My Verbally Abusive Marriage

I received a comment on Facebook recently that said I was amazing and strong (thank you, Amber!). I think I share qualities with every other person in abusive relationships.

• We’re optimistic AND depressed/anxious
• We’re giving.
• We all have a bright light that other people, even our abusers, recognize; the difference is the abuser wants to absorb it all for them self and if they can’t own it, they want it GONE.
• We’re helpful.
• We’re strong. We have to be to withstand the abuse.
• We’re capable of intimacy to the DETRIMENT of our selves within the abusive “relationship” and the benefit to any other.
• We’re intuitive in that we “know” something’s wrong (but maybe haven’t put our finger on what “it” is).

In short, we’re amazing human beings who embody characteristics that any person who doesn’t selfishly want to steal them from us will admire and cherish.

If you look at that list the opposite way, you can see those characteristics how the abuser sees us:

• We’re always living in an idealistic and therefore unrealistic world, we don’t understand how the world works AND we look for sympathy when we should be able to solve our own problems (“get that look off your face!” or “your life is so easy!” or “what’s wrong with you?”… and on and on)
• We’re always too generous, too friendly, too trusting, …
• We’re show-offs, know it alls, drama queens, and holier-than-thou …
• We’re nosy, looking for trouble, flirty, whores …
• We’re weak. We would have to be to rely on him for “everything” and do “nothing” to further ourselves.
• We’re too close to our family, we take other people’s opinions ahead of his, we use poor judgment in relating to friends, we tell too many secrets, we complain too much, …
• We’re always looking for trouble, we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves if we couldn’t make up some problem, we read into things, we make mountains of molehills and think too much …

The questions with no right answers are:

• When will you decide to reject, completely and utterly, your abuser’s interpretation of you?
• When will you decide that YOU are the best judge of your character and capabilities?
• When will you trust yourself above all others?

No one can answer those questions for you. But when the day comes where your answer is “TODAY”, you will feel the seed of courage germinate and it’s roots will spread to every bit of your being. Continue learning, keep reading other people’s stories, observe, see your truth, and soon the seed of courage WILL spring forth and bloom. You will overcome this mess and you will be free.

My sister, Erin, supports me consistantly and constantly. She loves me regardless of my decisions, actions, and quirks. She knows my dark side and thinks it’s valuable. I couldn’t love her more, yet every day, I do love her more.

Before I recognized the abuse in my life, she was largely quiet about it for fear of her words pushing me away from her. She knew, instinctively, that Will (probably subconsciously) wanted everyone who loved me far, far away – or at least that’s how it appeared. Still, she would cry with me when I hurt in large part because there were things she wanted to say but held them inside. Or at least, this is the way I think it played out.

One time, after realizing the abuse for myself,  I asked her why she didn’t just TELL me I was being abused, and she said, “Would you have believed me if I had?” Of course, the answer was “No.” I’ll never ask that question again of her or anyone else who loves me. It’s not up to them to tell us what is going on, is it? It’s something we have to realize inside of ourselves.

Erin is a very wise woman. She’s decided to put her skills to work helping other people who need fresh ideas and perspectives so they can move away from the things, people and ideas that hurt them. She wants us all to live in our own light, within our own power augmented by Spirit (God, Goddess, Angels, The Powers that Be…).

Here is an email she sent me on facebook two days ago. She said I could share it, and Iwant to because you need to know that there are people in the world like her. People who support you, who love you, who are just itching to help you. You may not see them until you take off the blinders abuse is causing you to wear.

Here is her email:

“I think you are overlooking something you don’t want to look at again… yet.

“You are a survivor. You pushed your way through a horrid time in your life when you was married, and then again pushed your way through the time of uncertainty after you left.

“Other women need to know this can be done. They need to know that after they leave their abusive marriages, they will come out better on the other end.

“I think you are just not ready for it yet. You are not ready to re-visit the pain of it; or to be faced with the women who are still enduring it because you NEED to keep pushing through this segment in your life for right now.

