Please help me understand/Domestic Violence Question

Bipley · Nov 24, 2005

You know what? Of all threads this is one that we shouldn't be insulting and slamming one another. It is an insult to those who are posting with sincere thoughts and efforts. It is an insult to those who really are sharing and teaching.

I respectfully request this thread be closed. I don't like the direction it has suddenly turned and there is no longer any benefit.

TypicalFish · Nov 24, 2005

You weren't slamming me? I have a feeling of superiority? I am judging those that are in abused relationships? I don't WANT to 'get it'? Claiming I can't "excuse" their behavior as though it is up to me to excuse any such thing?
What the heck do you say when you ARE slamming someone?

This is my last post on this, and I won't check back. But Bipley, maybe you should re-read your posts from an objective standpoint and see where I get my points. You state over and over that since YOU wouldn't put up with abusive behavior you can't understand why anyone would 'choose' to stay in such a situation. My point is that you continuosuly refer to "tolerating" abuse as a being "weak" or "strong"; if you state that you are "strong" and wouldn't tolerate abuse, what are you implying about those who "tolerate" such behavior? That is my only point-I am not insulting you-I am just trying to understand why you see it in terms of "weakness" and "strength". I was abused as a child and as an adult; I am not weak. Just because you don't understand my life, does not make me weak, and you strong.

