Pushing past the fear...

I read my old blogs today; the early ones, the raw ones. And all through it, tears spilled down my face. I felt strangely disconnected and yet completely affected; I felt as though I was reading about a priceless friend whom I had let down by exposing her to such harm. I felt like I was out of my body, dealing with this on a spiritual level, and that this spirit had been hurt, more than was evident on her physical exterior. It reminded me of a story where someone had fallen and hit their head, and thought they were alright, when actually they were bleeding profusely from the forehead. But in spite of the damage, they couldn’t feel it, and it wasn’t until the blood was running down their face that they realized, “Oh my gosh, I’m bleeding – a lot – I guess I’m really injured!” Well that’s exactly how I feel. I’m bleeding – or I was – but I couldn’t entirely feel it. It’s only been since we’ve escaped that the numbness is beginning to wear off. I know that’s a good thing; we have feelings and senses for a reason; partially to tell us when something is harming us. But it also hurts, and numbness can be useful, too. It gives us the ability to push through the pain and do what we have to do. When we were still with Derek and I knew I had to find a way to leave, I got busy, and so much of the time I felt like a robot, just going through the motions, and I wondered how it was that I wasn’t crying constantly or feeling afraid. Now I know it was because my body instinctively knew to shield me, to make me numb, in order to do what otherwise would have been far too scary to do. Now that we’re away from him, the feeling is coming back. At first I was so relieved, I felt like I was breathing for the first time, and the fresh air was exhilarating. Now, we’re so much happier, and I embrace everything with an inflated sense of gratitude to the Universe. Now, I’m embroiled in the fight to completely sever our lives from this person: getting divorced, keeping the kids from being alone with Derek, trying to find work, and basically establishing all of those legal frameworks that will keep my children and me safe, secure and happy. This Monday is a pivotal day in court. Since Derek was finally served with the Order of Protection, the judge will hear the case and decide if he will make it permanent or not. I don’t think Derek will show up, but I do think his attorney will. He will cross examine me, and try his best to twist my words into something wrong. And in between now and then, Derek will send me nasty emails, threatening that I will lose everything if I don’t change my attitude – it’s so funny how even from thousands of miles away, he can’t let go the reigns of control. Initially, he told his attorney that he wanted to reach an agreement. So I tried. For a week, we emailed back and forth, discussing what we each want. And to my shock, Derek is so far out of the realm of reality that even after all of this, he doesn’t want to get divorced! And of course, he still doesn’t see that he’s an abusive, angry person. He denies it. At first it was very frustrating, and he succeeded in getting me to tangle myself back into a dialogue with him, as I tried to convince him that he was sick and needed help of some kind, and as I tried to justify my actions to him. But finally I realized, there’s not going to be any agreement with this man, because he doesn’t want to agree. He just wants to fight, and control, and keep the wheel spinning. The thing he hates the most is when I don’t respond at all. And that’s where we are now. I’m resolved to go through the attorneys and the courts, and yes, spend more money that I probably can, but it’s the only way to protect my little family. So Monday is the first of those battles, to prove that what I’m saying is true. And as that day approaches, I’ve had an increasing sense of foreboding: I look out the window a lot, and check the front door; I check on the kids more often while they’re sleeping; I walk around with a tightness in my chest over something, but nothing. Most of the time , I don’t even know what specifically I’m hurting about, I just feel the pain in an overall kind of way, letting me know that something bad happened to me, and there’s going to be some residual burning. I think it’s all m body’s way of saying, “You’re walking back into danger, you’re going too close to that bad fire, and it will surround you again. Be ware, danger, danger, be on alert!” So that’s this week. That’s part of what you have to go through to get to the other side. It’s a complex ride, this one, and I don’t know all the outcomes. In some ways, I’m in complete control like I never was with Derek. And in other ways, I have no control, and have to deal with it. Until next time, dear friend…

Being strong...

Thanks, everyone for your spirited thoughts, but please be assured I have an attorney whom I pay very well to offer legal advice in all matters. I just wanted the unofficial opinion as to how perhaps other mothers would feel in such a circumstance, having to weigh financial needs over your wishes for your children. At the end of the day, Derek is their father, and like it or not, even convicted murderers in prison are given the right to visitation with their children; that's just the reality of the matter. Since Derek seeing the children is a real possibility, I'm going to try to have it on my terms, and I think that the legal cards are stacked in my favor. Derek deals from his raw emotions, and even now doesn't acknowlege that he has an anger problem. The very fact that, even now, he envisions the children flying on a plane out of the United States to see him in a foreign country shows that he's not recognizing his own public record in domestic violence. He even wrote in a note to me the other day that he's not mad at me, in fact, he "forgives" me, and that as long as we both drop all "legal things" that we can come to an agreement. That clearly demonstrates how illogical he is. When I left Derek, I wasn't responding to the emotional side of the issue, although that was certainly there. I left him because I had to acknowledge, through crystal clear eyes, that the way he treated me and my son was NOT normal, was NOT okay, and had to be stopped or we would be further and probably irrevocably hurt. Luckily the facts are on my side. So I'm still looking for work, writing my book about this lovely experience, and addressing what comes with strength and assurance. Even if I have to RE-assure myself every day that I can do it! Moms can do anything for their babies, I've learned that. But it's still so helpful to know that you're out there, listening and supporting. Thank you so, so much! Until next time, dear friends...

What do you think...

I may not be able to see you, but where ever you are, you've been a true friend at times when I've really needed one. Now I'd like to take an unofficial poll. Derek has sent a "proposal" to his attorney. Not in writing, but he's suggesting that he will drop that ridiculous child abduction law suit if I will agree to some form of visitation with the children -- in another country, the country where he's living now. Now don't worry, there is no way on God's green earth that I would let my children out of this country to be with that man, believe me! And actually, I would prefer that he have no influence at all on them. However, my attorney is telling me that because he is the children's father, at the end of this whole thing the judge will almost certainly give him some form of visitation, at the very least, supervised and in our jurisdiction. So he's suggesting that I put together a proposal of my own of conditions I would agree to, in the hopes of avoiding a big, expensive court battle. Well I can tell you now, I don't like it. Although I recognize what he's saying and that in the end Derek may get supervised visits, I can't escape the feeling that this giving him that now is not being true to the very real feelings I have regarding his anger issues and abuse. I think that to agree to him being in our lives at all means that I'm negating all that I've said. I stand by my statement that he's a dangerous and unstable person, who's attempted suicide twice, once with the knife. I also know that he is a con artist, and that he doesn't think for a second that he has an anger problem, and therefore he has no intention of improving himself. He's told me this many times. So to send my children into the presence of this man feels like sending them into the wolf's lair, court supervised or not. On the other hand, if it's absolutely gong to happen regardless, is it perhaps better to have it happen on my terms, with me sending forth a proposal that I can somehow live with, rather than waiting for a judge to do it long after both sides are financially ruined? Additionally, if we come to an agreement now, I can try to negotiate some support from him, after all, if he can see his children, he also must support them. Don't forget he's living in another country so I would never be able to collect court-ordered child support unless he voluntarily gives it, and he would only be motivated to do that if he can see his children. But even this bothers me. I feel like I'm bartering my children somehow. I don't like it. I'm conflicted. What to do... Until next time, dear friends...

Crazy or just clueless??

If you've been following my blog for the last several months, you already know that my two beautiful children and I were living in an abusive situation (see my older posts), in which my husband screamed at us, kicked my son, jerked him around, called me an idiot, moron, and other choice names on a daily basis, and he also, over time, usurped all of my freedom and independence, until I had no bank card, no money, no friends, no freedom to buy anything without his approval, including my own clothes, and I had to be home by 5:30 or I was in big trouble. That's just a quick recap, and is not at all comprehensive, but it gives us all a moment to remember just how charming this guy was (and is). So here we are, a few months after my big escape, breathing a certain sigh of relief that although the battles aren't yet completed, the damaging cancer (him) has been excised from our daily lives, and I'm doing all that I can legally to ensure that it remains that way. To have come this far, surely is worth a toast. HOWEVER -- as I proceed through my own involuntary social experiment in leaving this jerk, I have learned one thing is for sure: these abusive types will try ANYTHING and EVERYTHING to suck you back into their lair and under their control where they think you belong. My own jerk has succeeded in keeping me continually surprised at the schizophrenic and contradictory combination of carrots and sticks that he regularly dangles to try and get a response from me. Mind you, I have had almost no contact with him (ah, so refreshing), as there is an Order of Protection for us in the court, and also because getting into a dialogue would serve no productive purpose whatsoever. Even so, he fairly regularly sends me messages and texts and even gifts in the mail. As to his arsenal of strategies, he seems to be trying out different ones to see what will stick and get a response from me. Here is a sample of some of them: He's sent me flowers three times, each with a note professing his love for me. After 4 1/2 years of not caring about my personal goals, he sent an email quite suddenly asking for information on the Ph.D. program I'm interested in. Then he tried a different approach, and sent a string of emails stating that I could not just ignore him and that if I did, I: wouldn't be able to stay in our house, would spend all of my money on lawyers in court, and would receive a slew of lawsuits and even criminal charges (?!). When that didn't get the response he wanted, he went back to the sweet approach. So in the middle of his emails about how much he still loves me and how we can work it out, I received a lovely package at my door, which was a lawsuit accusing me of abducting the children. (This couldn't be further from the truth, because in reality although I did flee a domestic violence situation, he had taken the passports before I could do that, and it was only after he gave them back to me with full knowledge of the flight we were on and that we were returning to our home that the children and I finally left). At any rate, there it was, this horrible lawsuit. I mention this because I want to fully show the context in which this next little item came. This monster, who just filed this horrible thing against me (luckily there is no merit to it), sent me a message last night stating that he only filed it because I filed for the Order of Protection, and that he would drop it if I accepted one condition. Are you ready for the condition? Are you REALLY ready? Here it comes: I have to agree to what he described as, "one final date with me." !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Are you as gobsmacked as I was???? A date? Is he completely insane? And a "final" date, what's that? It was very creepy, in a, pervert/stalker/serial killer kind of way. I suddenly had visions of me, sitting in a chair all tied up and a gag in my mouth on our "date," as he beams and coos about our undying love and how happy we'll be. It's utterly astonishing how clueless some people can be. He really seems to be so twisted that he has no idea how horrible his behavior is. And there's more: the morning after receiving that creepy note, I found an email from his long-lost, grown up son whom I've never met nor even EVER seen a picture of. Suddenly this son, who just by the way had never met his father until he was 13, was verbally attacking me for having the gaul to leave his "dad." This arrogant and totally clueless person tried for two pages to accuse ME of having done a terrible thing, so much so that he and his lovely fiance' (also whom I've never met nor heard of), were considering post-poning their wedding plans because I've so affected their suddenly close-knit family. Again, I was gobsmacked. Speechless. I sat there for quite some time just staring at his letter, wondering how on earth he could presume to know anything about what life with Derek is like. I'll admit that I felt indignant; I wanted to immediately reply with all the reasons that he was presumptuous and wrong, and defend myself for my actions. But I didn't. In spite of my emotions, I knew that, for whatever motivation he had, I didn't need to justify myself to him, nor would it bring anything to rail against his father just to prove a point. So I let it go. (Well sort of, I'm venting about it here). So that was yesterday. Flowers. Lawsuit. Threats. Creepy date invitation. Letter from long-lost son. Oh and let's not forget that cow on tv who wrote all of those books and made me feel inadequate! Humph. Maybe I should lay off the caffeine for awhile. Until next time, dear, dear friends...

