Mr. B was a gentle man and when I sat down in his clean, but plain office. I knew that it was time to close the door on Robin and I for good. I thought I would be scared. Instead I was relieved. All the other times that I exerted my independence were nothing compared to this day. Today, I took control of my future.
As I sat down, I felt my heart race. Was I really done. Could I ever look at Robin again without feeling let down, and broken. How is it possible that I could have put up with so much and not come sooner. I had prayed, hoped upon hope, that this day would end and I would not cry anymore.
Lucky for me, that is what happened. I told my story and as we speak, the documents are being drafted. By the end of next week, Robin will be served.
Did I have it in me to go through with it? After all, I loved him. But could I take one more ride on the roller coaster; the same coaster that I have been on ride after ride, always leading to a broken heart and a beaten spirit.
No. This time it would be different. This time, I would cry and cry but I would eventually find myself in a new life. A safe life.
I walked out of Mr. B's door somewhat relieved. I had made the decision and now the hard part was over. Day by day I would remember, but day by day I would become stronger.
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Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Day One, The file.
I never imagined that I would be in this place. I turn 47 in September of this year and after ten years of living with a man whom I adored, I have let myself out of Oz. You see, here is the thing about being in an abusive relationship. Most of the time, you find yourself shocked that you allowed yourself to even be in it. I come from a family of strong women. Women who would never tolerate any sort of abuse, backbiting, alcoholism, drug abuse or any of the taboo determiners some families vocabulary. I am a tough gal and I don't deal with that kind of stuff. Yes, it sounds bad but I am just too good for crap like that. That stuff is for other people and I am not one of those people. I don't have bruises on my face or on my body. In fact, I am a pretty good looking lady if I do toot my own horn. How did this happen to me? I am an intelligent chick with an extremely positive outlook on life, and I am very well liked by most people. In fact, no one would expect that I had ever experienced the deep scarring that verbal abuse leaves behind, nor the twisted sense of security by staying in a toxic environment. I just don't fit the proverbial profile.
Robin, my husband; was a 7th Dan, International Karate Champion. Born and raised in England, he was scholarly, handsome and extremely dashing. The kind of guy, that when he walked into a room, people knew he was there. Upon first meeting, he swept me off my feet. He had a crooked grin and a set of eyes that could penetrate the Berlin wall. He knew how to charm a girl, and that accent...that accent would make a woman feel like a temptress with a single word. He smelled erotic. He was haughty, and daring, delicious and dedicated. I deserved a man like this and I decided that pursuing this prince was well worth the adventure. So, off into the depths of a deep relationship I ventured. He charmed me and spoiled me with gifts almost everyday. Cards, notes, romance abound, Robin was every girls fantasy. The car door was opened, the hand consistently reaching for mine, the glowing eyes and the deep mouth kisses that lingered for what seemed to be hours and leaving a deep want for more. Everything we did was magical. Walks in the woods, travels to weekend retreats, fine dining and extraordinary little heart stickers carefully hidden in secret corners. When discovered, they would leave a feeling of admiration and frankly, I felt loved. He was too good to be true. I would live happily ever after with him. I would forsake all others to stand by his side. I would involve myself in his life, his friendships, his goals. I would be his partner in life. When he proposed and placed the half carat ring on my hand, I couldn't wait for our life to begin.
For the first two years, Robin was a man among men and when we wed on March 21, 2003, I felt like a princess. We married in a tiny church, our rings blessed by a minister, who was almost as old as the antique chapel. It was a small wedding, only about a dozen or so people invited. The church was almost a hundred years old and was complete with old wooden pews, and a large stained glass window. It was quaint, and rich in history. We said our vows to the soft sounds of the ministers voice. It was a pretty ceremony, and while we told each other of our commitments, a ladybug perched herself upon my gown. It was the stuff that Walt Disney makes movies about. The stuff that little girls pray for their whole lives. Our vows said, and a new life had begun. As the flashes went off around us, I felt a little like Lady Dianna. My husband reached for me on the stairs of the old church, careful lifted the skirt of my gown, so as not to step on it, and kissed me deeply.
Just before we had gotten married we had purchased a house in the country. We found a rancher style home, with an acre of land and a few chunky old paddocks in the back of the property. I am a bit of an artist, and so we talked about how we would build an art studio in the back of the property, a place where I could eventually sit and paint my old age away. He would build for himself, a Dojo, where he could practice his craft, and perhaps teach karate classes to a few special students. It was the beginning of a dream. I looked forward to the day when I would be able to paint, and watch him do Kata and Kummite. He was brilliant at Karate. Utterly, poetry in motion. But as time went on, little did I expect, that dream would become merely a vapor.
The first time that Dr. Hyde appeared, I was cooking in the kitchen. I can't even recall what he was angry about. It was like a gray shadow had overtaken his face, and his usual steel blue eyes, had turned to black, or so it seemed. His demeanor became one of a fighter, a boxer in the ring ready to take on the world. I was amused by it. In fact, I thought nothing of it at all. The first strike to the door with his fist punctured a whole in it about the size of a frying pan. Still, not really clear what was going on, I looked at him like he was an alien and then I said to him, "And we did this because...?" He retorted by kicking the rest of it off of it's hinge. Standing in awe, I looked at him and wondered what would happen next. I was silenced.
