Even though the last four years had been tumultuous, to say the least, it was still four years. That was a decent chunk of time done and behind me. Even though most days were exhausting and on some days I wished he’d just kill me so I could be done with this life, I stayed strong. I had to. I had my daughter. I wasn’t going to become this textbook basket case of a wife/mother because my husband was a lunatic. I had to keep it together. Most especially now because I had another baby on the way.
During this pregnancy, I was sick to my stomach. Not physically. I did not have morning sickness or anything of the like. It was more of a self loathing. I was so depressed that I was going to have another child with this man. That I would be stuck for another five years. I barely gained any weight with this pregnancy. I didn’t want to eat and most smells made me nauseous so that didn’t help either. But I got up everyday, took care of my daughter’s needs. Went to work everyday. Basically, I did what needed to get done. A creature of habit I guess you could say. Day in and day out just trying to get through it all.
You know who else was a creature of habit? Yes. My abuser. My “loving” husband. Of course the arguing didn’t stop because I was pregnant. I was still useless. Didn’t clean the house right. Didn’t pay the bills on time. Didn’t do the laundry often enough or buy the right groceries. It was always something. Even when it was nothing. And the arguing was always about nothing. He’d pull shit out of the air to argue over. You know what else didn’t stop while I was pregnant? That’s right. The hitting. Still got hit. For some reason he seemed to be more enraged in these arguments. I can’t remember why. Maybe he was as depressed as I was that we’d be having another kid together. Maybe he felt stuck too? Who knows. His arguments and threats got more and more vicious. It seemed like a different personality took over once he got deep into the arguments. You could almost see something else take over.
Once during the pregnancy, maybe 5 or 6 months in, who knows what he was yelling at me for but he started hitting me. Nine times out of ten he always punched me in the head. He liked giving me knuckle shots that would leave lumps that would hurt for days. Usually, I would just cover my head with both hands to deflect some of the connecting shots. Now, I had a belly. If I covered my head he may punch my stomach. If I covered my stomach he’d surely get my face. We were in the bedroom during this fight and I remember bending down and kneeling against the bed. So my stomach was down low were he couldn’t reach and I was then able to cover my head. He must have maneuvered me somehow because my body was now on the bed and he was pushing my body down into the mattress. My stomach was flat against the mattress now. I was screaming. “You’re gonna kill the baby!” And he kept hitting me and pushing me down. I thought for sure this was it. I thought I was going to lose this baby. He finally stopped and picked up a lamp and threw it into the mirror that was above the dresser in our room. “See what you made me do?!” Threatening that I better figure out a way to replace it because he was not going to. Then he finally left me alone.
Somehow, I made it through. My second child, another girl, was born a few months later. She was just fine. She was born a little smaller then the first but I figured that was because I barely ate but who knows, poor thing was probably stressed as hell in the womb. She is the one that has the most volatile relationship with him. She has a similar personality and won’t back down. If he argues with her she argues right back. That’s a good thing I guess…as far as future relationships go. I know she won’t take shit. It’s not good when it’s your father and you’re speaking to him that way. It triggers him. Usually sending him in my direction.
Life goes on and day to day stuff makes the weeks and months and years go by. Arguing and fighting are part of the norm. Don’t get me wrong. There are days of silence strewn in between the insanity. Nights of just sitting and watching television and laughing at whatever comedy we’re watching. We didn’t snuggle. We didn’t interact in a loving, nurturing, romantic way. We did’t even kiss anymore. Hadn’t in years prior to the second child. And still don’t to this day. That would mean there was some sort of connection on some level – and – there just isn’t.
A few years pass and my mother gives me the news. She’s leaving my father. Her and my sister are moving out. Her and my father had ups and downs but it was mostly due to his infidelity. He was a good provider. We had a good family. A decent upbringing. Family vacations. Family get togethers. But there was always his hanging out. Coming home in the middle of the night. Secret calls. So now that I was out of the house and my sister was just about 18 she picked up and left. That was it. Oh wait, somehow I was to blame for this. When my husband found out that they were splitting up he went nuts on me. Screaming that this is what I want to do too. Like mother like daughter. Now, this sound like a normal rationale response…for a psychotic narcissist…but at the time things had actually been mellow for a few weeks so this tirade was not expected. In fact, I remember being a little upset about it and figured I could talk to my husband (if I had a normal one) to tell him how it made me feel. His response, “If you think you are gonna pull the same shit as your mother you have another thing coming! You want to leave you better get up right now and get the hell out of here now. Don’t think you are taking anything here either. You walk out with the clothes on your back and that’s it!” So now after a mellow few weeks I was at a loss. I initially thought…holy crap…this is my way out. But I had nothing to use as the excuse ( i know, I know…aside from the entire marriage). I mean we hadn’t argued and he hadn’t hit me in a few weeks. I was like, at least if he had hit me the day before I’d be like, yeah remember yesterday…I’m outta here!! Instead, I just looked at him and said, “What are you talking about? Why would I want to leave?” What a f—ing idiot. I know you can’t believe I said that. I can’t believe I said that. He may not have even believed it. Sometimes I think back and wonder if he was trying to offer me a way out. Maybe in his twisted mind he felt like I ruined his life as much as I felt like he ruined mine. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if he thought that way. After all, everything was my fault anyway. Add on the list…ruining his life.