Old fears, new fears

Well for that brief moment this week that I felt guilty over hurting Derek, he just eased my pain a bit. After all of his initial crying, sobbing, begging, pleading and beseeching me to come back to him, now that the protection order is in effect and he knows that I'm not going to be dissuaded, his true colors are coming back out. He sent me an email saying that everything I said are lies, that I won't be able to remain in our home, that it won't be as easy as I think, and that he will fight me this time (it's the second time I've left him, but the last time was years ago and I still loved him then). So my court date regarding the protection order is soon, and I have to wait on pins and needles to see if he turns up in court. I really hope he doesn't, but if he does, I'm ready to face him and whatever fire I have to run through to emerge from this victorious. When I was with Derek, I feared leaving, and I did it. Now I fear his retaliation, but I'll face it. He's a bully, and most bullies are really cowards when you put them to the test. My old fears have been replaced by new ones, some real and others imagined. I fear that I won't find a job that I like (I've been trying for over a year, so my fears are really founded!) I fear that no one will hire me and I'll go broke and my children will suffer; I fear that he will get visitation, I fear, I fear...and yet the kids and I are so much happier in our daily lives; we laugh together, and play, and Dillon is so much calmer, as am I. In only two weeks, Dillon has stopped being whiny and crying at the drop of a hat, he listens better, he's overly helpful around the house, and he's just a happier little boy all around. It's incredible. Children are wonderful at getting you to live in the moment, and that's been a great therapy for me, keeping me from brooding or wallowing. Both Dillon and little Ella keep me real. Today they spent twenty minutes walking around in my shoes, and I loved it. They got spanked for that before, and screamed at. Derek was always looking for that confrontation, he was always looking for a fight. Now we have pillow fights, and tickle fights, and fights over who gets to lick the yogurt lid. Before, when Dillon wasn't allowed to hug his sister goodnight or even say goodnight and wave to her without Derek getting angry, now we all go into Ella's room and read a story, and then Dillon hugs her and tells her to have a nice sleep. He's part of the family now, imagine that. It's just the three of us, without the bitter, venomous dark cloud that hung over us before. It's sad that it was that way, but it's wonderful that it's not that way anymore. So I still have fears. The sad Derek has gone away and the angry Derek has promised me a fight. I stress about not having a job and not finding one. I don't know what's going to happen about a great many things. But I do know one thing: when we're in our home now, we're in the moment and we're happy. My children are truly happy. For whatever it means, Dillon hasn't asked about his father once. That's speaks volumes. Until next time, dear friend...

Bittersweet victories...