“So, don’t question what you should be doing to earn an income. You are loving your life where you are right now; and I think that is exactly where you need to be. The time will reveal itself to you when it is time to step back into the world that brought you to where you are now…

“The only difference is that you will already be on the other side. Completely.

“Keep doing what you are doing. You haven’t been this happy, or this authentic in a long time. Own it. Live it.

“You will know when the time is right.

“I love you, and I am so proud of you Kellie!!!”

The good news is that even if you don’t know a soul like Erin right now, you can contact her now at her website, Dear Erin. The link takes you to her “What Dear Erin Does” page. I encourage you to contact her because her first two clients are free if you agree to give her a testimonial in return.

Lately I’ve not preached the gospel of what verbal abuse IS or how it is affecting me because I’m in a new phase. The phase that exists after the prime abuser is removed from the majority of life. However, just because I’m revelling in the freedom, that doesn’t mean that all of YOU are revelling with me! So I’d like to share some links about abuse and where you can find help and relief from it.

The Narcissism Daily Mirror, author Kim Cooper, is writing a series on verbal abuse. The latest one is When verbal abuse is covert or may not sound like verbal abuse … Check to the right of the article to view the others pertaining to verbal abuse.

My friend recently found a site called Women Exhale. It’s an inexpensive alternative to traditional therapy for abuse victims, and it is not insurance based, meaning that your abuser will not receive notice of your choice to seek therapy from any insurance approval letters that may come to your house.

Patricia Evans, author of books such as “The Verbally Abusive Man: Can He Change?”, is online at VerbalAbuse.com. I highly recommend becoming a member of her message boards. Yes, you must call the toll free number to join the board, but this is done to ensure only abuse victims have access to this resource. No abuse perpetrators allowed. When I called, I spoke to Patricia directly, and had access to the boards within minutes.

For information on verbal abuse, try Dr. Irene.Please call or virtually visit the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, and even if you haven’t experienced the physically violent side of domestic violence (yet). Domestic violence includes mental, emotional, verbal, financial, and all other sorts of abuse. Just because you’ve never had a bloody lip or blackened eye does NOT mean you are not experiencing domestic violence.

To read my story from the beginning (1992), start at Less Than I Am and click “Next” at the upper right to continue. Or to read testimonials from other abuse survivors, visit Your Journal Entries.

Also, check out the Blogroll and Links section to the right, near my facebook badge. The more you know, the more powerful you become. The more power you have within yourself, the sooner you can make changes to stop the cycle of abuse.

You do not have to leave your abuser right now or ever, you can stay. That is a valid choice.

For me, I chose to stay until I’d reached a point of power within myself that did not allow me to stay any longer. But before that point, I had begun reacting differently to the abuse. Back then, there was no way to know if my husband would change or not, but I hoped he would.

Hope is not a solution, it’s a distraction. Stop hoping and start educating yourself.

The past month whirled around me, through me, like a red wine hurricane. I feel alive and strong, but spinning uncontrollably in my heart are questions and wishes that I’m not ready to answer or fulfill. I feel like I’m in danger of losing my vision because time isn’t pacing itself with my desires – what I want to become, who I want to be is not yet centered inside of me. The person I want to be is still ahead of me on the timeline while I’m forced to continue living in the present.

I am grateful beyond words that the only voice in my head is my own. After so many years of sharing space with Will’s voice, I had hoped hearing only my own would end the confusion and doubt. Living free and dis-anchored from Will’s reality set loose a storm of giddy emotions, loving dreams, and happy thoughts within me. I’ve loved the time I’ve spent in the whirl, loved the people I’ve met, loved the feelings of re-connectedness to life itself. But, as all storms, it is passing and I’m left to deal with the thoughts and decisions I made in the spin-cycle.

Despite the whirlwind of emotion, underlying it on the earthy path of my soul, I knew I was in danger of being swept away into a different kind of false world. If I weren’t careful, I could easily exchange Will’s version of reality for another unreal reality, a possibly more dangerous one made up of my own delusion and wish-craft. A conversation with the powers that be warned me of the magical world of delusion and falsehood and then my flesh and bone therapist said, “It isn’t REAL, Kellie. You’re not yet separate from Will, from that life. You need more time.”

