If you haven't read the Preview edition of this story, it may make this entry a bit more understandable. It was posted in January, so if you'd like, just search for the January post, then come back to this one. Later, once I had graduated high school, I married the first guy that asked me. He would become my second, but much worse, abuser within the first two months of marriage. We had moved out of a cleaned up shed that was on his parents property located in Peoria, Oklahoma. We slept there, but ate at his parents because we had nothing to cook with, clean with, or bathe with. It was a shed.
He had been hired by a tire and lube company in Pryor and so we packed our suitcases and left. The first time there was physical abuse came on a day I had laid down for a nap. I slept through the time I was suppose to pick him up, and since he had left the car with me to go for groceries, he had no way of getting home. The anger started the moment he saw me. It didn't matter to him why I wasn't there on time, it was the fact I "did nothing all day" while he worked to support us. It started with a slap across the face, followed by an immediate hug and begging forgiveness. He didn't mean it, didn't know why he did it, would never do it again. Crying...whatever it took for me to give him another chance. Then he began blaming me for his outbursts. If you would just...if you didn't always...if you would just focus on making me happy. It was all about him being abused, not him being the abuser. Many were the nights I took a beating from his hands, his body. He would throw me on the bed or the floor, straddle my chest and begin with a choke hold as he questioned me about things I had no idea what he was talking about. He would let up for a minute, still crushing my chest with his body, slap my face from side to side, then back with the choke hold. Many times he would choke just long enough for me to either completely pass out, or just to the place I was whispering for him to please stop, because I couldn't breathe. I blame those terrifying experiences for a loss of memory of certain time frames in my life.
We eventually moved to Baxter Springs, Kansas. That's where he became unleashed, as it were. Usually he was drunk when the beatings happened. But not always. He was a jealous guy, and if there was any remote possibility of betrayal he could imagine in his head, he would go into a rage. I couldn't look at another guy, speak to another guy, or come within close proximity of another guy, without him being certain I was having an affair. Going to the grocery store was like running a race. I had to be back within 30 minutes or it was interrogation time. He was a very angry man, and I was terrified he would carry out the threats made of killing me and my family if I ever decided to leave him. "I WILL find you," he had said. That, along with beginning to believe his lies that the beatings were my fault, was why I stayed with him as long as I did. Four and a half long years. I was so afraid. Terrified of him, actually, never knowing if tomorrow would come for me, because he had gone too far and I had slipped from this life into the next.
There are so many stories I could tell you of day-to-day living with this guy. From being forced to do his bidding, to watching him with other women he would bring home to parade in front of me. To mocking me, belittling me. But when in public, he was the nicest guy you'd ever hope to meet. Everyone thought he was the one to look up to as a role model. He was loved. Except for the times he wasn't. Those times were filled with drinking and being just plain mean to his friends. And, at home he was a monster. Once, he literally destroyed the entire interior of the house we were renting. Everything. Every kitchen item, every living room item (he actually threw a can of hairspray through the tv), every bedroom item. It's still so vivid in my mind. He dumped and smeared makeup I had, all over the dresser, and wiped every piece of my clothing (which wasn't that much) all through that makeup. No window, mirror, or door, was left unscathed. He literally destroyed our house. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I had left him after a night of fear as he forced himself on me. Some would say a wife can't be raped by her husband. They would be wrong. Covered in bruises from the waist down to my knees, I was barely able to stand, without shaking, the next morning. When he left for work that morning, he thought I was headed out to work, as well. But I didn't go to work. I went to my brother and sister-in-laws. I wasn't planning on going back to the house for any reason, simply because I was afraid he would show up and trap me. We lived at the end of a long, private back road where one never knew if a car was approaching, or not, until it pulled up outside of our one, and only, door. But a couple of my older brothers said they would go with me, keep the monster away from me should he return, and we would together, gather my belongings. Once we arrived, none of us could believe the damage that had happened to the place. It appeared as if someone, or someTHING, had came in with a vengeance. I don't remember if I was able to salvage anything. Replaying that awful day in my head, I don't think we left with anything. That was a day nightmares are made of! I can only imagine what my brothers were thinking.
He came looking for me. And once again, talked me into going home with him. I couldn't tell you why I went back. Just his touch caused me to shiver. I had left him several times, and gone back. Back to the bondage he offered. Maybe it was because I really felt it was my fault he was like this, just like he had said. Maybe if I would just try harder to be a good wife, everything would be good. It had to be my fault. I know this because he constantly told me it was. I became a pretty quiet person. Afraid to speak. It wasn't until he began threatening death to me and my family, that I stayed put. After the destruction of our cabin, he rented a place not more than half a mile up from it. It was a converted hen house. A narrow building with a tiny bathroom just big enough to shimmy into and out of. A tiny kitchenette provided the one entry door the house had. There was a small apartment sized stove and a very small sink with a tiny window above it, in that room where love was suppose to bring people closer together as meals were shared. There was no room for a table of any kind. We just ate on the floor where we slept. I think it was his mom who provided a mattress for us, just so we wouldn't have to lay on a hard floor all the time. Someone gave us a small end table and a lamp. That was it. No closet, no dinning area, no shower (or tub). We had to wash up with just a washcloth, in the kitchen sink. Then he began accusing me of his infidelity. It was somehow my fault he was cheating.
During those years, I wasn't sure what was reality and what wasn't. Those waters were very troubled. He would throw full cans of beer at me, call me awful names, threaten me, accuse me, whatever he could do...he would. I was constantly questioned if I had to go anywhere without him. One day, after work, he was filling his car with gas and saw me go by on my way home from work. I had pulled up beside a co-worker (male), to tell them their back tire was going flat. He accused me of flirting. It was a bad night.
Many days I would fall asleep at my work table because I'd had very little sleep. I wore my hair long so it could fall over my face to hide the bruises, but it also gave me a chance to nod off at my desk with the hope of not being noticed. It was only because of a very compassionate boss who knew the signs of abuse, that helped me decided I'd had enough. If I was to die at his hands, so be it. I couldn't live another day in fear that I would not see the next day. That decision caused an immediate, and very heavy weight, to be lifted off my shoulders. I no longer cared. He couldn't believe I could "just stop loving" him. I told him he had beaten any love I ever felt for him, completely out of me. One just can't grasp what true freedom is, until they have been in debilitating bondage to another human being. I had been in a prison far worse than death, and had decided I would rather be dead than to stay there. I felt as if I had been buried alive and had given up of having any kind of life worth living. Until that one decision that lifted all guilt of leaving an abusive marriage
It went from bad to worse once I was free of this guy. Oh, the physical abuse had stopped, but I had been mentally abused for so long, living in fear, that once freedom came my way, I didn't know how to live. I had come to believe the blanket of lies he had laid upon me. That it was all my fault and that I was so ugly, no one would want me, and that he just allowed me to live with him because he felt sorry for me. On one occasion, he had grabbed me by the hair of my head and slammed my face into a mirror. "Look at that. Who would want THAT?!"
What I wanted, and felt I needed to do, was find out HOW anyone could be so violent to another person. And what the attraction was, to cheat on a spouse with another married person. Especially when they had vowed to love and cherish each other until death separated them. In my quest for truth, I took a major detour that landed me in the heart of deception. Before moving to Tennessee, I had moved in with one of my brothers, his wife and son. And even though they gave me love and the comforts of home, it wouldn't be long before I felt the need to move away. To get as far away as I could from the monster I had just left.
Here, I will leave this journeys story until another time. Please remember, as you follow along, that I did rise up from the ashes. Life was just waiting for me to choose it.
Until next time, as always, here you'll find me...in Mary's World.
