Abuse doesn't stop after separation

Oh my god, I am so discouraged. I feel like my life is over. My fingers are numb, I'm nauseous. My head hurts so bad I can barely think. I can't stop crying. I can't think straight. I can't sleep. I can barely make my own meals. I skip a meal everyday because it is too complicated.

My ex is not giving me any money from the separation. He has taken my house, my share of the things in it and has also taken the things that I bought after the separation. He has sullied my reputation and turned my kids against me. He has taken all of my kids and because I stayed at home for twenty years taking care of him I have no skills and no schooling to get a job. I have cancer and when I was doing chemo and had all ten kids with me he was taking me to court every single month and giving the older kids drinking parties. He worked very hard at getting them to love him and turn against me. He is very manipulative and is good at making them hate me, all the while making it seem like they thought of all those terrible things about me by themselves. I gave everything to him and my kids and now... I have a huge lump in the breast where the cancer was taken out. I am bleeding all the time. I have no legal aide because I have a house. That I have no right to live in. I have no money. I have no job. I have cancer from the stress of twenty years of abuse. I have no skills and absolutely no energy to get a job even if I did have the skills.

I do have a wonderful partner now. He is supportive, kind and quiet. The problem is, he was transferred overseas. His house, in which I have been staying when I visit my kids, is for sale and being renovated for its sale. I can no longer visit the kids in it. My van, that my boyfriend has been paying for, is for sale. I will have no transportation and no way to see my kids. No place to visit them in.

I love being around people. I am alone in this big house. I have things to do, painting, plaster, grass, etc, but I am going crazy never talking to anybody. I want to go overseas with my boyfriend but I have a court case on the 19th of September so I can't leave. I also have to get a mammography, echography and biopsy on the new lump. Then if it is cancer again, what do I do? I have no health care overseas. I have a home here for now but no car. As soon as the house sells I have no home. I am trying to hope for the best but it is really hard.

My ex is still talking against me to the kids. The older ones think that my partner should just buy me a house here. They think, because of what my ex is feeding them, that my partner is a millionaire and should support me and my kids here. He just doesn't have that kind of money! He is willing to support me living with him overseas, but he cannot support me living here. I was supposed to get my money from the house and be able to buy a little place here, rent it out one month out of two and have the other month available to visit the kids. The divorce was supposed to be through already so we could marry and I could have healthcare overseas.

My ex is smoking two packs and day and drinking at least four beers per day (all worth about 700$ a month) but he doesn't have any money to pay me my half of the house. He could get a mortgage for my half with that money. And what if I die before the ten year statue of limitations is up? He keeps everything? He had twenty great years, being served hand and foot, getting sex when he wanted with a women that made all his sexual fantasies come true and kept herself in super shape, and now, he will get the kids, the house, and all the money after I'm dead. And what do I get? Cancer, tears, agony, and death. Wow. There definitely is no justice.

Making Bread

It wasn't all depressing. I loved my kids. They were my joy, what kept me alive, what kept me from completely shrivelling up inside. I tried and did many amazing and fun things because we could do them together. Like making bread. What an adventure.

I started when I had only four kids. White bread was on the menu at first. So began what I thought was easy, you just follow the recipe right? NOT. My first four or five times were a mess. The counter covered in flour, the kids covered in flour, the floor covered in flour. And the damn bread didn’t even rise. It was so frustrating. I had put the yeast in warm water to rise, I had kneaded one hundred times. I had used the beast bread flour. The rising was done properly, to the minute. What was wrong? No internet at the time, so instead of stopping and asking for advice or trying to get a book about it, I tried again and again. Any sane person would have stopped at that point. But not me, I tried again. Finally I gave in as the pressures of family life were wearing me down, I just didn’t have energy to keep up with scraping the huge crust of flour and water off of the counter, flour, cupboards and kids for the four white bricks that I seemed to be becoming quite an expert at producing. Several years passed by and I decided to risk it again. We were living in an apartment at the time. This time it worked!!!! I put everything together, kneaded it, my hair plastered to my forehead, flour up to my elbows and four little lumps of dough all around me with four little people covered in flour too. Their enthusiasm was rivalled only by the mess they made. I don’t know what on earth made me think that I could manage to stay sane and make bread with four little ones. But we did it! Four beautiful white loaves. I realized that my yeast had not been working when I was making it before. So I learned to always test the yeast before mixing it in with the huge bowl of flour. Mommy can I eat some? Mommy how much can I eat? Mommy can I knead more? Mommy, Jordan* is touching me? AAAAHHHHHH, Lisa* is throwing bread at me! The mess was phenomenal. But I faithfully made bread after that, knowing that at least there were no additives and preservatives in it. It was white but so good and so “healthy”. After that we moved to our house in the woods. It was beautiful, a house after apartments for two years. So the bread making began again in earnest. I was a homemaker and making bread is a sign of a good homeschooling mother.

