My Verbally Abusive Marriage

Today, Will requested to come by at 3pm to pick up some of his things. The time wasn’t good for me, so I suggested a different time in the morning. I didn’t hear from him and he didn’t show, but that’s not what’s bugging me.

This morning, I waited. I didn’t do any writing or anything that I would consider “productive” because I was waiting for his interruption. Anticipating it. Instead of going on about my routine, I put it all aside so I would be emotionally “ready” for his arrival.

What did I do? I played a video game on the computer. Bored out of my skull, and waiting.

By noon, the deadline I’d given for him to come out here, I was angry at myself for wasting the morning.

I got to thinking about how I’d spent this morning, anxiously anticipating his arrival. I was nervous, borderline panicky; the match-three game numbed my mind and made it tolerable. Then I considered how many other times I’d played that stupid game and under what circumstances.

I played that game in the hour before I expected him home from work. I played it while he was working outside expecting me to be at his beck and call for food that he could prepare himself. I played it when he stalked around the house, pulling up couch cushions and bitching about the dirty socks and candy wrappers he found there (but didn’t throw away). I played that game a LOT, not because it is fun or engaging, but because it allowed me to jump up from it at a moment’s notice and TEND TO HIM.

And that’s what I was doing this morning. Sublimating what I consider important in anticipation of his arrival and whatever unknown emotions would accompany him.

You know, I think I did a video about this. Yep. It’s called Interruptions Caused by Verbal Abuse. In that video, I said, “I’ve been trained to receive permission to be myself, and then to have it taken away from me in an instant.”

I would now add that I’ve been trained to ANTICIPATE having that permission taken away. That’s what I did not only today, but last night, too.

Last night, I cleaned up the house some while telling myself “If he notices, I don’t care” (and not really believing it). Holy cow, the house wasn’t even a MESS!

This morning, I agonized for long seconds over whether I should make the bed or not. He’s been telling people I cheated on him; part of me wanted the bed to look like two people had slept in it and part of me wanted to make the bed but didn’t because then he’d suspect someone else slept in it because I NEVER make the bed…?! I decided to leave the bed looking as it did when I rolled out of it.

I brushed my teeth and put on some make-up because I didn’t want to look like I was a mess. I’m not a mess, not as much of a mess as I sometimes think I “should” be, and I worried about finding the right balance between OKAY and OVERWHELMED. What do you think of this: Mascara so he’d know I hadn’t been crying but no blush because I didn’t want to look too healthy. That’s what I went with. (UGH! craziness.)

Then I sat down at the computer, opened yWriter to work on my book, and then shut it down because he would be here right as I got going with it and I didn’t want him to interrupt the process.

So I let my anxiety over his upcoming arrival preempt the process entirely.

And then he didn’t even show.

Despite the past 24 hours of self-induced craziness, I’m ready to do something else I said in that video:

“…[when] I hit that invisible wall where everything falls to pieces, I feel like I can’t handle anything, that I can’t do anything, then I’m just gonna tell myself, ‘We’re changing the training. My ideas are important. What’s going on in my head is important.’ And even if what I’m doing has gotten a little harder or hasn’t turned out exactly as I’d planned, that doesn’t mean that it’s never gonna be [the way I planned]! It just means that it’s time to learn something new. It’s time to figure out another way to get around an obstacle, and from this point forward, I am NOT going to NOT recognize when I am falling into the pattern of denying who I am.”

So here’s the good news. I did recognize the pattern this time. Next time I see it, I’m going to press on and do what I want to do, accomplish something instead of anticipate disaster.

Right now, I’m resisting the urge to calculate how much time I’ve spent in the past 18 years NOT doing something I wanted to do because I was anxious about something that he might do.

