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...
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Just weird...
Today has been one of those weird days, where whatever chemicals are sloshing around his Derek's brain seem to be the happy kind. Apart from his usual, short bursts of anger at various strangers throughout the day, he's been unusually jovial and kidding around a lot with me. That always makes me uneasy now, because I know the fun is only temporary, like taking a nice walk through a land mine full of pretty flowers; it's only a matter of time before the bomb goes off.
Of course now we've picked up our son, Dillon, and his anxiety level has shot way up. He's short-tempered while driving, and hasn't said even "Hello" to the little man, who at least doesn't seem to notice anymore. Now we're at this cafe' at my request, mostly because I don't relish going home this early with the kids. The closer to bedtime the better. Derek is back to his yelling in the car at the slightest noise, even punching the dashboard twice when Ella giggled too loudly.
So another day is passing, our vacation has been extended until mid-May, and that changes some of my plans a bit. Or extends them at least.
Which reminds me: will my British friend back home with the blue toenail polish please send me your email again? It's in my home computer. Thanks. :)
Until next time, dear friends...
Of course now we've picked up our son, Dillon, and his anxiety level has shot way up. He's short-tempered while driving, and hasn't said even "Hello" to the little man, who at least doesn't seem to notice anymore. Now we're at this cafe' at my request, mostly because I don't relish going home this early with the kids. The closer to bedtime the better. Derek is back to his yelling in the car at the slightest noise, even punching the dashboard twice when Ella giggled too loudly.
So another day is passing, our vacation has been extended until mid-May, and that changes some of my plans a bit. Or extends them at least.
Which reminds me: will my British friend back home with the blue toenail polish please send me your email again? It's in my home computer. Thanks. :)
Until next time, dear friends...
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Oh my aching back...
Derek finally started "tolerating" me yesterday in time for us to meet friends for dinner at their house. We picked Dillon up from school and made the drive, which is about an hour out of town. As I always do for these occasions, I packed pajamas for the kids so they could be comfy when it gets late. Little did I know now, this would spark a debate later when I changed them.
Around 8 o'clock, Derek looks up from the dinner table and sees our kids playing with our friends' daughter. Everyone is happy and as these things usually begin, THERE IS NO PROBLEM HERE. But Derek looks up, and slams his fist on the table, making the rest of us jump. "You just have to have everything go your way, do you?!" he snaps, not too loudly but the venom is clear nonetheless. "What?" I ask, perplexed as usual, "Didn't I tell you earlier that I don't think they need to go into their sleeping clothes until we leave? I don't want this, Stacey," Everyone's watching but here we are, having this conversation. "Well, I can't have Ella tripping all over her dress trying to play, that wouldn't be safe, and it's late and what's the problem?" "The problem is, that you never listen." I can tell in his tone that he's getting himself worked up over this. What a shock. "Not really," I said, "I think this is a perfect example of one of those things that really isn't a big deal and you should just lighten up and let it go. Everyone is having a good time here." "It IS a big deal, Stacey." Big sigh from me as I reach for the bottle on the table. "More wine?" I say to my girlfriend, rather resignedly. "Oh yes," she says, raising her eyebrows at the stress factor in the air.
For the next hour Derek makes jokes at my expense, laughing that he's going to leave me here to beg on the street, haaa ha ha haaa, some kind of humor.
On the drive home he really lays into me, and somehow the kids sleep through it. Everything is my fault. I'm no good. I'm a selfish, horrible person and I need to change my attitude. On and on. I just closed my eyes and tried to focus on better times ahead.
When we got home, he put Ella in her crib and I got Dillon tucked in. When I turned the knob on our bedroom door, it was locked. Ha. That's rich. He locked me out of our room, with no toothbrush, no clothes, no pillow, nothing. Imagine how he would react if I had done that to him; he would be insane with anger. I didn't say a word. He's not worth the energy and it would only open up a huge screaming episode from him.
I slid off my jeans, found a throw and settled in on the couch for the night. And I'm paying for it now; my back is killing me. This morning when I awoke, the door had been opened. Neither said anything about it. When the kids and I were ready to leave for school, I couldn't find the keys. They're always on the same plate in the kitchen. Had he hidden the keys? Seriously? His wallet was also not on the plate as usual; he had put that in his dresser drawer, as if I'm going to steal a few hundred bucks and take off for my new life, or what -- jeez.
It turns out that Derek, in an extremely rare moment, had misplaced the keys. I said nothing as he searched, thinking in my mind of all the accusations he would hurl at me had I been the one to lose the keys. But even though it was him, he managed to blame me: "You are unbelievable," he hissed, "You are really something, making me so upset and so tired from your bullshit that I can't find the keys. Good job!" he shouted, banging his fist on the bar, "Way to go!"
I could only laugh to myself. There's really nothing to say.
Last night he threatened again to leave on the flight without me, stating that I was staying here (with the kids) but not where we were, we would be out on the street because he would leave me with no money. All of this rage and anger, sparked this time by two little pair of pajamas. That's what's so incredible; this is just another day with this man; he's always mad about something and it's always my fault, and there isn't a day that is different.
Mind you in the course of a day he's also angry with many other people. Yesterday he shouted at a toll booth operator for not letting him turn around without paying the toll, he yelled at numerous drivers, honking and slowing down as he passed in order to scowl at them and flip them off. It's always something. Before Derek, I never knew people like him really existed outside of the movies. But be warned, they do.
Until next time, dear friend...
Around 8 o'clock, Derek looks up from the dinner table and sees our kids playing with our friends' daughter. Everyone is happy and as these things usually begin, THERE IS NO PROBLEM HERE. But Derek looks up, and slams his fist on the table, making the rest of us jump. "You just have to have everything go your way, do you?!" he snaps, not too loudly but the venom is clear nonetheless. "What?" I ask, perplexed as usual, "Didn't I tell you earlier that I don't think they need to go into their sleeping clothes until we leave? I don't want this, Stacey," Everyone's watching but here we are, having this conversation. "Well, I can't have Ella tripping all over her dress trying to play, that wouldn't be safe, and it's late and what's the problem?" "The problem is, that you never listen." I can tell in his tone that he's getting himself worked up over this. What a shock. "Not really," I said, "I think this is a perfect example of one of those things that really isn't a big deal and you should just lighten up and let it go. Everyone is having a good time here." "It IS a big deal, Stacey." Big sigh from me as I reach for the bottle on the table. "More wine?" I say to my girlfriend, rather resignedly. "Oh yes," she says, raising her eyebrows at the stress factor in the air.
For the next hour Derek makes jokes at my expense, laughing that he's going to leave me here to beg on the street, haaa ha ha haaa, some kind of humor.
On the drive home he really lays into me, and somehow the kids sleep through it. Everything is my fault. I'm no good. I'm a selfish, horrible person and I need to change my attitude. On and on. I just closed my eyes and tried to focus on better times ahead.
When we got home, he put Ella in her crib and I got Dillon tucked in. When I turned the knob on our bedroom door, it was locked. Ha. That's rich. He locked me out of our room, with no toothbrush, no clothes, no pillow, nothing. Imagine how he would react if I had done that to him; he would be insane with anger. I didn't say a word. He's not worth the energy and it would only open up a huge screaming episode from him.
I slid off my jeans, found a throw and settled in on the couch for the night. And I'm paying for it now; my back is killing me. This morning when I awoke, the door had been opened. Neither said anything about it. When the kids and I were ready to leave for school, I couldn't find the keys. They're always on the same plate in the kitchen. Had he hidden the keys? Seriously? His wallet was also not on the plate as usual; he had put that in his dresser drawer, as if I'm going to steal a few hundred bucks and take off for my new life, or what -- jeez.
It turns out that Derek, in an extremely rare moment, had misplaced the keys. I said nothing as he searched, thinking in my mind of all the accusations he would hurl at me had I been the one to lose the keys. But even though it was him, he managed to blame me: "You are unbelievable," he hissed, "You are really something, making me so upset and so tired from your bullshit that I can't find the keys. Good job!" he shouted, banging his fist on the bar, "Way to go!"
I could only laugh to myself. There's really nothing to say.
Last night he threatened again to leave on the flight without me, stating that I was staying here (with the kids) but not where we were, we would be out on the street because he would leave me with no money. All of this rage and anger, sparked this time by two little pair of pajamas. That's what's so incredible; this is just another day with this man; he's always mad about something and it's always my fault, and there isn't a day that is different.
Mind you in the course of a day he's also angry with many other people. Yesterday he shouted at a toll booth operator for not letting him turn around without paying the toll, he yelled at numerous drivers, honking and slowing down as he passed in order to scowl at them and flip them off. It's always something. Before Derek, I never knew people like him really existed outside of the movies. But be warned, they do.
Until next time, dear friend...
Monday, April 26, 2010
No words...
It's pouring rain today but I'm still out when I would rather be home, if home were a cozy, safe place. Dillon has a sore throat, but I stuffed him into a jacket and took him to school anyway, the poor little thing, because I know that being at home all day with Derek would be much worse.