Well it's true that since we've left and we're on our own, our home life is really quite wonderful. Tonight before Ella's bedtime, we all piled into her bed and tickled each other, we took turns making "razberries" on each other's tummies, and then we read a bedtime story. It was so wonderful, and it was something we could never, never do before. Dillon is so caring, and he's been proud to be able to help around the house, to show Ella how to brush her teeth, and how to fold her little shirts. Even after just one week, we've all relaxed and now when I pick him up from school and I say we're going home, instead of crying he says, "Yaaay, home!" Seriously! So that's all fantastic, and I give thanks every single day, sometimes hourly for it. It was a long time coming, but I went to battle and I won. Not only are we out of a home with Derek's oppressive and controlling iron hand, but we are somewhere safe, happy, and we can build a life. Today I had a first step victory in that a judge granted my request for an order of protection, meaning that Derek can't have any contact with me or the children and he can't come back to our home. It's temporary until the hearing, but it's in place, and so it's a victory for us, to be sure. One step at a time. I'm doing it. It took four hours to get it done today, spending the day at the court house, filling out paper work, writing a statment and then going through a lengthy interview process. I kept it together and I did it. FOR THE SECOND TIME. And I never want to do it again. Never. I kept it together, and I did it. But as I was leaving to begin the wait until the afternoon to hear whether or not the judge granted it, the weight of it all overtook me and I started to cry like a little girl, walking down the street, sniffling and swiping at my nose with my sleeve as though my ice cream had just fallen into the gutter. But it wasn't my ice cream, it was my life. My life was down there in that gutter, and I had just thrown it there, purposefully and irrevocably. At least that's how it felt. Oh I knew the whole time that it was what I had to do, but what was hurting me so much, what was causing my chest to heave with a painful heaviness was the realization that I had just hurt someone else unbearably. It was Derek, I know, but however horrible he was to us, I know he was and is so sick that he will still feel the full brunt of the pain of our leaving, however cruel he was, however spiteful, however badly his words stung, for whatever he did, I realized, all in a moment walking down that sidewalk to my car, that it never feels good to hurt someone else LIKE THAT. Even Derek. Today, I broke him. Today I won. And it was as awful and empty a victory as you could imagine, even though it was just. For the rest of the day, I vacillated from feeling strong, optimistic, brave and grateful one minute to feeling SO sad, despondent even, and so very mean and empty. I feel for anyone, even Derek, who will go through the pain that I know he will go through, and it doesn't feel good to know that I made it happen. On the other hand, I really didn't make it happen. He did. He made it happen with every spiteful, venemous word he spat at me, with every nasty, angry insult he slung, with every harsh hand he raised to me or my son, with every slam of a door, with every scream, with every nightmarish, controlling, ritual, with all of it, HE -- and not I -- MADE it happen. Today is my victory, although I'm not fully there yet. The order is temporary. But it's a small victory, nonetheless. Even so, I don't feel proud, I don't feel boastful, or joyous, I feel somber, like a part of me has died. The old part, that had to hear she was stupid, selfish, dumb, a liar, an idiot, and all the rest of it. And something else. The part of me that might have been, if Derek could only have found the good that was in him. I guess today I mourn for all that should have been. But that never could be. So that's it. I'm okay. It's just strange. I'm overwhelmingly grateful that we are protected. And I never lose sight of that; I never lost sight of those things that I must do in order to keep myself focused on a good life for us. But today was bittersweet. I guess that's all I wanted to say. Until next time, dear friend...

We're outta there!!!!

Okay we made it! That's the bottom line. We got out, but not without a fight. He tried to stop us. He took the children's passports and I thought I was really, seriously stuck. He cried and sobbed. He feigned a heart attack. He told all of his friends and they thought he was going to have a breakdown. He begged and pleaded that things would be different. But he had the passports! Through several hours of convincing from his friends and myself by phone, he handed over the passports so that we could get back to our other home, and to what I knew to be safety. He said he was sure it was temporary, that we would work it out. I didn't feel safe until we were back in the States. For the next several days, he pleaded on the phone, texts and emails that things would be different. But I know they never would be. He tried to bribe me, sending emails asking about the Ph.D program that I wanted to take, suddenly, when he never had any interest before. Meanwhile my friends and family have rallied around us, helping us to get our lives stablized. It's not easy, and I want to tell you more over the next week about the torrent of conflicting emotions that ensue when you actually do leave, but I keep telling myself, as I really do know, that this is the only way to protect me and my children from further damage and harm. Regardless of whatever challenges lay before me, never again will he call me, "moron," "stupid," "idiot," "selfish," "a liar," "a dumb redneck," and "a cheap whore" for living off of his money. Never again will he knock me in the head, scream at the top of his lungs at me, throw things at me, ignore me, threaten to leave me on the street with no money, and control every aspect of my life, including who I see and when. And especially, never, never again will he kick Dillon, pinch him, slap him, keep him confined to his room like a prisoner, call him degrading names like, "sissy," "faggot," and, "lazy bum," to name a few. Never again will he jerk his little body around, never again will he scream at him or hurt him, mentally, physically, or otherwise. And the same goes for little Ella, who he was just starting to treat like that. So yes, we are out of there. Yes I'm glad and relieved. But I'm also sad, and I know there are many challenges and unanswered questions about our lives now. I'm afraid -- afraid that I won't be able to do this on my own, even though a small voice inside of me says I know better. I'm concerned about money, of course. I have no job, even though I have abilities and experience. I guess I have to take it one step at a time. First, and foremost, we are safe. But the fight is not over yet. We're not divorced. So breathe, I tell myself. Childcare is horribly expensive, so breathe. I don't have all the answers, but just breathe. It's not easy, but I'm trying to stay positive. I AM so relieved to be out of that toxic environment. On a happy note, I would love to tell you some of the things that we've already enjoyed as soon as we were free to be "normal:" Dillon and Ella play with their toys on the living room floor, and it's great. Both of them help set the breakfast table; we talk while we're eating together, and I love it. Dillon hugs Ella, and takes such good care of her, we sing songs whenever we feel like it and we're not worried that we'll be yelled at, and the other night when Ella was in bed, Dillon came into my room and watched a movie in my big bed while I unpacked. It was SO NICE to just be. To just walk around the house and not worry that we've moved a pillow, or talked above a whisper. Since we got here, we leave our bedroom doors open, something that Dillon asked if we could do. I know that speaks volumes because he was always made to stay in his room with the door closed, "all by myself," as he used to say. Now he goes where he wants. We are relaxed in our own home, and that's the biggest difference. I know that's a blessing that I could never put a price on. So there it is -- we're free! More to come, though, dear friend, if you're still around to listen, I'll keep checking in to tell you how we're getting on. The job for me is just beginning, and I want to share it with you. You're so encouraging, and keep me strong, and yes, I'm afraid of the future right now. Happy and afraid at the same time. But you help me to stay focused and not give in to fear. Thank you for that. So until next time, dear friend...