SmilingBluEyes · Nov 24, 2005

The story...
The Monster Under the Bed
Where exactly did it all go wrong? She sat in the shade of the trees in the oversize adirondack chair and sniffled a bit. Holding back the tears she was fighting, hoping no one could tell she wanted to cry. It had all started this morning with a cup of coffee and the children's book she had found lying in the bottom of the magazine basket. Illustrated with manner and deliberacy, simple words and concrete ideas, full of flight and imagination. She remembered the dragons and the knights in shining armor...they had clamored around her knees at one time for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and grape Kool-Aid. All that had changed now. She sat staring into the morning sun, wishing for that magical world to come back. Wishing for the days she had spent with her children crawling through underbrush in the nearby woods, landing on the moon and still managing to have supper on the table in the evening. Somewhere, between a bottle of whisky and a marriage gone sour all the fantasy was gone, The children stone like and hardened. No more laughter echoed through the house now. She was alone. Summer was etching its way into the earth and sky. Another day and another summer came back to haunt her.
Startled by the sound of a cry, the usual morning alarm clock in her house these days. She rose to make a bottle and get breakfast and change diapers. Finding Marcy the 7 year old in the living room watching cartoons, she scooped her up and hugged her, setting her back down on the floor in a fit of giggling. Marcy's giggles followed her up the stairs and into the boys' room where she lifted a tiny boy from his crib after changing his diaper and his wet pajamas. Robbie was peeking out from under the bed and reaching for her ankles whenever she stepped near. As she bent to look for him, he covered his mouth with chubby fingers to keep from being discovered, eyes sparkling in the shadows. A handful of dry cereal, 3 bananas and 2 bowls of cereal later she lifted Kerry from her bassinet and changed her diaper as well. The older two children migrated to the living room to watch cartoons, and Kerry had to take a feeding break so that James could be lifted from his high chair and placed on the floor to crawl and edge his way along the furniture on shaky little feet. Hands had to be wiped in the meantime and Kerry protested loudly.
With Kerry back in her bassinet and asleep for a couple of hours, It was time to dress and do a few household chores. She read them the story of the princess and the pea, followed by a dozen nursery rhymes. She played on the floor with them, chasing the three giggling youngsters around with a miniature Mac truck whose only cargo was a lopsided, nearly hairless teddy bear. Cajoling them into shorts and pullover shirts was the next feat of the day, with shoes and socks to be the major battle. But this was accomplished and soon they were headed out the front door, 2 little bandits' armed and caped and 2 babies in the stroller. Off to the jungle or the land of the lost, or maybe the Great Wall of China. She never knew what dangerous and faraway lands today's adventure would take them to. Robbie waved his plastic sword at each passing car, his faded blue towel of a cape fluttering behind him, and his tiny cowboy boots scuffling along the sidewalk. Today, he said, He was going to slay the dragons and rescue the princess mommy.
The hibiscus glowed pink in the early morning sun. The neighborhood was slowly coming to life, the distant sounds of lawn mowers starting and sprinklers raising their heads. The coffee was dark; becoming cool but it didn't seem to matter now. She stared at her feet warming in the sun. No more tears. Just a rawness, no blood, only flesh.
With the youngest children in bed sucking their thumbs and nightlights turned on, the dinner dishes done and the washer and dryer whirring away she sat on the floor with Marcy at her side, Robbie in her lap and a story book on her left knee. The voices changed, little voices interjecting with peanut gallery observations. Hushed quiet voices. Quiet for fear of disturbing the monster. The water flow in the bathroom stopped and the children burrowed closer to her. The sound of a distant closet door and a few hangers rattling made them look up at her pensively, fear shadowing their eyes and worry appearing across their brows. Then the slam of the dresser drawer and a bellow... The color drained from their faces, just as it must have from hers. The closet door closed loudly and this sent them scurrying up the stairs, away from mommy and away from comfort.
She closed the book at her knee, sliding it carefully underneath the sofa so as not to disturb the skirt, so as not be noticeable if he should put his feet there. She pulled the laundry basket nearer to her and began folding clothes, wanting instead to go and reassure her children, to put them to bed with kisses and giggles and love, to smile at them sleeping and run her fingers through their hair. She could feel their fear wafting down from upstairs. She only prayed they did not feel hers. She was startled by the presence behind her when her thoughts were interrupted. "Where is my other pair of new underwear?" "What did you write a check for five dollars to the school for?" The questions came, the nightly game show. Always broadcast on the same channel and always the same contestants. Always uncomfortable and baring questions like a truth or dare game gone bad. None of her answers were right, and if they had been it wouldn't have mattered. Fueled by a twelve pack of beer or a half bottle of whiskey, the questions quickened in pace. "What do you do all day?" "Why aren't the floors mopped?" "What the hell do you think you are?" "How can you be so stupid?" And then the questions stop and the accusations begin.
Fear escalates in her now, creeping into her throat, searing her eyes. Day in and day out it is like this. She is always too stupid, too ugly and never good enough. Day in and day out, When she dares to sleep he awakens her to accuse and question and make her cry. He belittles the children, belittles little parts and pieces of her. Dread takes over and she prays the baby does not choose now to get hungry. She tries to drown him out, tries to think what life would be like if her children had a real father, A father who wrestled on the floor with them, who read to them and loved them and held them and comforted them. He could feed their dreams; make them safe when no one in the world could. She could not keep them safe from him though. She knew the time was coming, had started to creep under the door, when they would be as much his prisoners as she was.