He's not talking to me today. Yesterday we were all just about out the front door to go eat when Derek started yelling at me for not cleaning the tub sufficiently (which to him means that I'm a "pig" and "a disgusting person" and a "piece of trash") and he stood over us as I helped Dillon with his shoes, yelling at Dillon for not saying "Hi" when he came out of his room. He wouldn't stop; he was gearing up for a nice big attack and at that moment I just couldn't face it.
"You know what," I said, "Why don't you just go out by yourself today, I just can't take your yelling and screaming, I just can't take it."
Of course he was enraged and as I got the kids undressed, he threatened to send me home on a plane early, or to leave us here with no money, and many other things. Sometimes he gets over it and sometimes not. This morning I have learned that today will be no better. It's so awful, to be constantly battered like this, and being together on vacation like this only makes things worse. I'm getting emotionally exhausted and spiritually drained. It's very challenging to keep mentally undoing all of the negative energy and damage that he inflicts. It's a lot of work, reversing the degrading words that he flings at my sense of self-worth.
Today I feel like crying. Maybe it's the weather. Oh, wait, I know, maybe it's the bastard who's making our lives miserable. Yes, that's it. Hmph. Well, I don't really want these blogs to be a whine-fest, but today at least, I'm feeling a bit down. And just a little bit scared. I know I have to stay strong, however, to overcome this. And I can. Big breath out. My chest feels very heavy, like a huge stone is sitting on top of me and I can't breath. I don't want to go home. Gosh, I just dread it. But here goes...
...Until next time, dear friend...
He's not talking to me today. Yesterday we were all just about out the front door to go eat when Derek started yelling at me for not cleaning the tub sufficiently (which to him means that I'm a "pig" and "a disgusting person" and a "piece of trash") and he stood over us as I helped Dillon with his shoes, yelling at Dillon for not saying "Hi" when he came out of his room. He wouldn't stop; he was gearing up for a nice big attack and at that moment I just couldn't face it.
"You know what," I said, "Why don't you just go out by yourself today, I just can't take your yelling and screaming, I just can't take it."
Of course he was enraged and as I got the kids undressed, he threatened to send me home on a plane early, or to leave us here with no money, and many other things. Sometimes he gets over it and sometimes not. This morning I have learned that today will be no better. It's so awful, to be constantly battered like this, and being together on vacation like this only makes things worse. I'm getting emotionally exhausted and spiritually drained. It's very challenging to keep mentally undoing all of the negative energy and damage that he inflicts. It's a lot of work, reversing the degrading words that he flings at my sense of self-worth.
Today I feel like crying. Maybe it's the weather. Oh, wait, I know, maybe it's the bastard who's making our lives miserable. Yes, that's it. Hmph. Well, I don't really want these blogs to be a whine-fest, but today at least, I'm feeling a bit down. And just a little bit scared. I know I have to stay strong, however, to overcome this. And I can. Big breath out. My chest feels very heavy, like a huge stone is sitting on top of me and I can't breath. I don't want to go home. Gosh, I just dread it. But here goes...
...Until next time, dear friend...
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Shiny tires and cheese sandwiches...
While we were out yesterday, Derek decided to get the car washed. We
went through one of those drive-thru things, and Ella squealed with
delight as the foamy brushes slapped against the car and the water
splashed down over the windows. After that we picked up Dillon from
school.
As I got back into the car Derek asked, "Did they put on the tire-shine?" "I didn't really notice," I said, thinking that was the end of the matter. But no. As we drove to what for most people should be a nice, enjoyable dinner out, he started his attack: "So you didn't see the tires when you got back into the car, is that what you're telling me? You're saying that you're so clueless, and BLIND, that you didn't see if the tires have the tire shine or not? That's what you expect me to believe?" "YES," I said sternly, "I did not notice the tires. I think they were shiny, but I can't promise you that." "You can't promise me that. Humph. Unbelievable. What a stupid person. Doesn't even see a simple thing like a tire," he scoffed. "Hey," I retorted, "If it was so important to you, you could have gotten off your ass while I was in the school and checked for yourself!" I said, finally succumbing to his efforts for a fight. I mean, seriously, how many times can you hear yourself being called 'stupid' and 'idiot' and all the rest of it; unless you have no self-worth left, it's damn hard to stay quiet, believe me.
For the moment he left it. "So what did you have for lunch today, Dillon?" he asked in a nice tone, I guess trying to change the subject, thankfully. "Fruit and cheese sandwich.:" Dillon answered in his little voice. "What?" Derek asked, "Fruit and cheese sandwich," Dillon repeated. "Fruit and WHAT??" Derek came again. At this point I knew what would happen, from experience: Dillon would become confused that his answer is somehow not the correct one because his daddy is getting angry, and Derek would indeed get angry with Dillon for not answering in whatever way he wanted. And that's what happened. "Speak up, damnit!" Derek yelled to Dillon. "FRUIT AND CHEESE SANDWICH!" he said loudly. "Don't you yell at me, you brat! What do you think!" he started in on Dillon as we barreled down the highway. "Hey!" I interjected, "he's answered you three times now! Leave him alone and stop your shouting!"
But this comment sent him into a rage. As we drove, he screamed so loudly that the car windows shook. "I'VE SO HAD IT WITH YOU, STACEY!!! GOING AGAINST ME IN FRONT OF MY KIDS!!! I WON'T HAVE IT, I'M TELLING YOU!!!! WHAT A HORRIBLE PERSON YOU ARE! WHAT A SHIT WIFE! YOU'RE NO GOOD, STACEY!!! AND WHEN I KICK YOU OUT AND YOU'RE CLEANING TOILETS AT WAL-MART THAT WILL BE TOO GOOD FOR YOU!!!"
Dillon and Ella of course had to endure this from the confines of their car seats, as the screaming continued.
In between the screams directed at me of how all of this was my fault, how it's always my fault and how everything "wrong" with the children is my fault, I was overcome with calm, because this nut-case was so out of control. Very quietly I said, "Look at you, you're completely out of control," YELL YELL, SCREAM SCREAM!!! "You're screaming right in front of your kids, how can you do that." BLAH BLAH!!! YAAAA OOOUGGGAAAA!!!!!!! YELL SHOUT SCREAM!!!!!! "Wow. You're really out of control. You need to get a hold of yourself and calm down."
Somewhere between the next traffic light where he screamed at two cars and the restaurant parking lot, where he yelled out the window to an old lady for not moving fast enough, he had gotten this rant out of his system. Dillon, who was sadly used to this by now, sat quietly and all I could do is look back and wink at him, and he winked back, with a little smile that we exchanged after these times, to say, "I'm okay, you okay? Yeah, I'm okay too."
As we entered the restaurant, passing other people, I thought, "Geez, I've just been battered. Really. I've just gone through one hell of a beating. And so have my kids, indirectly. It feels no different than if there were bruises all over my body right now, for everyone here to see. But there aren't. So in we walk, just like every other family.
Things were calmer now, so as we waited for high chairs I tried to bring up something positive. "Hey Dilly-bear, why don't you tell daddy about your presentation you made at school today?" Dillon was instantly excited and ran to daddy's side, "Daddy, daddy! Today at school I -- " "Not now, Dillon," his father said, without even making eye contact. Dillon was crushed. With his head down he came back to my side, looking absolutely heart-broken. That jerk had cut him off, hurt him, and dismissed his words as unimportant, and I had sent him into it. Damn him.
As we took our seats Dillon started to cry. "What is it!" Derek demanded. "You made me sad, daddy," Dillon said bravely. "Oh shut up," he replied, "it wasn't the right time to talk and besides, life is tough, and you'd better get used to it!"
That was all he had to say on the matter. Letting little Dillon, three and a half years old, 'get used to it.' I wanted to scream, but it would only make things worse. I knew that since my mind is made up of what I'm doing, there's no point in starting another round of fighting for the children to endure. "Dillon," I said in front of his father, "It was very nice that you wanted to share with daddy and I'm very proud of your presentation today, good job!" He smiled at me and nodded, but the joy of telling daddy was gone. he was brave, though and using the only weapon he could think of, he told us about a pretend party he's going to have: "Mommy, you're comin' to my pa-tee and Ella, you're comin' to my pa-tee, but daddy's NOT comin' to my pa-tee! Daddy, you're NOT comin!" Good for you, I thought, I wouldn't invite him to my party, either, son of a bitch.
Derek didn't entirely understand what he said, and I wasn't about to throw him under the bus. Instead I took Dillon to the bathroom. I gave him a big hug and had my all-too-often talk with him about how the way daddy acts is not okay. But that won't work much longer. Dillon sees that daddy acts badly but he somehow gets away with it. And it's starting to impact the way Dillon expresses himself at school.
That's the great mystery of these abusers. Who ever thought that shiny tires or cheese sandwiches or school projects could start this kind of horror? You never see it coming, all you know is, it's coming.
Today is of course another day. And more to discuss tomorrow.
Until next time, dear friend...