This morning, I sat down with my hot sweet coffee and my daily planner. I’ve got a lot going on. Fortunately, the time demanded of me by others is (finally) organized. I’ve got therapy sessions, domestic violence group meetings, a meeting with Mrs. Earl to hear the results from the military investigation, a court date on Monday concerning custody, a class from 9-1 next week called “Career Makeover” in which I hope to practice and relearn some networking skills, and of course, taking Marc to that stupid school that runs from mid-afternoon until way past dinner. Of course, that isn’t all there is to do…it’s just a sample of what’s happening next week.

This separation is overwhelming. There are so many things that must be done NOW, and that leaves little time to do what is also important and must be in place before the end of this year. Namely, I’ve got to financially support myself and my boys DESPITE the demands on my time requiring otherwise.

So, anyway, I was sitting there with my sweet coffee and daily planner, and decided to write in my journal pretty much what I just wrote. You know, “get it out” so I could move on to what I must do today. Taking one day at a time and all that happy horse shit.

But when I start to write, all that comes out is:

LIAR!
You damn liar. You promised that you would love me, take care of me, for the rest of my life. You said that if I agreed to stay at home and raise our children so you could go out into the world and provide for us, then you would provide for me always. You told me that if I waited to make a career for myself that you would support my dreams as soon as you retired – we were down to 5 short years! You said to wait, to trust you, to be a good wife and my turn was coming. Liar.

You said that you knew we had problems and you were willing to work on them. You said that when you got home things would be different. You said that it would be hard, but you were willing to put in the work. You said you loved me and keeping our family together was what you wanted too. When I told you back in July of ’09 that I had decided to stay, to trust that what you said was true, you had relief in your voice. You said you were so glad to hear those words, that you were happy for the first time in months. Liar.

You said that you wouldn’t be where you are in the military today without me, and now you’re doing your best to get rid of me, one rank from the top. You fucking suck, you abusive, sneaky, foul-mouthed, manipulative, lousy husband. You fucking lied to me about all of it. Liar.

And then you have the nerve to call me a traitor. Liar.

I am angry from my bowels up. I don’t know how long this will last. I don’t know how long until I am a “good enough” person to let it go. I don’t know when I will be free of you, of thoughts of you, of love for you. Back in July I decided to keep loving you. You had given me every reason not to love you, some reasons you gave more than once. I was willing to look past it, to look deeper into you for the guy I married.

I was willing to live with rough around the edges – you’re a self-proclaimed asshole and chauvinist, you stereotype people, you drink, you party, you work before you love me, … all of it. I was willing to look beyond who you are, who you are proud to be, in hope that ONE DAY you would treat me well, love me like you promised. Liar.

I only wanted you to be nice to me. Treat me and our children with respect and civility. You can be who you are and still learn to be nice. You could have even looked at it as if you were playing a game with me, fooling me, manipulating me to believe good things about you – that may have been fun for you. But you wouldn’t try. You wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t tell the truth.
LIAR!

RandomlyK (as she is known around here) posted a list of rules she must live by if she wants to keep the peace in her home. This life sucks. Read her blog at Randomly Kassiopeia.

I also posted 10 Rules to Live By awhile back.

What rules are you expected to follow?

My therapist helped me understand more about  my frigging compulsion to “make things right” (codependency) during our session yesterday. It feels wonderful to know that I am on the path out of codependency, but sometimes my path doubles back and forms a loop that I must travel a second time. That’s okay. I’m learning.

A day or two ago, I wrote a post called In the Way. It described how I hoped that by talking to Will and setting up a midweek visitation, our son’s would be able to visit their friends (during dad’s time) on the weekends and feel less guilt about doing so. Honestly, looking back, I think I hoped to smooth some of Will’s ruffled feathers by showing my willingness to work toward equitable visitations.

So, what was I trying to do? I was trying to make my sons and Will feel better. It didn’t matter that I don’t WANT to have midweek visitation because my weeknight schedule is already jacked up (until the end of this semester). It was more important to me to make two people (Marc and Will specifically) feel better after the actions I took a month ago. (And why, I ask you, am I feeling guilty for leaving the man who did not keep his hands off of me because he was pissed?! – That sounds like a separate post.)

