Tag Archives: intimidation

Katie – Violence Unsilenced

I haven’t been around lately. I think a part of it has been because again, I’ve been having a hard time calling the relationship with Sam abusive. However, I came across story on Violence Unsilenced that sounds so much like life with Sam.

Following is a link to Katie’s story on Violence Unsilenced



So.  It’s been a while.  I really need to write more.  This is my journal after all and getting everything out should help me work towards healing…  Right?

Well, the biggest news, I guess, is that I’m getting everything pulled together and think we’ll be heading back to court to revise the visitation arrangements for Sam.  Based on stunts he and the visitation supervisors pulled the weekend of 07/30/11.

I seriously do not understand anything he does.  Why?  Why?  Why would he think that he won’t be caught in his lies?  And they’re not even just to me – so really, he shouldn’t be able to blame it on me, right?  Will there ever be a time when he stops lying?  Have I said it here before, I don’t know: Sam couldn’t tell the truth if it crawled into his mouth and tried to jump out.  I don’t know why I keep forgetting that.  I don’t know why I revert to expecting that he’ll be truthful with some one – any one.  But I don’t think he can…  And here I sit spinning my wheels trying to figure something out that really isn’t logical and probably won’t ever be clear.

What I need to do is just accept that he lies.  Sam lies.  Actually, that reminds me of one of the songs about Joe by Corey in the movie “Say Anything”:  “Joe lies… Joe lies… Joe lies… when he cries.”  Funny.  (snerk) I haven’t thought of that movie in ages and funny, I’d always thought of myself as more like the character Diane Court rather than Corey, but here I am: Sam lies…

OK.  Back to me.  I’ve actually been pretty good so far this week (it’s only Tuesday…) I’ve signed up for a women’s only self-defense class at the local university and I’m looking to see what other evening classes I might want to take.  It’s crazy how excited I am about that.

Actually looking back over the past week, I feel a bit all over the board.  I’m down, I’m up, I’m happy, I’m scared, I’m elated…  It doesn’t feel normal.  But then for years, my feelings weren’t really mine, I guess.  How I felt was determined by how much Sam did or did not drink.  It was determined by if Sam had a really bad day at work and therefore Max and I had to tiptoe around the house – in the dark usually – so that Sam didn’t direct that anger at us.  It was determined by if Sam’s new co-workers or new boss thought he was “God” (according to Sam) (not a god, mind you, God) – because if they did, it was OK to smile and laugh.

So I guess, this is normal?: feeling my own feelings because I actually feel them.  It feels strange.

Waiting for the call

Russell Brand put it so well. The entirety of his tribute to Amy Winehouse was incredibly moving, however the first part of it, quoted here, is what has stuck with me today and which has me inspecting what I’m waiting for:

When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone.

Frustratingly it’s not a call you can ever make it must be received. It is impossible to intervene.

(Read the full tribute here: For Amy – by Russell Brand)

So. What am I waiting for? I find that I am waiting for that call – either Sam calling to say he now sees that he has a problem and is ready to seriously stop and to seek help or a call from his sister, should she even remember to call me, to say that Sam’s drinking has caught up with him. Honestly – what I’m really waiting for in this scenario is the call from his family. Sam is still firmly entrenched in the belief that his drinking wasn’t a problem and hasn’t affected him or any one else. Oddly enough, or not too odd, I guess, is that he’s found a perfect enabler in Ingrid, who says only Sam can say if he has a problem and he doesn’t so… yet she believes he relapsed a year ago. Not sure how one can relapse if there’s no problem, but I’m getting off track here.

Spring, Fall and Winter I used to read the local paper every day, because there was always an article about yet one more death (or sometimes more than one) related to alcohol and the cold. I read the description of the victims looking for Sam. Of course this was all before I knew he was breaking his wedding vows and sucking a new enabler into his life. Any way, this was just another version of waiting for the phone call.