But now, I was becoming a REAL homeschooling mother. I needed a wheat grinder. No good bread can be made with just white flour; I needed organic wheat berries and a wheat grinder. So in the very conservative church that we were attending, there was a lady grinding her flour. She helped me purchase one from the States and another learning process started. We were real bread makers now! Grinding the flour, kneading the breading, washing up the kids’ faces, hands, and hair, pulling chunks of half chewed, sloppy lumps of dough out of their mouths and scraping off a dried up messy counter became one of the normal occurrences of my life. Honestly, it was fun for a while. I loved the feel of the dough under my hand. I loved the smell of the yeast wafting up from the bowl.  I loved the feel of the hot, hollow sounding loaves that I pulled out of the oven. And most of all I loved the feeling that I was doing something good for my family and kids. We were eating homemade, brown, organic, fresh-ground flour bread. I was a GREAT mom. 

*names have been changed to protect my children and me.

The Evolution of a Good Girl - Part 2

Thus my life continued. You would have thought that I would have gotten wise to the situation. But no, I continued blaming myself and my inability to please my husband for being so unhappy. I started reading books and perusing websites on women who seemed to have it together in the christian world. People like Debi Pearl, Nancy Campbell, Michelle Dugger (even talked to her on the phone), and Teri Maxwell, to name a few. They believed in homebirth, homechurch, homeschool and keeping your husband happy with your joyful attitude and healthy desire for his body. Not all these women ascribed to all those theories but most of them believed in several of those things. Now that was extreme. They had happy husbands, happy kids and apparently happy lives. I wanted what they had. I needed to do something extreme. I repented for having hated my ex so much. I repented for not being submitted enough (wtf?) and I repented for all my thoughts of self-hatred and violence towards myself. I basically repented for being alive. This is what those women taught. You are nothing, you are worthless, you are a baby-bearer, you are a slave to your husband, you are at his beck and call, you must not decided anything, you have no right to choose anything, you have no right to think, you must let him think, decide and choose everything. You must dress up sexy for him all the time (Debi Pearl), you must not express an opinion unless called upon (Teri Maxwell), you must bear many children (all those women). I had been taught since a young child that to refuse teaching was to be hard-hearted and rebellious. I became the opposite. I considered everything that I read. I thought about everything. Since my husband was constantly telling me that I was hard-headed and controlling I believed that these women had the answer for someone like me who was so obviously ruining my family. So I became someone that accepted anything I heard that sounded spiritual. What an idiot I was.

1. I was spiritual if I had kids. Well, that sounded good, I was so miserable with my husband that having children to take care of and to love sounded nice. I thought that they would grow up and I would be able to go visit them and spend time with them instead of having to be around my husband. He wouldn't tell me not to visit our children even if he could tell me not to travel elsewhere. I had to obey him so this seemed like a chance at a bit of freedom later on. I had to plan the pregnancies and take my temperature to make sure that we conceived as my ex's sexual practises were a little odd and weren't exactly conducive to getting pregnant.  But conceive I did, six times over the next nine years. 
2. I was spiritual if I submitted myself to the teachings of other "godly" women who were succeeding. I threw myself into the teachings of Nancy Campbell, Teri Maxwell, and Debi Pearl. Their lives worked. They were submitted to their husbands, happy and successful. They had their own businesses that their husbands had blessed. God must be really happy with them so I thought that if I could just repeat their formula, things would work. I destroyed my health, following their teachings. There is no room in any of their crap that provides for abusive husbands who systematically work at breaking down their wives psychologically. 
3. I was spiritual if I home-everythinged. So home-everything I did. And it made my husband happy as he didn't want me out of the house. He wanted to control who I saw and what I did. Having me pregnant and barefoot and stuck at the house all the time fell right into what he wanted.
4. I was spiritual if my husband was happy. Then god was happy with me. Each and every time I adopted one of these changes in my life that these women recommended, my psycho husband would be happy for a couple of weeks. He felt in control. But like any immature two year old, it never lasted. The more he got what he wanted, the more angry he became over time. His rage got bigger and bigger until the slightest thing that I did would make him angry. There would be huge Hiroshima-like blow-ups for the slightest misstep on my part.  He would scream so loud that spittle would fly all over me. It was especially horrible if we were in the van with all the kids and he decided to blow up like that. I was stuck getting spit on and screamed at. My skin would just crawl.
5. I was spiritual if I dressed how my husband wanted. This created a problem though as my husband liked me looking like a slut. So how can you be a good christian woman and dress like a slut? This internal conflict was hard to deal with especially with all the conflicting advice that all the christian women give, be it at churches or in books.
6. I was spiritual if I followed my husband wherever he went and listened to everything he said. So we changed churches many times. My husband fought with everyone so we never lasted long in one church. But he always managed to blame me. He would come home and tell me that so and so had done such and such. Then he would tell me to deal with it. "Go talk to them" he would say. So I was submitted. I agonised over all these things, but did what he told me in the end. It was awful. Thus, all those people thought that I was the instigator and fighter. I believe that some of those people still believe that now. Especially since my ex followed and told them "See, I knew she was trouble, she just makes fights all the time." 

