Bridges burned...

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

The mind of the abuser...

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

Freedom of potatoes and pork chops

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

Survived the holiday...

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

Hiding things...

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

Happy Mother's Day

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

Afternoon battles...

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

Breakfast battles...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time, dear friend....

One of these days...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time, dear friend...

A tightening...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time, dear friend...