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...