I ran a 5K Saturday morning. It was great. I was under 27 minutes and with the soupy humidity and warm temps, I was happy with that.
I called 911 on Sunday afternoon. I was beyond feeling safe here and just wanted to get the hell out WITH my daughters. They are pawns to him when things go to crap. Sunday was no different. I calmly decided to remove myself from the escalating situation and my daughter told me she wanted to come with me. On a thumbnail, he played the “crazy” card and placed himself between me and them. Rather than add to an already lengthy list of future issues, I walked away and called 911. Cops came; needed my ID, etc. This blew my mind. They would not stand by so that I could leave safely with my daughters. “Ma’am, it’s a civil matter.” I asked them if they left and I still tried to leave with my daughters and things escalated and my husband hit me, would it be a civil matter then? No, it wouldn’t. They would come back and it would be a criminal matter. Hm. Go figure. “That sucks,” I told the cop. I stayed. They stay, I stay. I am not leaving them again the way my mom used to leave me. So now, 2 days later, everything is still a mess – it’s funny how emotional abuse just zaps the ever-loving life out of everything in it’s wake. My heart hurts. I went to the bank and put $7,500 aside for “when I need it,” which will likely be sooner than later. I was embarrassed to report to my BeachBody coach that I just wouldn’t be able to participate in the team call that evening because I was reeling from that day.
Today, I had to take my ID out again. Today was better – I was at the Diocese for our parish and I was getting finger-printed for my Fall part-time job at church. It felt nice being there. I just feel the energy in places, you know? That place has very good energy.
When I got back to the car, my phone, which I left on purpose (wow, that’s progress), had a message on it – something to the effect about his heart hurt for me and if there was anything he could do, followed by the praying hands emoticon. That was a moment in my day when I stopped and thought, “Am I fricking crazy?” Like, seriously? You scream at me on Saturday night until you are hoarse, wake up and put flowers in vases all over the kitchen, cook for a daughter, cause more destruction on Sunday, and you really want to know if there is anything you can do? Thank God for words and writing because I can safely say that talking to my therapist yesterday & today, writing the letters he asked me to write, plus writing this blog, shows me that I am not crazy. Well, relatively speaking – I know remaining in this sufferfest must make people wonder about my sanity. It makes me wonder at times.
I fully believe that constant contact with my Heavenly Father is key. I am trying to figure it all out. Without a blueprint. My examples growing up didn’t prepare me for a normal life. So, here I am trying to figure out what a normal life is. So far, I know what it isn’t. It isn’t screaming at people; it isn’t many of the things that have happened in our home.
I believe that as long as I stay here, in this false poser of a relationship, I am giving credibility to us being a couple. That bothers me. I am getting there, slowly but surely.