The Demise

Nearly a year ago my life began to unravel. My husband of 10 years had been an angry person for a long time. He felt like he was losing control of his health, his career, his home, and his family. Like a wounded animal he lashed out at those closest to him. He became mean and violent. When I had enough of our children seeing him that way and felt like it was no longer a safe environment I made arrangements for him to live with his dad.

I don't know if this was the right decision. I justify it to myself that I was looking out for my children since they don't have a choice or say in what goes on. My husband felt abandoned and grew a hot hatred for me. Instead of staying with his dad, he hopped from hotel to hotel, slept in his car, and traveled the US. I honestly didn't know if he was coming back. I didn't know how I was going to pay bills or if I could afford to stay in our house since I wasn't on the mortgage. So, I began to work.

It was a difficult transition. I had spent nearly my entire adulthood as a stay at home parent. I didn't know how to find childcare besides friends. I didn't know workplace culture. I was in a vulnerable situation and didn't even realize the full extent of that vulnerability. I was trying to stay afloat before the storm came.

Then the storm did come and I was no where near prepared.

My husband returned from his journey of self discovery. He was angrier now than before he had left. Even more so when I told him that I was not ready for him to move back home. The way he called me names, the things he said to the children and antagonized their grief... I felt like I had to defend ourselves against that, against him. It pained me to feel that way. This was the man that I had loved, had built a family with, had relied on to care for us. And here he was falling to pieces and trying to drown us with him.

We were married for 8 years before he ever punched a hole in the wall. It was 9 years when he screamed at me that I'm a cunt, as our 3 year old watched by my knees. About a month after that he woke me up at 2am, chased me out of the house and tried to strangle me in the driveway. That weekend he cut the sidewall of my tires and let the air out when it wouldn't puncture all the way through. He wouldn't let me be around our children without him screaming profanities at me. I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away so that they didn't have to hear or see these things. I worked long hours trying to build my credit and savings account so that I could either rent or buy a house for us to escape. The marital home was not an option. He had laid claim to it like a violent usurper. It was his by fiscal right.

I finally managed to get my children to family out of state where they could enjoy some solace and peace, but without the responsibilities of parenthood his boundaries decimated even more so. He began calling me incessantly, calling my office, stalking my apartment. I filed for an emergency order of protection and felt like my life revolved around filing police report after police report for violations. He called me from jail. Called me to arrange a ride when he was released. He continued to make sure I knew he was watching my every move. I felt paranoid and terrified. I felt like I was losing my mind. I continued to talk myself out of it, I told myself that I had just watched too many true crime shows. There was no way he was stalking me as much as I felt he was.

Then 3 months after I had filed the original restraining order he ended up in jail for an extended stay. You would think that I felt relieved, but honestly my first reaction was panic. Who was feeding the cats? Were they alive? Why hadn't anyone told me he had been arrested 2 weeks ago? My employer helped me hold myself (barely) together and I found out that my cats were ok. Someone had been going over and taking care of them. My attorney told me I could take possession of the home. I was torn.

Used to, when I would show concern for my husband's safety, he would respond with, "I'm not dying until I'm 87." To which I would respond with, "that's not enough time." How did we get to where we are now?

I cried on the bed we once shared. I bawled over his laundry. I absolutely lost it in the kids' rooms. After about a month of this I was able to be in the home for longer than an hour. I drove the 40 minutes every other day to scoop cat boxes and feed the pets, washed the kids' laundry and cleaned their rooms. They deserved that for when they come home.

My feelings of being prey subsided mostly. At least until the day that I was cleaning up around the desk and found video footage that my husband had somehow obtained of me shopping at a store near my apartment. My blood ran cold and my heart cramped with fear. All those pep talks I had given myself, saying that I was ok to leave the apartment; all those times that I told myself I was being overly paranoid...

Three months had nearly passed and I was ready to bring the kids home and move back in to the house. I packed up my apartment and prepared to move my things, filed a motion to have the house as a protected address, made plans to go get the kids that weekend. By the way, the motion was denied by reason that it was redundant because my husband was in jail.

It was a Thursday around 1pm. I received a phone call that my husband had been bailed out of jail and had went back to the house. I was crushed and scared. I began to panic because my car was in the garage. My GPS history, to include my new apartment address, was still recorded in the car dash. The crossbows that I had taken into my possession was stupidly in the trunk. That is how I was convinced he was planning to kill me and I wanted to be sure they were hidden. I called my attorney, I called the police, I called in favors. When I finally was able to get an officer to go with me to retrieve my car the crossbows were no longer in the trunk.

One week later, the judge granted him weekend, overnight visitation with our children and it was my responsibility to do the drop offs and pick ups so that he wasn't coming to my home. He makes sure that he is in the doorway or driveway nearly every time. My heart clenches with fear and anxiety every time. Our oldest has been forced to play messenger between us and escort to the younger siblings.

I am sad at how things have turned out. I am sad for what my children are enduring and sad that I have made poor decisions through all this. I am sad that the local judicial system has not taken my concerns seriously in their effort to be fair. I am frustrated and angry at the incompetence. However, I am proud that I have not let my efforts lapse. I work hard at my job. I drive 3 hours daily to get my children to and from school. I can now buy a house in my own right. I have my own identity again. I am proud of my children. They do not falter in their need for me even though I have made mistakes. From my unraveled life I am knitting something new and beautiful. Something that fits me and mine much better than the "domestic servitude" that I had fallen into.

But I do want noted that the crossbows are still unaccounted for and I am still afraid.