In effect, when I spoke to Will about Marc’s wishes, I opened myself up to Will’s habitual attacks. I truly thought that Will would say, “That sounds good – how about Wednesdays?” or something similar. I didn’t expect a 20 minute argument against an extra hour or two with the boys.

And why didn’t I expect an argument? Because I was doing a good thing, a self-sacrificing thing that may (or may not!) benefit our boys and I expected Will to see that and maybe not be so mad at me.

And then, I wrapped myself up in knots wondering why Will behaved as HE did, assigning motives I cannot know to Will, and berating him for his decision.

In short, I created a situation in which I had no business and then amplified the negative result it in my own mind to punish myself.

My therapist presented an alternative solution, one that actually makes sense and would have cut out all the drama. She said that Marc’s feelings of guilt were HIS to deal with. It sounded harsh to me at first…didn’t I CAUSE Marc’s bad feelings? Wasn’t I responsible for this whole mess anyway? Shouldn’t I do everything I could to FIX IT for Marc?

Well, no, no, and no.

1. Marc’s bad feelings are a result of a conflict between spending time with his dad and spending time with his friends. Do you see my name in that statement? No. I’m not involved in Marc’s bad feelings. When he told me he felt like he had to choose, I could have said, “Well, maybe a weeknight visitation with your dad would help. Talk to him and let me know what you decide and I’ll work with you.”
2. I am not responsible for “this whole mess”. Will and I are separated because of his act of violence.
3. I cannot fix anything for Marc. When I decided to insert myself into the conflict, I took away Marc’s power to solve his problem on his own. I so wanted to eliminate Marc’s bad feelings! I don’t want my child to feel bad, ever. But if Marc is to grow into a fine man, he’s going to have to learn to deal with his unpleasant feelings on his own. I mean, will I be there when he has a conflict with his co-worker? His boss? His girlfriend? Nope. He’s gotta learn to deal.

So, my assignment for this week is detachment. Specifically when it comes to allowing the ones I love to own their own problems. I’m here for them if they need suggestions or if I can do something that will help them sleep easier at night so long as I am a component of their own solution and not attempting to fix it for them.

The weekend is over, the boys are home. I started putting together my first book this weekend. I have a publisher and an idea, and I’m hoping for the best.

I didn’t start to feel anxious until about two hours before picking up our boys. I guess that I successfully preoccupied my brain for the rest of the time. I don’t feel void or “nothing” and I don’t feel overly paranoid or extremely sad. I don’t feel happy or entirely empowered, either. I feel…strange.

Marc got mad at me on the phone about an hour before it was time to pick him up. He yelled and used a word I don’t like, told me my reasons for telling him he couldn’t go to his friend’s house were “bullshit.” He said it was unfair that he had to choose between seeing friends on the weekend and seeing his father, and I agreed with that. I told him I would talk to Will about weekday visitations.

When I spoke to Will about it, I didn’t get a definite answer. Will implied that by visiting the boys in the middle of the week that I was not keeping their best interests at heart, choosing to disrupt their routine over keeping it stable. I said that these were extraordinary circumstances and that if Marc or Eddie wanted to see him during the week, then we would make the concessions to see that it happened. He also said that the magistrate gave me everything I asked for (I didn’t correct him by saying I didn’t ask for all of what she “gave”) and now I’d have to deal with it.

I don’t know what he was arguing about exactly. He and I are in charge of visitations and we can communicate about the boys (no-contact order amended on January 28). I think that since the boys want to see their father during the week in addition to weekends so that they have less “guilt” over also visiting friends on weekends, then we as parents should try to make it happen. I’m not going to stand in the way.

I left the ball in his court. I asked him to think about it, and if he decided it was something he could do then he could email my attorney and we would start figuring out how to go about it. (Due to the no contact order, he cannot contact me directly although we are allowed to discuss the children and see one another at a public place for visitations.)

There’s much that I cannot comprehend. I do understand that no matter what my opinion of Will or his behavior is, our boys see him as Dad and love him unconditionally. Marc and Eddie both would like to see him during the week if it is possible. Will said that he would like to see the boys, but feels I’m not using good judgment in requesting a midweek visit.

