusive people. One, we’ve been conditioned to believe that we are insignificant, small, unworthy…we have no right to proclaim who we are because we, in essence, do not exist.

Two, because we believe we are too small to be important, we may attempt to set our abuser’s boundaries FOR him; turn the tables because ‘he does it to me, so he’ll understand and respond when I do it to him.’ We try to control him because it appears to work so well!

Here’s a boundary that cannot work:

“You are not allowed to be mean to me.”

Really? Who says he isn’t allowed? If the most powerful person in the world told him to stop being mean to me, it MAY stop his behavior in front of that person (a phenomenon I know too well), but would it stop the abuse? No. What if his daddy demanded he stop being mean to me? His grandmother?

It doesn’t matter who commands the abuse to stop because as Donnalee commented, “he can and will do whatever he wants because he is an adult.” A personal boundary cannot control someone else. I cannot tell someone else what to do, how to behave and what to think and expect them to obey.

However, I can tell myself what to do, how to behave, what to think and expect myself to obey myself.

A boundary that will work:

When you say things that are mean to me and will not allow conversation but insist on me listening to you, I will pull out a piece of paper and begin writing all the hurtful things you are saying. This action will allow me to step outside of the situation and observe from a position where I can see that you are speaking nonsense, thereby protecting myself from your words.

A boundary is a blueprint of a plan for you to follow. It is not an order given to someone else. No one, not soldiers, not cops, not abusers, not even victims of abuse, must follow orders that go against their morality and the core of who we are.

Dear Donnalee, if you set boundaries with your abuser last night and still believed that you have no control over your self, then I suspect the boundaries you set were directed at him. I could very well be wrong, but as a sister who’s felt your exact pain, I suspect that I’m more than partially right.

The part I am sure I am right about is that whatever boundary you set did nothing to protect you.

For help understanding and setting boundaries, please read “Set Personal Boundaries” for understanding, “How to Set Boundaries” for guidance, and then maybe “My Boundaries” to see where I started.

And if you’re sick and tired of hearing my voice, try Robert Burney’s website to discover where I received guidance on how to set boundaries. His suggestions are phenomenal.

“While I know well the wish to somehow make things work, obsessively turning inward, demanding of our selves a new or better way to end the abuse, in actuality we are ‘allying with the abuser’ and abusing ourselves. This unholy alliance is what keeps the abuse going — his infiltration of our thoughts and feelings, his commandeering them to ‘fall in line’ with his tyrannical plan.

“Our obsessive turning inward is what keeps the alliance intact.” ~ (Read Martha’s full comment – I recommend it!)

Martha’s brilliant observation that “Our obsessive turning inward is what keeps the alliance intact” is true. The longer he is able to keep me inside myself chasing ghosts, the more secure and worthy he feels. There’s no threat of a weak and broken woman walking out on him. No threat of a woman unable to provide for herself walking away. As long as I doubt every single skill I possess that creates beauty and value in this world, I am impotent against his brutal verbal, emotional and mental attacks.

Turning inward to figure out how I can end the abuse is a tragic misuse of time and energy.

I have spent many years trustingly honoring his opinion and turning inward to fix the glitch in me.

• I tried to learn how to argue “logically” because he said my emotions take over and I don’t make sense.
• I’ve tried to learn to not cry when I’m angry because that pisses him off.
• I’ve invested in books to teach me how to be a more loving wife.
• I’ve taken courses and self-guided study programs to cure my spending habits, sexual issues, daddy-complex, and more issues he’s diagnosed for me.
• I’ve agonized and journaled over my “shortcomings” without considering the fact that the man diagnosing me DESPISES psychology in any form. He relies on “common sense” (his, of course) to proclaim what should be painfully obvious to me.

In short, I’ve turned inward to discover why I’m not the wife he imagined me to be.

Tell me, … is it even possible to fix something in myself that he imagines to be there?

This eternal inward inspection of and for the evil-natured traits he assigns to me is his smoke-screen. While I am digging in, he is free to do and say and be everything he chooses. So long as he’s got me doubting myself, at least there will be no chance of me realizing that amid all the crap I carry, there is more to be cherished than abhorred.

So long as I’m “fixing” what isn’t broken, I’m not being ME; instead, I’m pretending to be the broken woman he describes.

That is not going to happen anymore.

However, out of habit I think, I do fall into malignant reveries in which I doubt myself and fear the future. The downward cycle of turning inward because he proclaims that I’m broken is, I pray, OVER.

After his homecoming, I may accidentally turn inward to fix myself as if something I’m doing is causing the abuse.  I am hoping this doesn’t happen, but old habits die hard. I think it would be foolish of me to expect perfection from myself. However, as Tiffany commented, I can expect greatness.