As I got back into the car Derek asked, "Did they put on the tire-shine?" "I didn't really notice," I said, thinking that was the end of the matter. But no. As we drove to what for most people should be a nice, enjoyable dinner out, he started his attack: "So you didn't see the tires when you got back into the car, is that what you're telling me? You're saying that you're so clueless, and BLIND, that you didn't see if the tires have the tire shine or not? That's what you expect me to believe?" "YES," I said sternly, "I did not notice the tires. I think they were shiny, but I can't promise you that." "You can't promise me that. Humph. Unbelievable. What a stupid person. Doesn't even see a simple thing like a tire," he scoffed. "Hey," I retorted, "If it was so important to you, you could have gotten off your ass while I was in the school and checked for yourself!" I said, finally succumbing to his efforts for a fight. I mean, seriously, how many times can you hear yourself being called 'stupid' and 'idiot' and all the rest of it; unless you have no self-worth left, it's damn hard to stay quiet, believe me.
For the moment he left it. "So what did you have for lunch today, Dillon?" he asked in a nice tone, I guess trying to change the subject, thankfully. "Fruit and cheese sandwich.:" Dillon answered in his little voice. "What?" Derek asked, "Fruit and cheese sandwich," Dillon repeated. "Fruit and WHAT??" Derek came again. At this point I knew what would happen, from experience: Dillon would become confused that his answer is somehow not the correct one because his daddy is getting angry, and Derek would indeed get angry with Dillon for not answering in whatever way he wanted. And that's what happened. "Speak up, damnit!" Derek yelled to Dillon. "FRUIT AND CHEESE SANDWICH!" he said loudly. "Don't you yell at me, you brat! What do you think!" he started in on Dillon as we barreled down the highway. "Hey!" I interjected, "he's answered you three times now! Leave him alone and stop your shouting!"
But this comment sent him into a rage. As we drove, he screamed so loudly that the car windows shook. "I'VE SO HAD IT WITH YOU, STACEY!!! GOING AGAINST ME IN FRONT OF MY KIDS!!! I WON'T HAVE IT, I'M TELLING YOU!!!! WHAT A HORRIBLE PERSON YOU ARE! WHAT A SHIT WIFE! YOU'RE NO GOOD, STACEY!!! AND WHEN I KICK YOU OUT AND YOU'RE CLEANING TOILETS AT WAL-MART THAT WILL BE TOO GOOD FOR YOU!!!"
Dillon and Ella of course had to endure this from the confines of their car seats, as the screaming continued.
In between the screams directed at me of how all of this was my fault, how it's always my fault and how everything "wrong" with the children is my fault, I was overcome with calm, because this nut-case was so out of control. Very quietly I said, "Look at you, you're completely out of control," YELL YELL, SCREAM SCREAM!!! "You're screaming right in front of your kids, how can you do that." BLAH BLAH!!! YAAAA OOOUGGGAAAA!!!!!!! YELL SHOUT SCREAM!!!!!! "Wow. You're really out of control. You need to get a hold of yourself and calm down."
Somewhere between the next traffic light where he screamed at two cars and the restaurant parking lot, where he yelled out the window to an old lady for not moving fast enough, he had gotten this rant out of his system. Dillon, who was sadly used to this by now, sat quietly and all I could do is look back and wink at him, and he winked back, with a little smile that we exchanged after these times, to say, "I'm okay, you okay? Yeah, I'm okay too."
As we entered the restaurant, passing other people, I thought, "Geez, I've just been battered. Really. I've just gone through one hell of a beating. And so have my kids, indirectly. It feels no different than if there were bruises all over my body right now, for everyone here to see. But there aren't. So in we walk, just like every other family.
Things were calmer now, so as we waited for high chairs I tried to bring up something positive. "Hey Dilly-bear, why don't you tell daddy about your presentation you made at school today?" Dillon was instantly excited and ran to daddy's side, "Daddy, daddy! Today at school I -- " "Not now, Dillon," his father said, without even making eye contact. Dillon was crushed. With his head down he came back to my side, looking absolutely heart-broken. That jerk had cut him off, hurt him, and dismissed his words as unimportant, and I had sent him into it. Damn him.
As we took our seats Dillon started to cry. "What is it!" Derek demanded. "You made me sad, daddy," Dillon said bravely. "Oh shut up," he replied, "it wasn't the right time to talk and besides, life is tough, and you'd better get used to it!"
That was all he had to say on the matter. Letting little Dillon, three and a half years old, 'get used to it.' I wanted to scream, but it would only make things worse. I knew that since my mind is made up of what I'm doing, there's no point in starting another round of fighting for the children to endure. "Dillon," I said in front of his father, "It was very nice that you wanted to share with daddy and I'm very proud of your presentation today, good job!" He smiled at me and nodded, but the joy of telling daddy was gone. he was brave, though and using the only weapon he could think of, he told us about a pretend party he's going to have: "Mommy, you're comin' to my pa-tee and Ella, you're comin' to my pa-tee, but daddy's NOT comin' to my pa-tee! Daddy, you're NOT comin!" Good for you, I thought, I wouldn't invite him to my party, either, son of a bitch.
Derek didn't entirely understand what he said, and I wasn't about to throw him under the bus. Instead I took Dillon to the bathroom. I gave him a big hug and had my all-too-often talk with him about how the way daddy acts is not okay. But that won't work much longer. Dillon sees that daddy acts badly but he somehow gets away with it. And it's starting to impact the way Dillon expresses himself at school.
That's the great mystery of these abusers. Who ever thought that shiny tires or cheese sandwiches or school projects could start this kind of horror? You never see it coming, all you know is, it's coming.
Today is of course another day. And more to discuss tomorrow.
Until next time, dear friend...
Friday, April 23, 2010
Barely breathing...
I just heard that song on the radio; how does it go..."'Cause I am barely breathing, I can't find the air, I don't know who I'm kidding, imagining you care. And I could probably stay here, a fool for another day, but I don't believe it's worth the price that I would pay...." I used to think he cared, but it's true, these abusive types only care about possessing and controlling others to validate themselves. And I'm not taking it, believe me. Things are in motion, and that's all I can say right now. For better or worse, his horrible behavior only makes it easier to leave.
This morning, I rushed the kids as usual, in order to get us out of the house with minimum exposure to the yelling, bullying and insulting. He really tried today, tried to pick fights, but I wasn't interested. Today it just seems ridiculous. I started the dishwasher. "What are you doing?" he barked. "What the hell are you doing?? Are you stupid?! My gosh, what a stupid person..." "What --" I asked, looking around for a problem. But he just shook his head in disbelief, "The dishwasher -- what about THAT" he said, pointing to a bowl in the sink. "Oh, I forgot that." I said, and opened the dishwasher which had been on a total of maybe forty seconds, and placed the bowl in. There. Horrible dish tragedy over, geez. But he couldn't get over it. "My god, what-a-stupid-unorganized-person. Un-be-liev-a-ble." He just kept going on and on, and in between, yelling at the kids for not sitting up or for looking around or at each other. I just urged the kids to finish and I didn't add fuel to the fire, as tempting as it always is to just tell him to go f--- himself.
We were almost out of there but as I was heading towards the door he commented on the pants that I (sorry that HE) bought for me yesterday, some white crop jeans. "That looks awful, the way you're wearing those jeans, not like yesterday. Horrible." I stopped, confused. "They're the same jeans as yesterday, what do you mean?" I asked, genuinely interested in what was different. Instead he gave a mock imitation of me in a high, stupid voice, "What do you mean???? What do you mean?? Duh! Don't look at me like you don't know what I mean! Yesterday they were shorter, rolled up under your knee now they're longer, you did something to them. You rolled them down." "What? No I didn't, I didn't do anything to these jeans, they're exactly the same!" I was incredulous. How ridiculous is that? But it got even more so. "Yes, you did, Stacey, and now you're lying!" WHAT???????!!!!!!!! Who lies about rolling their jeans up????? How is this conversation even happening?! And the worst part is that he's so venomously angry, yelling and hissing out every word with such contempt. He's deadly serious about this jeans thing. "I'm not lying, that's ludicrous. You're just crazy." I said, and walked out. He followed us down the stairs, calling me a liar, and a few other choice words, as I buckled the kids up. I could only shake my head. That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. But it was really happening. "LIAR!!" He screamed, loud enough for all the neighbors to hear.
"Stacey," he shouted from the garage door, shaking his finger, "You will not survive this marriage if you don't change your attitude, I swear!" Oh yes, he said that. I think he's chemically unbalanced; he must be. One minute he's joking and doing some funny dance, and the next he's saying THAT.
When I get home, which has to be within an hour or he complains, he will either be in a completely different mood and telling me about something on tv, or he'll ignore me and not speak to me as he wanders through the house complaining about me out loud for my benefit. I never know what I'll get.
When I arrived at this cafe' this morning, I met an old woman at the register who has eight children, all born at home. "My oldest is 58 and my youngest is 37," she said, proudly. "They all grow up and go out into the world and then there's not much you can do, you know," she said, "One of mine is a doctor in Boston, another is a waitress, one is in Heaven and one is a paraplegic -- she was hit by a drunk driver on the interstate about 15 years ago. I come here to have my coffee, and then I go back home to bathe her and take care of her, just like when she was little."
