The room was spinning as I laid on the floor looking up. I wasn't even looking at anything in particular. Quite the opposite. My eyes were open but it was total darkness. There was a ringing in my ears and a horrible pain in my side that made it hard to move.
"What the fuck happened?!" I remember thinking this to myself as I struggled to sit up. I had never been hit like that before and never by him. He'd always been so calm and relaxed. He was always so laid back. He was the quiet one.
Did he really hit me? Oh my God, he did. The baby! Was the baby ok??
I pulled myself to a sitting position and immediately my hand went to my tummy. The pain in my side was bad but no pain in my stomach. I pressed here and there. No pain there... no pain here. How did this happen? What the hell do I do?
I stood up to him. He said something... wrong. I don't even remember what it was he said.... or what I said. Either way, he'd made it absolutely clear I was not to do it again.
That day was the start of being trapped by fear. Everything I did was out of fear. Everything I didn't do ...was out of fear. Fear is the biggest prison you will ever visit.
Days would go by without incident. Sometimes weeks. But when the day finally came that he broke that physical silence, the noise was resounding. The belief that I was a fuck up was already instilled and he knew it. I was doomed.
"Can I have a cig?"
"Beg for it. Get on your knees and kiss my feet."
I said it was ingrained in me that I was a fuck up. Not an idiot. Screw that. I was no servant. I gladly took the beating for that. At least I went down with some dignity still in tact.
Months went by and he never left the house. Neither of us were working. It didn't matter. Between food stamps, medicaid, cash assistance, and a $25 rent payment for a government funded apartment ... we didn't need to go to work.
There was also comfort in knowing I would never have to leave my kids there alone with him. He never hit me in front of them. Although, I am sure my oldest knew. I am sure she heard the hits from her room. But she stayed there. There was a comfort in that.
I remember praying she never came out to see what had happened. I didn't want her to know her mother was being abused. I didn't want her to see how bad it was. I was afraid for her if she did see. I was afraid he would turn his anger to her.
That day came anyway. He shoved her and her sister in their room and held the door shut. Thank goodness, he was on the outside of the door. Not inside with them. I begged him to stop. They were screaming and crying... trying to pull the door open. I was in a panic inside but I couldn't let it show. I couldn't let him know it scared me. He would use that.
Just be quiet and remain grateful he is out here with me... and they are in there away from him.
They were scared. I knew they were. My children were crying. I couldn't comfort them. I couldn't get to them. If he knew I wanted to... it would get worse. He would torture them more. I had to stay clam.
I had to comfort him. I had to find out what he was so angry about. I had to find some way to get him to stop. I had to stop this for my children. But how? I would never make it out the door with both girls. He was always there. I was never allowed to leave. He would know something was up if I even tried. He would kill me if I did.
Normally, he had family or friends bring him beer. I hated it. He was meaner when he drank. Finally, there came a day when no one could bring it for him. I guess they got tired of his mooching. He had been out of money his dad had given him for a few weeks. So... he got a job.
A job! He got a job! This means he would have to leave the house. This means I could escape. But to where? My mom's? She hated me. Her verbal and emotional abuse towards me and my kids was no better than what he was doing. Worse, most of the time. She was always screaming at me... telling my children I didn't love them and only she did. I couldn't take them back to that. There had to be another choice!
Then it hit me (no pun intended).... I could make it so HE couldn't come here. I could kick him out. Yes, I would have the locks changed while he was gone.
It was a horrible plan, but, I think it's obvious I wasn't in the right mind at the time. I was afraid to tell anyone. What if he found out I had told but nothing was done? I couldn't risk that.
The moment he left for work I called maintenance, making up some excuse about the lock sticking and they came out to change it. Once that was done, I text my soon to be ex. I told him I was done and not to come back here.
Apparently he didn't agree with this decision. He came home anyway. He banged and banged on the door and I realized... that door was not as secure as I thought it was. It was moving with each bang. It moved more and more and I realized... oh, god, he is throwing himself against it!
When the wood cracked, I knew I was in trouble. He was coming in, whether I wanted him to or not. I pushed all the furniture across the tiled floors and shoved it up against the door. The couch. The love seat. The dining room table. It was all moving!! How could this be? It worked in movies ((face palm)).