I can't write anymore. Not now. My stomach is in knots and I feel nauseous. But I need to get it out. I need to sort all this out. I lie awake at night going through the whole story over and over again. I still blame myself for a lot and still believe a lot of the lies that my ex has told me. Many people around me have tried to convince me otherwise, but twenty years of conditioning doesn't go away in two years. Writing this out helps me to see more clearly what was really going on. 

Thanks for reading and thanks for your comments.

The Evolution of a Good Girl

We were in the evangelical christian church. I wanted to please my husband and god. I had been taught since  I was little that god would not reward me if I didn't please him. And here on earth, I would be rewarded with health if I turned the other cheek, submitted myself like Sara did to Abram and called him lord, etc.

After I begged and pleaded to come back (and gave him amazing sex before being allowed to see the kids) we decided to move so that we would be closer to my parents. I wanted the kids to see their grandparents, and I wanted to have a bit of community around me so that I wouldn't get so depressed any more. Remember, in my mind, I was still the problem. Not my marriage, not my abusive husband, ME. So we moved. I packed the whole house by myself, with four kids under five in tow. My ex was so stressed out about moving that his spare time was spent sleeping or watching movies. I was so excited about being closer to my family that I didn't mind. Once moved, my ex began a campaign to alienate me from my family. My mom would buy me something, or do something special for me and my ex would use it. He would yell at me after my mom left, telling me what a bitch she was for buying cheese for me. I was underweight and never ate very well because I was taking care of my kids. So my mom was trying to take care of me how she could. My ex would eat all the cheese or whatever it was that my mom had bought for me. We couldn't afford to buy more so I would once again do without. Eventually the fighting with my parents was too much for me to bear. The conflict wasn't worth being close to them. It is so sad for me to see now that this would have been my way out! I was just so determined to make my marriage work. This time I wouldn't give up, my kids would have a happy mom and a happy life and I would make their dad happy too.

We moved back to my ex's home province in the hopes of starting over again. We lived in a little two bedroom apartment so we could pay off our debts from moving. My husband had to work nights as he had lost his seniority. He would leave for work at 15:00 and arrive at 24:00 then he would sleep all day until it was time to work again. His job was not physical, he sat around all day, even telling me that he had to pretend to have work as there was nothing to do. It was not like he was working super hard. I had to keep the kids quiet. When he was up he would be constantly yelling at me. I was trying to express my needs a bit but once again, I ended up trying desperately to appease him. I tried to make food he liked, I tried to keep the kids quiet, I tried to give him good sex. All this with four kids under six.

I started getting sick, but this time physically. I would shake terribly before meals, I was not able to sleep at night. I had horrible night sweats. I ended up on antibiotics three or four times for sinus infections. My hypoglycemia got ten times worse and I was having a hard time getting through the afternoons. I had a huge food allergy and almost stopped breathing. Then I reacted to the penicillin I was prescribed for an infection and ended up in the hospital again. My body was shutting down. I couldn't keep up what I was doing. I still didn't get it. I once again decided everything was my fault. I started memorising the bible and putting verses all over the apartment to remind myself to be thankful. I journalled my frustrations and thanked god for them knowing that these "brief and momentary troubles" were "attaining for me a glory that far outweighed them all". I memorised the verse that said I could do anything "through Christ who strengthens me". Then I pushed myself to go over and above the physical signs that my body was giving to me. I held onto the bible verses that promised a better afterlife. I began to live for my death. I had hope that all the mistreatment I was getting would be paid back in heaven when I died. So I pushed aside all the suicidal thoughts (that constantly came back because my life was hell), held each thought "captive to the obedience of Christ". And pushed through.