God bless this woman. Eight kids. No money. No help, really. And many challenges, God knows. But she did it. Everyone has a story. The man in the booth next to me is studying online right now, before he goes to visit his son, who's in the hospital here following cancer surgery. There's an old man who comes here every morning, who's face was horribly disfigured by shrapnel in the second World War. He always meets his buddies for coffee and discusses the local politics. And the young man behind the register is going out for his 30th birthday tonight, and although he never drinks, he's going to "give it a try." Who knows what that decision will lead to. Maybe nothing but some funny stories and a hangover. And maybe something else. Who knows. Right now my daughter's biggest concern is that she can't squish the crumpled straw wrapper into her plastic egg to her satisfaction.
And I'm here, too. My concern is leaving this situation. Taking my babies and getting out. And when I do, that's only the beginning of the rest of our lives, the challenges, the celebrations, and the pitfalls. Who knows what else is in store. I guess I can't know that right now. It used to scare me, but looking around, in the grand scheme of things, I'm not such a victim unless I choose to be. I'm like everyone else, with a story, and my own challenges. Thanks for being here to listen.
Until next time, dear friend...
This morning, I rushed the kids as usual, in order to get us out of the house with minimum exposure to the yelling, bullying and insulting. He really tried today, tried to pick fights, but I wasn't interested. Today it just seems ridiculous. I started the dishwasher. "What are you doing?" he barked. "What the hell are you doing?? Are you stupid?! My gosh, what a stupid person..." "What --" I asked, looking around for a problem. But he just shook his head in disbelief, "The dishwasher -- what about THAT" he said, pointing to a bowl in the sink. "Oh, I forgot that." I said, and opened the dishwasher which had been on a total of maybe forty seconds, and placed the bowl in. There. Horrible dish tragedy over, geez. But he couldn't get over it. "My god, what-a-stupid-unorganized-person. Un-be-liev-a-ble." He just kept going on and on, and in between, yelling at the kids for not sitting up or for looking around or at each other. I just urged the kids to finish and I didn't add fuel to the fire, as tempting as it always is to just tell him to go f--- himself.
We were almost out of there but as I was heading towards the door he commented on the pants that I (sorry that HE) bought for me yesterday, some white crop jeans. "That looks awful, the way you're wearing those jeans, not like yesterday. Horrible." I stopped, confused. "They're the same jeans as yesterday, what do you mean?" I asked, genuinely interested in what was different. Instead he gave a mock imitation of me in a high, stupid voice, "What do you mean???? What do you mean?? Duh! Don't look at me like you don't know what I mean! Yesterday they were shorter, rolled up under your knee now they're longer, you did something to them. You rolled them down." "What? No I didn't, I didn't do anything to these jeans, they're exactly the same!" I was incredulous. How ridiculous is that? But it got even more so. "Yes, you did, Stacey, and now you're lying!" WHAT???????!!!!!!!! Who lies about rolling their jeans up????? How is this conversation even happening?! And the worst part is that he's so venomously angry, yelling and hissing out every word with such contempt. He's deadly serious about this jeans thing. "I'm not lying, that's ludicrous. You're just crazy." I said, and walked out. He followed us down the stairs, calling me a liar, and a few other choice words, as I buckled the kids up. I could only shake my head. That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. But it was really happening. "LIAR!!" He screamed, loud enough for all the neighbors to hear.
"Stacey," he shouted from the garage door, shaking his finger, "You will not survive this marriage if you don't change your attitude, I swear!" Oh yes, he said that. I think he's chemically unbalanced; he must be. One minute he's joking and doing some funny dance, and the next he's saying THAT.
When I get home, which has to be within an hour or he complains, he will either be in a completely different mood and telling me about something on tv, or he'll ignore me and not speak to me as he wanders through the house complaining about me out loud for my benefit. I never know what I'll get.
When I arrived at this cafe' this morning, I met an old woman at the register who has eight children, all born at home. "My oldest is 58 and my youngest is 37," she said, proudly. "They all grow up and go out into the world and then there's not much you can do, you know," she said, "One of mine is a doctor in Boston, another is a waitress, one is in Heaven and one is a paraplegic -- she was hit by a drunk driver on the interstate about 15 years ago. I come here to have my coffee, and then I go back home to bathe her and take care of her, just like when she was little."
God bless this woman. Eight kids. No money. No help, really. And many challenges, God knows. But she did it. Everyone has a story. The man in the booth next to me is studying online right now, before he goes to visit his son, who's in the hospital here following cancer surgery. There's an old man who comes here every morning, who's face was horribly disfigured by shrapnel in the second World War. He always meets his buddies for coffee and discusses the local politics. And the young man behind the register is going out for his 30th birthday tonight, and although he never drinks, he's going to "give it a try." Who knows what that decision will lead to. Maybe nothing but some funny stories and a hangover. And maybe something else. Who knows. Right now my daughter's biggest concern is that she can't squish the crumpled straw wrapper into her plastic egg to her satisfaction.
And I'm here, too. My concern is leaving this situation. Taking my babies and getting out. And when I do, that's only the beginning of the rest of our lives, the challenges, the celebrations, and the pitfalls. Who knows what else is in store. I guess I can't know that right now. It used to scare me, but looking around, in the grand scheme of things, I'm not such a victim unless I choose to be. I'm like everyone else, with a story, and my own challenges. Thanks for being here to listen.
Until next time, dear friend...
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Jekyll and Hyde
I just wrote a long entry about how Jekyll and Hyde Derek is and what a phony he is when it suits him, bragging to others about his wife's accomplishments and travels. The other day we had dinner with friends and he even commented that if I weren't around, he would be miserable. Just an hour earlier in the car, he was raging and said, "My god, what a shit family!!"
Today he was being horrible in the kitchen, and I said, "What's your problem?" "YOU are my problem, Stacey, you know that, right?!" And then he threw in, "What a horrible person..." just for good measure.
Well I guess what you don't appreciate doesn't stay in your life forever. That's the reality of it. I appreciate everything I have. And I will never forget that. I know that life will get better. I guess I just wanted anyone else who might be on this emotional rollercoaster, up and down daily, even hourly, that it's not normal, it's not you, and it can end.
I also appreciate everyone who's out there reading, and being there for me. It keeps me motivated and strong more than I ever thought.
Until next time, dear friends...
Today he was being horrible in the kitchen, and I said, "What's your problem?" "YOU are my problem, Stacey, you know that, right?!" And then he threw in, "What a horrible person..." just for good measure.
Well I guess what you don't appreciate doesn't stay in your life forever. That's the reality of it. I appreciate everything I have. And I will never forget that. I know that life will get better. I guess I just wanted anyone else who might be on this emotional rollercoaster, up and down daily, even hourly, that it's not normal, it's not you, and it can end.
I also appreciate everyone who's out there reading, and being there for me. It keeps me motivated and strong more than I ever thought.
Until next time, dear friends...
Monday, April 19, 2010
Getting there...
I left him once. Once when Dillon was just a baby. There were daily rages back then, as there are again now. We were separated for a year but he said all the right things of course and back then, I still loved him. And back then, I really felt that since we had a child together, I owed it to my child to be absolutely certain that I had done everything in my power to make this relationship work.
Well I've done that. I am certain to my core that I've done everything possible to fully committing to this relationship and trying to make it work. Now I've learned, perhaps the hard way, that it will never work because there is a sickness of some kind festering within him and it's not anything that I could ever fix. He's dangerous, and destructive, and there is no person on this earth who could ever make it work with someone so angry with the world.
The timing is something that only I can determine and I have. But I won't say anything about it here because I'm not willing to jeopardize anything. I trust my instincts on this. Having you here to talk to has given me immeasurable strength and courage. I need to keep doing that; it gives me the commitment to move forward. No turning back. And when I can, I'll be so happy to share it with you.
Thanks again as always, dear friend. Until next time...
Well I've done that. I am certain to my core that I've done everything possible to fully committing to this relationship and trying to make it work. Now I've learned, perhaps the hard way, that it will never work because there is a sickness of some kind festering within him and it's not anything that I could ever fix. He's dangerous, and destructive, and there is no person on this earth who could ever make it work with someone so angry with the world.
The timing is something that only I can determine and I have. But I won't say anything about it here because I'm not willing to jeopardize anything. I trust my instincts on this. Having you here to talk to has given me immeasurable strength and courage. I need to keep doing that; it gives me the commitment to move forward. No turning back. And when I can, I'll be so happy to share it with you.
Thanks again as always, dear friend. Until next time...
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Silent victims...