The countdown's on...

Holy crap I've never snuck around this much in my entire life; there's been so much preparing to do, knowing that I only get one chance to do it right and then we're outta here! Yesterday there was a birthday party for one of Dillon's little friends. I told Derek that we would be a bit later than usual, sometime after 6. He didn't seem to care, but of course, when we walked through the door at 6:35, he was insane with rage that I hadn't been home earlier to fix his dinner. He screamed for a good half hour as I got the kids showered, dressed and into bed. Thank God they'd already had dinner at the party. With each rant, scream, insult, curse and hurtful phrase, I secretly thanked him for making it easier; for confirming in every insult that I'm doing the right thing; for reminding me with every bellowing scream, of all the times in the last four years that I've prayed that we could leave. And now we really are. There's not much time left. I'm still nervous, but I'm very focused on what I need to do, and the countdown's on! Until next time, dear friend...

Steel Magnolia...

As you know the big day is coming, and the more I make a mad dash for the car in the morning carrying some secret stash to my friend's house, the more my nerves frazzle. As I mentioned before. Also as I mentioned, I have some (only some, mind you) guilt about how devastated he will be when we go; how for him his life will seem like it's over. So to cure myself, I just went back and read my very first blog, and then I read the second, and I kept reading, feeling so much pain for this person I was reading about, and so much contempt for this bastard who was mistreating her. It's amazing how quickly the heart can shroud itself and the mind can erase the details of painful events, so that we're able to move on, and as I read, it all came rushing back, just how abusive this guy is. Maybe that sounds crazy to you; that I could possibly "forget," but it's not really that. I know what he is, but some of the details, the exact phrases, or the reasons he went into a rage, fade with time. Particularly motivating is when I read anything about my children being affected by this man. It brought tears to my eyes. Then I went back and read all of the comments to those posts, and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude at the support, and especially to those of you who've shared your own stories with me of similar situations from which you've escaped. Very soon my children and I will join that group. But in these final days, your thoughts and comments are proving invaluable to me. Thank you, so much. Until next time, dear friend...

Naughty butterflies...

There are only a handful of days left now before we're on a plane. In preparation, I have to do a lot of sneaking around, pre-packing things that he won't notice, or that I hope he won't notice; copying documents that I will need later, documents that it would otherwise seem strange for me to be copying; rehearsing the day in my mind, exactly how it will go and the order of things; it's all making me so nervous. I can see that he suspects absolutely nothing, which is extremely good, but it also underscores just how absolutely shocked and utterly devastated he will be. Because I know that he doesn't know himself, and he won't understand, I know what this will do to him, and I hate doing that to anyone, least of all the father of my children. I do keep ever foremost in my mind, however, the venomous, degrading and hateful things he's said to me and my son, the horrible treatment and the spirit-crushing rules under which we are forced to live and I always conclude that I'm doing the right thing, believe me. That won't change. I'm moving forward every day. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm getting really f---ing nervous, about the day itself, and about what he will want to do to me afterwards. Yes, I know I have to just push through the pain, push through the nerves and get on with it, and I am. But it's here talking to you that I bare my weakness for a moment. I hope when I get out of this that it will have inspired someone else to do the same. Until next time, dear friend...