On the flipside...

This morning as I put on my makeup, there was a woman on Fox News spouting off about the mosque at ground zero. She looked scholarly and professional and exuded confidence as she sat there, waxing lyrical about this and that, and everyone was mesmerized by her jewel-like tones. And that was fine. Then suddenly they flashed a shot of her latest book -- some fat, six hundred-page soliloquy on the state of modern America. And that did it. I just snapped. In the 3.5 seconds I saw that book flash across the screen, a heat swelled up inside of me like a snarling bull. That Bitch didn't look a day over 28 -- if that -- and there she was on tv, sharing her opinions as if they somehow mattered more than mine, AND she had somehow managed to have a book published, too? All probably before her 30th birthday?! And it was one of many, I would soon learn. Great. Good for her, miss young and successful -- hooray! It was too much. It was just too, damn much. Why? How? WHY??!! I was incredulous. For what seemed like forever I just stood there, motionless in front of the bathroom mirror, my mascara wand drying up in my hand. For a long time I didn't know what this empty feeling was that this complete stranger had obviously touched. What was this really about? And then it finally hit me. Failure. This is what it felt like. And it SUCKED. Why was she up there on the tv screen, the literal picture of success, and I was down here, still in my bathroom at 8:30 on a Wednesday morning still trying to get the cowlick out of my bangs? What other amazing things would she do today as I barely managed to get my kids to school and apply for more menial jobs online that someone obviously posted and yet that no one seemed to ever fill? I was supposed to be her. And I think I was for awhile, a long time ago. What the hell happened? With a sigh I finished my eyelashes while making a mental note that I needed to buy more lotion and toothpaste, and briefly contemplated whether I wanted the Crest Whitening again or the Colgate that had those fancy "whitening strips" in it. Ahhhh. Time to begin another day. and even in my funk, I knew that I was the only one who could make it count for anything. But would I... I should. I could. I even knew that. So what was my problem? I wanted to slap myself in the face and say, "Whatever it is, get over it! Stop being such a baby! You've done fine in life, but right now you've got to fight to get to the next thing, just do it, already!" But I didn't. Where was the fire that got me over that huge mountain just a few short months ago? We are all creatures of light. But light moves. I can feel mine, burning hot or fading, depending upon my strength at any given moment. Sometimes it takes a great deal of energy to keep its intensity, but when you can, great victories are won. Today I seem to be a little on the wimpy side. And so I said to myself, "I know that light is all around you. And that no one else can step into it for you. Step into the light where you belong. What are you waiting for?" Christ is often depicted as being surrounded by light; bathed in it. so radiant was his energy that it literally overflowed out of him; his God essence seeping from every pore and bursting through in shards of blazing light. Many ethereal creatures are shown with this light. And I believe in each of us, there is such a thing. Light is inside of you; you are light. Perhaps this morning I lost my light, a little bit. Tomorrow will be better. In the meantime, keep pushing forward until next time, dear friend...

Dinner for Schmucks

What a fantastic weekend I had with my kids. We went to the beach where I attended an old high school get together. All of my old chums from school brought their kids, and it was just a fun atmosphere where everyone pitched in and watched the little ones, helped with sunblock and snacks, and just laid back. It was great to see familiar faces and catch up, and also interesting to hear who was married, who was not, and why. My kids didn't want to leave and were utterly exhausted when we did, falling asleep with mouths hanging open in mid-sentence before I could fasten their car seats. Of course in the midst of all the fun, I had some fun of my own trying to imagine what this day would have been like if Derek had come with us. It's a fun game because I know that first of all, this day would never have happened. For him to lower himself to spend time with my old friends and (gasp!) some old boyfriends, too -- would have brought pain and suffering down upon everyone within a three-mile radius, and the number of times I would have heard about his sacrifice afterwards wouldn't make it onto just one calendar. But okay, I realize that's a typical marital problem: lots of spouses dread going to old-friend and relative functions. Fair enough. With Derek however the misery and yes, anger over an experience like that would not have been mainly about my friends, it's just the way he chooses to process most happy get-togethers, regardless of the crowd's make-up. Christmas dinner, New Years dancing, Easter brunch, birthdays and even our anniversary are all opportunities for him to criticize, complain, and, oh yes, blame me. Yaaay. Nowhere is there a bigger wet blanket than Derek. Even when we used to go to dinner at a fabulous steak house with great atmosphere and a flurry of eager staff just waiting on our every need, if we saw a party nearby where people were laughing and smiling amongst each other, Derek would scowl and glare disapprovingly at them: "My god," he would hiss, "What horrible people. Unbelievable how ridiculous some people can act. They have no manners at all, just a bunch of pigs..." and on and on he would go with his critical commentary, never forgetting to add that these laughing people were ruining his good time, as if we were ever having one in the first place, ugh! Exasperating. "But they're just happy," I would say rather half-heartedly, my head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. That happened so many times and each time I sat at a table with Derek and experienced this episode I thought to myself, "Yeah, they're laughing alright, and they're loud, and they're smiling at each other, and I want to be at their table, my table sucks!" Well now I'm at their table. Metophorically speaking. This weekend was my time to be "at their table." And guess what -- it's a lot more fun over there! After the beach festivities a friend of mine sent me a note and said, "You should email so-and-so, she couldn't make it this weekend but she was married to a schmuck too, so many of our friends were it seems; you guys all belong to the strangest club!" I thought that was so funny; there's this movie out right now -- "Dinner for Schmucks." It's about something having nothing to do with abusers, but the title is still spot on for many, MANY of the dinners I've had. I guess the only question is who was the schmuck at my dinners: my husband, or me for being there in the first place. It doesn't even matter. I've canceled that reservation. Bye bye, Schmuckie. Until next time, dear friends...

Dear friends you're so right...

You pals of mine "out there" are right on the money when you say that Derek will resort to any tactic to get to me, or get me back, I guess is what it is, even though to me the idea of going back to a life with him is more horrifying than having a bikini wax, a mammogram and a pap smear all at the same time (is that too much information?) Ugh..........but it's true, as INSANE as this sounds -- because it is -- I have to tell you that while this lovely man was filing claims against me alleging child abduction and abuse and many other baseless lies that he can never substantiate, he actually had the big brass ones to send me roses -- twice -- the first one with a card that simply had a date on it: 7-10-05. For five days I racked my brain as to what that date could mean, and then I remembered, of course, we met in a foreign place, we had a holiday, and that was the day of our first kiss. Awwwww.....I'll bet you're just tearing up right now. The second dozen came a week later and had a card that said, "I will always love you." That was last week. This week, I've received two emails. In the first one, he tried a scare tactic: "Listen, Stacey, you can't just ignore me...we can still work this out but now it will be with some conditions...this can get very expensive and I will spend my last dime but I don't know if that's an option for you...in spite of what you think I still love you and always will...blah blah..." You can be assured that I did not respond. In the second email, he didn't write anything, but instead creatively cut and pasted a several years old email that I had written to him about how much I loved him and what a great couple we were, as if to remind me of my own words. Thanks so much. Yes, I said those things -- YEARS AGO -- and guess what? None of it happened! You didn't turn out to be a great team member, you didn't turn out to be my best friend whom I can turn to in good and bad times, you didn't even turn out to be an okay friend who I can just sit in the living room with and watch tv. You turned out to be a controlling, mean, nasty, abusive jerk. So null and void that note, Derek. That's what I could say, want to say, but don't worry, to that, too, I did not respond. Nor will I. It just does my brain in sometimes however that he could be so crazy, I guess is the operative word, to follow through with very serious legal allegations that demand full custody of the children and their immediate return to him, and yet while that's going on, unspoken, he sends flowers and tells me how much he loves me. Is there even a drug out there to combat something like that? He's nuts. Simply put. I hope I never see him again, although that is at this point a just a hope. I saw a picture of him flash across my computer screen yesterday and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I instantly felt a flush of panic to see him looking right at me, even through a photo, as if he can somehow see me and will come to life at any second. Just from one picture, everything in me said, "Panic, he's here!" I can't look at anything he owns or has touched a lot in this house, it sends shivers down my spine. And now he's playing this...GAME. It's creepy, and horrifying, and at the same time just plain stupid and annoying. If that makes any sense. I think all of these abusers are just alike, working from the same script. They all play these games and resort to desperate tactics, and yet none of them come with warning labels: "Please be advised that prolonged exposure to this person can cause damage to your heart, upset brain function, drain your wallet, and crush your self-esteem. Do not attempt to operate machinery, set personal goals or offer your opinion when operating around this individual. Do not leave unattended. Do not use near open flame, as this individual may self-combust. This individual is "as is," and is not transferable or returnable. Do not attempt to leave this individual, or severe financial, physical and mental damage may occur, maybe even death. Enjoy your new relationship." No, they just don't make them with warning labels. If only. But they do come with warning signs for those who care to take them seriously. I sure do now. Until next time, dear friends....