I started this blog because I have things to say. I'm sitting here now, at great personal expense, because I have things to say. And yet I don't know what to say. My frustration and anger and pain is so bottled up I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't let it out. The pressure that he puts on me in order to control me is immense. Today it's raining buckets. But thankfully, we went out for breakfast anyway. I say thankfully because I just can't stand the long and tortuous hours being cooped up in the same small house with him, while he lounges in front of the tv and naps on the porch, or reads his real estate magazines on the pot. That would all be fine, except he requires ABSOLUTE silence from the rest of us at all times. As I've mentioned, our children, who love each other quite a lot, actually, are not allowed to play together. EVER. Dillon is not allowed to even speak to his little sister, or he gets hit with a full arsenal of punishments; everything from smacking to spanking to being jerked up by one arm into the air and tossed into his room to sit it out in silence for hours. When I think of this I just go stark-raving mad. He's hurting my babies. My precious babies and they don't deserve it. No one deserves it.
So I'm grateful that we've gone out to breakfast, yes. At least when we're out, Dillon isn't banished to his room "all by myself," as he describes it. Even when I go in to play with him, then we both get it for being too loud, and I feel that I'm putting Dillon in jeopardy because my tickling and playing and laughing gets him into trouble. It's madness. So we get through breakfast. As usual, the place is lovely, we're privileged to be where we are. But it's anything but joyful. As children tend to, they live in the moment and so with ours, they sit at the table and play with the crayons and sing as we wait for the food. Little Dillon holds a crayon out for Ella with a smile and that did it. That was Derek's "in" to begin his bullying: he twists Dillon's ear, almost jerking him off of his chair: "LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!! How many times did I tell you, Dillon, to LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!!" "Yes, daddy," he whines, looking at me to gauge my reaction. Of course he becomes very quiet, but it's far from over. Out of the blue Derek hisses, "NO tv for you!!! What do you think! You can just do whatever you want!" And then his favorite: "WHO TOLD YOU to give her the crayon, hmm??!! WHO TOLD YOU?!!"
I get the "WHO TOLD YOU" accusation a lot: "WHO TOLD YOU to turn on/off the a/c??" "WHO TOLD YOU to pick up/not pick up my plate?!" "WHO TOLD YOU to sit there?!!!" I'm not 'allowed' to sit on just any couch in our house; only my designated couch. And Dillon is not allowed to sit on the couches AT ALL. I'm not 'allowed' to make any decorating decisions. A while back I framed a cute picture of Dillon wearing his backpack and put it on the side table with all the other family pics. When Derek came home he saw it immediately and began the, "WHO TOLD YOU" speech, saying, "WHO TOLD YOU to put a picture there!!" After much walking around the house with the picture and yelling insults about what an awful person I am because I have "no fine feeling for decorating and absolutely no taste" and that I'm just "a dumb redneck and a pig" like the rest of my family, and that he "can only imagine what the place would look like" if he weren't here, he eventually put the photo in my closet and said it can either stay there or the trash.
Today he's as charming as ever. After breakfast the hissing of threats and criticisms was so non-stop that he was finally satiated. He finished his muffin while humming a little tune, because he was happy now. And the three of us chewed our food in silence, literally staring dead ahead or downward, like we're all just dead inside. He frequently gets in a gleeful mood once we're all battered down and looking like that.
An hour ago as we drove home I couldn't face all of us going back there together, and my son being send to his room for the rest of the day. So I suggested that I take Dillon out for a few hours so that he and Ella could rest. And of course, that brought on a whole new attack. I'm selfish, a bad mother, it's all about me and what I want, I just wake up and wonder how I can be served, blah blah blah. Of course his screaming woke up Ella who was napping in her car seat, and as we pulled into the driveway, he ordered me to go and get out of his sight. I went upstairs, got Ella back to sleep and got Dillon settled into his bed watching a movie. Hours of mind-numbing movies; that's the only safe activity for him and I hate it.
So now I'm here. I'm so angry at the kind of family life that he has created. God knows what awaits me when I get back. I can't wait to get out of it. And yet it's SO scary. Every now and then he makes little comments just to keep me nervous, like, "Yeah, you think I don't know what you're up to, Stacey, believe me, I'm not dumb." But I know he's bluffing, because he's said that to me for our entire marriage now. Today he even accused me that I want to go out so that I can go "hang out with my drunk friends," as if I have ANY friends, of any kind! I never go out without him, socially, NEVER. My old friends are off limits to me, even the married couples, and I've never been on a mom's night out for all the years we've been married -- how can he say such a thing! And then I get angry that he's gotten under my skin. I know how insecure and manipulative he really is, and I'm not anything he says I am. But it still generates a terrific urge to justify and defend myself, ugh, it's so hard!
Now I'd better get back because I can't -- I won't -- leave little Dillon alone with him for very long. I try not to leave him at all. I'm sitting here in this cafe typing, and people are sipping their coffees and reading their papers, and I'm screaming inside. I'm screaming so loudly that it seems impossible not to be noticed: "Hear me! Does anybody hear me?! I'm being victimized! I'm hurt! I need help! Can't you see that!!!" But no one hears me.
And that's okay. I'm strong. And I'm doing it. I'm fighting for myself and my babies. And telling you makes me feel a lot stronger than when I came in here. Thanks for listening.
Until next time, dear friend...
So I'm grateful that we've gone out to breakfast, yes. At least when we're out, Dillon isn't banished to his room "all by myself," as he describes it. Even when I go in to play with him, then we both get it for being too loud, and I feel that I'm putting Dillon in jeopardy because my tickling and playing and laughing gets him into trouble. It's madness. So we get through breakfast. As usual, the place is lovely, we're privileged to be where we are. But it's anything but joyful. As children tend to, they live in the moment and so with ours, they sit at the table and play with the crayons and sing as we wait for the food. Little Dillon holds a crayon out for Ella with a smile and that did it. That was Derek's "in" to begin his bullying: he twists Dillon's ear, almost jerking him off of his chair: "LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!! How many times did I tell you, Dillon, to LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!!" "Yes, daddy," he whines, looking at me to gauge my reaction. Of course he becomes very quiet, but it's far from over. Out of the blue Derek hisses, "NO tv for you!!! What do you think! You can just do whatever you want!" And then his favorite: "WHO TOLD YOU to give her the crayon, hmm??!! WHO TOLD YOU?!!"
I get the "WHO TOLD YOU" accusation a lot: "WHO TOLD YOU to turn on/off the a/c??" "WHO TOLD YOU to pick up/not pick up my plate?!" "WHO TOLD YOU to sit there?!!!" I'm not 'allowed' to sit on just any couch in our house; only my designated couch. And Dillon is not allowed to sit on the couches AT ALL. I'm not 'allowed' to make any decorating decisions. A while back I framed a cute picture of Dillon wearing his backpack and put it on the side table with all the other family pics. When Derek came home he saw it immediately and began the, "WHO TOLD YOU" speech, saying, "WHO TOLD YOU to put a picture there!!" After much walking around the house with the picture and yelling insults about what an awful person I am because I have "no fine feeling for decorating and absolutely no taste" and that I'm just "a dumb redneck and a pig" like the rest of my family, and that he "can only imagine what the place would look like" if he weren't here, he eventually put the photo in my closet and said it can either stay there or the trash.
Today he's as charming as ever. After breakfast the hissing of threats and criticisms was so non-stop that he was finally satiated. He finished his muffin while humming a little tune, because he was happy now. And the three of us chewed our food in silence, literally staring dead ahead or downward, like we're all just dead inside. He frequently gets in a gleeful mood once we're all battered down and looking like that.
An hour ago as we drove home I couldn't face all of us going back there together, and my son being send to his room for the rest of the day. So I suggested that I take Dillon out for a few hours so that he and Ella could rest. And of course, that brought on a whole new attack. I'm selfish, a bad mother, it's all about me and what I want, I just wake up and wonder how I can be served, blah blah blah. Of course his screaming woke up Ella who was napping in her car seat, and as we pulled into the driveway, he ordered me to go and get out of his sight. I went upstairs, got Ella back to sleep and got Dillon settled into his bed watching a movie. Hours of mind-numbing movies; that's the only safe activity for him and I hate it.
So now I'm here. I'm so angry at the kind of family life that he has created. God knows what awaits me when I get back. I can't wait to get out of it. And yet it's SO scary. Every now and then he makes little comments just to keep me nervous, like, "Yeah, you think I don't know what you're up to, Stacey, believe me, I'm not dumb." But I know he's bluffing, because he's said that to me for our entire marriage now. Today he even accused me that I want to go out so that I can go "hang out with my drunk friends," as if I have ANY friends, of any kind! I never go out without him, socially, NEVER. My old friends are off limits to me, even the married couples, and I've never been on a mom's night out for all the years we've been married -- how can he say such a thing! And then I get angry that he's gotten under my skin. I know how insecure and manipulative he really is, and I'm not anything he says I am. But it still generates a terrific urge to justify and defend myself, ugh, it's so hard!
Now I'd better get back because I can't -- I won't -- leave little Dillon alone with him for very long. I try not to leave him at all. I'm sitting here in this cafe typing, and people are sipping their coffees and reading their papers, and I'm screaming inside. I'm screaming so loudly that it seems impossible not to be noticed: "Hear me! Does anybody hear me?! I'm being victimized! I'm hurt! I need help! Can't you see that!!!" But no one hears me.