Of course, my ego denied the gods and the therapist outright. This delusion was FUN, it was EXCITING, and it was WORKING! … Dammit. And people around me were in danger of being hurt by it; I was in danger of being hurt by it. My boundaries blurred, my dreams for myself pushed aside, I realize I am spending too much time in the whirlwind and not enough time feeling my feet on the ground.

Right as I left my therapists office, I turned and asked her “How long should this last? Do I have at least another month?” I meant the storm of good-emotion fuel, the feeling of being high on living. She said, “As long as it needs to. There’s no set time.” And although I told myself with forced smile that I could ride for at least another six months, inside of me, the storm began to quiet.

I tried to deny the silencing of the storm. I forged ahead, made an emotional decision that felt good in order to re-ignite the dramatic whirl. But what I found was the drama wasn’t worth the price I asked another person to pay. The seed was planted in my mind, I know the storm is coming to an end, and that the person I am right now is not the person I’m destined to become. I’m not the person I want to be…yet.

So now I’m standing here on a muddied path, feeling alive and humbled, letting the greenish overcast that fills the atmosphere after a storm flow through me. The color green heals, so I know that the coming down from the high is also part of my destiny.

Although I’m saddened to know the storm has passed, it also feels good to know that I’ve weathered it. I haven’t blown so far from my path that  it is unrecognizable. My feet are firmly planted in about a half inch of mud, much different from the waist-deep shit I was entrenched in months ago. This mud will dry, the sky will turn blue, the birds will sing and life is good.

Life is different, again, but washed clean and humbly refreshed.

This is a stream of consciousness writing I did on the beach some weeks back. Little punctuation, bits of clarity…just felt like sharing.

Sun Surf Freedom Coincidence and Lack. Suntans, sunburns and jumping in the waves, shaking Saltwater out of his hair. Sunshine and goodness, fisherman, vacancies. Maybe too windy. Waves drop into us as we struggle against their push. Wet and warm waves like the aftershocks of sex. The smile and sparkling eyes of a lover and the touch in intimate places feels like warm red wine not meant ot be drunk but for pouring pouring pouring.

Crafty and cunning is the body which longs to experience the carnal quickening of the heart, pulling hair just enough to remind of vulnerability but not enough to threaten. I could but I won’t. I trust but I watch and listen and compare those words to the ones I’ve heard oft repeated in anger.

There is a difference and the difference may merely be time. Perhaps at once, time catches up to us like a freight train with no brakes, slamming into the soul. All at once, one day, one small thing is simply too much anymore to tolerate that one thing shines a bright light on the multitude of smaller harshness from the years and it is too much. Too much.

I fight back. I try to regain some knowledge of who I am and what I want. What I want. The red pouring wine. The small kisses. The shining light from his eyes as he looks at me instead of past me as if i don’t exist. I miss the longing…but he cannot long for one accessible, easy. He longs for what he may not attain, not that for which he has conquered. And he conquered me. He took me. He swallowed me. And he was satiated.

I sat so long in hs gut that his insides started to churn and struggle to digest me…but I wouldn’t leave.  And he hated me for it.

Hated me. Hated him. I gave him all of me – All of me. And he hated me. Iam sorry I surrendered to him and I am sorry I remember the harshness of him.

I wish I remembered what my light reflecting from his eyes felt like. What I looked like to him when I was still me. I want to see that light again. I doubt that he will be the one to see me…but perhaps someone else will. I will see him, too.

A man who is tall and thick, with laugh lines around his eyes and a leisurly pace when we’re together. I’ll drink him in like warm red wine and touch him along the lines most will never touch. I will see his light and soak it in, then release it back to him so I can delight in his presence instead of his shadow.

He will lift me, I will lift him. We will be as one but two distinct loving hearts. His arms will open to me a billion times, and a billion times I will rush to fill them. Strong but soft. Supporting but freeing. If I fly away he will patiently wait and if he flies from me I will allow him freedom. Coming and going. Coming and going. Coming together in the end.

