Something has awakened in me. A desire to write down my feelings and experiences that I haven't felt for so long. A desire that has been buried beneath the numbness that has encased me. I'm not sure exactly what awakened it, but it is here nonetheless and I feel I must write. It could be the book that I started reading tonight. It could be that I have no one to tell it all to. I just need to get it out. In the book, the writer and main character at one point finds herself crying on her bathroom floor. I've been there before, although my tears and snot go into toilet paper rather than on the floor. She realizes she doesn't want to be married anymore. I have realized that too, but unlike her, I do not have the means to support myself. I have children to take care of. She does not. I am thinking of the people who want, and perhaps even expect, me to stay with my husband and work things out. They don't know all that I've been through. They have not lived my life in misery for so long. I'm not a vindictive person, yet I want to tell them. I remember. I remember the time my husband came home drunk and terrorized my children and I. I remember trying to call 911 and, like a bad dream, not being able to get the call to go through. While he is breaking down the door to the room in which I have gathered my children to try to shelter them from his rage. I remember being accused of erasing the history on the computer because I must have been doing something I shouldn't have been doing. I remember him telling me no one else will ever want me. I remember him urinating on the kitchen counter, in the dishwasher on a load of freshly cleaned dishes, in the closet and on our bed. I remember being blamed for taking off his boxers after he woke up and realized they were no longer on him, and why was the bed wet? I remember him holding a knife over his chest and threatening to stab himself. Yelling at me to kill him. I remember the night I heard him come home late, but when I awoke in the morning he wasn't in bed. I assumed he had slept on the couch, but after seeing that he wasn't there either, I remember the combination of dread and morbid hope that I'd find him hanging in the basement or garage. I didn't want to go look, but did not want the kids to find him so I had to. I remember the relief and anger that I felt when I realized he wasn't in the house at all. I remember the time he literally stood over me while I was laying in bed, yelling at me to hit him in the balls. I remember the time he was so busy yelling at me that he would not let me get past him so that I could get our infant daughter who was climbing up the hardwood stairs. I remember screaming at him to let me get her, but he didn't care. The only reason I got around him was because our neighbors heard us and rushed in to our apartment. I remember the countless nights waiting for him to come home. Watching out the window and feeling angry at his utter lack of respect or care for the kids and I. Feeling disgusted with myself for allowing myself to feel that way. I wished that I could be stronger and not let him make me feel that I needed him to be there, because honestly, I wasn't sure if I even really wanted him to be there. I probably just didn't want to be alone. I remember feeling humiliated when he would mock me in front of people or disrespect me and yell at me in public. I remember getting upset with him about his cat urinating on the floor, wanting him to take her to the vet or put her down because she was ailing, and his response was to pick her up and throw her. Hurt her in order to hurt me? I remember my oldest son cowering under a table, unable to process his emotions after I had to call the police because my husband was drunk and enraged. I remember being told it was all my fault. I remember the many times I was unable to travel or go to events because we were always broke. I remember the time he hit me because I brought our daughter into our bed to sleep. I remember my utter helplessness and astonishment when the police told me it was my fault. He said he felt threatened by me. He was justified. I remember the time I hid the last $200 I had so that my kids and I would not have to live on the street and upon retrieving it, realized that half was missing. I remember the hot, humid summer we spent with no running water. I remember being berated for not being willing to steal water from the vacant house next door. I wasn't the coke addict. I wasn't the one who spent all of my money on drugs or whatever instead of paying the water bill. I remember the car that my husband was given which was soon after sold for drugs. I remember being blamed for him losing his job. I remember facing eviction and homelessness. I remember having to give away almost all of my belongings so that I could leave. I remember starting over with $10 and 4 kids and no vehicle because he wouldn't let me take the van. I remember finding strength in God and in myself and pulling myself up out of the mire of my life. I remember feeling like a human being again. Somehow he convinced me that I should try again. I let myself hope in us again. I let myself down. After that, I remember the jealous outbursts when I'd talk to a male friend. I remember the 4th of July, while pregnant and exhausted I was yelled at for needing a nap. I remember the horrible things he said to my kids about me. I remember him becoming paranoid and then losing his job--again. I remember the last time he blew up. I tried to get the kids out. I didn't want them to have to see that. I remember him pushing me so that I couldn't leave. I remember him not caring that I was 8 months pregnant, or that the neighbors saw and heard what he was doing, or that the kids were there crying for him to stop. No, he pushed them too. I remember all the things I've had to sacrifice because of him. I don't want to live this way any longer. I can't live this way. I can't allow my kids to remain in this abusive situation. I can't allow Children's Services another reason to come into my home and discuss an episode with my children. I cannot risk losing my children. I have to pretend. I have to act. I have to lie. I am not good at any of those things, but I have to survive. I have to stay here until I find a way out.
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I don't want to live like this any longer
- Author PrincessKing
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