And that's okay. I'm strong. And I'm doing it. I'm fighting for myself and my babies. And telling you makes me feel a lot stronger than when I came in here. Thanks for listening.
Until next time, dear friend...
Friday, April 16, 2010
Ugh................
It's just pure hell lately; we're still on vacation and my son is starting to act out from the stress. He's crying a lot at seemingly nothing, he's hitting some children in this new school, and he's yelling more like his father. This morning was the usual terror: Derek heard the pitter-patter of scampering feet and yes, there's no running aloud in the house, but in spite of my corrections, he stormed out of the bedroom spanking and screaming, and it didn't stop the entire time. As I put on Dillon's shoes for him, Derek bent over us yelling at Dillon as he cowered and covered his face, afraid of more attacks. I moved as fast as I could to get us out of there as Derek shouted impossible questions at Dillon like, "Why did you run in the house? Why? Answer!!" Three year-olds don't know "why" they did something like that, they were just caught in the moment. Dillon tries to appease him, "Yes Daddy!" he cries, but that's not good enough for Derek: "Yes Daddy?? Yes Daddy what?! What does that mean?!" Then he went into Dillon's room and unplugged the tv, shouting, "No tv for you until I say, do you hear me!!!" I wish I could describe how terrifying he is. Derek is not just an angry parent taking the tv away. He is a very intimidating, big, loud, and VERY angry man, who uses his power over us to break us and scare us. I can see through this tactic, but at three you can't, and it's truly horrifying. Lately if Derek just corrects Dillon at all he starts crying because he's so afraid of him, and that's starts Derek into his bullying and picking fights with our poor little boy. It's just awful.
Of course this tirade included me and how it's all my fault. As soon as we got down the stairs and into the garage to go to school, Dillon let out a whimper and started crying. I could tell it was just a huge release what he had just gone through and then being told he had to keep it in and stop crying or he would "get it." Dillon has learned, even at his tender age, to suck in the crying, but it's not healthy. So as soon as he thought it was safe, he let it out. I came over and gave him a big hug. I want to tell him that it's all over. I want to tell him that this won't happen anymore. But I can't yet. And it's just awful.
Of course this tirade included me and how it's all my fault. As soon as we got down the stairs and into the garage to go to school, Dillon let out a whimper and started crying. I could tell it was just a huge release what he had just gone through and then being told he had to keep it in and stop crying or he would "get it." Dillon has learned, even at his tender age, to suck in the crying, but it's not healthy. So as soon as he thought it was safe, he let it out. I came over and gave him a big hug. I want to tell him that it's all over. I want to tell him that this won't happen anymore. But I can't yet. And it's just awful.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Morning nightmares...part II
I did everything as usual: put the towels on the seats for Dillon and Ella, don't bang the cabinets, don't clang the dishes, set them down silently. Put the drinks on the placemats and not on the glass table, don't bang the microwave, even though it doesn't close without a bit of a banging. Wipe the sink down after I use the faucet. EVERY TIME after I use the faucet, even if I'm about to use it again. DON'T TALK. And don't let the children talk. Don't talk to the children. Don't let them talk to one another. No interaction whatsoever. I'm to stand over them and police their manners, as Derek stands behind me and polices me. And as much as I can I talk to them anyway. And because it's perfectly normal, Dillon talks to Ella. And Ella talks back to her brother. "QUIET!" Derek booms, startling all three of us. "It's eating time! Not talking time! Turn around and eat!"
And so it goes, but that's nothing. He usually takes time to come over to Dillon himself and lean over him intimidatingly, pulling his ears and hissing at him to sit up right and chew with his mouth closed. It's not the actual corrections that are necessarily wrong; I think all parents tell their children to sit up and chew with their mouths closed, but it's the venomous hatred with which he does it that is so horrifying. He seems to have no love for his son, only the desire to control him.
I try not to add fuel to the fire by responding, but when he attacks my babies I have to. That's when he accuses me of undermining him, stabbing him in the back, and making him look bad in front of his children. Then he threatens to kick me out of the house to raise two children on my own on the street.
That's how our mornings begin. If we're lucky, he stays in the bedroom, but he listens to us, and provides a never-ending battery of criticism of every noise he hears.
And every morning when the kids and I finally get into the car and drive out into the sunshine, we say, "Good morning, God, good morning, Jesus -- thank you for this beautiful day!" And then we sing songs and laugh and even yell and scream as loud as we can. For now that gets them smiling. For now. But not for long.
And so it goes, but that's nothing. He usually takes time to come over to Dillon himself and lean over him intimidatingly, pulling his ears and hissing at him to sit up right and chew with his mouth closed. It's not the actual corrections that are necessarily wrong; I think all parents tell their children to sit up and chew with their mouths closed, but it's the venomous hatred with which he does it that is so horrifying. He seems to have no love for his son, only the desire to control him.
I try not to add fuel to the fire by responding, but when he attacks my babies I have to. That's when he accuses me of undermining him, stabbing him in the back, and making him look bad in front of his children. Then he threatens to kick me out of the house to raise two children on my own on the street.
That's how our mornings begin. If we're lucky, he stays in the bedroom, but he listens to us, and provides a never-ending battery of criticism of every noise he hears.
And every morning when the kids and I finally get into the car and drive out into the sunshine, we say, "Good morning, God, good morning, Jesus -- thank you for this beautiful day!" And then we sing songs and laugh and even yell and scream as loud as we can. For now that gets them smiling. For now. But not for long.
Morning nightmares...part I
This morning I roused Dillon from a peaceful sleep, watching how sweet he looked as he balled his little fists and stretched, telling me that he was chasing doggies in his dream. I wanted so much to jump into his bed and tickle him, but I knew the sound would invite screaming from Derek, even though he's on the other end of the house. As usual, we had to whisper to get dressed, and I cringe whenever little Dillon goes near his dresser drawer to get his own socks and underwear: "Look mommy," he declares proudly, "I'm a big boy!" he says as he gets his things and slams the drawer shut with a slam. "Damnit! Idiots!" comes the first greeting that Dillon hears from his father. Still, he's a little boy with mostly joy in his heart: "Look mommy, I'm a plane!" he says as he zooms around the room, cleverly avoiding my attempts to put a shirt over his head. Again, I want to play, too, but I'm tense, and stick to business as I've "learned" to do in order to keep Dillon out of major trouble.
I get Ella ready much the same, trying to keep her quiet, keep her from laughing and giggling, and pleading with Dillon to stay out of her room. He wants to come in and greet her. He wants to give her a hug. And that's so wonderful! For a moment I relent, and Dillon embraces his little sister. There's a moment of quiet, and then I startle to see Derek standing in the doorway, watching us. He's furious. "Yes!" he booms, "I'm watching!" Then with no explanation to Dillon he jerks him up by the arm and spanks him: "LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!!" he screams, "DON'T TOUCH HER!!!!" and then as Dillon cries in confusion and disbelief, he walks out with tears streaming down his face and Derek gives him a kick in the backside, knocking him down. He lands with a smack on the floor. I run to him, and now I'm screaming, too: "You tyrant! Don't you touch him! Leave him alone! What's the matter with you!!!" Dillon clings to me and Derek continues his rant: "It's YOUR fault, Stacey! It's YOUR fault they're spoiled, selfish little brats!"
I took Dillon back into his room and gave him a hug. I told him that the way daddy acts is not okay, and that we don't act like that. I told him that I would keep him safe. But I didn't. He nods his head and hugs me, as we hear Derek's screams about us continue from the other room: "Idiots!! Every, single one! I've so had it! I'm not taking this shit, no I'm not! I'll take care of you! I'm so sick of your attitude, Stacey! I mean it!"
As he rages on, I try to get Dillon organized with his little backpack and shoes by the door, and get him to the breakfast table. He scurries by Derek quickly, so obviously afraid and Derek just glowers at him: "What -- what are looking at!" This nut is picking a fight with a 3 year old. Dillon tries to pacify him: "Yes, daddy," "Yes what! Yes what!" But Dillon doesn't know what to say and he's in trouble no matter what now. I grab him and go to the breakfast table, trying to smile at him. He used to say, "Mommy keeps me safe." He used to believe it. But he's not dumb, and he's beginning to see that even though I say daddy's behavior is not right, daddy somehow gets away with it, and that's what's not right. Soon he will know I'm not protecting him. He's already less and less comforted when I say it.
So now it's 7:15am and the screaming and insults have already come full force. Dillon gets to begin his morning being spanked for hugging his sister, he gets not one kind word from his father, not even "Hello," and he sees his mother being screamed at. Yesterday morning was worse. Dillon wet his bed, a rare occasion but it still happens now and then, and Derek unleashed his rage on little Dillon, not only jerking him out of the bed and through the air, not only spanking him and screaming at him, but also calling him a faggot and a sissy -- I can't get it out of my mind how horrible this man is. Who calls their son -- at any age but especially at three -- a "sissy" and a "faggot???!!"