A new kick in the stomach...

Wow, how I could ever, still feel even the tiniest bit of sadness for him has really got me mad at myself. When you're up against an abuser, you can't let your guard down for one, single second or they will see that hole in your shield and send the arrows flying. Here I sit, trying like an idiot to file for divorce and serve him with the order of protection, with no success because he avoids the service, so in the meantime he's been at work in another country doing virtually the same thing! This afternoon I was greeted at my door by a process server who handed me papers in which Derek is claiming that I am the abuser, that I left without his knowledge, which isn't true because he gave me back the passports to leave, and he's claiming that he's the fit parent and that I should be immediately ordered to return the children to him and that he should have sole custody! Horror of horrors, NEVER! NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, under any court, anywhere would I leave my children alone with that man for lunch, much less to live without me in the picture, no way! Then he had the nerve to send me an email tonight asking to please let him say goodnight to the kids before they go to bed! I wanted to jump right through the computer and scream at him for what he's trying to do, but I didn't respond at all; no good can come of that. Oh, this is upsetting, but I'm trying to see it logically: surely his public record of domestic violence as filed right here in our county will serve to corroborate my claims, plus since my order of protection was filed, my son was interviewed by a children's advocacy service and he actually conveyed some of the abuse by his father to the authorities himself, which surely should count for something. He's more vile than I ever thought, truly. Tomorrow my whole agenda is off the plate. I'm going straight to my attorney's office to address this fully. There are dozens of witnesses and character witnesses who could attest to what a controlling and abusive man Derek is, but of course these are people who are all afraid to come forward; afraid to get involved because many of them live close to him. In any case, just before my doorbell rang I was feeding the kids and heating up some spaghetti for myself. As soon as I read what the summons was about, my appetite took a holiday and my stomach was quivering as if someone had kicked me with a steel boot. I wanted to grab my babies and hold them to me as tightly as I could; I wanted to squeeze them so hard that they would just melt back into me and be safe. And yet they had no idea, as they sat there, eating their chicken nuggets and apples. For a moment I just stood in the kitchen with the papers dangling from my hand, not sure what to do: what was I doing, again? Getting milk? No, laundry. No, was I eating? Oh, I don't know. But soon, if I don't get it together pretty fast, my kids will start to worry. "What is it, mommy?" Dillon will ask. And then, "What, mommy?" Ella will echo in the wake of her big brother. I couldn't have that. So even though I wanted to panic, to cry and scream, to rock in a corner holding my knees, I didn't do any of that. Instead, I went to the living room with my kids, and tickled them. And hugged them. And spun them around. And just tried to keep myself together even though my mind was in a completely different place. So now I'm telling you because I want to tell someone but I also don't want to get on the phone and panic everyone tonight. I just want to say here, the one time. And then I'll go sit down on the couch, and feel a bit numb until it's time to go to bed. And if I can sleep, that will be mercy. And when tomorrow comes, I'll go to the fight, all claws fully out. Wednesday is the next court hearing about the Order of Protection. Since Derek hasn't been served, I don't think he'll be there, but given his latest scheme of lies, maybe he will be. Who knows. All I know is that tomorrow I have a new mission. Protecting my kids. Again. And just when I was about to relax a little. Shame on me. Until next time, I'll keep you posted, dear friend...

Settling in...

Well my babies and I have been "free" for over a month, and I guess we should be settled by now. And in many respects we are: we have a home, food, clothes, a school, and we've done the round of meeting up with old friends and loved ones and sharing the good, if not tumultuous, news. Even so, I'm still looking for work and also trying to get my husband served with papers, both for the order of protection and for the divorce, but he's deliberately avoiding this process. He doesn't show up to court, which doesn't surprise me, but I know him: he checks public records regularly, and I'm sure he knows full well what the court dates are and exactly what I've done with regards to filing for divorce. If I can't get him served, it makes divorcing much more difficult, so that's a bit of a bur in my side at the moment. He's stayed scarce, though. He hasn't rushed over and camped outside of the house, or left creepy letters in my mailbox or anything, but he did send me roses twice. The first time the card simply had a mysterious date on it, which after much thought I realized was the date of our first kiss. The second time, the card said, "I will always love you." I can see what's happening here, and anyone about to leave an abuser should be prepared -- he's trying the lovey-dovey route to get me to re-think my actions and start up a dialogue. I haven't responded at all, nor will I. But here's the rub -- I know how this works, because I know how HE works -- if I don't respond to this soft sell, then his sentimentality will turn to anger and he will distort his sadness into rage and convince himself that I'm the monster and he's the victim. He'll turn me into a bitch who deserves only badness, and that's when the months of venom stretch into years of bitterness, and he will vow to himself to get me one way or the other. I know, because he's gone through this with his ex-girlfriend, and has said to me over the years all of the things he thinks she deserves for taking his daughter away from him. I used to say, "But you wouldn't really want any harm to come to her, would you, because she's your daughter's mother." That never seemed to phase him. This weekend I watched several shows on MSNBC about murders committed by spouses or children who were abused -- some "only" verbally and mentally -- until one day they snapped and killed the abuser. Now they sit in prison, guilty of a sin that is so tragic, and that somehow gave the abuser the final point, since the victim has lost their lives as well. As I watched each one, I'm serious when I say that I really and truly believe that I've saved my children from a devistating path, where something like that could one day have happened, and even if it never did, the sadness and anger that these people felt because of the years of abuse they endured had overtaken their lives like a cancer until there was nothing left for them but anger, resentment and frustration. I feel certain that my son, at the very least, would have either gotten so down on himself that he could have one day been suicidal, or he would have become so filled with repressed anger that he would have one day retaliated against his father, and that's when violence really gets out of hand. I know these are all hyptheticals, but as I watched these shows, I could just see my life and my kids lives ten years down the road, and I was SO grateful that we're out of that man's grip, I just can't express it. I guess the message here is to anyone who has children in this situation and is hesitating to leave. Even without knowing your specific situation, I can say that no one can benefit or even really exist with a controlling, abusive person lording over them. It will take its toll on your children, and on you. There's no easy way to leave, but there's no easy way to stay, either. You only get one life, and that's not a life, is it. Even with my unknown income and job status, my children and I are so happy to spend time together at home, because for the first time, we can relax. At mealtimes, my son used to literally look over his shoulder several times while eating, and ask me, "Is daddy here?" And I did the same thing -- I used to constantly get up and look out the window toward the gate to see if he was coming because I was always so on edge. How crazy is that! Of course I don't miss it. When my husband tries this sad, pathetic tactic of missing me, etc., yes, somehow it makes me sad, too, but not because I miss him. Just because I don't like being attached to any action that makes someone else so devistated, even him. And I know that as necessary as it was, our leaving did devistate him. Let's face it, if he had known how horrible he really was, he surely wouldn't have done it?? But in the end it doesn't matter. You have to leave, it's the only way to breath. And we're breathing fresh air for the first time. Until next time, dear friend...

My own Independence Day

This weekend our country celebrates its independence, but as the fireworks crackle and ribbons of red, white and blue splash across the tv screen, I'm giving thanks to my own new-found independence. I left Derek on June 8. Now June is over, and am I completely on my feet? No, not really. It looks like it on the surface: we're in our own condo with our own things, I have a car, and the kids are in a good school. But I still don't have a job, and the weekdays are spent between my attorney's office filing divorce papers and the court, sending yet another set of protection order papers through the mail in the vain hope of getting Derek served with what is now the second court date. It's not done; there are a lot of details still waiting to be resolved. Derek may not just fade into the past like I would wish him to; he might just show up in court and fight me. I don't like it, but the truth is on my side and I'll be ready. Since we left Derek, I've been both in crisis mode and in holiday mode, coping with some serious stress and yet rejoicing at the same time. It's a strange feeling, but you learn to live with it. I've been eating way too much of all the things I could never eat with Derek, and I've been visiting with old friends, all of whom were off limits to me in the old life. Now that July is here though I really have to face the future head on, and start getting onto my own two feet. As I embark on a new life, I'm bathed in the comfort of how happy it is just to be home with my children. I know I've said it before, but weekends used to be the long, dreaded stretch of time that I had to somehow fill with the kids outside of the house, because Derek was home resting and absolute silence was required at all times. Weekends used to be a nightmare, and now they're so relaxing. Now, Saturdays are what they should be, what they used to be for me as a kid. My son watches his favorite cartoons on the couch, whereas before he was confined strictly to his room with the door closed, he and Ella play and wrestle and laugh and chase each other. We all did a Billy Blanks workout video in the living room, again, something that we NEVER could have done before. The kids drew pictures and colored, also a new thing for us. And breakfast, or any other meal, is so nice. They help me set the table and unload the dishwasher, and we all sit together and actually TALK with each other, imagine that! Before the kids weren't allowed to speak at the table, and meals were a time when Derek just screamed at us for a hundred small infractions. Now, yes, we are FREE from that oppressive, chest-tightening life. Dillon is so much more relaxed too -- he no longer has the aggression that was beginning to fester within him. Yesterday I took Dillon to his first live show, Curious George. We had such a great time, and I guess it's just another example of how in some ways -- the most important ways -- how quickly life can stabilize if you never forget who you are inside. Then when you finally do leave -- and it's very hard to leave -- but when you finally do, you know who you are and what you want your life to be like. And it comes almost immediately. There are so many moments when I'll be doing something and I can still hear the echoes of Derek's voice screaming at me for it, but that voice will fade. Even if I have to face him in court, the horrible memory of living beneath him will fade. So happy Independence Day to me, Dillon and Ella. Until next time, dear friend...