I wonder if, because I asked for a midweek visitation, Will would rather not “give me my way” than agree to see his boys. My other suspicion is that Will is drinking during the week and doesn’t want to interrupt his own routine. I don’t think his reluctance to visit midweek has anything to do with him not loving our children, but I don’t see how his explanation for not agreeing to see them midweek makes sense.

[Sigh.]

Maybe he’s trying to build a case against me and it has nothing to do with my other suspicions at all.

I don’t know what he’s thinking under those arguments that I don’t understand. I feel like there has to be something more to it, but after I publish this post, I’m going to let go of it entirely. I left him in charge of deciding, and now all I can do is wait without trying to figure him out. I have to let him go.

…..

Okay. It’s 15 minutes later. I’m letting it go.

Today I drove to the swamp and sat there, in the car, wondering what my next move would be. There are so many possibilities. The possibilities could be paralyzing, but I’ve chosen to CHOOSE one and go with it.

If it doesn’t work (but it will) then I will choose another possibility.

So after I thought about what I wanted to do, what my next move would be, I thought to myself…”What is the one thing I don’t know that it would help me to know right now?” I sat there for awhile, not knowing, and thinking that God wasn’t going to answer this question. I mean, I didn’t know what I didn’t know, so how was I going to get an answer?

I got quiet, waiting for the voices. But the swamp was silent. Smooth. Still. It was a still-life painting, un-romanticized and brown. There were no voices. I thought about how different this swamp looked the first time I ran to it.

On that day, the water was almost overflowing the banks. There were swirls and eddies, fish jumping and forest noises. The swamp flowed that day, life exploded. But today, there was nothing but quiet. I thought about how much the swamp had changed and how it may be different the next time I visited. Mossy green and stagnant?

But then I realized that it didn’t matter how the swamp would be different next time – it would be what I needed it to be. It would change. It would change into what I needed it to be.

And so will I.

Victim or Survivor? There has to be a different word for what I have experienced and what is to come. I don’t feel like repeating the word “victim” to myself or portraying myself as such. I am a “survivor” of abuse; however, the word survivor brings to my mind those who have been shot, bloodied, or on the brink of suicide due to the abuse inflicted upon them. I don’t want to run around calling myself a survivor when I haven’t survived any major types of physical harm.

I’m not taking away from the fear and pain physical abuse has caused in me – those feelings are real and valid. But I’ve never looked like Rhiana in her post-abuse photos, I’ve never been hospitalized due to physical abuse.

I’m looking for a word that describes what I’ve experienced. A short, small, easily understood label.

I also have to be careful of what I say to myself about my experience with abuse. I don’t want to blame or label HIM in order to describe myself. My and Will’s understanding and take on our experience is different, and that’s really all there is to it. I cannot force him to admit to nor accept responsibility for any of it; I cannot somehow force him to stop blaming me for it. I can’t even convince him that his behaviors are abusive, let alone that his behaviors have impacted me in a negative way.

So how do I describe me (within the confines of abuse)?

• Sufferer (no, I definitely don’t want to live my life as a “sufferer of” anything; I prefer to recognize and correct instead of suffer)
• Contributor (I did contribute to the abusive cycle, but in a domestic violence realm, if I contributed to the abuse, doesn’t that mean that I approved of it?)
• Participant (somewhat close, but implies the word “willing” to go along with it and doesn’t quite describe the confusion mental and emotional abuse inflicts)
• Victim (yes, I am a victim of abusive behavior, but like “sufferer” I prefer to not live my life under the victim umbrella)
• Survivor (have I survived it? are there degrees of  victim-hood that hold greater claim to this word?)
• Wife of an Abuser (labels HIM)
• Casualty (closer…implies that I am still living although I’ve previously been in the thick of it)
• Recovering Victim (yuck. plain yuck.)
• Misused (as in “not cared for in the way I would have liked”; still not right because it implies that I can be somehow “used” or did agree to someone “using” me)
• Living with Abuse (begs the question “WHY?” and that requires an answer that the asker wouldn’t understand anyway)

I cannot think of a word or phrase that succinctly labels my experience. Yet. Maybe the lack of vocabulary for “the abusive situation” speaks more than one word could. Abuse itself is insidious, tricky, sneaky and quiet. It makes sense that Abuse wouldn’t “want” a label pinned to it.