He did not touch me, but he left the house and went to the back of the property. It was a dramatic scene and sadly, one that would repeat itself every four months, almost like clockwork for near eight years. It was not always a door, sometimes it would be other things that would become fireplace kindling, but each event more violent than the last.
When it initially happened, it could be compared to a poltergeist. Or better yet, if a person grew up in the 70's and 80's they may recall the story of the "Incredible Hulk", the guy who turned green and then would run away after he damaged whatever it was that had made him turn into the creature. Afterward, the Hulk would feel a sense of unknowing and shock at his own body. Well, that was Robin. His entire presence changed and he was not the person that I knew. Sometimes he would yell a primal scream that was so deep that it could be felt in another country, yet on other occasions, it was a silent brooding and a threatening glare. The purpose, always was to instill fear into me. It worked. Every time.
But I digress, and so I will return to the initial day he changed. After he had kicked down the front door, I was suitably flabbergasted. That, and totally lost in a sea of confusion. But like most strong women, I knew that this first incident would need addressing so that it was not to be repeated. While he calmed himself down in the back yard, I picked up the door and leaned it against the wall,then I grabbed a blanket to cover the open hole.
I decided that although I wanted to talk this through, it was best to wait until the seas had calmed. I did not know what I would say or how I would say it. It was so uncharacteristic of him to behave in this way. There were no red flags to set it up. Nothing unusual. Just an immediate and violent outburst. I knew that anything that I said would have to be in caution. I would not know what I was up against.
I can't honestly remember what happened next. It was all a blur. He didn't hit me, that I would recall, but he did not have any real sense of remorse either. His view of our marriage, had changed in that instant. We had not been married long. He didn't seem to feel regret, but said words to the effect that he had felt unappreciated. I had somehow taken something from him. That he had produced the things that we had entirely and that I didn't have gratitude for what he brought into our life. I didn't understand.
Everyday, up to, during and thereafter, I would thank him profusely for everything. And, if you knew me, you would know that I am always over thanking people. I would hug him over and over, constantly showing my joy over what he had done for us and for our home. I would send him notes, make his favorite foods, carefully prepare his lunch each day for work, and always remind him of how attractive and dashing that I thought he was. Unfortunately, it did not matter what I said to him. His belief was firm and held strong. He had "made a mistake by marrying me". I was devastated.
For Robin, the cup was never full enough to satiate his need for appreciation. I recall internalizing this event. I never wanted to see my front door off of it's hinge ever again, but my eyebrows were merely raised on that night. Normal people would not kick down doors. Honestly, at first, I chalked his behavior up to a temper tantrum, and tried to view it as a one off, but that would not be my truth. Each episode, to come would be worse and more uncalled for than the last. Each episode would begin to attack my character as well.
I did not equate his behavior to a mental illness initially. In fact, it took some months for me to understand what his triggers were, and those were evasive at best. Much later in this life I had chosen, I would come to terms with what I would come to believe as BPD. Boarderline Personality Disorder. I was in OZ. The violent outbursts would become a volley between me being on a pedestal, and me being nothing better than trailer trash. This was not at all what I had thought would be my life.
In the following posts, I will share my experiences mixed with my present detachment from Robin. It is a hard place to be, somewhere caught between the person whom I believed he was, to the person he actually is and the effects that the trauma has had on life as I know it now.
Lucky for me, I can see a rainbow slowly appearing in the distance.
Robin, my husband; was a 7th Dan, International Karate Champion. Born and raised in England, he was scholarly, handsome and extremely dashing. The kind of guy, that when he walked into a room, people knew he was there. Upon first meeting, he swept me off my feet. He had a crooked grin and a set of eyes that could penetrate the Berlin wall. He knew how to charm a girl, and that accent...that accent would make a woman feel like a temptress with a single word. He smelled erotic. He was haughty, and daring, delicious and dedicated. I deserved a man like this and I decided that pursuing this prince was well worth the adventure. So, off into the depths of a deep relationship I ventured. He charmed me and spoiled me with gifts almost everyday. Cards, notes, romance abound, Robin was every girls fantasy. The car door was opened, the hand consistently reaching for mine, the glowing eyes and the deep mouth kisses that lingered for what seemed to be hours and leaving a deep want for more. Everything we did was magical. Walks in the woods, travels to weekend retreats, fine dining and extraordinary little heart stickers carefully hidden in secret corners. When discovered, they would leave a feeling of admiration and frankly, I felt loved. He was too good to be true. I would live happily ever after with him. I would forsake all others to stand by his side. I would involve myself in his life, his friendships, his goals. I would be his partner in life. When he proposed and placed the half carat ring on my hand, I couldn't wait for our life to begin.