Old fears, new fears

Well for that brief moment this week that I felt guilty over hurting Derek, he just eased my pain a bit. After all of his initial crying, sobbing, begging, pleading and beseeching me to come back to him, now that the protection order is in effect and he knows that I'm not going to be dissuaded, his true colors are coming back out. He sent me an email saying that everything I said are lies, that I won't be able to remain in our home, that it won't be as easy as I think, and that he will fight me this time (it's the second time I've left him, but the last time was years ago and I still loved him then). So my court date regarding the protection order is soon, and I have to wait on pins and needles to see if he turns up in court. I really hope he doesn't, but if he does, I'm ready to face him and whatever fire I have to run through to emerge from this victorious. When I was with Derek, I feared leaving, and I did it. Now I fear his retaliation, but I'll face it. He's a bully, and most bullies are really cowards when you put them to the test. My old fears have been replaced by new ones, some real and others imagined. I fear that I won't find a job that I like (I've been trying for over a year, so my fears are really founded!) I fear that no one will hire me and I'll go broke and my children will suffer; I fear that he will get visitation, I fear, I fear...and yet the kids and I are so much happier in our daily lives; we laugh together, and play, and Dillon is so much calmer, as am I. In only two weeks, Dillon has stopped being whiny and crying at the drop of a hat, he listens better, he's overly helpful around the house, and he's just a happier little boy all around. It's incredible. Children are wonderful at getting you to live in the moment, and that's been a great therapy for me, keeping me from brooding or wallowing. Both Dillon and little Ella keep me real. Today they spent twenty minutes walking around in my shoes, and I loved it. They got spanked for that before, and screamed at. Derek was always looking for that confrontation, he was always looking for a fight. Now we have pillow fights, and tickle fights, and fights over who gets to lick the yogurt lid. Before, when Dillon wasn't allowed to hug his sister goodnight or even say goodnight and wave to her without Derek getting angry, now we all go into Ella's room and read a story, and then Dillon hugs her and tells her to have a nice sleep. He's part of the family now, imagine that. It's just the three of us, without the bitter, venomous dark cloud that hung over us before. It's sad that it was that way, but it's wonderful that it's not that way anymore. So I still have fears. The sad Derek has gone away and the angry Derek has promised me a fight. I stress about not having a job and not finding one. I don't know what's going to happen about a great many things. But I do know one thing: when we're in our home now, we're in the moment and we're happy. My children are truly happy. For whatever it means, Dillon hasn't asked about his father once. That's speaks volumes. Until next time, dear friend...

Bittersweet victories...

Well it's true that since we've left and we're on our own, our home life is really quite wonderful. Tonight before Ella's bedtime, we all piled into her bed and tickled each other, we took turns making "razberries" on each other's tummies, and then we read a bedtime story. It was so wonderful, and it was something we could never, never do before. Dillon is so caring, and he's been proud to be able to help around the house, to show Ella how to brush her teeth, and how to fold her little shirts. Even after just one week, we've all relaxed and now when I pick him up from school and I say we're going home, instead of crying he says, "Yaaay, home!" Seriously! So that's all fantastic, and I give thanks every single day, sometimes hourly for it. It was a long time coming, but I went to battle and I won. Not only are we out of a home with Derek's oppressive and controlling iron hand, but we are somewhere safe, happy, and we can build a life. Today I had a first step victory in that a judge granted my request for an order of protection, meaning that Derek can't have any contact with me or the children and he can't come back to our home. It's temporary until the hearing, but it's in place, and so it's a victory for us, to be sure. One step at a time. I'm doing it. It took four hours to get it done today, spending the day at the court house, filling out paper work, writing a statment and then going through a lengthy interview process. I kept it together and I did it. FOR THE SECOND TIME. And I never want to do it again. Never. I kept it together, and I did it. But as I was leaving to begin the wait until the afternoon to hear whether or not the judge granted it, the weight of it all overtook me and I started to cry like a little girl, walking down the street, sniffling and swiping at my nose with my sleeve as though my ice cream had just fallen into the gutter. But it wasn't my ice cream, it was my life. My life was down there in that gutter, and I had just thrown it there, purposefully and irrevocably. At least that's how it felt. Oh I knew the whole time that it was what I had to do, but what was hurting me so much, what was causing my chest to heave with a painful heaviness was the realization that I had just hurt someone else unbearably. It was Derek, I know, but however horrible he was to us, I know he was and is so sick that he will still feel the full brunt of the pain of our leaving, however cruel he was, however spiteful, however badly his words stung, for whatever he did, I realized, all in a moment walking down that sidewalk to my car, that it never feels good to hurt someone else LIKE THAT. Even Derek. Today, I broke him. Today I won. And it was as awful and empty a victory as you could imagine, even though it was just. For the rest of the day, I vacillated from feeling strong, optimistic, brave and grateful one minute to feeling SO sad, despondent even, and so very mean and empty. I feel for anyone, even Derek, who will go through the pain that I know he will go through, and it doesn't feel good to know that I made it happen. On the other hand, I really didn't make it happen. He did. He made it happen with every spiteful, venemous word he spat at me, with every nasty, angry insult he slung, with every harsh hand he raised to me or my son, with every slam of a door, with every scream, with every nightmarish, controlling, ritual, with all of it, HE -- and not I -- MADE it happen. Today is my victory, although I'm not fully there yet. The order is temporary. But it's a small victory, nonetheless. Even so, I don't feel proud, I don't feel boastful, or joyous, I feel somber, like a part of me has died. The old part, that had to hear she was stupid, selfish, dumb, a liar, an idiot, and all the rest of it. And something else. The part of me that might have been, if Derek could only have found the good that was in him. I guess today I mourn for all that should have been. But that never could be. So that's it. I'm okay. It's just strange. I'm overwhelmingly grateful that we are protected. And I never lose sight of that; I never lost sight of those things that I must do in order to keep myself focused on a good life for us. But today was bittersweet. I guess that's all I wanted to say. Until next time, dear friend...

We're outta there!!!!

Okay we made it! That's the bottom line. We got out, but not without a fight. He tried to stop us. He took the children's passports and I thought I was really, seriously stuck. He cried and sobbed. He feigned a heart attack. He told all of his friends and they thought he was going to have a breakdown. He begged and pleaded that things would be different. But he had the passports! Through several hours of convincing from his friends and myself by phone, he handed over the passports so that we could get back to our other home, and to what I knew to be safety. He said he was sure it was temporary, that we would work it out. I didn't feel safe until we were back in the States. For the next several days, he pleaded on the phone, texts and emails that things would be different. But I know they never would be. He tried to bribe me, sending emails asking about the Ph.D program that I wanted to take, suddenly, when he never had any interest before. Meanwhile my friends and family have rallied around us, helping us to get our lives stablized. It's not easy, and I want to tell you more over the next week about the torrent of conflicting emotions that ensue when you actually do leave, but I keep telling myself, as I really do know, that this is the only way to protect me and my children from further damage and harm. Regardless of whatever challenges lay before me, never again will he call me, "moron," "stupid," "idiot," "selfish," "a liar," "a dumb redneck," and "a cheap whore" for living off of his money. Never again will he knock me in the head, scream at the top of his lungs at me, throw things at me, ignore me, threaten to leave me on the street with no money, and control every aspect of my life, including who I see and when. And especially, never, never again will he kick Dillon, pinch him, slap him, keep him confined to his room like a prisoner, call him degrading names like, "sissy," "faggot," and, "lazy bum," to name a few. Never again will he jerk his little body around, never again will he scream at him or hurt him, mentally, physically, or otherwise. And the same goes for little Ella, who he was just starting to treat like that. So yes, we are out of there. Yes I'm glad and relieved. But I'm also sad, and I know there are many challenges and unanswered questions about our lives now. I'm afraid -- afraid that I won't be able to do this on my own, even though a small voice inside of me says I know better. I'm concerned about money, of course. I have no job, even though I have abilities and experience. I guess I have to take it one step at a time. First, and foremost, we are safe. But the fight is not over yet. We're not divorced. So breathe, I tell myself. Childcare is horribly expensive, so breathe. I don't have all the answers, but just breathe. It's not easy, but I'm trying to stay positive. I AM so relieved to be out of that toxic environment. On a happy note, I would love to tell you some of the things that we've already enjoyed as soon as we were free to be "normal:" Dillon and Ella play with their toys on the living room floor, and it's great. Both of them help set the breakfast table; we talk while we're eating together, and I love it. Dillon hugs Ella, and takes such good care of her, we sing songs whenever we feel like it and we're not worried that we'll be yelled at, and the other night when Ella was in bed, Dillon came into my room and watched a movie in my big bed while I unpacked. It was SO NICE to just be. To just walk around the house and not worry that we've moved a pillow, or talked above a whisper. Since we got here, we leave our bedroom doors open, something that Dillon asked if we could do. I know that speaks volumes because he was always made to stay in his room with the door closed, "all by myself," as he used to say. Now he goes where he wants. We are relaxed in our own home, and that's the biggest difference. I know that's a blessing that I could never put a price on. So there it is -- we're free! More to come, though, dear friend, if you're still around to listen, I'll keep checking in to tell you how we're getting on. The job for me is just beginning, and I want to share it with you. You're so encouraging, and keep me strong, and yes, I'm afraid of the future right now. Happy and afraid at the same time. But you help me to stay focused and not give in to fear. Thank you for that. So until next time, dear friend...

The countdown's on...

Holy crap I've never snuck around this much in my entire life; there's been so much preparing to do, knowing that I only get one chance to do it right and then we're outta here! Yesterday there was a birthday party for one of Dillon's little friends. I told Derek that we would be a bit later than usual, sometime after 6. He didn't seem to care, but of course, when we walked through the door at 6:35, he was insane with rage that I hadn't been home earlier to fix his dinner. He screamed for a good half hour as I got the kids showered, dressed and into bed. Thank God they'd already had dinner at the party. With each rant, scream, insult, curse and hurtful phrase, I secretly thanked him for making it easier; for confirming in every insult that I'm doing the right thing; for reminding me with every bellowing scream, of all the times in the last four years that I've prayed that we could leave. And now we really are. There's not much time left. I'm still nervous, but I'm very focused on what I need to do, and the countdown's on! Until next time, dear friend...

