Well, at some point it was going to come down to this.  I am nothing if not honest and brutally honest at that.  Mostly because I don’t care and also because what do I gain by not telling the complete truth – or something that at least borders the complete truth.  There is only one person in my life that knows everything so I guess I need to hold back at least a little something from the rest of you.  We’ll see.

Here we go.

As a woman who has lived with domestic violence since the age of 17, which for most of the female world coincides with a blossoming libido, what is one to do?  If you’ve been reading the story as I’ve been laying it out there for you, you must know by now my husband was not my first. Neither was my Ex (although he should’ve been).  No, I started young. Younger, I should say because let’s face it 17 is pretty damn young in today’s day and age.  However, in the 80’s, mid teenagedom was just about right. At least for my group of friends and honestly for most of the people I knew in the neighborhood.  Even as we became adults and reminisced about our youth and “first time” we were not that far apart from each other when we started. It seems no one really waited until they were out of their teens much less waited for marriage.  Point being, I sewed some oats.

In case you are not familiar with my story, my husband was a (22 year old) virgin when I started dating him.  Nothing is wrong with that at all, in fact it was surprising in a good way.  It just didn’t fit his bad boy persona so that was the only reason that it seemed odd.  After two months of dating we finally took the big step and after seven months of dating I was pregnant.  In that time frame, he also started to hit me.  I was just so wrapped up in being his girlfriend that I didn’t really dwell on that.  It would happen, he would apologize and we’d move on.  Obviously, over the years we continued to have sex because I had two more children.

Over the years, he never really seemed overly excited about sex.  I always thought it was because he knew he wasn’t my first so in his mind he may have been wondering how he compares.  Of course, I couldn’t give pointers without it being obvious that I knew more about it then he did.  So it was always somewhat awkward – at least until I lowered my expectations.  After a few years of intense fighting – things stopped.  Not so much the sex part but we stopped kissing somewhere around year two or three.  Like…stopped.  No more “making out” with your significant other.  For those of you who have ever been in love or just love kissing in general…can you even imagine?  On top of that because I am hating him for the way he is treating me I stopped the “I love you” bullshit as well.  So barely into my early 20’s and all of that is done. However, I still have sex with him if for no other reason then to have one less thing to argue about.

Two kids and 20+ years later, I hate him more than ever.  Most of my close friends know I can’t stand him. They have no idea of the abuse just in the loathing. It seems not many people are too thrilled with their husbands either. The differences being, as far as I’m aware, they are not being abused and they are also not having sex.  And when asked of me they are shocked to hear…yes, I’m still having sex.  Has it gotten better over the years?  Thank the Lord, yes.  Do I still hate him? Absolutely. But I have needs too…and I can imagine being with anyone else while he does his best.  And the end result, it is still one less thing to argue about.

This brings us to our current state of affairs…I have cut his ass off.  I have no desire to be touched by him no matter how hard I imagine I am with someone else.  We don’t really sleep in the same room anymore which has helped tremendously.  Not for lack of him trying either.  He usually brings it up within 15 minutes of being home from work. Usually stating…tonight’s the night. And I laugh and say, yeah…okay.  But more so because he falls asleep on the couch and I leave him there.  So we’ve now come to that point in time where he is getting pissed off about it.  He decided he wanted to argue about it last night telling me…”You better stop doing what you’re doing” as in – holding out.  I looked at him and matter of factly said…”What I’m doing? You must be kidding me!” And I quickly run down the list of complaints from his less than exciting repertoire starting with not being kissed for 23 years.  From there on you can see his facial expression quickly change from demanding to oh damn, she can do better. He huffed and puffed about it for a couple of minutes more and then shut the fuck up.

Seriously, I know (especially for any man that might be reading this) no man wants to be held out on – most especially from his wife, but this one needs to get used to it.  It would be so much more helpful if he would go out there and find a girlfriend but it’s clear he is insecure on so many levels of his manhood, thus the physical violence.  He would barely know how to approach another women let alone actually bed one down.  No worries about me though.  Luckily, women are resilient and I am oh so fine.  It helps that I am starting to get regular visitation with the Ex and of course sexting does wonders.

I’m not really sure what the point of my story was. I guess, unfortunately, I am aware that at some point before I am out of here I will have to give it up if for nothing else but for leverage out of an argument.  Bleh.

