My Verbally Abusive Marriage

Penny felt embarassed, stupid, and emotional pain during her abusive experience. She found out she was being abused when she “felt something was not right”, lost, and unloved (among other things).

Penny writes:

I went back to this relationship 3 times, I was 29 when I first met her and I was 52 when I left for good. I felt that I could change her - but that didn’t happen. She and her son would always put me down about what I felt and said, and do the same to my son as well.

I would always buy her gifts, as she would me, but she would say ”what is yours is mine and what is mine is mine”. Her gifts she gave me were always hers as well.

They were control freaks and would get in your face if you didn’t agree with them. They both have high IQs, so I put my trust in them. … That would hurt me seeing my child hurting and he later ran away. When he came back 2 weeks later she yelled at him and hit him.

I felt like there was nothing I could do to stop it. [continued]

Read the rest of Penny’s Story and then please share your comments below.

Break the silence of your abuse at Share Your Experience

I guess people don’t often think of men as victims of abuse, but I’m one. I’ve been married 8 years and have one child. My wife and I met and got married pretty quickly – a few months. Everything was great until the wedding day when she had some sort of anxiety or panic attack, which I just chalked up to it being “the wedding day” – despite it seeming rather odd and extreme.

I soon learned that she had serious anxiety issues which cause her to always want to be in control of her surroundings. It made (and still does) meeting people difficult, because she usually avoided social situations – and still does.

I also learned that she had a really bad and unpredictable temper. What seems like little things to me would set her off into fits of rage and fury. She’d call me names, break things. The first really violent act I remember was about 6 months after we got married and she threw a full mug of coffee across the room. It hit the wall up near the ceiling and shattered – coffee everywhere.

My instinct was to see a person hurting and in need, and I just wanted to help her. I’m sure that’s one reason why I’m still with her. It’s interesting that she gets so furious so quickly, will yell at me, belittle me, pick everything I do apart, criticize me – and often a few hours later, apologize.

We both call it her “freaking out” and she does know it’s an issue. However, I don’t think she realizes how much of an issue it is. And I don’t think her therapist does either.

You haven’t read anything yet! Please read the rest of Mick’s story and then add your support and encouragement in the comments below.

Break the Silence: Share Your Experience

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My brain muddles when I wish it were clear. I want time, more time, more time…but for what?

This pessimistic vibe infiltrating my outlook feels controlling and mean. I see visions of failure where visions of success once played.

I feel forsaken when I’m cared for and lost although I’ve been found.

I think of my sister, the one who laughs and plays, always looking to today and beyond. Not worried. Encouraging.

I want to tell her, “It’s impossible; what you say is untrue.” I do not believe in joy these days.

Happiness is only a dangling carrot. The hologram of a dangling carrot. It’s not okay. I’m not all right. The “good” I’ve done or experienced feels like fraud.

You know, twice last week I allowed thoughts of death to plod along in my mind to the point of thinking that “not being here” would be the best thing for me.

But I see my children’s faces in my mind’s eye and I know it would never be the same for them. It wouldn’t be the best thing for them.

Would it?

I couldn’t leave them here to experience the pain of this world alone.

I feel like I’m a horribly nasty, mean, rude person who hides it well.

I’m hating myself. It’s been going on like this for a couple of weeks.

Please, God, angels, LIFE…please give me a sign that everything is, in fact, going to work out. Something. Anything. I’m begging you.

Please show me the way out of this lie.

The abuser received 36 years in prison, the longest sentence given to someone who abused (but did not kill) his wife in New York.

The judge viewed the visual evidence afforded by the tape, and finally saw what happens behind closed doors. Many other judges won’t see it. If you know a judge, send him/her a link to this video. They all need to know who they’re putting back into the home when they do not sentence the offender.

Kids OFTEN see the abuse happen. It just so happens that this abusive dumbass made his 13 year old son record the abuse session. He expects his son to take part in the verbal abuse, and the son complies. Not the kid’s fault. Just like it wasn’t my son’s fault that he was pulled into it the last night it happened at my house.

I’m confused. I’m missing a link somewhere between where I am and where I am headed.

I am working from home and in school full-time. I am surviving on a small settlement in the interim, planning on it to last until I make the money I need to support myself. I do not want to go to work for anyone else (as in a “real job”) because I want to budget my own time, use my own ideas, be my own boss.

I am investing in myself with the settlement. I could have invested the settlement in an IRA account. I could have hoarded it in a savings account or cd’s. But I’m not. I’m living on it. For now.

And I’m scared.

I’m missing a link. I don’t know what to do.

My husband is a soldier and currently deployed. There is so much I truly don’t know where to start…

We just had a baby boy – he is 3 months old – and 2 weeks after he was born, my husband went to a rave, which he knows I absolutely hate, and lied to me about it! But when I found out the truth, I asked him why he wouldn’t just tell me the truth.

He replied because I would have gotten mad, but said he didn’t care – he would do what he wanted and I couldn’t stop him. He didn’t come home until 11 the next morning. Continue reading

When I met Mr. Abuser he very quickly wanted to spend all his free time with me. I work 7 days a week so it was a little challenging. I did like him, so I worked it into my schedule.

When I didn’t see him, he “needed” to talk at least once or twice a day; would send numerous texts throughout the day which I wouldn’t respond to because my jobs require my full attention. I was dating someone else at the time I met him so, in all fairness, my availability was not exactly up to par with his. Continue reading

This month, so far, I’ve received three stories from brave women. Two of them speak to financial abuse also, and Sarah has a blog.

These are their stories:

Rose Felt Worthless, Stuck, and Crazy

Laura Felt Devastated, Frustrated, and Shocked

Sarah Felt Betrayed, Sorrow, Brokenhearted (Sarah’s Blog: Sarah Found Her Voice)

This past summer’s testimonials came from several brave people who reached out to share their experiences. Doing so was good for them and good for us. Those of us still in abusive relationships can find validation in their experience, to know we’re not alone. Those of us out of abusive relationships can remember why we left and reflect on the chaos we once called our lives compared to the serenity and empowerment we now feel.

My heartfelt wishes of peace are with all of you. Thank you for sharing your stories of abuse.

• Steve - Sad, angry and confused
• Linda - Sadness, frustration, sense of unreality
• Courtney – Sadness, failure, frustration
• Kacy – Depression, guilt, failure
• Marla – Crazy, insane, useless
• Gina – Confusion, despair, hurt
• Alyssa – Anger, numbness, despair
• Ann – Shame, guilt, fear

Writing the post on anger yesterday brought up some bad memories. My ex-husband once terrorized my mind with his wrath. (What will he be like tonight? Is it a good time to ask him now? What do I need to do before I run these errands so he’s not angry when I return?)

Punishment for not reading his mind correctly could be severe. His anger intimidated me. It put me in my place – firmly beneath his heel.. He’d turn beet red, hazel eyes turned to green, brows knitted under his deeply lined forehead, lips alternating between a sneer and a scowl.

Continue reading