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...