Bad Girl House 18

I could not stand any more abuse. I could not stay because of the kids. I could not keep convincing myself that someday life wouldn’t be this way. I was finally seeing the situation for what I was. I was in a vicious cycle that was never going to end until I did something about it. I started brainstorming possible ways that I could escape. When we were out, I would pay attention to where churches, restaurants, and hospitals were. If I made it to one of those places, would the people there believe me? Would they let me stay until someone came to pick me up? Would they protect me if John found me? Of course the answer was yes, but I doubted everything around me. My own mind told me that there wasn’t help out there.

There were many nights that John didn’t want me to be in the living with him. I sat on the bed, arms around my knees, nervously waiting for him to check on me. I thought about sneaking across the hall to the spare bedroom. Maybe I could quietly get out of the house through the window. It was the only one that was possible to use safely. My room was on the back side of our elevated ranch, while the rooms of the front of the house were level with the ground. I had thought about all of problems with this plan. John was in the living room watching TV, while keeping an irrational argument going by returning to the bedroom over and over again. I turned the room’s bright light on to scream in my face, punch me in the arm, and slap me on the side of my head.

“Ready for more? I am.” That was his usual way of entering the room. If I had laid down while he was gone, I quickly sat back up and pulled my knees to my chest in an effort to protect myself. He stood next the bed with his fist ready, as I pled with him to stop so I could go to bed. “You’ll go to bed when I go to bed.” There was no telling exactly when he would come back each time, so timing an escape was extremely dangerous. Eventually I would hear the lights in the other room being clicked off, so I knew he was coming to the bedroom to stay. It even made him angry that I was falling asleep. The stress of these evenings was exhausting, so I couldn’t help that my body was shutting down to sleep. If he thought I was falling asleep he would hit me in the back of the head, keep the blanket aways from me, or push me towards the edge of the bed until I was practically falling off. He could never get to sleep right away, so this went on late into the night. I was relieved when I could hear his breathing begin to slow down and start to quietly snore. Sometimes he still didn’t fall asleep and left the room again to sit in front of the computer. Three small children were trying to sleep through all of this. Jessica and Josh shared a bedroom across the hall, while Nick’s crib was still in the room with us. This had become a nightly routine, that actually stemmed from abuse that began earlier in the day. It was really a constant stream of abuse.

Each night I thought about the window across the hall, even though I knew that it was never going to happen. John would hear me walking through everything being stored in that room. If he didn’t hear that, he would surely hear the window slide open. He would find me there trying to get out of the house. I didn’t want to imagine what he would do to me after dragging me back through the window. I thought about dialing 911 while I was sitting there, but I would have had to sneak a phone back there with me. I worried that John would hear the beep of me dialing, or the sound of my voice asking for help.

I needed to figure out a way to leave that was actually possible. It finally came to me. I was allowed to take walks around our neighborhood. Being in the real world outside of my hell was a tiny taste of freedom. I walked through the beautifully oblivious neighborhood, ignorant of the horrors happening under my roof. The streets were lined with cherry trees that snowed down their blossoms on windy spring days. Green lawns were manicured and landscaped with colorful bushes and flowers. All of the houses had their own style. Not cookie cutter houses like some modern allotments. The roads were hilly and windy. Kids sped by me on their bikes, and dogs barked at me to guard their yards. Dads washed cars, and moms pulled weeds. It almost made me feel almost normal to see other people doing everyday things. But I wasn’t normal. After my walk I had to return to my normal.

Sometimes my walks took me to the neighborhood park. That was where I went if I didn’t feel like walking by needed to get out of the house and just sit for a while. I hoped that there wouldn’t be anyone there, because they would see me crying. I don’t know what I would have said if someone asked me what was wrong. The park had a small playground, and overlooked a lake. It was relaxing to sit on a swing while watching the rippling water. One of the last times I walked to the park was on a cold, gloomy, October afternoon. Several days of rain made the gravel path to the park sloppy and slippery under my feet. This time I was going there with a purpose. At the far side of the lake was a tall, chain link fence. I had never walked over to it, so I wanted to see if it went out into the water, or if it stopped in the sand. This was going to be my easiest way out. The fence stopped about ten feet into the water, but still very possible to get around. I would have gone up and over the fence if I had to, so the water and mud was not going to be a problem for me. I needed to see where I was going to end up after making my way through the uncleared brush on the other side of the fence. I had to know that I could get through if I decided to follow through with my plan. I came out just down the street from a large gas station and a few restaurants. I knew that leaving in that direction would safer than staying on the street. That would have left me out in the open if John started driving around the neighborhood looking for me. I was afraid to ask my neighbors for help in an emergency, scared that he might see me go into a house and fight his way inside. I had a plan that I felt confident could work, but I didn’t carry it out that day. Not yet.

On a particularly bad day, I decided that it was time to execute my plan. At first I didn’t think that John was going to let me leave to take a walk, but I put my shoes on and went out door. I headed to the park, but paced back and forth on the shore of the lake, quickly losing my nerve. Not because I wanted to stay, but because my kids would still be in the house. It was only

11 o’clock in the morning. The school bus would be dropping Josh in front of the house from kindergarten. My mind was suddenly full of questions and doubts, Do I leave my kids and come back for them? Would I see them again if I leave? Do they even need me? Would John disappear with them? How long will it take him to realize I wasn’t coming back?

I walked back into the neighborhood, forcing myself to make my plan reality. I could hear the engine of the school bus as I stood at the bottom of the hill. I was so confused. I didn’t want to go any farther up the street, so I stood far even back to just to see my yard. The bus had several stops to make before reaching our corner. If I called to Josh from where I was would he hear me? Would John hear me? Was he waiting for Josh in the yard or watching for the bus from the kitchen window? He would know something was wrong if the bus arrived, but no one came in the house. Or is he saw Josh run down the street instead of to the house. Even if I managed to get Josh to me without being noticed, Jessica was still at school, and Nick was still in the house. I froze as the bus rolled to a stop in front of our house. Josh stepped off of the bus, and immediately ran toward the front door. I waved my hand in the air, but a five year old wouldn’t have thought to look down the hill. He had no idea what I had planned to do. I stood there another few minutes and cried. My feet felt like bricks as I slowly walked back up the hill. I couldn’t leave without my children, but that plan stayed in the front of my mind.

The only other possible option that came to mind was leaving in the middle of the night. It had been nearly five years since I had driven, but my comfort behind that wheel couldn’t be a determining factor if it meant getting out. I imagined a dramatic, movie like escape. I would pretend that I was getting up to go to the bathroom, or to check on the kids. John was a very light sleeper, so getting out of bed without waking him up would added to the challenge. As quietly and quickly as possible I would put on clothes that I left in the bathroom, creep to the kitchen for the car keys, slip out the basement door, and speed away. We only had one car, so I would also be taking John’s only means of coming after me. Maybe, even hopefully, because of my rusty driving skills or my speeding, I would get pulled over and have the opportunity to tell a police officer my story.

The same fears about escaping through the window haunted this plan. What if John heard me before I made it out of the house? What if I was almost to the car, and he came bolting out of the front door? I couldn’t convince myself that I could safely make it all the way to the car, lock myself inside, and drive to freedom. All of my plans included leaving my kids behind, which terrified me just as much as trying to leave. I didn’t realize that once I was away from him, and was able to tell people what had been going on behind closed doors, I would automatically be given custody of my children. Years of brainwashing was keeping me from taking the steps to get us all away from our abuser.