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...