For the first two years, Robin was a man among men and when we wed on March 21, 2003, I felt like a princess. We married in a tiny church, our rings blessed by a minister, who was almost as old as the antique chapel. It was a small wedding, only about a dozen or so people invited. The church was almost a hundred years old and was complete with old wooden pews, and a large stained glass window. It was quaint, and rich in history. We said our vows to the soft sounds of the ministers voice. It was a pretty ceremony, and while we told each other of our commitments, a ladybug perched herself upon my gown. It was the stuff that Walt Disney makes movies about. The stuff that little girls pray for their whole lives. Our vows said, and a new life had begun. As the flashes went off around us, I felt a little like Lady Dianna. My husband reached for me on the stairs of the old church, careful lifted the skirt of my gown, so as not to step on it, and kissed me deeply.
Just before we had gotten married we had purchased a house in the country. We found a rancher style home, with an acre of land and a few chunky old paddocks in the back of the property. I am a bit of an artist, and so we talked about how we would build an art studio in the back of the property, a place where I could eventually sit and paint my old age away. He would build for himself, a Dojo, where he could practice his craft, and perhaps teach karate classes to a few special students. It was the beginning of a dream. I looked forward to the day when I would be able to paint, and watch him do Kata and Kummite. He was brilliant at Karate. Utterly, poetry in motion. But as time went on, little did I expect, that dream would become merely a vapor.
The first time that Dr. Hyde appeared, I was cooking in the kitchen. I can't even recall what he was angry about. It was like a gray shadow had overtaken his face, and his usual steel blue eyes, had turned to black, or so it seemed. His demeanor became one of a fighter, a boxer in the ring ready to take on the world. I was amused by it. In fact, I thought nothing of it at all. The first strike to the door with his fist punctured a whole in it about the size of a frying pan. Still, not really clear what was going on, I looked at him like he was an alien and then I said to him, "And we did this because...?" He retorted by kicking the rest of it off of it's hinge. Standing in awe, I looked at him and wondered what would happen next. I was silenced.
He did not touch me, but he left the house and went to the back of the property. It was a dramatic scene and sadly, one that would repeat itself every four months, almost like clockwork for near eight years. It was not always a door, sometimes it would be other things that would become fireplace kindling, but each event more violent than the last.
When it initially happened, it could be compared to a poltergeist. Or better yet, if a person grew up in the 70's and 80's they may recall the story of the "Incredible Hulk", the guy who turned green and then would run away after he damaged whatever it was that had made him turn into the creature. Afterward, the Hulk would feel a sense of unknowing and shock at his own body. Well, that was Robin. His entire presence changed and he was not the person that I knew. Sometimes he would yell a primal scream that was so deep that it could be felt in another country, yet on other occasions, it was a silent brooding and a threatening glare. The purpose, always was to instill fear into me. It worked. Every time.
But I digress, and so I will return to the initial day he changed. After he had kicked down the front door, I was suitably flabbergasted. That, and totally lost in a sea of confusion. But like most strong women, I knew that this first incident would need addressing so that it was not to be repeated. While he calmed himself down in the back yard, I picked up the door and leaned it against the wall,then I grabbed a blanket to cover the open hole.
I decided that although I wanted to talk this through, it was best to wait until the seas had calmed. I did not know what I would say or how I would say it. It was so uncharacteristic of him to behave in this way. There were no red flags to set it up. Nothing unusual. Just an immediate and violent outburst. I knew that anything that I said would have to be in caution. I would not know what I was up against.
I can't honestly remember what happened next. It was all a blur. He didn't hit me, that I would recall, but he did not have any real sense of remorse either. His view of our marriage, had changed in that instant. We had not been married long. He didn't seem to feel regret, but said words to the effect that he had felt unappreciated. I had somehow taken something from him. That he had produced the things that we had entirely and that I didn't have gratitude for what he brought into our life. I didn't understand.
Everyday, up to, during and thereafter, I would thank him profusely for everything. And, if you knew me, you would know that I am always over thanking people. I would hug him over and over, constantly showing my joy over what he had done for us and for our home. I would send him notes, make his favorite foods, carefully prepare his lunch each day for work, and always remind him of how attractive and dashing that I thought he was. Unfortunately, it did not matter what I said to him. His belief was firm and held strong. He had "made a mistake by marrying me". I was devastated.
For Robin, the cup was never full enough to satiate his need for appreciation. I recall internalizing this event. I never wanted to see my front door off of it's hinge ever again, but my eyebrows were merely raised on that night. Normal people would not kick down doors. Honestly, at first, I chalked his behavior up to a temper tantrum, and tried to view it as a one off, but that would not be my truth. Each episode, to come would be worse and more uncalled for than the last. Each episode would begin to attack my character as well.
I did not equate his behavior to a mental illness initially. In fact, it took some months for me to understand what his triggers were, and those were evasive at best. Much later in this life I had chosen, I would come to terms with what I would come to believe as BPD. Boarderline Personality Disorder. I was in OZ. The violent outbursts would become a volley between me being on a pedestal, and me being nothing better than trailer trash. This was not at all what I had thought would be my life.
In the following posts, I will share my experiences mixed with my present detachment from Robin. It is a hard place to be, somewhere caught between the person whom I believed he was, to the person he actually is and the effects that the trauma has had on life as I know it now.
Lucky for me, I can see a rainbow slowly appearing in the distance.
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