She often asked herself why she didn't leave, why she stayed. She knew the answers. He would find her and kill her. He would hunt her for the rest of time. He would deny her a very existence. She did little more than exist now, but while he was gone from the house, at least her children would know what normal was. Some day he will quit drinking. Some day money will not be so tight, some day it will not be so hard to keep up with the Jones's. Some day she would find a way to escape. Right now, they had food, a roof and a mothers love and that would have to suffice.
She remembered thinking that she could keep her children safe, that he could never destroy them. She would never allow him to do that and yet he had, even after he was gone. After he was gone he continued to eat at them, to scrape and wear them away. He was like a slow growing tumor the doctor could never get the last particles of. The tentacles grew and spread, wrapping themselves around the hearts of her children and around her heart. Divide and Conquer he said, and divide he did. When did the journeys to the jungle or the mountains stop? When had they all put their swords away? She yearned now to gather them all back into her arms to read them the stories children love and to steal them away from him as he had stolen them away from her and stolen them from themselves.
Weekends were no different than the rest of the week. He worked all week, rarely taking a day off and generally finding somewhere else to go when he did. She had her children to herself, and they had her to themselves. In the late afternoons, the shadows fell across the house, apprehension rose within it, and the tension became even visible. His homecoming always brought hushed voices, moving quietly as though skating on cracked ice. The wrong movement or noise could bring his ire upon them all. It always started with the belittlement, accusation that they could never be what they wanted, that they never would be more than what they were to him. When he finally calmed enough to speak reasonably, he demanded an apology as though he were the one who had nothing to be sorry for. All that was left, was an empty feeling surrounded by shells of skin and bone and reflected in hollow eyes. A dull sadness and helplessness took over, fed by the time and distance. Two worlds existing in one house. He was an intruder into their magical world.
Reflection crept over her once again. She buried herself in thoughts of the years since the divorce and how it had changed her. She had thought of herself as their hero, risking all to save them. The trouble was it was too little too late. She had waited too long to get out. They were infected then, filled with the hatred that filled him, and they had no where to spill it. Instead of praise and worship, she was resented and unrespected. No longer sweet smelling chubby children, they wore shadows in their eyes. The same shadow she wore was the one she wondered if any of them could ever remove. Pain for all they had lost crept in on her. Lost childhood, lost magic, In the end they had all even lost each other. Now her fear rose to wonder, wonder if they would each have other back. Worries about whether or not they would all be mother and daughters and sons and brothers and sisters again. The evolution to this realization had taken years. Today was the day it chose to strike, like a cobra hiding in that magazine basket with that book. Breathless and speechless she sat in the sun with the pain creeping over her in waves. It was all too much to cope with at once, the cancer spreading again. But she had rescued them before; she could rescue them again. She wondered how many times she would have to rescue them before they believed.
Many nights he did not acquiesce after 2 hours of questioning and accusing. His voice escalated up the stairs. She knew the children were cowering under their covers as he loomed over her downstairs. She felt the shackles tighten around her heart and her soul. Objects began to fly across the room, she scooted slowly across the floor not wanting to make any sudden moves but wanting to put herself between him and her children. He followed her at the same pace with his words continuing, picking up the occasional shoe or toy as he it fell into his path. He emptied the basket of folded laundry onto the floor in a heap. He berated and belittled. He started up the stairs and she stood up between him and the bottom step hoping to distract him back in to the room and away from the children. He moved towards her and she backed slowly up the stairs in front of him. She began to protest, to beg him to leave them alone. He wanted to "talk to them" he said.
She stood fast in his path. All she could do was deny the captor and hope she didn't suffer too badly for it. He shoved her aside and she caught herself from falling a couple of steps below as he continued up the stairs above her. He woke the two older children from their beds and began interrogating them about their mother. He not only interrogated, but he fed them lies and demanded that they verify that they were true. Lies about men and money and things children know nothing of. Robbie began to cry. The monster reached out to strike him in the mouth but instead caught sight of mommy in the doorway holding his precious bottle of whiskey. He lunged towards the doorway and she ran down the stairs with the bottle. He followed her, catching her just at the bottom of the stairs. She had thought about this earlier. It wasn't the first time she had had to distract him to keep him away from the kids. He grabbed the bottle from her and broke it over her head.
Cut and bleeding, dazed and scared, she somehow managed to do what she could not do before. She ran for the phone picking up the cordless and retreating to the bathroom without him seeing what she had done. She called for help and waited, knowing he was laying low now that he thought he had seriously injured her. She locked the bathroom door and prayed silently for salvation. He came to the door and demanded to know what she was doing in there. When she did not answer he began to bang on the door and she told him she was just cleaning up the blood, speaking in gasps of surprise and pain. Then a doorbell rang and he began to yell through the door "What have you done?" demanding that she call and cancel the request for help. She would not wilt this time. She had been this close before, but she might never be again and so she stayed silent. When the doorbell did not relent, he went to answer it. He opened the door to a couple police officers, the broken bottle of whiskey and small pools of blood on the floor in the foyer behind him.
Freedom would and was still taking years. Despite divorce and distance he still held them captive. The sun was becoming hot and bright. She downed the rest of the coffee in the bottom of the cup that was now cold. Some days remembering was just too hard, just hurt too much. The monster still slept under the bed...

