Sure, we’ve all heard that saying before but how many of us have really put thought into what it is actually implying? I’d assume a perfectly happy go lucky – dare I say – normal person just sees the passing comment as a whimsical way to describe someone who gave a dirty look to another person for whatever reason. Maybe if you are standing next to some random person in a department store and they sneeze in your direction – that warrants one of those nasty looks of disgust that we may describe as such. However, as a woman who has felt the wrath of abuse by none other than her own husband…my take on the phrase runs far deeper.
In the very early stages of my marriage, I was young and naive. There was a part of me who a) thought he really didn’t mean it, and b) thought I could somehow change his ways. That in itself is hysterically funny. Well, at least it is in hindsight. Poor little naive girl. When the hate sunk in – and boy oh boy did it sink in deep – I prayed over and over for his death. Nights when he went out with co-workers and came home late I sat there first pissed like who the fuck is he to come home whenever the hell he wants but I have to give him a freaking weeks notice for when I may be going out and get harassed about it every day until the day arrived. Oops, got a little sidetracked there. Sorry. As I was saying, once I started to hate him from my very core, I prayed for his death and before he’d get home from wherever I pretended that instead of him coming to the door the police would come to inform me of a horrific accident that took his life. I always wondered…upon hearing that news…would I smile or would I cry? Would I laugh hysterically and ask the officers…is this real? Would I feel the delight rise within me but muster up a tear for sake of the sad wife? Would I then close the door and skip around my house with sheer joy?? Oh how I hoped and prayed.
Then at some point, I realized I was doing it all wrong. How likely was it that he would be struck down just because I had wished it to be so? We blow out candles and make a birthday wish every year. How often do those wishes come true? Actually, I used my birthday wishes for his death too. Sometimes that he would just leave. And some that I would eventually get my life back. To date, the wish thing hasn’t worked either. I figured all of this begging for his death was more likely keeping him alive. That was by far the absolute last thing I wanted to do. So I stopped.
Instead I began to imagine things in the middle of arguments. He’d be screaming at me and I’d visualize me getting up and ramming a butcher knife into his throat. I know, that’s pretty extreme. On the nicer end of the spectrum I would just punch him in the face uncontrollably for far longer than I’d be able to in reality. Then came along…the mafia. I’ve always felt an admiration for those guys. Yes, some of them are cold blooded killers but who cares. We all have our issues. Point being, I couldn’t get enough. The men we saw on the news being paraded into the courthouses with a smile on their face, knowing they would not be going to jail. Confident. Of course the movies glamorize it all and really give you a taste of what these guys have done. Scenes of torture, death and dismemberment soothed me while my husband would go on and on. He was on a rampage and I could see his mouth being taped up, his wrists being taped up, and him being bludgeoned before being cut into pieces. Even with every name he was yelling at me…my soul felt calm and relaxed. Keep talking mother fucker.
Again, I knew that all of the above was never really going to happen but damn it felt so good to imagine it all. Drawn and quartered, suffocated with a pillow, poisoned, tied up and slowly removed body part -slowly- piece by piece, day by day. Small things at first, just for torture sake, so he could live through the pain. Oh how I longed to hear the cries of torture. Even now, sometimes I can see his skin being ripped from his body as he has one of his fits about his usual narcissistic bullshit. Even better, when we go on vacation, we are usually on a lake with private access. Such a shame…he can’t swim. What a shame if we went out on a boat to fish and we tipped over….oopsie.
At the very, very least I imagine that he see the err of his ways and allow me to do everything to him that he has done to me. The excitement that thought brings to my heart…indescribably priceless. However, karma – the beautiful thing that it is – has started to come around. He has had rheumatoid arthritis for quite a number of years now. So he is always in pain. It’s quite lovely, actually. Just to sit back and hear him scream out in pain. Especially this time of year with the cold weather upon us. Yes, it is true, what goes around does come around. He is only at the beginning stages. Here’s to many more years of your suffering – fuckhead.
Somehow, I have a feeling I’m not the only one who has had these thoughts about their abuser. What were yours?
To read from the beginning… my story starts here.