As you may have gathered from my last post, I am entertaining the thought of having some wonderful sex in the future. (:Pd:) While that is true, I can’t seem to think about sex without also thinking about a “RELATIONSHIP”. Well, that isn’t entirely true. I very well can imagine the sex without a relationship, but I can’t imagine me having sex without also having it evolve into a relationship.

Crap. That isn’t entirely true either. Grabbing some guy off the street has crossed my mind. But I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think it would work very well today. When I was in high school in the 80′s, probably; today, I doubt it.

I have a good reason for doubting it, too. The first weekend I was without my boys, my good friend took me out to a bar. (She’s a brave woman!) We got completely wasted, and bless her dear husband who both dropped us off and waited patiently until the wee morning hours to pick us up again.

I was not there to “grab a guy off the street”. I was there to drink. With my friend. And hopefully not cry. Which I didn’t.

What I did experience were several conversations with several guys ranging in age from about 25 to 65. Some were creepy, some were soldiers, some were creepy soldiers. Anyhow, at one point when a young soldier who hadn’t found a woman his age to talk to, he began talking to me and my friend. I asked how he felt about sex with strangers, and his answer was, “Well, I’d have to think about it. There are STD’s and shit out there.”

I wondered just how long a young man in this day and age would think about it. Back in my day, the thought was probably about 15 seconds. But I digress.

His answer made me think about a hundred million diseases that are out there, and that if I did decide to have sex with some guy, then I couldn’t trust a mere condom to protect me. I’d have to know him, know his history. I’d have to trust him (and the condom brand).

And TRUST is a difficult feeling for me to conjure these days. Anyone I’m with, from here on out, will be someone I trust. Which takes “some guy off the street” out of the running.

On the other side of it is “the guy”. If I am looking for someone similar to me, then he’s going to want to know my history, too. He’s going to want to be able to trust me. Because I do want to trust a man again in the future, then I have to make sure – completely positive – that I am being honest with any potential lover I meet. Or know. Or knew once upon a time. Or imagined and then discovered that he was real after rubbing a genie bottle.

And to be honest with HIM, I have to be honest with myself. And that could very well prove to be the hardest thing to do.

After all, I am getting to know myself over again. I am discovering how I’ve changed as well as how I’ve remained the same. It’s kind of exciting, but it’s also a tricky ride. Sometimes I don’t know if “old Kellie” is at the wheel or if I am doing the driving. It’s confusing.

I don’t want to default to “old Kellie’s” thinking because it may not be my true thought. That girl may be long gone, but I don’t think so. There are some things I remember about myself that I would like to repeat. For example:

• I loved to lift weights. I loved to eat foods that allowed my muscles to show. I cheated on those diets back then but couldn’t now because of slowing metabolism…but still. I liked that experience very much.
• I loved to draw and paint. I still “think” I would love to do that, but I’m wondering if my creativity is best served via writing now.
• I loved sex. It was fun and adventurous, loving and crazy. I made mistakes with sex that I won’t repeat, but I wouldn’t take the experiences back for a million dollars. (Well, maybe I’d cash in on a couple.)
• I loved seeing people grow and become more of who they were. I loved it when my friends did something they thought they couldn’t. I loved it when I reached a goal for myself.
• I loved being able to accept that people could freely move in and out of my life while leaving the door open for their return. Sometimes when they left they never came back, but sometimes the miracle was in their return.
• I loved being a free spirit. “Things” weren’t always rosy; in fact, sometimes they were pretty shitty. But my openness to life and its miraculous events created more goodness than I had imagined. Being free allowed the flow of life to continue.

And yes, back in the day I had no qualms with grabbing up some guy off the street. Now I do. So there are things “new Kellie” is not going to do:

• I hate that I used to hide my true feelings out of shame or because someone told me I “shouldn’t” feel that way. I feel the way I feel, dammit. When I express the feeling, maybe it will change or evolve. Maybe it won’t.
• I hate that I kept parts of myself secreted away because of fear. I don’t want anyone in my life who judges me against him or herself. We’re all different…we’re all wonderful. Let me be wonderful too!
• I hate that I acted proud of some of my actions but secretly felt ashamed. I want to do things that I am proud of inside and out. This will require thinking before acting – a forming skill that I will develop more fully.
• I hate that I allowed myself to be absorbed by another person. I want to always see the line of distinction between “me” and “you”.  And I want to choose what is good for “me” over what is good for “you” OR consciously choose what is better for “you” because that’s what I want to do, not because “you” say it’s the only way or promise me that my “turn” is only a little time away.