The other thing I’m waiting for, which I will NEVER get, I’m sure, is an admittance from Sam that he raped me, that he intimidated me, that he denied my SELF, that he inflicted domestic violence even if he “stopped short of hitting [me].” (As if the rapes weren’t violent. As if I have no reason to fear him just because he “never laid a hand on” me in anger, as if a 6’7″ rugby player towering over 5’4″ me – roughly grabbing my breasts or my… or pushing me back over a boiling pot and hot stove is loving and not violent…) I find I still want and am waiting for that admittance.

Without the blameshifting, the: “Well, she started cleaning during my games and I know she did it on purpose, so….” or the minimizing, the “I might have done it once, but that was before I realized how much it hurt her so I slept on the couch after that.”

IT WASN’T JUST ONCE!!!!! …… IT WASN’T JUST ONCE! Not just once. And it was when he was sleeping on the couch that he’d sneak back to the bedroom, stripping as he walked, to sneak into the bedroom and pin me to the bed. Telling me to be quiet our I’d wake up Max. Don’t wake up Max.

I want him to admit he raped me repeatedly our last few years together. I want him to admit that he used fear and intimidation to keep me in the back room. I want him to admit that he threatened to call the cops on me and I would never see our son again if I continued to push him away from me so I wouldn’t be bent back on top of the hot stove. I want him to admit that Max ran into the house from the front yard to find him doing that. I want him to admit he had no right to treat me that way. I want a sincere apology.

This will never come. Never.

That smashed fingernails feeling…

bruised fogHave you ever smashed the heck out of your finger with a hammer – or slammed it in a door – or whatever – and lost the fingernail? It hurt’s like bloody hell initially, and then, until the fingernail grows back, you have a hyper-sensitive reminder of what you did every time you accidentally touch where your fingernail was.

I think it’s a fairly accurate description of what my emotions have been doing for the past week. Not that the previous years were easy, but… The previous weekend and the beginning of last week were a serious hammer blow: first dealing with how Sam came to pick up our son for his supervised visit and let my cat run out of the house in the process and refused to move out of the doorway to I could run after Serenity, which was reminiscent of his neglect and abuse of our cats when we were together. Then triggered by my attorney telling me that I need to seek therapy because that wasn’t abuse…

So, Sam used to re-define reality and tell me that I was wrong – no matter what I said happened, even if I agreed with him, I was wrong. “No, Michelle, I did not promise that we’d go hiking this weekend.” Or “I said we’d go, but I didn’t promise, so I don’t have to do it.” “No, I didn’t ever tell you that we’d go. You’re stupid / crazy / making it up.” But I knew, he’d promised; whatever the outing was, I’d look forward to it for days or weeks. But, upon his persistent insistence that I had it wrong, I’d start doubting that I’d heard him say we would go, maybe he’s right, I’m crazy / stupid.

Now my attorney, who is supposed to be helping me through the legal wrangling, basically told me I’m off my rocker and my perception is skewed. She told me that Sam blocking my door didn’t happen, it wasn’t intimidating, it wasn’t a continuance of the abuse. Excuse me? She wasn’t there; she can’t tell me he didn’t do that. She didn’t live with Sam for over 10 years. She doesn’t know what patterns his abuse takes. Let me be clear: I do not think my attorney was being abusive – just unprofessional; there is no pattern of abuse in her dealings with me. If the courts wouldn’t see his current actions as abuse, then I need to know that. What she had no right to do was to deny that it happened or imply I’m crazy.

I guess, I’m just echoing my last post: am I being too sensitive? Because of what she said, though, I seriously questioned whether or not any of what I put up with in regards to Sam was abuse: well if I was wrong about Sam’s actions being abusive this time, maybe I was wrong before. Maybe he had every right to intimidate, threaten, and rape me. Maybe it wasn’t rape…

Why can it be so hard for me to call Sam’s behavior what it was: He was / is intimidating, his means of winning an argument or disagreement was to threaten physical violence. When it came to sex, even if he was my husband, I SAID NO. I had every right to say no and he had no right to ignore that no.

Why do I let others tell me what I experience / have experienced is not real?