Steel Magnolia...

As you know the big day is coming, and the more I make a mad dash for the car in the morning carrying some secret stash to my friend's house, the more my nerves frazzle. As I mentioned before. Also as I mentioned, I have some (only some, mind you) guilt about how devastated he will be when we go; how for him his life will seem like it's over. So to cure myself, I just went back and read my very first blog, and then I read the second, and I kept reading, feeling so much pain for this person I was reading about, and so much contempt for this bastard who was mistreating her. It's amazing how quickly the heart can shroud itself and the mind can erase the details of painful events, so that we're able to move on, and as I read, it all came rushing back, just how abusive this guy is. Maybe that sounds crazy to you; that I could possibly "forget," but it's not really that. I know what he is, but some of the details, the exact phrases, or the reasons he went into a rage, fade with time. Particularly motivating is when I read anything about my children being affected by this man. It brought tears to my eyes. Then I went back and read all of the comments to those posts, and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude at the support, and especially to those of you who've shared your own stories with me of similar situations from which you've escaped. Very soon my children and I will join that group. But in these final days, your thoughts and comments are proving invaluable to me. Thank you, so much. Until next time, dear friend...

Naughty butterflies...

There are only a handful of days left now before we're on a plane. In preparation, I have to do a lot of sneaking around, pre-packing things that he won't notice, or that I hope he won't notice; copying documents that I will need later, documents that it would otherwise seem strange for me to be copying; rehearsing the day in my mind, exactly how it will go and the order of things; it's all making me so nervous. I can see that he suspects absolutely nothing, which is extremely good, but it also underscores just how absolutely shocked and utterly devastated he will be. Because I know that he doesn't know himself, and he won't understand, I know what this will do to him, and I hate doing that to anyone, least of all the father of my children. I do keep ever foremost in my mind, however, the venomous, degrading and hateful things he's said to me and my son, the horrible treatment and the spirit-crushing rules under which we are forced to live and I always conclude that I'm doing the right thing, believe me. That won't change. I'm moving forward every day. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm getting really f---ing nervous, about the day itself, and about what he will want to do to me afterwards. Yes, I know I have to just push through the pain, push through the nerves and get on with it, and I am. But it's here talking to you that I bare my weakness for a moment. I hope when I get out of this that it will have inspired someone else to do the same. Until next time, dear friend...

Mean makes it easier...

There's not much time left before we go, and since Derek is being true to his nature and back to having his daily tirades, as horrible as it is, it almost makes it easier to plan all the things I've planned in secret. Each time he calls me an idiot, a moron, a horrible person, and all the rest of it, I think, "Good, go ahead, you're just confirming and reaffirming for me that I'm so glad we're leaving!" Yesterday I met him for breakfast as usual, following a phone episode where he screamed at me for scheduling the housekeeper on a day that he claims I did not clear with him. He was irate, telling me I'm selfish, unorganized, don't have my shit together, I'm the most idiotic person he's ever met, and on and on. I got to hear this as I was driving to meet him for breakfast. Once I got there, I sat down and he was complaining about the service today; how he had no water yet, no toast, and how the staff moved like "dumb monkeys who should go back to the trees." "Should I get some toast?" I offered, since it's at a self-serve bar. "How dumb are you?" he snapped, "The toaster isn't working, you idiot. Do you see toast here? You think I'm so dumb I couldn't get it myself?" This is the kind of baiting that still stings horribly, but with only days to go I think, "Oh yeah, you're a real jerk, alright, I'm SO glad we're leaving!" Still, it's hard to remain silent and this time I couldn't. "No," I countered, "I was trying to be HELPFUL." I said with emphasis. "Someone is trying to be NICE to you. But I know you don't care about that." "No, I don't care. You know what -- get out of my sight. Sit somewhere else. You make sick." he said, waving his hand dismissively at me. I SO wanted to get up and leave, but I knew that would spark a firestorm of anger that could cause me problems during this last critical week, so I stayed put, just taking it. Somehow we got through breakfast and he moved on to other topics, some normal and others peppered with comments like, "What are you saying, who thinks like that, please, just stop talking." That night, when I was making dinner, Derek descended from his lair upstairs to come down and scream at the kids for a bit. They were both eating, and before he was even off of the stairs, he screamed across the entire room for Dillon to sit up straight. Then he screamed at Ella to stop making such a mess and that she's a pig (she's only 1 1/2). Then he screamed at me that I was just standing there doing nothing about all of these horrible infractions, that I'm clueless, useless, etc. etc. Whenever Dillon would turn his head around to look at him as he screamed, Derek would scream for him to turn around and mind his own business. He worked himself into such a frenzy of anger toward me over all of this that he said, "You can just stop what you're dong, I'm not eating any of it! Thank you, Stacey, I've completely lost my appetite!" I continued cooking his dinner anyway, and served it to him on the couch as usual. But he sat there like a two-year-old, refusing to even look at it. "I told you I'm not eating it. You can take it away." This, coming from someone who screams at me about being wasteful. Except for the screaming at me and the kids, I actually found his display ridiculous and exactly like a naughty child. He's so immature, it just mystified me. I left the plate of food on the coffee table all night, until he fell asleep and finally I decided that it was no good to actually waste it, so I put it away. At that point he awoke, still angry and not speaking to me, and I sat in silence on the couch (on my designated couch, that is), dutifully watching as he flipped the channels around at will. Finally he retreated back upstairs without a word to me. Later, when I went to bed, he was back to "normal," trying to tickle me and poke me, much like a schoolboy who has a crush but doesn't know how to tell the girl, so he pulls her hair and teases her. That's what Derek does. He tries to make up by being playful. Yuk. Earlier, as I was cleaning up the remains of his dinner, I tried to imagine the night very soon when it would be the very last dinner that I made him. I wonder then if he'll miss it. In the midst of his tirade last night, he had declared again, that I'm "no good" for him, that he doesn't need me, and that things had to change. Wish granted. Until next time, dear friend...

Bridges burned...

In spite of everything I know to be true about Derek being abusive, I also know that when we leave, he will feel absolutely betrayed, deceived and wronged in every way, and it will only serve to confirm for him that no one, women especially, can be trusted. When I think back on the last 4 years, I am reminded of the many relationships in Derek's life that have ended badly, and how many bridges have been burned. With each one, he felt horribly wronged, and viciously blamed the other party, when in truth I could see even then, that the only common denominator to all of it was Derek. At first I mentioned it to him: "You seem to make a lot of enemies in your life," I said, "and having these horrible blows with people should be the rare exception in your life, not the rule." "Life is hard," he countered, "and people can never be trusted. They'll all screw you in the end if you let them. You have to come on strong if you want respect." Of course he couldn't be more wrong. It's sad, really, how far off track he got in his life, but as with all of us, whatever you believe is what happens. And for Derek, everyone is an enemy sooner or later. He pushes people until they're up against a wall and there's no option but to respond in some way, and when they do, he points his finger: "Ah, ha, see! I was right about them! Look at how they act! Look at what they said! I knew it!" or similar. Anyway, here's the list of people, in four short years, that I have personally seen go from friends to bitter enemies (in Derek's world -- many of these people don't feel the same; they're just glad to have him gone): 1. His business partner in Germany; 2. His mother and father; 3. His only sibling, a brother; 4. His best friend and the friend's wife in Germany; 5. Our wedding coordinator; 6. My OB/GYN from my first pregnancy; 7. Our first landlord; 8. His ex-girlfriend and mother of a child with him; 9. A former employer; 10. A former realtor; 11. A former client; 12. A former office landlord; 13. Another former housing landlord; 14. The current landlord (that's a work in progress); 15. His project manager (another work in progress); 16. His banker; 17. Several of my relatives, although to their great credit, they are as cheery as ever toward him; 18. One of my highschool friends; 19. Our current (strike that, as of today our FORMER) housekeeper; 20. Our former next-door neighbor (the police even got involved in that one, as well as in others). That's all I can think of right now. But that's twenty people in just over four years, an average of five relationships gone wrong per year! Now I ask again, WHO is the common denominator here?? Well I think I've illustrated my point. Very soon, I will be added to this esteemed list of mostly all very nice people (at least I thought they were very nice). I will be added to this list of enemies and I guess I should be honored: after all I'm in good company. But still, I don't like making enemies. I don't like being out in the world knowing that someone else is out there wishing me ill. But it's unavoidable. So onward I shall go. Until next time, dear friend...

The mind of the abuser...