Of course he says it's all my fault. That's what all abusers say. I told him that once. But now I don't mention it. I know what he is. And now we, Dillon, Ella and I, have to get through breakfast without breaking any unwritten rules...but of course that's impossible...
I get Ella ready much the same, trying to keep her quiet, keep her from laughing and giggling, and pleading with Dillon to stay out of her room. He wants to come in and greet her. He wants to give her a hug. And that's so wonderful! For a moment I relent, and Dillon embraces his little sister. There's a moment of quiet, and then I startle to see Derek standing in the doorway, watching us. He's furious. "Yes!" he booms, "I'm watching!" Then with no explanation to Dillon he jerks him up by the arm and spanks him: "LEAVE HER ALONE!!!!!" he screams, "DON'T TOUCH HER!!!!" and then as Dillon cries in confusion and disbelief, he walks out with tears streaming down his face and Derek gives him a kick in the backside, knocking him down. He lands with a smack on the floor. I run to him, and now I'm screaming, too: "You tyrant! Don't you touch him! Leave him alone! What's the matter with you!!!" Dillon clings to me and Derek continues his rant: "It's YOUR fault, Stacey! It's YOUR fault they're spoiled, selfish little brats!"
I took Dillon back into his room and gave him a hug. I told him that the way daddy acts is not okay, and that we don't act like that. I told him that I would keep him safe. But I didn't. He nods his head and hugs me, as we hear Derek's screams about us continue from the other room: "Idiots!! Every, single one! I've so had it! I'm not taking this shit, no I'm not! I'll take care of you! I'm so sick of your attitude, Stacey! I mean it!"
As he rages on, I try to get Dillon organized with his little backpack and shoes by the door, and get him to the breakfast table. He scurries by Derek quickly, so obviously afraid and Derek just glowers at him: "What -- what are looking at!" This nut is picking a fight with a 3 year old. Dillon tries to pacify him: "Yes, daddy," "Yes what! Yes what!" But Dillon doesn't know what to say and he's in trouble no matter what now. I grab him and go to the breakfast table, trying to smile at him. He used to say, "Mommy keeps me safe." He used to believe it. But he's not dumb, and he's beginning to see that even though I say daddy's behavior is not right, daddy somehow gets away with it, and that's what's not right. Soon he will know I'm not protecting him. He's already less and less comforted when I say it.
So now it's 7:15am and the screaming and insults have already come full force. Dillon gets to begin his morning being spanked for hugging his sister, he gets not one kind word from his father, not even "Hello," and he sees his mother being screamed at. Yesterday morning was worse. Dillon wet his bed, a rare occasion but it still happens now and then, and Derek unleashed his rage on little Dillon, not only jerking him out of the bed and through the air, not only spanking him and screaming at him, but also calling him a faggot and a sissy -- I can't get it out of my mind how horrible this man is. Who calls their son -- at any age but especially at three -- a "sissy" and a "faggot???!!"
Of course he says it's all my fault. That's what all abusers say. I told him that once. But now I don't mention it. I know what he is. And now we, Dillon, Ella and I, have to get through breakfast without breaking any unwritten rules...but of course that's impossible...
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A year of lasts....
Here I sit in the car with little Ella, waiting in the parking lot as I have so many times, while Derek does the grocery shopping, or the clothes shopping, or any other kind of shopping. Today he took Dillon in with him, which always gives me mixed emotions: on the one hand it gets him out of the car, but with the constant risk that something he does will set Derek off. This sitting the car thing started a few holidays ago, when the hassles of carting both small children into the store just for a few things seemed unnecessary. Somehow it's become a regular routine now, even if I want to come in. "Stay in the car," he says, "I'll call you if you can come out." Then he goes, sometimes asking at the last second if there's anything I need. Gee thanks.
As an added measure of control, he always takes the keys out of the ingnition or asks me, "Do you want the a/c or can you put the windows down?" I've told him countless times that it's up to me to decide if I want the windows down or not, and I will make that decision myself when I choose. I've told him that he cannot dictate such things when he's not even in the car. But still, every time, we go through this dance. Now I pretend just to satisfy him: oh, yes, take the keys out. Then when he's gone, I put them back in and start the car's a/c to avoid the blistering heat of the day.
So today I sit again, while he wanders through the isles, making all the decisions, and we wait. And wait. And wait. Usually I read. Or pray. Or just visualize things. Today I watched as people filed out with post Easter goodies, plastic ducks and colorful baskets and chocolate bunnies with hats, all at discount prices. It made me think of our Easter at my father's private club, how beautiful and festive it was; how smiles and warm smells of food filled the room, how anybody should have been happy. But of course Derek was not. He was nasty and rude and impatient with me, but it was still better than being stuck at home alone with him.
I sat in the parking lot today, watching the end of another holiday, one that I hoped would be our last together. Our last Easter together. But then I remembered all the holidays that I hoped would be our last: Our last Christmas, and then New Year's came. Our last Valentine's day, my last birthday with him, and now we're at Easter. Our last Easter.
There was a time when I couldn't imagine any holiday without him; I was so in love. And now, I can't get through a holiday -- or any day -- without being screamed at, degraded, insulted, criticized, and so our children as well. Not a day goes by that we aren't reminded of what losers we are, what pigs, what rednecks, what idiots, what brats, morons, and all the rest of it. It's probably hard for anyone to imagine how literal I mean it, but it's true: he rarely stops his attack anymore. It's basically continual throughout the day, as he monitors what ever we're doing and provides a running commentary on how inadequate and pathetic we are.
Our last Easter. Our very last. Please, please, yes please.
Until next time, dear friend....
As an added measure of control, he always takes the keys out of the ingnition or asks me, "Do you want the a/c or can you put the windows down?" I've told him countless times that it's up to me to decide if I want the windows down or not, and I will make that decision myself when I choose. I've told him that he cannot dictate such things when he's not even in the car. But still, every time, we go through this dance. Now I pretend just to satisfy him: oh, yes, take the keys out. Then when he's gone, I put them back in and start the car's a/c to avoid the blistering heat of the day.
So today I sit again, while he wanders through the isles, making all the decisions, and we wait. And wait. And wait. Usually I read. Or pray. Or just visualize things. Today I watched as people filed out with post Easter goodies, plastic ducks and colorful baskets and chocolate bunnies with hats, all at discount prices. It made me think of our Easter at my father's private club, how beautiful and festive it was; how smiles and warm smells of food filled the room, how anybody should have been happy. But of course Derek was not. He was nasty and rude and impatient with me, but it was still better than being stuck at home alone with him.
I sat in the parking lot today, watching the end of another holiday, one that I hoped would be our last together. Our last Easter together. But then I remembered all the holidays that I hoped would be our last: Our last Christmas, and then New Year's came. Our last Valentine's day, my last birthday with him, and now we're at Easter. Our last Easter.
There was a time when I couldn't imagine any holiday without him; I was so in love. And now, I can't get through a holiday -- or any day -- without being screamed at, degraded, insulted, criticized, and so our children as well. Not a day goes by that we aren't reminded of what losers we are, what pigs, what rednecks, what idiots, what brats, morons, and all the rest of it. It's probably hard for anyone to imagine how literal I mean it, but it's true: he rarely stops his attack anymore. It's basically continual throughout the day, as he monitors what ever we're doing and provides a running commentary on how inadequate and pathetic we are.
Our last Easter. Our very last. Please, please, yes please.
Until next time, dear friend....
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Not taking the bait
Our holiday continues. Yesterday there was a mix up with the cell phone bill and at first it appeared that I hadn't paid it, but I had. We were in the car and Ella was sleeping when he opened the mistaken bill that had crossed in the mail. Before I could even call them to verify the payment, he lost his mind over it. This unleashed a round of screaming, yelling and insults that woke up Ella and probably half of the Eastern seaboard. He screamed that I was "f---ing useless," "a total moron," "an awful, horrible person," and that he "has no idea how I survived before I met him," because I'm such a "total f--k up." That was all screaming in the car.
Then he said he was going to leave me here, in this place where we were on vacation; that I could just find a job somewhere; I have one week, he said. The threats continued. And I was just trapped in that car, having to take it. Thank God Dillon was in his new school, which seems wonderful.
Nevertheless I got on the phone and confirmed that the bill was an error. During that call, he had a running commentary about how stupid whatever I was saying on the phone was, and at one point I said to the operator, "Sorry, I didn't hear you, my husband is distracting me." And he knocked me in the head.
In any case our bill was indeed in good standing. I guess you won't be surprised that he didn't apologize at all. At this point we were parked in front of Target, and he patted my head like a good doggie. "It's okay," he said, and that was it.
For a while after that incident, he tried to be patient with me, as if anyone needed to because I'm such a bother -- ha, and then at lunch we went to one of our favorite bistros here. It was beautiful, and anyone should have been happy.