After a year we found a house a little further north of where we were. I was happy and thankful, like I should be, to be in a bigger place. There was forest all around and the kids were thrilled to have a place to play. By this time the Internet had gotten big so my ex now settled into the routine that would be his for the almost the whole of the next twelve years. Go to work in the morning, get home at 16:00 o'clock, sit at the computer until supper was ready, scarf down his supper, go in the bath and yell at me to bring the two littlest so he could wash them. I would try to start cleaning up the kitchen and he would yell at me to come get them, three and a half minutes later when he had semi-washed them. After, he would lay in the bath until I had brushed everyone's teeth and got them to bed. He would listen and when he was sure everyone was in bed, he would dry himself off and sit at the computer again until he went to bed. Every second night the routine was a little different. He would sit in front of the computer, tell me to get in the bath because he wanted sex (I hate sitting in scum so I had to wash it every time). I would wash the kids, play with them for awhile, then get out with them, dry them off, dress them, get everyone ready for bed, teeth brushed, then he would get in the bath. He would stay there until the kids were in bed, get out, get dried off and tell me it was my lucky night. Oh my god, I was so lucky. Every second night an hour and a half of pleasuring monsieur. Do you know I counted up to 830 times of him pushing into me while I was on all fours until he came? I was so lucky. The dishes? I had to do them after, or in the morning if I was falling over from fatigue that night, which happened often. He would always joke and say, "Don't worry about the dishes, you can do them tomorrow." But it wasn't funny because it was true.

Not so perfect after all....

There was another reason for my precipitous marriage. I was running away from my parent's divorce. I decided that I wanted to learn french so I moved to the other side of the country and met a man at the church that I went to. He was almost ten years older than me. An ex-alcoholic (does that exist? or are they all just dry alcoholics?). Still living with mama. I should have known better. But he had a job. He wanted a wife that stayed at home with the children. And he told me he wanted kids. And he sounded like a commited christian. So why not? My dad had told me that I could do anything I wanted to in life, so I could make a great marriage with anyone. Or so I thought. But I was just engaged to him and he had already screamed at me so loud that my ears hurt. The owner of my appartment building was called another time because he was pounding the bed and screaming at me so loud. Another time he told me to "mange la merde" (eat shit) for a silly little argument. I told him that it was rude and you should never treat a person you love like that and he laughed. He laughed about that for twenty years. This was all before I was married. But then why did I marry him? Well, because my parents were divorced and I did not want to end up a statistic, I was not going to give up. Even if it meant marrying someone evil. I didn't realize how evil he was then. And like I said before, my need for sex could not be met elsewhere than in marriage according to my christian beliefs. I still hoped that things would change. As the years went by, I went from a confident, outgoing woman to someone who couldn't even take the bus without trembling. 

We met in the fall and married in the spring. What a mistake. He was already pouting and screaming in my "honeymoon". It was miserable. I found out that the minute he felt uncomfortable, he would stop and get himself comfortable again, whatever it took. Even if it took destroying anyone around him. So started his systematic destruction of my personality. At first I fought it. I tried to have an opinion. I tried to think. But it always ended in a fight. 