The time is coming near that I will remove my children and myself from this sad and horrible situation. The closer that day gets, the greater roller coaster of emotions I experience in the course of a day. My decision never changes, but it's still very hard to process all the feelings that bubble up from one's self conscious once you finally decide to leave. Any act of kindness that he does show, however minimal or small, swells me with guilt, however those small acts are always in the middle of a day that is also filled with nastiness, name-calling, and utter disrespect; I never lose sight of that fact. Yesterday he came home in the middle of the afternoon and demanded to know who had been sitting on the couch. I didn't answer, as we'd had this "Who sat on the couch" conversation before, which I think is utterly ridiculous since there are other people who live in this house besides Derek. At any rate, he was irate because one of the pillows wasn't put back properly and that's how he knew. He screamed at me and when I didn't engage him, he threw the pillow across the room into my face. Then he threw another one, that zoomed past my computer screen and knocked over some files. I got up and went to the kitchen. Not getting the results he was after, he followed me, screaming that if I wasn't going to give him an answer then he wasn't going to give me money any more, and I could just "rot." Then he yelled at me to pick up the mess (that he had made). Later that day, when dinner was over and the kids were in bed, he was dancing around the kitchen and trying to tickle me, like nothing had ever happened. A little later still, we were watching tv and I commented on the program, to which he gritted his teeth in anger, closed his eyes and in pure frustration said, "Do you ever shut up? Do you have to comment on everything? What you're saying isn't even relevant. My God are you an idiot." A few minutes later, he was talking about this big house we should move into and how great it would be. That's how he is all day. Well, on the good days, I mean. On the good days, he has these jovial moments interwoven into the abusive episodes. I mean my gosh, this man threw things at me, screaming at the top of his lungs, and for him it's all in the course of a normal day. He apparently doesn't give it another thought. Apparently that's just how his mind works. So in the course of any given day, I'm supposed to be -- what -- happy, then sad, then scared, then happy again, then guilty, then hate myself, then happy -- I guess. That's how it was for the longest time, until I couldn't be happy during the "happy" bits anymore, because I knew for certain that it was only a matter of time before the next bomb would explode. It always did. And it always would, I know that now. When you pick a person like this, it takes a little while to see the pattern, and not excuse the single act away for whatever reason. It takes a little time to realize that everything in the home revolves around his moods, and eggshells are the only foundation beneath your feet. The pillow out of place that triggered his recent rage was the catalyst he was looking for, never mind the fact that as soon as I saw his car coming through the gate, I scurried around like a scared rabbit, closing the drapes, checking that the counters were clean, putting my things away, turning everything off, and trying to find something "approved" to be doing, meaning housework. It's insanity. But once you see the patterns of how the abusive mind works, the light can break through. The time is drawing near now. I'm very nervous for our safety, but I'm trying to be brave. Until next time, dear friend...

Freedom of potatoes and pork chops

Hello friend, I've been quite busy lately with so much that I want to tell you about. Since our "holiday," Derek has been somewhat tame, with a minimal amount of his usual terrorizing. It's strange timing, since I'm resolved to at last take action. I know he doesn't suspect anything, but my conscious is playing guilty games with me. In any case, although his moods wax and wane, he always comes back around to his horrible, nasty self in time, and since his flu is subsiding, he seems to be getting some of his fighting spirit back. I've committed to a date now. Plane tickets have been bought and other people are involved, so there's no going back. I wanted it that way. With time running out until the big day, I re-play the last five years in my mind and see just how much of myself I've lost in this short period of time; how many freedoms I've surrendered, little by little, until I'm changed. Every day, I'm a nervous wreck in my own home. I can't sit on the couch because when he comes home he screams out, "WAS SOMEONE ON THIS COUCH? WAS SOMEONE ON THIS COUCH??!!" I can't open the curtains because he screams that they are out of place and, "WHO TOLD YOU TO OPEN THE CURTAINS?! HMMM?? WHO TOLD YOU, STACEY! IF YOU OPEN THEM, AT LEAST PUT THEM BACK PROPERLY, YOU IDIOT! HONESTLY, YOU HAVE NO FINE FEELING FOR THESE THINGS, YOU'RE JUST SUCH A DUMB PERSON, MY GOD!" Whatever I'm doing, I stare at the gate and when I see his car coming, I drop everything, my heart pounds and I rush around turning off the a/c, turning off the television, getting the kids into their respective rooms and shushing them up, and even little Dillon knows the drill when daddy comes home. Yesterday I visited a girl-friend's house for lunch, and it really hit home just how insane my environment is. I realized I've forgottn how to just BE. How to just sit down and relax, how not to look over my shoulder every minute. How not to enjoy a meal or even a soda at home without furiously hiding the wrappers and cups underneath the rest of the garbage so that he won't see it. So many freedoms, I've lost. On our recent holiday, we went to the grocery store and I would wait in the car per our standard procedure. Ella stayed with me, too, and this time he took little Dillon with him. We park and, as he always does now, he says, "Do you want the window down or up?" He asks me this because even though we're in 90 degree weather, he wants to turn the engine off and take the keys out of the ignition FOR ME. Having endured this ludicrous dance a thousand times before, this time my patience was thin: "No thank you," I say, "I will decide if I want the windows up or down, the radio on or off, or anything else when you aren't in the car. Guess what -- I don't need you to decide that for me, and these things are not within your control when you're not even in the car, got it?" After yet another day of his insults, his nasty looks, his screaming in the car and making the windows vibrate, and his degrading and belittling comments, the chemicals sloshing around in his brain are now telling him to be playful, God knows why. So in spite of my remarks, he takes Dillon out and jabs him playfully in the ribs and Dillon giggles. The attention is so rare, it always takes a split second for Dillon to realize that Derek is playing and not angry. He shoots a quick glance my way and I smile, "Oh daddy's teasing you," I laugh, so that Dillon will be okay to go with him. Dillon laughs and waves, "Bye, bye, mommy," he says, "I love you!" I watch them walk toward the store for what I imagine to be one of the last times, and I notice an advert on a grocery cart that's parked nearby. It's a picture of a pork chop and potatoes and it says, "Taste Freedom." Now I have no idea what pork chops or potatoes have to do with freedom, and I guess I don't care. I'm just taking it as a sign. Ha, okay literally a sign. But a sign, right. The car window is down, and the afternoon heat has given way to the cool, fresh air of evening blowing by. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs and picturing it: "Taste freedom." I can. I can taste it. It's getting closer. And I'm going to be ready. So now we're back home, and I haven't forgotten the wise message in those potatoes and pork chops. I'm tasting freedom. I can taste the freedoms I've lost, but for me, the loss is only an illusion. My spirit is still there, and I know who I really am; I've always known, and that's why these years married to Derek has really just been a series of unraveling the truth of what's going on, of what's being done to me and my children, and now the truth will set us free. I've committed to a date. Tickets have been bought. Other people are involved. And there's no turning back. I'll keep you posted. Until next time, dear friend...

Survived the holiday...

We made it back from vacation, and in many ways I'm so glad to be "home." There's so much that I will miss about this place...the warmth of the people, the slow pace of the culture, the way everyone always has a, "Good morning, mistress," or a, "How are you today?" greeting as they pass on the street. There's a charm here and a politeness, and a small-town closeness that I will truly miss. But I have to discard sentimentality for mental health and remain focused. Traveling went as you might expect if you know Derek a little bit by now: he was stressed out, and even through the foggy haze of an illness found the fortitude to call me an idiot and moron on several occasions. He reiterated once that if I don't like the way he is I can leave. He complained about what I ordered to eat, and when I needed him to watch Ella on the plane so that I could use the bathroom. He complained if Dillon said a word, often cutting him off mid-sentence before he even knew what Dillon wanted. There was the requisite amount of pinching, jerking, shoving and intimidating until Dillon would cry, and the usual bouts of my interference to protect him, which always led to the "idiot" and "moron" and other names, and so we went around full circle like that until we eventually made it home. Still, there's lots to do, Derek is happy to be busy with work once again, and the kids are in school so I can focus a bit on what I need to do. There's a long weekend ahead of me, keeping Derek and Dillon separated as much as possible. Until next time, dear friend...

Hiding things...

I never thought I'd be in a relationship where I would hide things. I never had to before. In fact, I've always been rather an open book, speaking my mind and living my life more openly than privately. So it amazes me in the time I've been with Derek, the things I've learned to hide, just to avoid the extra battering I would receive otherwise. Of course there are the big things, like my true feelings about him now, and my plans to end this situation, but I'm actually talking about the little things; things so inconsequential that it's ludicrous they should be the subject of debate. But -- as anyone married to a control-freak knows, control isn't about some things, it's about EVERYTHING. For example, after I drop my son at school, I typically get a soda at Subway on the way home. A Diet Coke. It's a small pleasure in my day and yes I know it's not good for me but so what, geez. In the beginning, I threw my empty soda cup in the kitchen garbage, as you think is the normal thing to do. But when Derek comes home, he conducts an inspection of the house: walking around slowly, looking for anything out of place: a hair on the floor, a throw pillow straightened incorrectly, the tv remote at the wrong angle from the way he left it -- a hundred little things, and no matter how many I memorize, he finds more to keep me on my toes. So that first morning long ago when I learned just how ridiculous it had gotten, Derek came home and threw something in the kitchen garbage under the sink. For the record I'd like to say that I don't know what it was because I DON'T CARE. I'm normal, you see. So Derek threw this whatever-it-was into the bin and slammed the cabinet closed with a crash. "My God," he said, "So THAT'S where all the money goes, is that it?! Hmmm??!!!" I looked up from my laundry folding to see what on earth he's on about this time. "You are really something," he starts in, "Unbelievable. Ha. Some piece of work, you are. What a spoiled, selfish person. What a clueless, spoiled, little bitch." Of course it was after several more minutes of this before I learned that my crime was purchasing a Diet Coke and the evidence was the cup in the trash. So now, as ridiculous as it is, I drink the Diet Coke on the way home, I slow down prior to getting there and toss the ice out of the window, and then I stop at a public bin near the house and stash the cup. Yep. That's what I do. Really. The same procedure is done for many other little things as well, like the occasional cookie I buy from Subway, or a dvd on sale for Dillon -- that gets hidden in the closet. It's amazing how many things I hide as a matter of course now. Derek's anger and house of regulations has me jumping through hoops to keep one step ahead. And that's the point -- I'm STILL never one step ahead. He will always find the one thing that I did not hide, did not clean, did not do properly, or whatever. I have to go now. I've finished my soda. And I see a nice anonymous bin I can throw it in. Should be safe. Whew! Until next time, dear friend...