OMG this makes me cry. Thank you---I am so grateful every day I escaped my abusive situation. EVERYday. I am gonna go hug my wonderful dh today.:)

SmilingBluEyes · Nov 24, 2005

Moderator Note:

Please, keep things civil here. Clearly, this is a highly-emotionally-charged subject and people have a lot of raw feelings exposed. I would ask we all try and keep an open mind and respect what each of us to say.

Further, I am not going to close the thread, as insinuated earlier, as I believe this subject and the posts here are important, and may benefit someone out there, even it is not the Original Poster. I ask each of us remember for every post you see, there are likely scores who are not posting, but quietly reading what is said here. Please keep that in mind and--- PLEASE---- think before you hit the "post" button. If you feel really upset, it's really a good idea to walk away from the computer, take a breather, and then come back and re-read your post before you post it. Often when cool heads prevail, we find there are better ways to express our emotions.

Finally, it's my fervent hope that someone out there is reading all of this and being served. My heart goes out to anyone who is battered, feeling unsafe, unloved and scared. I have been there, and so have so many others. Please get help if you are a victim of abuse of any sort! There is a whole new life, a better life awaiting you, that much I can say!

Thank you for understanding and participating, everybody!

jnette, ASN, EMT-I · Nov 24, 2005

Wow.. where did we take a wrong turn?

I DO give the OP the benefit of the doubt here, absolutely. I feel her desire to understand is genuine. I feel her lack of understanding is just as she described.. the thought of submitting to any kind of abuse is so foreign to her particular makeup or personality htat she simply cannot fathom it and she is desparately trying to grasp what it is that makes others either fall into this trap or endure it.

I can understand that.. I, too, had ponderd just as she does here. That was BEFORE it happened to me. I had actually spoken nearly the same words in the past..almost verbatum:

"Maybe this is why I don't get this whole thing. I can read about it, I can hear the stories of others, but maybe the reason I can't fully wrap my brain around what is going on inside the mind of the abused is because it's not in my personality make up to be an abused person in that way. We all have our weak points and our strong points. I don't know, maybe one of my strong points is such that I couldn't allow such abuse."

And I truly believed that.

I really don't think it all has to do with "personality types", past abuse, low self esteem, etc. Each case is different and unique.

While my mother had been verbally, emotionally, and physically abusive during my childhood, my father on the other hand was a rock of justice and open and genuine in his caring.

It took me about five years of being on my own, going into the Air Force , savoring my independence, learning about myslef and what my strengths and capabilites were, achieving and succeeding ..and my baggage of low selfesteem was GONE.

In college I was able to prove to myself I was not all my mother had me to believe as I was growing up, that indeed my success in life was not contingent on her words, but my actions and beliefs about myself.

I even wrote a college paper on self esteem, how we become what we believe, etc. and aced it... along with everything else I have aced in school since then.

I was in my mid forties when I was snared into this hell, and I can assure you that lack of self confidence was NOT an issue. It hadn't been for the past twenty years ! Quite the opposite.

When I married, I was nearly 23.. no young, inexperienced thing right out of high school. My husband and father of my children was a good man. No drinking or carrying on, loyal and faithful. A caring and affectionate father to his children. Never raised his voice or hand to me. Indeed, he was the "weaker" of the personalities. My selfconfidence far outweighed his own.

So what was it? I do know that after my husband and I separated I was immensely hurt and confused.. perhaps temporarily vulnerable and blinded by that hurt, so that I was not in my usual "good senses" and unable to pick up on what ever red flags there might have been about this creep.

But again, as stated by so many above, by the time I SAW the red flags, it was already too late. With me, there was no slooooooooowly getting abusive.

It was all nice, nice, and big brother friendship.. "here, I'll help you move.. I know this city well, I'll get you going up there, help you find a place to live until you can move your children up here...yada yada yada."

But once I was THERE in that new city, totally isolated from everyone I knew and miles and miles from "home".. THEN is when the monster appeared.. swift and sudden, and no looking back. I knew I was trapped with no way out from that time forward. It was then that he told me his plans for me, and that I had better like them. My "say WHAT" look on my face was immeditely wiped off with a deafening blow and threats to my children back home. I knew my life as I had known it was over... until.. UNTIL the blessed day would come that opportunity would present itself for me to escape. This was not a situatiuon where I could just walk out the door, call the police... none of that. It simply was immediate and total domination by violence and force.

Any screams to attract help were immediately muffled by strangulation and choking, and severe physical consequences, rape, and other things I cannot and will not mention.

Did I fight back ? You BET I did ! But it served no purpose other than to make it worse for me in the end. I could not compete with his physical strength, but I was dammed if I was going to take this from him or ANYBODY! How DARE he???