I am opening the flow once more. I’ve been closed off to it for long enough. I expect good things, and great things happen. Boy, some guy is going to be lucky to know me…in a few years.

When I started this blog, I was an open book. I told it ALL, and it felt wonderful to unload. Will desperately wanted me to shut up, to forget about it, to stop telling “lies”. I knew I couldn’t stop telling my truth. Spilling those secrets was the best thing I ever did for myself because only by being open did I find all of you, and with you, the courage and power to move forward, to move away.

If it weren’t for my willingness to lay it all out here to be picked apart and at times judged harshly by strangers, I never would have pressed charges against him on January 22, 2010. I would have left that night for sure; but I would have slunk back into my own home like a shamed puppy the next day. I did that in 2008, but by 2010, I knew that I couldn’t let it slide anymore. I was no longer ashamed of myself.

Life here on the other side is sometimes frightening. Sometimes his words and behaviors still throw me for a loop, and I very anxiously await the next time I must speak to him. Like always, these outbursts are preceeded by days of calm, considered conversation. And as usual, I know the outbursts will not be followed by an apology.

It’s still all my fault in his eyes. I make him mad. I make him say the things he says and do the things he does.

I guess I have power over him, in his mind. I think he thinks I feel entitled to his money and to get everything I want at his expense, and that I lie and manipulate my way through life, blaming him for my wrong-doings and taking all the credit for his success. I suppose I am still a cunt, to use his word.

But Will is not much of any of that to me anymore. He isn’t my world, he isn’t my life, he isn’t my other half. He is the father of my children. He is a volatile force to reckon with for sure, but because we spend so little time together anymore, his eruptions are easier to handle. Despite the fact that I do feel anxious after an outburst, I also have a strong voice in my head that reminds me “This is the pattern. It has little to do with you, Kellie. Some things are his to own, whether he chooses to own them or not.”

I have my own sanctuary, my house. I have my own money, my own job, my own financial plan. I have my own dreams and I’m finding my place in the world. I have my own thoughts, and I can (usually) tell if my thoughts are benefitting me or hurting me.

New to me are my own secrets. I have some wonderful, heart-pounding secrets. There are also some secrets that I can’t wait to tell you, secrets that would shed light on my silence. But I must wait to share them.

Please don’t mistake my silence for pain. Although there is still, at times, plenty of hurt, the hurt is no longer fueled by fear.

For example, although it hurts to not be labelled my boys’ “primary” parent, it is merely a skin-deep wound. It injures my pride and nothing else. I tell myself that the custody situation is only temporary, but this could very well turn into the permanent custody arrangement. I could stay the “secondary” parent in the eyes of the law. Nevertheless, my boys will never see me as a secondary parent. I know that now, in my bones and throughout every cell in my body. I will never “lose” my children to their father. They will never choose one of us over the other.

Will cannot win, even if the law calls him the winner. Our boys are not a prize or a thing; our sons are feeling, thinking, loving beings who are wiser than even I gave them credit for being. They are their own people, their own men. Time will work it’s magic with them, too. Their broken hearts will heal, bit by bit, understanding by understanding. It probably won’t happen as quickly or even in the way I hope, but it will happen. They will probably be angry at me, angry at dad, angry at everyone including themselves at some point, but after the anger, the healing begins.

Eventually, we will all heal. I dearly wished we would heal together, but that is not going to happen. Eventually, all my secrets will be exposed. I am not worried. I am not ashamed. But I can’t tell you all of them yet.

But it is no secret that I am happy. I am truly, through and through, happy.