Yet again, I should be sitting down to catch up on work that has been taking a backseat to my thoughts over the past several weeks but instead here I am – slacking off, again.  It’s like my brain is on overdrive thinking about all I have taken in over the past two months and all I have let out.  Now, it’s about what to do with that which has been let out.

Have you ever seen the movie Poltergeist? At one point, Craig T. Nelson’s character started off acting romantic with his wife who didn’t notice anything different but his actions quickly became insatiable and she finds herself fighting him off only to see him turn around and throw up the evil spirit that had taken over his body.

Well, I’m sort of feeling somewhat similar.  With finally talking about my abuse I have let out all of the evil that has held me down for so long.  However, I still feel like something is holding on.  As if the evil spirit has been let out but is holding on to my foot still trying to drag me down with it…as I hold on for dear life to something stronger than it.  I just can’t see what it is that I’m holding on to that is keeping me afloat.  My sanity?  My determination?  My own physical strength?  I’m not sure.  I feel like I am in a bizarre state of limbo, almost as if I am standing at another [fork in the road].

This whole experience of telling my story has been inexplicable.  My story and your stories have carried me to a place of openness in where I don’t care who knows.  I want to say it loud and proud.  I want people to see the man I have been living with for who he really is.  To them, yes he may be the loudest neighbor on the block, but he is an overall good guy. To them, he will always help a neighbor out. He is a strict and loving father.  He is a hard working man whose main goal is to provide for his family.  So what if he’s a little loud and argues with his wife once too often.  I’m sure they’ve all argued with their spouses.  So what if he curses like a maniac as soon as he walks in the door from work because something didn’t get done (e.g. watering plants). I’m sure he must’ve had a hard day at work and was hoping the one thing he asked to get done was actually done.  So what if he threatens to punch his wife in the head or even kill her.  I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, after all she’s still there so it must just be him venting with overly violent verbiage.  If she can deal with it – so can the neighbors.

What amazes me is in the last 25 years we have lived in three different locations.  In every place there has been abuse.  Not once, ever, did anyone call the police.  Of course, I always feared what would happen if they did because he would quietly tell me that if the cops show up to the door he will shoot me first and then put the gun down open the door and kneel on the ground with his hands on his head.  What the fuck is that?  Sounds like something he had thought through.  Always sounded logical enough to me that I would not want the cops at my door.  I think it just kept me from screaming or crying loud enough for anyone to hear.  It’s just shocking -because there have been some doozies- that no one once, not ever, called.  Then again, who am I to talk, I never called the cops on him either.

Anyway, it’s hard for me to relate the way I am currently feeling.  That’s why I am trying to be descriptive by example.  Another would be…the butterfly emerging from it’s cocoon only to find that it’s lower half is unable to break free.  I’m sure there is something metaphoric between the two instances that came to my head…the evil spirit and the butterfly.  Your mind always has a way of trying to bring your subconscious to your conscious self.  To make you understand in a way that is tangible to you.  So here I am, trying to figure out why I feel stagnant.

Since I’m aware that I have some time before I am out and now have the informative stepping stones of getting my act together and setting up and planning everything I need in order to make my exit swift and safe with the least amount of damage, that maybe–just maybe, there is more to it.  I’m left wondering if there is more to this.  More that I have to accomplish before shaking off this part of my life for good.  Whether it be physical or spiritual or something else.  There is something, I just can’t put my finger on it.

Every once in a while, I get these feelings.  Sometimes an overwhelming feeling of sadness or just very lethargic and it turns out to be something happening to someone who is very close to me.  This time though, it’s very real that the person is me.  I’m sorry if all of this sounds a bit disconcerting.  For those who have come to know me here it may be out of the ordinary for me not to sound so exact and to the point of what I’m trying to get across.  This is part of why I have been unable to focus on work.  Mostly because I have been purely unable to focus – on anything.  I’m thinking and rethinking and planning and wondering and it’s got me all perplexed.  For those of you who have been able to leave…were you feeling this way?  Is this part of the process or am I overwhelmed by all I have revealed and all that I have been reading of others’ situations of abuse and escape?

Maybe all of this boils down to straight up fear that I won’t be able to pull this off or maybe the unsettling feeling is that I can and will and he doesn’t take it well.  How long will I have to hide?  Will I put my kids in danger?  When will my life be normal and peaceful?  Geez.  I have so much to work on.  I can see that unloading my burden of abuse was just the tip of the iceberg.