The smug "I did it" attitude quickly turned into "Oh shit... I did it now."
It took him a matter of minutes to come through the door and all the furniture. Game over.
Weeks went by as I tried to come up with another plan. I couldn't run without money. The shelters were all full. My mom was NOT an option. Think!
One morning he asked me to give him a ride to work. That's it. I had to tell someone. I couldn't keep doing this. How dare he ask me for a ride. He wanted me to give him a ride so he could make beer money and then get angry and beat my ass???? Nope, this wasn't going to continue.
I dropped him off and turned to head home. Fuck this. The police station is right there. They HAVE to help me. I would make it clear to them I needed help. I would need to be convincing. I know, I will SHOW them what he's done.
I frantically pulled into the police station, unbuckled my kids from the back, and went rushing into the police station. What happened after that is kind of a blur. I remember pulling off my hoodie to show the bruises. I told them "See?? Here and here!"
The tears were rolling down my face in humiliation for what I had allowed this man to do. I began taking off more clothing, revealing more bruises. The officer, in a panic, said.."No, don't take off any more. You don't need to do that. I see you."
After calming down they took pictures of my arms, legs, and neck. They wrote up a report and I answered questions. They had been to my house before, looking for him. That's right, he had a warrant! They would definitely take him to jail! Right? They had to!
The officers had a plan. They asked what time I was picking him up from work and said...
"We are going to pull you over and tell you your tag is expired. At that point we will ask him his name and pretend to run it. He already has a warrant so we will arrest him and take him to jail."
To bad he gave them a fake name. Tim, Tim Berlin ((face palm)). Timberlin? Like the God damn boot? What an idiot.
The plan worked flawlessly despite it taking longer for the officers to run a fake boot through the system. They took him to jail and I was free! I cried and cried after the officers pulled away. I was free... OMG I WAS FREE!
Not for long. I was stupid. I accepted his calls from jail. I went along with him and pretended I missed him. I pretended I was angry they took him from me. Why did I do that?! Why couldn't I say NO? Why was I so afraid of a voice on the other end of a phone? How could I be so fucked up that I ... I... ME... I ALLOWED this to go on??
He would apologize and tell me how much he loved and missed me. He would promise he wouldn't ever do it again. He was so convincing. He even said he would never drink again. You know the drill. I was so desperate to have someone. I was so alone. No mother. No friends. No family. I gave in. I began believing him. I started to think, I could do better and he wouldn't have a reason to get mad at me. He really was an amazing guy... when he wasn't drinking.
It wasn't long after he came home that friends showed up with beer in hand. I waited until he walked into the kitchen and reminded him of the promise he'd made to me.
"Oh, I'm not going to drink much. I'm only going to have one while I watch the game with the guys."
One turned into 3 which turned into... there went the 12 pack. The game was over and the guys left. All but 1.
The phone rang and he answered it. Uh oh... what's going on? Why was he angry? A man had called HIS house asking for Tiffany. He thought "Tiffany" was a made up name and the guy was actually looking for me.
"Impossible! I don't have anyone. I have you. I don't even have friends. This is a mistake!", I yelled and stomped off to my room.
Well, shit. I went and did it now. So much for ME doing better and not making him angry. I could hear him coming and, boy, was he in a hurry. He hit me just once that night, but, it was a doozy.
"Quit crying, wash your face, and get out here. We need food."
Days went by. Beatings occurred. His friend was still there. He never left. He never said a word. He never saved me. You know what his friend did do, though? He waited until he was in the shower and asked. me. out. Yep... he asked me to be his. What a dumb ass.
"Ummmm... excuse me???? You haven't done a damn thing to help me and you think that I am going to leave one ass hole for another. Fuck off, man. Get the hell out of here."
His friend decided to leave soon after that. What ever. Good riddance. Now I only have to make food for one dick instead of two. Yippie. ((eye roll))
I had to do something. This is insanity. Why am I doing this? I deserve better. I deserve to be happy. I cannot keep being a slave to someone else, no matter how normal it feels. My mother may not have hit me... but her and him were one and the same.
The day finally came when I did do something. I snapped. I found my voice and I let everyone hear it.
* You can read my other blog post "Save Me" to see what happened next.