Mean makes it easier...

There's not much time left before we go, and since Derek is being true to his nature and back to having his daily tirades, as horrible as it is, it almost makes it easier to plan all the things I've planned in secret. Each time he calls me an idiot, a moron, a horrible person, and all the rest of it, I think, "Good, go ahead, you're just confirming and reaffirming for me that I'm so glad we're leaving!" Yesterday I met him for breakfast as usual, following a phone episode where he screamed at me for scheduling the housekeeper on a day that he claims I did not clear with him. He was irate, telling me I'm selfish, unorganized, don't have my shit together, I'm the most idiotic person he's ever met, and on and on. I got to hear this as I was driving to meet him for breakfast. Once I got there, I sat down and he was complaining about the service today; how he had no water yet, no toast, and how the staff moved like "dumb monkeys who should go back to the trees." "Should I get some toast?" I offered, since it's at a self-serve bar. "How dumb are you?" he snapped, "The toaster isn't working, you idiot. Do you see toast here? You think I'm so dumb I couldn't get it myself?" This is the kind of baiting that still stings horribly, but with only days to go I think, "Oh yeah, you're a real jerk, alright, I'm SO glad we're leaving!" Still, it's hard to remain silent and this time I couldn't. "No," I countered, "I was trying to be HELPFUL." I said with emphasis. "Someone is trying to be NICE to you. But I know you don't care about that." "No, I don't care. You know what -- get out of my sight. Sit somewhere else. You make sick." he said, waving his hand dismissively at me. I SO wanted to get up and leave, but I knew that would spark a firestorm of anger that could cause me problems during this last critical week, so I stayed put, just taking it. Somehow we got through breakfast and he moved on to other topics, some normal and others peppered with comments like, "What are you saying, who thinks like that, please, just stop talking." That night, when I was making dinner, Derek descended from his lair upstairs to come down and scream at the kids for a bit. They were both eating, and before he was even off of the stairs, he screamed across the entire room for Dillon to sit up straight. Then he screamed at Ella to stop making such a mess and that she's a pig (she's only 1 1/2). Then he screamed at me that I was just standing there doing nothing about all of these horrible infractions, that I'm clueless, useless, etc. etc. Whenever Dillon would turn his head around to look at him as he screamed, Derek would scream for him to turn around and mind his own business. He worked himself into such a frenzy of anger toward me over all of this that he said, "You can just stop what you're dong, I'm not eating any of it! Thank you, Stacey, I've completely lost my appetite!" I continued cooking his dinner anyway, and served it to him on the couch as usual. But he sat there like a two-year-old, refusing to even look at it. "I told you I'm not eating it. You can take it away." This, coming from someone who screams at me about being wasteful. Except for the screaming at me and the kids, I actually found his display ridiculous and exactly like a naughty child. He's so immature, it just mystified me. I left the plate of food on the coffee table all night, until he fell asleep and finally I decided that it was no good to actually waste it, so I put it away. At that point he awoke, still angry and not speaking to me, and I sat in silence on the couch (on my designated couch, that is), dutifully watching as he flipped the channels around at will. Finally he retreated back upstairs without a word to me. Later, when I went to bed, he was back to "normal," trying to tickle me and poke me, much like a schoolboy who has a crush but doesn't know how to tell the girl, so he pulls her hair and teases her. That's what Derek does. He tries to make up by being playful. Yuk. Earlier, as I was cleaning up the remains of his dinner, I tried to imagine the night very soon when it would be the very last dinner that I made him. I wonder then if he'll miss it. In the midst of his tirade last night, he had declared again, that I'm "no good" for him, that he doesn't need me, and that things had to change. Wish granted. Until next time, dear friend...