Abuse is what it is. Abuse creates victims for awhile, then either disposes of that victim (killing body or spirit) or the victim becomes something other than Victim. Abuse uses someone else to inflict it’s pain; the longer the “abuser” stays in the dark about Abuse, the longer the abuse lives. Likewise, the longer the “victim” doesn’t recognize Abuse, the easier it is for Abuse to infiltrate the victim’s behaviors as well.

Abuse seeks to win and live and thrive in two people, not one. When Abuse is able to accomplish that feat, it is more likely that Abuse’s two victims will stay silent about the torment they inflict upon one another.

There is probably no one word to describe “this” and that is probably why I’ve been writing about Abuse for over a year.

As usual, I’m reading books to educate myself. Tonight’s subject is divorce.

The thrust of Nolo’s book on divorce is on deciding what kind of divorce I want, then considering how I want to get there. Do attorney’s hash it out? Do we have to go to court and air our dirty laundry? Or would mediation work for us?

But then there’s the big question: Am I on the path to divorce? Is there NO alternative? Am I going to get divorced in the same hasty manner I married? Did I throw out the brakes on this vehicle without realizing the road was headed down hill?

If we lived in Texas, we could get a quickie divorce (so long as we were happy with the separation agreement). In North Carolina, we have to be living separately for one year. I am beginning to see the wisdom in the forced wait.

I find myself wishing Will and I could talk. We both want to be away from each other. We both want the other to change. We both want to renegotiate a LOT of crap. And there I go speaking for him again when there is no way to know what he is thinking. I cannot, by choice and by law, talk to him right now.

I need time.

But my attorney wants my financial documentation yesterday. She wants to know exactly where I’m headed when all I know for sure is that I don’t want him around me right now. Isn’t there some way to slow down?

Will wants me to not show up in court for his next appearance. If I don’t show up, then chances are the charges will be dropped. Good for him, makes me look like a liar. I’m no liar; I’ll be in court. What he says doesn’t align with what my attorney says. He says I can’t trust a civilian attorney; I think I can trust a civilian attorney because I have NO ACCESS to a military one.

I trust that everyone knows military courts are completely different from civilian ones. Even Will, an active duty soldier, cannot hire a military attorney to represent him in civil court. JAG is not a free attorney service for the military. JAG only governs what happens to a soldier under military law (discharge from the military, dock pay, reduce rank…that kind of thing).

Because the military now pays attention to domestic violence and abuse, what happens to Will IF he’s convicted of domestic abuse is set in stone: he would be dishonorably discharged if found guilty of domestic abuse charges. That’s what Will says JAG says. I haven’t been able to get to JAG yet – they have a class two times a week and my other appointments have taken priority.

So here I am, being pressured to “not show up” in court and to get financial documents so “we can proceed,” and all I’m really wanting to do is to SIT WITH THIS for a bit.

There may be a really smart way to handle this separation and divorce that doesn’t involve ridiculous amounts of pressure OR money. I’m no attorney, but I think, given a little time, I can get a handle on WHAT I WANT and then find out WHAT HE WANTS and then see how close to agreeing we are.

I’m thinking a mediator is necessary. Will wants the cheapest way out, but I have a lot at stake. If I don’t have someone who can protect my interests, then Will loses nothing and keeps everything WE have worked for and created in the past 18 years.

I think he doesn’t care about that. I think he wants to rush things so I don’t have a chance to think. Or maybe he wants to rush things because it hurts. But ALL of those ideas are simply me projecting my own thoughts onto Will, and that isn’t going to help me one bit.