Happy Mother's Day

I think I'm too mentally exhausted to write about the litany of attacks that I've sustained this weekend...suffice it to say that if I were to believe everything that my husband told me (which, thank God, I don't), I would now feel very certain that I am a, "moron," "idiot," "selfish bitch," "manipulative bitch," and all around "horrible person." Oh and also a "total pig." Right. Can't forget total pig. On Saturday when I came downstairs to get into the car he said I looked like "a cheap whore" and how could I leave the house that way. Ugh. Look it doesn't take much for a woman to feel a bit self conscious about her looks, and although I was wearing the only jeans that fit at the moment, paired with a t-shirt that he picked out, I instantly hated it. Incredibly upstairs I marched to put on exactly what he instructed. I didn't feel any better but it didn't matter anymore. We're still on vacation and I try to avoid conflict in front of the kids. Even little Ella, who is only 20 months old, remarks to me whenever she hears her daddy screaming at her brother Dillon, "Mommy, brobber cwyin?" And that's the worst part of it all. The way he treats Dillon. Today at brunch twelve of us sat for over three hours waiting for each course to be served, and my kids were stellar. They didn't complain once. But it's never good enough for Derek. At the slightest movement from Dillon, Derek pushes, shoves, pinches him, pulls his hair, his ears, his nose, whatever he can grab onto. He's an absolute monster. And that's just how he is in public. My father said he looked over a few times and wanted to just deck him. What an angry guy, he said. And it's always when we leave that he unleashes his full fury on us. It starts in the car with the screaming, at me and Dillon and sometimes even little Ella. If I don't respond, he keeps going, slinging the insults about my incompetence as a human being, hoping to get a rise out of me. If I respond, he really takes it up a notch, threatening me with everything from leaving me and the kids on the street "where you and those brats belong," to more ominous things like, "You will not survive this marraige, Stacey, I'm telling you!" I want to urge anyone reading this who is in an abusive relationship, even one that is strictly verbally abusive at this point, to get out. Get realistic and listen to your gut that tells you that this person is not right, get a plan and then get out. Especially if you have children. Dillon is dealing with this in whatever way he can, but he's getting too old to fool anymore or to keep him feeling safe. He sees the injustice of this man acting so horribly and yet getting away with it. Also, I have found over the four yeas of our marriage, that the longer they can get away with this kind of behavior, the worse the behavior gets. Derek's treatment of us gets worse every day. There's really no break anymore between his outbursts. Between rages is just a low, steady stream of rude comments and nasty responses to anything I say. It will never change with these types. Never. Please follow my advice. I'm looking forward to the day that I can write to you with happier news; the day the sun breaks through. And it will... Until next time, dear friend...

Afternoon battles...

Ahhhhh, Calgon.....ahhhhhh, York Peppermint Patty....ahhhhh, someone, take me away to some kind of zen moment like that....please.... After this morning's lovely stand-off at the breakfast cafe (see "Breakfast Battles"), we eventually made our way to Target. Now I'm not whining here, but I just want to establish that being a mom, for me at least, is a colossal feat in multi-tasking that I never really feel quite good at. Particularly when you have an unsupportive spouse running a non-stop critical commentary about everything you do all day. On the shopping trips where the kids and I were actually allowed out of the car, as usual I kept the kids while Derek strolled through the isles deciding what to buy. Oh I am never allowed to make any purchasing decisions. If I get something and place it in the cart, he either tosses it back, or requires an explanation as to the necessity of the item, and then usually tosses it back. If it's clothing for me, he must approve it or it goes back. So rarely do I get involved anymore in shopping; I just feel grateful for the time to stroll around and sip a soda. Today I was in even more of a clutzy, dis-organized shevel than I usually am; getting a soda and then spilling most of it on myself while simultaneously trying to put the change back into my wallet and stop Ella from waving the tampon around that she'd grabbed from my purse. "Hi!" she said to passersby while waving it like a queen's scepter. In his wanderings, Derek picks out two pair of shoes for me. I like them. I find another pair, on sale for $7.99 and throw them into the cart. "Ugh, awful." he says, "Put them back." And that's his decree. It's not about the money, you see. It's about the control. At the check out counter he sees the $7.99 shoes humming their way along the conveyor belt. As they made their way to the cashier, the veins in his neck were pulsing so hard I thought one might burst. Just as the cashier is about 'beep' the $7.99 shoes over the little beeping thing, he grabs them out of her hand and throws them back onto the conveyor belt. "Ring these seperately," he spits out at her, "I'm not paying for them." And with that, he storms out toward the parking lot. I'm left standing there feeling mortified, and the cashier just gives me a dazed look. A little shaken, I pay for my contraband shoes and push everything out of the store: the kids, the bags, the huge box with the new car seat in it, and my criminal shoes. When I exit, he's waiting in the running car, seething. He sits there as he lets me load everything: all the bags and both kids. When we start driving he explodes in anger: “You are really something!” he shouts, making Dillon jump, “How dare you defy me by buying those shoes! You heard me say I didn’t like them and you just do whatever you want anyway, you don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself! You are a horrible, awful, selfish, person, that’s for sure!” Then he just shook his head in disgust. A real charming guy. I want to scream at him. I want to kick him. I want to kick him out right this minute and never see him again. But I have to keep it together. I have to take it for the sake of my kids; don’t try to convince him he’s wrong, I say to myself. Don’t talk back. I know it’s over, so just shut up. But it’s so hard to take it, to get slapped over and over and over again, and in front of Dillon is even worse. And then there’s that: the way he treats Dillon: not a kind word all day, not ONE. Just labeling criticizing, belittling, bullying, and hurting poor Dillon. I hate him. Finally I had to cancel the dinner we had planned with my father for that night because of all the fighting. I had to lie, like so many abused women do. Imagine that: I’m lying to cover for my husband’s actions. I was incredulous when I realized it. My God it’s true. He may not have literally hit me, but he’s verbally pounded on me all day long, he’s hateful and spiteful, and his venom is unwarranted. He’s hurting me, and I'm lying about it. Isn't that something. So that's how it happens. Little by little. And now I'm there. Well I'm fixing it. Little by little, too. I wish it were faster! But it's coming together. Until next time, dear friend...

Breakfast battles...

This morning after I dropped Dillon off at school, I was supposed to meet Derek for breakfast at our usual cafe', at our usual table. I was there a good hour before he had completed his morning shit, shower and shave ritual and made his way into the place. So I was, at "the" table, when he walked in, oozing his usual charm. No smile, no eye contact, no 'hello.' "Hi there," I say, and he manages a grunt as he sits down across from me. I start to tell him something funny that Dillon did this morning, but he can't hear me over the tv. There's almost always a catalyst that triggers his episodes of anger, and this was apparently one of them. 

Suddenly he looks at me like I'm the biggest jerk on the planet and says, as though it's my fault, "That damn tv is so loud! I don’t know how you can stand that! It’s ridiculous! Why? Why so loud?! What kind of person are you?"  I sigh and try to ignore his accusations over something that a, I had nothing to do with, and b, it's an easily solved, trivial matter. “It didn’t bother me,” I say with a shrug, "Of course not," he scoffs, "You have no brain in your head, do you, geez..." Then he shouts toward the pimply-faced girl behind the counter to turn this horrible noise down or he's taking his money somewhere else. 

But there are others in the world who don't have to live with Derek, and for those lucky people, speaking up is definitely an option. As soon as the volume is muted and the closed-captioning goes on, a woman frmo the other side of the café’ pipes up: “I was listening to that,” she said. No reaction from my husband, to whom she's very obviously directing her comment. “Excuse me,” she said to my husband, louder now, causing him to look up, “Yes, hi. I was listening to that.” "Well you're not the only one in this restaurant, ma'am." he says, with a finally suggesting that this is the end of the subject. A moment passes as she registers this, and then the gauntlet is thrown. "Hello, hello?" she shouts toward pimple girl, "Yes, hi. As you know, I was really watching this particular thing, can you please turn the volume back up? Thanks." Pimple girl shoots a furtive glance toward Derek as she cautiously raises the volume, not quite sure who should have her loyalty. 

This maneuver caused Derek to launch one of his favorite kind of verbal assault campaigns, consisting of a relentless, non-stop barrage of insults slung not at the intended target, but rather shouted loudly enough for the target to hear every word. "Unbelievable!" he begins, talking to me, because clearly my role should be to feel just as indignant. "Can you believe this woman?! What a moron! She shouldn't sit fifty feet away if she wants to hear the tv,” he said. “OR directly under it if it’s too loud for you.” I countered, rather quietly. See, I KNOW that will start something, I KNOW, ugh......but honestly, who does he think he is! Surprisingly he ignored my protest and continued, apparently enthralled with his own voice: …"Sheesh!...What an idiot…unbelievable, some people…etc.” 

His tirade was really embarrassing. I was mortified. I got my things ready, as it was clearly time to go, and went to the counter to ask for more ice. The woman in question was leaving and as she walked by, began her counter assault toward my husband: “You can turn off your tv now,” she said, leaving forward toward him for extra effect. No response from Derek. “EXCUSE ME. I'M LEAVING. YOU CAN TURN OFF YOUR TV NOW.” I busied myself at the cash register, hoping to somehow spontaneously combust and melt into the floor. Again, in no predictable fashion, Derek didn't acknowledge her. Sometimes he's all bark and when confronted, won't really stand up. That's part of his cowardly and insecure make-up, I'm sure. 

And so begins the start of another great day...ah, yaay for hot baths and good wine at the end of each as well. 

Until next time, dear friend....

One of these days...

he's really going to get it. Derek, that is. He just walks around this earth believing, consciously or not, that he can say and even do anything to anyone and they will just take it. He doesn't seem to have any filter for his emotions; he just verbally vomits whatever feeling bubbles up inside of him, spewing it out upon anyone in range.

Yesterday was no different, of course. Getting myself and the kids dressed was a disaster; the three of us interchangeably doing everything wrong, apparently, and as always in these moments, we are privileged to a running commentary of our idiocy. By the time we were all loaded into the car Derek's tension was thick in the air. Yaay. Another fun family outing. It really pisses me off, still, because he's so weak. Every little thing upsets him. He thinks he's strong, but he's so incapable of dealing with the tiniest thing -- the sun, the rain, a piece of dust, an ant on the counter, a pillow out of place, whatever -- without going berserk. 