My choices became evident real soon. Kill him or BE killed BY him.

I wasn't ready to do either. I could not live with myself knowing I had killed someone, no matter how evil. At least not premeditatedly. I had two precious children back "home" I wanted to desparately get back to, so I was not willing to die, either. Had it not been for them, I would have gladly allowed him to end the torture as time went on.

Again, I beg of all who step into this discussion to tread lightly.

Deb is right...

This is ONE time we all need to stick together, and help one another as sisters.. be it to understand, to clarify, to prevent.

Let us uplift and support one another. Let this thread be for learning, not debating.:)

gauge14iv, MSN, APRN, NP · Nov 24, 2005

Here are some resources:

http://www.ndvh.org/help/index.html

The safety and escape plan was especially important to me. Just knowing it was there and ready to go made me feel safer.

P_RN, ADN, RN · Nov 24, 2005

The monster under the bed made me cry too.

I'm 61 years old and I still don't understand why I adored my alcoholic though non abusive father (dec'd) and still try to please my never affectionate mother.....All I ever wanted her to do was say "I love you." Just ONCE before one of us dies. I keep trying.

My dh is getting several hugs tonight. I'm also calling my son and telling him again I love him.

fergus51 · Nov 24, 2005

Bipley, I share a lot of your thoughts. I've never got how some women with all the resources and supports in the world wind up in abusive relationships for years. The feminist in me can't blame the victim, but I also don't like how we make the victim powerless by saying she can't get out either. I won't even stay in a relationship with a man who yells (that comes from my upbringing), so violence has never been an issue for me. As far as I am concerned, I'm better off alone than with a man like that. My aunt's first husband apparently beat her. She hid it pretty well, until he hospitalized her. She wasn't a weak woman without resources, she didn't want to leave him. SHe loved him. I don't know where she got the idea that was love because that was not how she was raised. She only left him because my dad and my brothers made it happen. I sometimes wonder how she would have wound up if they hadn't.

Mulan · Nov 25, 2005

The monster under the bed made me cry too.
I'm 61 years old and I still don't understand why I adored my alcoholic though non abusive father (dec'd) and still try to please my never affectionate mother.....All I ever wanted her to do was say "I love you." Just ONCE before one of us dies. I keep trying.
My dh is getting several hugs tonight. I'm also calling my son and telling him again I love him.

Have you actually told your mother that?

babynurselsa, RN · Nov 25, 2005

There is more to an abusivve relationship than just the physical beatings. Often these do not occur early on. When thse relationships start the abuser makes themselves everything to the victim. They isolate or alienate them from friends and family. They manage all of the finances for the relationship. They time them when they leave the house. then comes the verbal abuse....

If you are told every single day that you are a worthless piece of crap and no body else would ever want you and you are incapable of managing your own affairs and what a failure that you would be if you even thought about it, eventually you come to believe thse things. Just like you come to believe it when you are told it is YOUR FAULT that you needed to have the crap beat out of you because you left spots on the plates, or you talked back, or you were late getting home from work or the store.....

There are so many things that goes on in these relationships sick and twisted as they are, the mental aspect of it can be as debilitating as devastating as the physical abuse. Then of course there are the "sincere" apologies and gifts because he really loves you and it wil NEVER happen again.(until the next time) The threats of death, taking your babies away, or even killing them if you even think about leaving.

From the outside where emotions and the actual fear aren't felt the answers seem crystal clear. It can look very different when you are on the inside.

I have endured some really twisted verbal and mental abuse in my last marraige. I will grant he never hit me but the vile things he used to say tore me down gradually over a number of years and I bought it hook line and sinker. I still have a hard time most of the time believing that I am not a worthless piece of natural fertilizer.

My current dh doesn't stand a chance though I don't take much anymore.

ShayRN · Nov 25, 2005

I am going up to give my sweet, wonderful, kind husband a big goodnight kiss. I thank God for him and my children everyday. He isn't perfect, but you all have made me see how close to perfection I truly have in my life. Thank you.

LoriAlabamaRN · Nov 25, 2005

I cried too after reading the monster under the bed... Gauge have you ever had that pubilshed? It could help so many women in this situation...