Instead of blogging, I am going to write out what I want. I’m going to give that to my attorney (for record-keeping) and have her send it to Will. Then maybe he’ll tell me what HE WANTS and I can either be pleased, hurt, or angry, but I would be able to move ahead without feeling unheard and rushed.

The best part about blogging is coming up with titles. I love titles. Sometimes I know the title before I know what to write, and sometimes I have to finish a post before the title jumps out at me.

But I am having a hard time coming up with titles this week.

I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what I’m feeling. And when I think about what I’m thinking I feel afraid. There’s no good title for that kind of confusion. There’s no good title for this time in my life.

I’m not married but I’m not single. I don’t want to be married, but I don’t want to date. (puh-leeze! will I ever be ready to date?!)

I’m not employed, but I’m not lazy. I’m not unemployed because I’m not quite “looking” either.

I don’t really have a home of my own, but I’m living in one.

I don’t really have any money of my own, and the thought of having my own cash worries me. Having my own money means that I’m alone.

I am alone, but I’m still Mama. I am alone, but I’m still sister, daughter, friend and even wife. How can I be so many people but feel like I’m lost and wandering? How can I be Mama when I don’t know what the hell I’m doing?

I’m afraid but trying to be brave. Courageous but wishing I’d been less so for a little longer. Smart and feeling like an idiot. Sad and not wanting to honor it.

Happy and fearful of letting it go, not trusting that it will return.

What the hell is THIS?

Right now, I am having doubts over whether I will be able to “make it” now that I’m free. I know my thoughts are normal – I think almost anyone in my position would hold similar ones. Shoot, probably most people have these thoughts at times. None of us have any guarantee that what we do will result in financial or any other type of security. Maybe we’re all just winging it.

These thoughts are new to me though. Always before, I had a husband who took care of me financially. I had faith that if I did my part, then we would be just fine. Now I have to do everything I used to do AND do “his part” so I can earn money for the boys and me.

I don’t know if Will thinks about it that way. Does he think that now he has to do “my part” too? But then, that’s not my business. Wondering what he thinks keeps me stagnant at a time where I want to be a rolling stone. You know, gathering no moss.

So when I start to doubt my viability as a writer, when I start to wonder if I should take the promise of big money tomorrow in exchange for a career that doesn’t involve creativity, then I have to remind myself to stop diminishing my thoughts and denying what I know I want for the sake of imagined security. My “security” up to this point has been a sham anyway. What do I know of security? I’ve deluded myself into thinking that I was safe at home when I wasn’t safe at all.

I just noticed something else…ugh. I feel secure when I am sad.

Shit. Now I’m crying…but it’s not sadness…What is this?

I am feeling “familiar” thoughts. I am feeling crushed, hopeless and alone. My sinuses are friggin’ stuffed up already as if the snot was hanging out behind my eyeballs just waiting to drop.

I don’t know the words for this.

————–

In the interim, I went to get some coffee. There was almost four inches of snow on the ground! Real Snow!

I called the boys in to look at it, and they took off into it. I was watching them, then thought, “Why not?!” I ran to put on my shoes and coat, then snuck up on Marc with a snowball! We ran around the yard, Marc, Eddie and me, throwing snow balls.

I got hit in the eye and declared myself winner ’cause I got hurt. The boys said I was the loser ’cause I got hurt. Boy, the rules have sure changed since I was seven and playing with my dad in the snow.

We ran and threw and laughed. Marc took a high position and creamed me, so I took it out on Eddie hiding on the other side of the boat. Eddie was too sweet to get me back.

Now, back in the house, snowy pants exchanged for pajamas, I think that the best way to describe those “familiar” thoughts and the feelings that go along with them is to not describe them at all.

Those are old thoughts about old things. The best way to stop tormenting myself with old thoughts is to create new ones. Pretty soon, the new thoughts of laughter and my boys and snowball fights in the crisp night will replace the old ones that required an army of snot to fuel them.