I expect that I will quickly observe the changes taking place in my mind and heart. They won’t feel “right” or “comfortable” any longer. I expect that I will seek to dislodge myself from fantasy, observing outside of myself for a moment to discover the cause of distress. I expect I will say to myself, “That ol’ buggaboo! He almost got you, Kellie!” and then detach from the horribleness of it all. I expect that the next time it happens, it won’t take me so long to disengage.

I am done turning inward to fix something he imagines to be broken.

A new friend suggested I take a look at my horoscope, and this is what it said:

“Capricorn, Friday, 6 November 2009

“You are not in your current situation by accident. Or by mistake. Or even by way of a punishment. You are where you are because it is the right place for you to be, if only in order for you to realise fully where you want to be instead, and how you can get there.

“You certainly don’t have to stay where you are now forever, but nor need you ever look back and wish that you had never been there at all. Don’t place too much emphasis, this weekend, on ‘what ifs’. Or ‘if onlys’. The question to ask is, ‘what next’? …”

Interesting, no? Especially since this morning I woke up obsessing about “what ifs”. Fortunately, I moved beyond the what-ifs and the panic, but now I want to answer the question, as best I can, of “What’s Next?”

• I am going to focus on writing. I don’t know exactly what I’ll write or where it will end up, but I have three outlets that that allow me to focus. One is this blog, one is a book idea that a friend wants to help me publish, and the third is something a different friend mentioned on her facebook updates called Nanowrimo.
• I am going to re-check my safety plan, looking for weak spots and reinforcing them.
• I am going to review my boundaries AND the possible reactions I could respond with if/when they’re broken.
• I am going to patiently build up some hope and excitement for my husband’s return; if I keep thinking about it being a bad thing, then guess what…it’s going to be bad. I’m not going to immerse myself in hope (worry backward), but I am going to cultivate a more positive approach to dealing with the unknown.

And I think those things will keep me plenty busy for at least the next month!

PS: The horoscope I read is here.

In the midst of this panic, it is hard to slow down and really THINK. It is true that the source of the panic is my fear of “what will happen?” when he comes home.

All good panics have, at their root, an unknowable, unanswerable question. Hence, the panic. (I wonder if people lacking imagination suffer panics?)

Anyway, I am fearful of an unknown and unknowable event. Thinking about that fact is helping to squelch the panic machine. It’s not grinding to a halt, but it is reducing in size and effectiveness. That’s a good thing.

Let’s see if I can get it to power off.

 (What if I can’t stand his behavior?) Over the past 10 months, I’ve created a support network and broken my silence about the abuse in my marriage. I have friends and professionals who will support me through tough situations – I don’t have to deal with it alone. Besides, I’ve “stood his behavior” for a very long time and I’m not dead yet. The real fear may be:

(What if he overpowers me mentally and emotionally and I shrink back into nothingness?) You know, he has a lot of practice “overpowering” me.

There may be times when I feel overpowered and alone. But I KNOW that feeling now. I KNOW that feeling isn’t right. I KNOW that that feeling is only a SIGN that something needs to be done -  that feeling is not the END, but the beginning.

IF I feel that feeling, it’s a sign to me to evaluate the situation, determine what boundaries were crossed, analyze my responses that helped put me back into the dark, and BUILD from that point forward. Maybe it’s the PollyAnna in me, but I cannot truly conceive of me shrinking back into nothingness. It’s just not gonna happen.

(What if he turns the boys against me?) If he does, then I have the wherewithal and the history of love and honesty with our boys to combat anything my husband tells them. It is going to take more than a few comments or secret conversations to turn those boys against me. AND I don’t have to play the game, I don’t have to defend myself to the boys, and I don’t have to say bad things about my husband to the boys. That’s just not me.

(What if he leaves me? What if I determine it’s best for me to leave him?) Then that’s that, isn’t it? Leaving my marriage does not automatically delete him from my life, and I know that. That is part of the reason I chose not to leave months before. AND, if I’m on my own with no income, no way to support myself and the boys, then I have family who will support me as I get up on my feet. I won’t need that type of support forever, and I will repay it with interest in the future. Leaving isn’t the end of my world – it’s my last choice, but not the end of me.

(What if I have to leave the house to escape the anger so much that I cannot be at home when he is?) Now that, my friends, would truly suck. I think I’ve identified a sticking point in my plan.  Although I plan to stop the abuse as it occurs, many of my planned techniques assume that Will also wants to stop the abuse. I will go over my planned responses and come up with some solutions that don’t require me leaving the house every time something goes awry.