The turn onto the main highway through town was even more fun. Derek raging at traffic is routine now. The children aren't allowed to converse with us anyway, and I can't hold a conversation with him without it being constantly interrupted by his screams at all the "idiots" and "morons" around us, who are so obviously out to sabotage our drive by going too slowly, going too fast, not leaving the light quickly enough, or in some cases, having the audacity to just look plain "stupid." And I'm sure he's right, oh yes. It's all about Derek, and these people all woke up this morning thinking, "Hmm, what can I do today to really piss this guy off?" 

Of course with Derek it doesn't take much. And sadly, occasionally he's right about whatever is frustrating him; it's just the way he handles it that is so unacceptable. 

After our usual harrowing drive, we arrived at our breakfast destination, Derek parked the car (after the usual five hundred circles around the parking lot for the exact, perfect space), and in we went. As Dillon and Ella sipped their milk and the coffee and tea flowed, so did Derek's narcissism as he listened to himself prattling on about Obama this, and Obama that. Like so many armchair experts, he enlightened me as to how he would fix the problem with the stimulus and the recent oil spill. All fascinating. His self-importance becomes most evident whenever I try to respond with my own thoughts -- and not to brag, but geez, I was an international political consultant for 12 years and lived all over the world, I'm not completely without knowledge on political affairs -- and in this case, my comments were actually in agreement with his, but he never even noticed because he was quick to cut me off, saying, "Ugh, you don't even get it, that's not the point," His tone was belittling, dismissive, even. Then he delivered a few more verbal "slaps" for interfering in his riveting speech.

 And then he continued: “blah blah blah blah blah….quote quote quote quote quote, etc.” As he spoke, I still felt the sting of his rebuke and my mind wandered to a happier place, imagining him flat on his back right there on the deck, as I’m pummeling his chest with my fists. Or opera music coming out of his mouth instead of words, or his head suddenly bursting into flames on top as he continues his speech, or midgets biting his ankles like little Chihuahuas. Ah, a Calgon moment.We all have them. 

The breakfast finally ended and, upon returning to the car, we were both very frustrated to find that someone had parked so close to the passenger's side that I couldn't get the door open at all, much less get Ella in or myself. Someone passing by commented, "Oh, those guys over there just parked that car." We looked, and "those guys over there" were three guys and one woman, looking to be in their mid-twenties, sitting at a cafe.' They had just sat down and a waitress was bringing some drinks, when my charming husband walked over to the edge of the fence and said, "Did you park that car?" They looked confused for a minute. Derek was seething, and through clenched teeth, said, "DID-YOU-PARK-THAT-CAR-OVER-THERE" more as a statement than an actual question. "Uh, yeah, man, that's my car." "Really, well," Derek began, "You parked so closely that I can't get my baby into the car. You have to move." The speaker for the group was not terribly motivated. "Yeah, sure. But I want to eat my sandwich first." Oh boy. He didn't even have his sandwich yet. Now even I have to admit, that's some nerve. It's blistering hot out, and he wants to make a family with two small children wait while he orders and consumes a sandwich? Apparently my husband isn't the only a---hole out there.

"Eat your sandwich, you say?" Derek asks, "Sure. No problem. You eat your sandwich." He said the words, but after he said them, he calmly walked into the restaurant, past the hostess, out into the cafe' and grabbed this guy's collar. In one swift move, and without disturbing anything on the table, I might add, he jerked the guy up by his shirt, locked his head in his right arm and dragged him out backwards, feet kicking for balance, all the way to the car. "Oh my God!" the hostess said as Derek and the flailing man passed by, "Calm down," Derek said as he dragged his cargo past her, "there's no problem here." The others in the guy's party just sat with their mouths open, and the woman cracked a smile and scoffed, "Good, he deserves it." Perhpas this was a case of one Derek meeting another, but it looked like my Derek had the upper hand. 

Dillon, Ella and I stood and watched in silence as Derek brought the guy to his car, jerked his head around in our direction and said through clenched teeth, "Do you see my wife and kids, there, hmm? Do you? You will NOT make MY BABY stand in the hot sun while you EAT YOUR SANDWICH. MOVE-YOUR-FU--ING CAR NOW." The guy couldn't get his keys out fast enough. Then of course he couldn't get into his car either, because it was parked too close, so he had to crawl through the passenger's side. "You're crazy, man!" he yelled, from the safety of his car. But Derek was there in an instant, grabbing him through the window. "That's right," he said, "I'm crazy. And if you complain, if you look at my tag, if you do ANYTHING about this I will find out where you live and I will make your life a living hell." 

Suddenly I was picturing Derek's bald head again, orange with flames shooting out of the top. He really IS crazy, no doubt there. And I admit it's interesting watching a face-off between two Dereks. It's hard to know who to root for. But seriously, one of these days, he's going to do that to the wrong Derek. And that Derek will pull out a gun or tire iron or maybe even a big beer mug and just deck him. And who will feel sorry? If you make the world your battlefield, sooner or later you're going to meet a bigger warrior than you. 

Ugh. Anyway.........so much for Sunday brunch. Today is a new day, with plenty of "idiots" and "morons" who are undoubtedly just waiting to piss Derek off. Because it is, after all, all about him. 

Until next time, dear friend...

A tightening...

After this morning's all-too-regular terrors, I experienced a hard, tense, tightness in my chest, like my heart was compacted. My pulse was pounding strongly in my veins. This is becoming a more regular thing, especially when he attacks my son. I know that if I don't get us out of this toxic atmosphere soon, I will suffer longer-term health damage. Hypertension, high blood pressure, strokes -- even cancer -- is sometimes the by-product of suppressed, unexpressed stress, anger and anxiety. Our son was born with a congenital heart condition, that thankfully is totally asymptomatic; he's not limited in any way, and doctors expect that he will never need any kind of intervention. But of course if he lives in this stressful environment, where he's constantly feeling attacked, I have little doubt that it would have an impact on the development of his heart.

This morning was not different from almost every morning. Derek unleashed his anger on us all and didn't stop yelling and threatening until someone was crying. He's usually not satisfied until tears are shed. I'm SO over this kind of horror. I want peace. I want to live in a loving environment, where I can enjoy my children while they are still young and able to recover from this.

Today I was the last one dressed and Derek took the kids and got into the car to wait for me. He started it and backed out of the garage, and when I finally came down, I found Dillon with tears streaming down his face and his little chest heaving in and out with sobs. "What happened now?" I asked, "He was afraid that we were going without you." Derek said. "I was cryin' for you, mommy," Dillon said. "Sissy." Derek hissed. Ughghgh....this is SO OLD.

The fight started this morning because he called Dillon a lazy bum. Again. I jumped right on it, as he smiled, apparently satisfied that he'd pushed the right button to get a response. "He is NOT a lazy bum!" I shouted, "And you stop that!" Immediately I turned to Dillon, who had already yelled at his daddy, "I'm NOT a lazy bum!" And I said, "Dillon, you ARE NOT a lazy bum, and don't you believe ANYBODY who tells you that, okay," Derek came right back for that, "I'm his father and I can say whatever I want, Stacey!"

I wanted to respond, to lash out, but it only degrades the entire situation, right in front of the kids, and I just keep reminding myself that it's not forever. This controlling, angry person in our lives is not forever. This negativity is not forever. This totally unnecessary pain is not forever. This tightening in my chest is not forever. It is NOT. I WILL NOT WEAKEN. I WILL NOT WEAKEN. I WILL NOT.

Thanks for listening. It keeps me motivated, and some days it's just plain hard.

Until next time, dear friend...

A long weekend ahead...

Unlike most people, I dread Fridays because Dillon isn't in school, which not only leaves him exposed to Derek's temper much more, but it also negates my "excuse" to get out of the house in the morning. Derek has never been one to get up and out, and on weekends it's especially bad. He can linger around the house watching tv until one o'clock, while the rest of us try to stay out of his way and absolutely quiet. I take walks with the kids just to get them out of there, but damnit, I would really enjoy relaxing around the house with our precious babies, playing and tickling, and snuggling on the couch with a movie, but with Derek it can never be that way. He's constantly irritated by noise. We can't do anything without getting yelled at.

Yesterday we went to dinner at this great little Italian place. An old friend of ours owns it, and I was really looking forward to it. Our kids were very hungry, and therefore quiet because they were busy shoveling food into their mouths with much gratitude. The sad part was that Derek's brain -- whatever chemical problem he seems to have -- kicked in, and he turned nasty. What that means is that he spent every minute nagging the three of us to death. And please understand, this isn't something that's just an annoyance, that would be a relief. Derek gets so angry, and venemous. Without warning he tugs at Dillon's ear, making him cry, right in the middle of a bite, yelling at him: "Damnit, Dillon! Sit up right!" Then Dillon cries and he gets more: "Stop it! Stop it right now, I'm telling you! And you, Ella! What a pig! My God, and their mother sits right there, not doing anything, unbelievable." Then he turns back to Dillon, who's only had time to take one bite, and he's doing his best to stick to the rule book, but geez, he's only 3! Then he gets a pinch on his arm, "Not like that! How stupid! Do it the right way!" he hisses, referring to the way that Dillon is trying to scoop some spaghetti onto his spoon. The stress and anxiety that we all feel is palpable. My chest is soooo tight. And so is Dillon's I'm sure. He's getting nagged to death by a scary monster. Who can eat like this? It's just awful. Of course when he lays into Dillon I have to intervene, which just adds to the tense atmosphere. Dillon is crying now at the injustice of Derek's treatment: "Daddy, you pinched me, don't do that!" And I add, "Would you stop pinching him, and shoving him, and all that other violent crap!! Stop it! No one can eat like that!" But it doesn't phase him. All it does is make him momentarily turn his venom on me. Then I get the full round of what a horrible mother I am and how they're only like this because of me.

It's so much to take every day. I try to teach Dillon that it's not okay to hit, or yell, but how can I when that's what he sees every day? I can't wait to get out of this. It's all I think of, night and day. In the meanwhile, I have to endure, and protect my babies the best that I can. It feels like this vacation will never end.

Until next time, dear friend...