Today I’m eating a really large beefsteak tomato, grown locally and full of flavor. I thought about having a sandwich, but the bulk of the bread doesn’t sound all that great. Sometimes, eating is a struggle. Still.

But instead of stress causing me to forget to eat, I just don’t feel like eating. I can be STARVING and not want to eat. I kind of like the hungry feeling, but it does absolutely nothing for my mood.

But this tomato, red and cold, hits the spot. I’m glad I took the time to slice it.

I’m struggling with more than my eating habits this week. There is a change going on inside of me, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it’s all about. I’m questioning my habits, good and bad, past and present. I’m wondering which old habits I could fall back into as I create my life, and frankly, although possibly damaging, the old habits sound comforting.

So I struggle with NOT attaching myself to someone, NOT allowing my heart (or libido) to override my good sense. I really miss having “someone” with me. Cats are nice, my boys are great…but there is a void that I’m not accustomed to just yet. I know the loneliness will vanquish itself IN TIME. But I don’t know if I am patient enough, or good enough, to wait and grow.

And then, I think about if I did find someone to spend some time with and I wonder exactly what TIME I have to spend. I fear that time spent not working is wasted; I need the money work provides. I love my job refinishing furniture, but I knew when I took it that I would need something else to supplement the income.

Now I feel torn between web design and writing. And torn between sleeping and eating. Torn between dreaming and doing.

But at least the tomato is delicious.

I am so grateful to the married couple who decided my boys (and cats) and I should be allowed to live in their house! I feel FREE.

And then I panic. But then I feel FREE again.

And then I panic. LOL

I’m hoping the panic subsides. I am sure it will as soon as I find a JOB.

I can’t wait to transplant my lavender and sage into the front flower beds. The woman who owns this house has a yard style kind of like mine – if it grows and it is pretty, then it stays. You can’t see the yellow flowery bush (is it wild dill?) she refused to mow down in the front yard. She told me I could, she left it because she thought it was pretty. I think it is, too, so the wild thing stays.

I paid out the money to the landlords today, and it felt so good. I’m so willing to let the cash flow when the pay-back is going to be worth SO MUCH more than the cost.

Peace. Peace. Peace.

You can’t make it out too well in this picture, but that is MY car under the carport. My car under MY carport.

Happy (then anxious) happy happy day. I can’t wait to sleep there.

I’ve already texted my goodnights to the boys, but I cannot sleep despite the fact that I am pooped. Exhausted really; stress is a bitch.

Something is gnawing at me, but I am not certain what that something could be. Typically, I’d write about what I thought it may be, and then narrow it down to the root cause. But I don’t feel safe in doing that right now.

I don’t want to share yet.

Will told me the other day that I “can’t make it” unless certain financial conditions were met. He is concerned that I want the house. He can’t see any other way for me to be so confident in my ability to create financial success unless I’m planning on “going for the house”.

Typical.

I am hopeful, therefore I am confident. Unlike the hope I felt as I tried to force Will to see the abuse in our marriage, this hope doesn’t depend on his (or another person’s) actions. This hope depends on me. It’s exhilarating to have my future in my own hands, untethered and free. There is a distinct difference in the anxiety I feel now, facing my future alone, than the anxiety I used to feel at the sound of his truck pulling into the drive.

I am not naive enough to think this will be easy. It would be nice if some great hand would reach down from the sky to snatch a long lost relative who left me (and my sister, mother, and grandmas) millions. But as much fun as it is to consider that innane possibility, I do not lose myself in it.

This isn’t going to be easy. There is no sure-fire way to guarantee my success; but there’s also no way to guarantee my failure. Will hasn’t believed in me in a very long time, but his insinuations no longer cause me to crawl into a hole and hide. Now, hearing him say what he says causes me to divert my attention from him and pay attention to the light in my own heart.

It feels … strange. And good.

The most I can do is simply START moving away from him.

I’m doing that. I’m not revealing my actions yet because they’re not his business; I don’t feel like giving him my secrets anymore. Unfortunately, that means that I cannot give my secrets to YOU either.

Yes, I am slightly worried and a tad fearful. Who wouldn’t be? But I know I will make this work. I have a plan.