But he was in a mood again, and wanted to fight. I was determined not to take the bait, because when I respond, it gives him the fuel to have a real argument and it's always worse. So as we ate he sat there, staring daggers at me, and making comments: "You're really something, you are...you have some nerve...it's all about you, isn't it...what a horrible, awful, person, really...and you're ruining our kids with your stupid hugging and kissing...you just don't get it...uh uh...it's not gonna work this way..."
I just smiled and focused on my lunch and Ella, and talked to her as if he wasn't saying anything. The more I didn't react, the more different kinds of comments he would try: attacking me personally, then as a mother, then my intellect, then my ability to manage life, then my character, and on and on. But I just determined not to take the bait. Not now, not today.
And for a moment, I felt a tiny triumph. He didn't get to me. And if I can just get through this vacation, there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Speak soon, dear friend...
Then he said he was going to leave me here, in this place where we were on vacation; that I could just find a job somewhere; I have one week, he said. The threats continued. And I was just trapped in that car, having to take it. Thank God Dillon was in his new school, which seems wonderful.
Nevertheless I got on the phone and confirmed that the bill was an error. During that call, he had a running commentary about how stupid whatever I was saying on the phone was, and at one point I said to the operator, "Sorry, I didn't hear you, my husband is distracting me." And he knocked me in the head.
In any case our bill was indeed in good standing. I guess you won't be surprised that he didn't apologize at all. At this point we were parked in front of Target, and he patted my head like a good doggie. "It's okay," he said, and that was it.
For a while after that incident, he tried to be patient with me, as if anyone needed to because I'm such a bother -- ha, and then at lunch we went to one of our favorite bistros here. It was beautiful, and anyone should have been happy.
But he was in a mood again, and wanted to fight. I was determined not to take the bait, because when I respond, it gives him the fuel to have a real argument and it's always worse. So as we ate he sat there, staring daggers at me, and making comments: "You're really something, you are...you have some nerve...it's all about you, isn't it...what a horrible, awful, person, really...and you're ruining our kids with your stupid hugging and kissing...you just don't get it...uh uh...it's not gonna work this way..."
I just smiled and focused on my lunch and Ella, and talked to her as if he wasn't saying anything. The more I didn't react, the more different kinds of comments he would try: attacking me personally, then as a mother, then my intellect, then my ability to manage life, then my character, and on and on. But I just determined not to take the bait. Not now, not today.
And for a moment, I felt a tiny triumph. He didn't get to me. And if I can just get through this vacation, there is light at the end of the tunnel.
Speak soon, dear friend...
Monday, April 5, 2010
Traveling blues...
Utter hell traveling, have to be brief but the usual rounds of yelling, cursing at me at the luggage carousel and even threatening to divorce me. Easter was even worse. At least little Dillon is in a school while we're here so he's spared this hell. 'Will check in when I can to try to post. 'Would love to hear from someone out there -- is anyone out there? Anyone else who's on this crazy train? Stay strong.
Until later, dear friend...
Until later, dear friend...
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Holiday blues...
Unlike many people today, we are fortunate to be able to take holidays; something that under any other circumstances I would relish completely. Our quarterly month-long pilgrimages to elsewhere are times I have come to dread, mostly because we are stuck together 24/7 and even worse, sharing one car. My son is not usually in school then, either, and the days become painfully long trying to find things we can do that don't involve leaving him in his room staring at the television for hours, which is the only thing that my husband seems to tolerate.
The silence is the worst. The silence and the control. On these "holidays," Derek loves to sit in front of the television, while our two small children and I are required to be utterly silent at all times. No music, no tickling, no laughter, not even talking unless we are whispering. He would deny this, no doubt, but that's because he seems literally unaware that if my son or I speak to one another, he screams from the other room to shut up, and threatens Dillon with a spanking. So of course we have learned to whisper.
House arrest: On the last holiday, this unspoken rule began encroaching its way into our daily routine, subtly at first, where Derek required Dillon to remain in his room at all times. If he came out, he was instantly greeted with a loud, booming voice yelling, "Dillon! What is it! What do you want!" This insanity was something that I had to tolerate, otherwise Dillon would get the brunt of it. So I spent hours with him in his room, playing, reading and watching movies. But even then, if he pushed a truck, or if I tickled him or we did anything that made the slightest noise, Derek burst through the door, screaming at us both. This "rule" of coming home and Dillon going straight to his room has become second nature to him, as he knows that daddy isn't in there. I call him out for dinner, which the kids and I have together while Derek sits on the couch and shouts at us from the living room as he watches tv.
Under this same ordinance, I'm absolutely forbidden to leave the house without him or without his express approval of my purpose and the time-frame. Again, these kinds of rules are subtle, in the sense that the abuser doesn't make you go through some dialogue, like, "Can I go to the store now?" and he says, "Yes," or "No." It's just one of those things that you become trained to do through trial and error. On the last holiday we took, we had nothing in the house when we arrived. The next morning, being up first as usual, I dressed and fed the kids, and then said very casually to Derek, "Hey I'm going to run out real quick for a diet coke, do you want me to get you some coffee at Starbuck's or something?" This innocent announcement sent him into a rage at how selfish, thoughtless and self-centered I was to suggest such a thing, not to mention lazy, wasteful, and a horrible wife and mother. SERIOUSLY. He accused me of selfishly making my own plans, doing my own thing with no consideration for anyone else, and even though he was still in his robe, that I was just going to leave him there without a car like "some idiot."
"What do you think, Stacey --" he said, furious, "That you can just do what you want?!" Ha. Imagine that. As a matter of course at home, when sunset comes, he turns on the alarm and again, there will be absolutely no going outside, not for anything. If I left something in the car, too bad. If I want to show my son the full moon or the rain, no way. If we move the curtains to look out of the windows, he has fits. It's actually insane when I read it here, which is one of the very productive elements of sharing these things.
Well so April brings yet another holiday, one that I am planning will be our very last together. Fortunately, we are putting Dillon in school this time, so he will be spared the long hours at home. That gives me some relief. I hope to post as much as I can, but I can't be sure when I will have the opportunity to get online. We'll see.
Otherwise, I'll be back at the end of the month, with lots of news. In the meantime, think positive thoughts for all of us and feel free to share with me, particularly if you are going through your own challenges at home. There is strength in numbers. Never forget.
Until next time, dear friend...
The silence is the worst. The silence and the control. On these "holidays," Derek loves to sit in front of the television, while our two small children and I are required to be utterly silent at all times. No music, no tickling, no laughter, not even talking unless we are whispering. He would deny this, no doubt, but that's because he seems literally unaware that if my son or I speak to one another, he screams from the other room to shut up, and threatens Dillon with a spanking. So of course we have learned to whisper.
House arrest: On the last holiday, this unspoken rule began encroaching its way into our daily routine, subtly at first, where Derek required Dillon to remain in his room at all times. If he came out, he was instantly greeted with a loud, booming voice yelling, "Dillon! What is it! What do you want!" This insanity was something that I had to tolerate, otherwise Dillon would get the brunt of it. So I spent hours with him in his room, playing, reading and watching movies. But even then, if he pushed a truck, or if I tickled him or we did anything that made the slightest noise, Derek burst through the door, screaming at us both. This "rule" of coming home and Dillon going straight to his room has become second nature to him, as he knows that daddy isn't in there. I call him out for dinner, which the kids and I have together while Derek sits on the couch and shouts at us from the living room as he watches tv.
Under this same ordinance, I'm absolutely forbidden to leave the house without him or without his express approval of my purpose and the time-frame. Again, these kinds of rules are subtle, in the sense that the abuser doesn't make you go through some dialogue, like, "Can I go to the store now?" and he says, "Yes," or "No." It's just one of those things that you become trained to do through trial and error. On the last holiday we took, we had nothing in the house when we arrived. The next morning, being up first as usual, I dressed and fed the kids, and then said very casually to Derek, "Hey I'm going to run out real quick for a diet coke, do you want me to get you some coffee at Starbuck's or something?" This innocent announcement sent him into a rage at how selfish, thoughtless and self-centered I was to suggest such a thing, not to mention lazy, wasteful, and a horrible wife and mother. SERIOUSLY. He accused me of selfishly making my own plans, doing my own thing with no consideration for anyone else, and even though he was still in his robe, that I was just going to leave him there without a car like "some idiot."
"What do you think, Stacey --" he said, furious, "That you can just do what you want?!" Ha. Imagine that. As a matter of course at home, when sunset comes, he turns on the alarm and again, there will be absolutely no going outside, not for anything. If I left something in the car, too bad. If I want to show my son the full moon or the rain, no way. If we move the curtains to look out of the windows, he has fits. It's actually insane when I read it here, which is one of the very productive elements of sharing these things.
Well so April brings yet another holiday, one that I am planning will be our very last together. Fortunately, we are putting Dillon in school this time, so he will be spared the long hours at home. That gives me some relief. I hope to post as much as I can, but I can't be sure when I will have the opportunity to get online. We'll see.
Otherwise, I'll be back at the end of the month, with lots of news. In the meantime, think positive thoughts for all of us and feel free to share with me, particularly if you are going through your own challenges at home. There is strength in numbers. Never forget.
Until next time, dear friend...
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