(What if he is not willing to stop his abusive tactics? What if he won’t work with me to change the dynamic in our marriage?) He has said that he does wish for it to stop, and second-guessing him is not going to get me to calm. I must simply wait and watch what he DOES. He can SAY anything, but being aware of what he DOES is the key.

Plus, there is some mandatory counselling he must attend when he returns due to the event that happened last December. IF he truly wants the abuse to stop, then the counselling will be valuable to him and will help him to overcome the negative behaviors he exhibits with me.

Okay. I think the panic is gone. And whaddya know? I didn’t have to shrink back into myself to find the calm.

I’m trying so hard not to panic, not to allow my strings to get caught up in the machine swirling in my gut.
The panic machine is in fully operational today. It’s whirring and purring to me:

He’s going to get mad about the money.
He’s going to be upset that you don’t cook all the time.
He’s going to explode over something you cannot foresee in retaliation.
He’s going to be unhappy, mad, rude, manipulative.
And then he’s going to lie about it all.

You’re going to have to go back to doing what it was before he left.
Why did you ever change? It would have been so much easier if you hadn’t changed.

Stuff everything down into the panic machine.
Let it chew it up for you so it just disappears.
Go back to what you did before
What you said before
What you felt before
So all of the whirring and purring whispers will go away.

I’ll make it go away,
I promise.

I just found some song lyrics that help me express my feelings as I head into Will’s homecoming. They’re written by 5 Finger Death Punch and are from the song “Never Enough“.

…”

I’d rather you hate me
For everything I am
Than have you love me
For something that I can’t [be?]

“…

I feel like I’ve lived with Will for years without ever taking off his mask while steadily painting my own face to appear to him as someone he could love.

I applied grease paint to my face, then removed what didn’t look right to him and reapplied the make-up until my face was a clouded, smeared, greasy mess – unrecognizable and twisted – hopefully reflecting back to him a wife he wanted to love.

But it was never enough.

The past 10 months have given me the opportunity to remove the make-up from my own face.

The lyrics from “Never Enough” express my desire for honesty. I would rather him hate me for who I am than love me for someone I’ll never be.

Here’s the video from 5 Finger Death Punch:

I was just on facebook reaching out to people I don’t know asking them to be my friends. Kind of nervy, but seeing that yesterday I revealed my facebook identity to some of my current friends, it seemed to be the next step. (I’m not telling Will’s family or “his” friends anything.)

I suppose I’m gearing up for Will’s homecoming. I know that looking to Will for support when he returns is like trying to turn on the tv when it is unplugged. I’m not going to get what I want from him.

He feels attacked and humiliated, judging from his reaction to this blog. If I think he’s going to come home and support my efforts to become different from the wife he left 10 months ago, then I’m a fool.

I wish that the writing I’ve done on this blog in the past year COULD have been personal emails to my husband. I wish it were possible to have an open dialogue with Will about what is going on with us, with me. I wish my concerns and comments meant something more to him than they do. But sharing with Will is like asking for abuse, requesting it, bringing it on.

It feels like he files my words for editing, then spits something back at me that sounds almost like what I said, but never true. My words come back to me twisted and distorted…communicating with him is like talking to my most evil self.

I don’t seem to have too much trouble communicating with anyone other than Will, so I’m inclined to believe the communication problem is rooted firmly inside of him. And if this part of our problem is in him, then there’s really nothing I can do about that.

Which is WHY reaching out on facebook and in my very real world is so important to me.

When I am confused, discombobulated, in danger of losing my sanity, it is YOU and my face-to-face friends who become my mirror. I look to you not for “help” or as my rescuers, but as a mirror reflecting back to me the truth of my situation.

You don’t have to do anything for me. No one does. I can and will work through this homecoming in my own way. I don’t know what the outcome will be (who does?), but that doesn’t bother me anymore.

Because of all of you, I know that I am not alone in this topsy-turvy, manipulative and controlling cycle of abuse. My perceptions are valid. It is okay for me to be afraid. It is okay for me to want a fairy-tale ending. And it’s okay if I don’t get the fairy-tale ending that I want.

Thank you all for being the beauty in my life.

I just found this blog. Her writing is addictive to me…she’s further along in her healing than I am, I think.

I haven’t uncovered the source of her inspiration to write (yet) but I’m going back to her blog right now to find it.

Here we go… Crusty Middle-Aged Woman

Once he told me that he missed talking and dreaming together after sex. He missed the pillow talk.

I wonder if he still misses it.

I’m not certain that I remember sweetness after love-making. I wonder if he’s thinking about someone else.

In a way, if he is remembering me, he is actually remembering “someone else.” Someone who felt cherished and nurtured. Someone who felt safe. Someone I was almost 20 years ago.

I want to be me with him again.

I wonder if I am remembering what was or what I wanted it to be.