We had four babies in four and a half years. I wanted children and they were my joy. I loved them so much. He never ever ever took care of them. Once in a while he would read a picture book to the oldest boy. But other than that they were basically dead to him. I was so very tired. I wanted to die I was so tired. But he would not take care of the kids even for a half of an hour so that I could sleep. He told me that I could "aller chier, et manger la merde" (French equivalent of f""k off and die) I was hurting so badly all the time. I was constantly crying, trying to keep up with the demands of a young growing family and a husband who had to have sex every couple of days. And because I was a christian woman, I would never refuse his advances. I would make sure that my make-up was perfect, that I stayed skinny, that I performed well (no missionary position for him). But he never appreciated anything I did and still would not let me sleep. My food was no good, I was useless in the house (why was I asking him for help?) and I was demanding because I wanted to spend money sometimes for items in the house and he was the only one allowed to. After five years and when my fourth was in my womb I started cutting myself after he would scream at me and insult me. I just wanted the pain on the inside to show on the outside. He wouldn't accept or believe that he was hurting me so badly. And with the cutting came a sort of relief from the internal pain. Eventually though, it wasn't enough. He would throw me against the wall or backwards onto the sofa when he caught me cutting myself, but would never hold me and wonder why I was doing that, what was going wrong. Eventually I ended up going to stay at a friend's house with my three month old baby to try to rest. They (my friends, the church, my family) all thought that something was terribly wrong with me. Nobody questioned whether or not maybe something horrible was going on at home because he was so nice to everyone else. He was serving suppers for the homeless. He was involved with a couple of shelters, sponsoring youth groups, and doing other similar service in churches in our area. He was a model man. But nobody knew my secret. And I never told because he had been so good at convincing me that I was the one in the wrong. I was constantly manipulating him, I was controlling, I was depressed, I didn't know how to handle life, I couldn't keep the house clean, I couldn't make good meals, I couldn't stay organized.

Finally this culminated in me going to a strippers bar as an erotic dancer. This would not make sense unless you understood that for me, I was without value except for sex. Sex was the only place where my husband would seem to be a bit satisfied. If I gave it to him enough, if I stripped like an erotic dancer for him, if I dressed up in trashy clothes and pranced half naked in front of him....etc. By going to dance at a strippers club I was trying to say that I was worth something other than getting screamed at. These men would pay me for what I was doing for my ex for free. It was horrible. I threw up a couple of times even though I wasn't drinking or consuming anything. While I was sleeping after having gone to the strippers bar for the second time, he came to my friend's house and stole my credit cards, my money, my keys and my little three month old baby who my friend was babysitting for me. I woke up to hell. I was devastated. He had never lifted a little finger to help me with the children and now suddenly he had stolen anything that made my life worth living. I tried to overdose on anti-depressants. But I didn't really want to die. I knew my kids needed me, my husband was not even capable of caring for them. He ran away with them, going from house to house making sure that he was always one step ahead of me. He wouldn't let me see them or talk to them. It was just horrible. Because I had crossed him. He was allowed to scream and yell and hit me and the walls, but I was not allowed to do anything that would touch him. Was it right to go dancing? Of course not. But was his reaction right? Of course not. To get my children back I grovelled. I was convinced I was the bad person and that he was just grumpy because I was so bad. So I grovelled and begged and gave him sex and he let me come back home. Home to hell with him. From that moment on, he knew that he was in control. That is what he wanted. He never wanted a partnership, he wanted to be in control. He knew he just had to take the kids and he would get me back "in my place".

Bad choices last a long time...

I got married too young. Too fast. And believed too much in the permanency of marriage. Religion had convinced me that if I had sex outside of marriage that I was going to pay for that in all eternity. So I got married to the first person who asked me to. He was kind and seductive. He showered me with gifts. He adored me with all his heart. He got me an apartment to stay in. He touched me gently. His kisses burned me like fire. I figured I could make anything work with anyone so even after a few months when he started to get violent, I figured that it was just an aberration. How could such a nice man actually do mean things like that on purpose? My parents marriage had failed but mine wasn't going to, no matter what. I married a man nine years my senior. He was violent, punching walls, the car, throwing things, and screaming at me for anything I did that he didn't particularly like that I said or did. I thought that if I just became "better" and "nicer" that everything would be fine because I knew that all these things were my fault....he told me so. Six months after I met him we were married in spite of the violence that I experienced during that time. I knew I didn't want to marry him while we were engaged but in my mind, it was too late. The invitations were sent, the wedding was planned and the dress was bought. And besides I wanted to have sex so badly that I couldn't think of much else. "God" didn't want me to have sex outside of marriage. I had wanted to be a doctor or a mother and chose mother to an abuser's kids. When you are married to an abuser, they are not your kids, let me tell you that. All ten of them are his and not mine. Abusers have a twisted sense of reality. The kids, the house, the furniture, the belongings and the children are his. Not his and mine. His. So this will be my story. I need to tell it. I need to tell it where all the judging will be done by cyber criticizers and not people who can yell at me to my face. I am tired. After getting cancer, going to court so many times, raising all these kids, appeasing an abuser, I am tired. And I need to tell my side to anyone who cares. My years of silence are over.