A Story

This is a very long blog: it is a short story about a woman in an abusive relationship. it is written quite well. Abusive relationships are going to affect your physical body. If you think you are in an abusive relationship, read this. I gave you a list of what manipulative people do from Pastor Danny Green at Covenant Family a couple of days ago. Then this stumbled into my in box. It is narcissiticabuse.com This is a more real application. And it is very well written.

In case you don't have time to read, just go down to the list of numerous traits (58)to see if you are in an abusive relationship. These begin with "Does he/she ignore your feelings?"

I certainly did not relate to everything in the story, but the constant criticism, cutting me off from family, sudden turn around of love, control, and above all, fear that the public would find out.... I related to all of it in the story.

BTW, If you are in an abusive relationship, with no positive end in sight, find a really good divorce attorney, and do everything he or she says to do.

============ ========= ========= ========= ==
The Conch Shell By: Callen Damornen

(Copyright 2008 Judi Copeland aka Callen Damornen)

A family reunion is a joyous occasion. People with a common thread gather sharing their love while diving into piles of potato salad, barbecue, and beverages. And of course the mark of a truly eventfully get-together is drama. It was when I, Belinda Mills, destined to face the truth about the subtle abuse from my husband. The day it really dawned on me; words can hurt more than shards of a broken shell through my skin on a hot summer’s day.

From a town with the greatest musical pulses of Tennessee , we lived in the wealthiest area of Memphis in a typical antebellum Southern style mansion known as Manor Farm. It really isn’t as great as it sounds.

Originally, this two story home, painted in white with a rare basement feature belonged to Gertrude Mills, who ran a successful secret bordello. She spent a lot of money to transform a farmhouse into a mansion with 8 bedrooms with 4 full and 2 half bathrooms all decorated in her favourite color of success – red. Red carpet, walls, sofas, bedding, lampshades; everywhere was red with elements of white to highlight the red features. Inside was cheaply made, expensive décor which was not meant to last forever and looked tacky to most people.

Gertrude’s son inherited the house and business after her death. He allowed his mother’s entire legacy fell into decay through neglect and laziness. The lawn, overgrown with weeds and barren patches revealed the Southern red clay. That was the first thing you saw approaching the mansion. The white paint chipped away, the roof caved in and windows were broken and the wild animals clamored about the porch. It warned most decent folks to stay away.

Inside was no better. The carpeting, matted down and darkened in years of filthy was ripped out showing barren floor boards. The walls and floors were mostly moldy and rotted through. This chaos housed three generations of the Mills family along with several squatters and a huge collection of dogs and cats.

I had to suffer with it in silence. The kids and I had no choice. We lived in such filth and muck since we were saving money so Carter refused to consider moving out. He made me feel as if I were an ungrateful cry-baby for bringing up the idea. He said I should be grateful we weren’t paying rent. It did not seem to faze him that the kids and I suffered colds, allergies, and infections on a regular basis. He said if I could get a job that paid $25 an hour, he would consider moving. Impossible to do under the circumstances I faced.

The day of the reunion, we had to wake up early and travel to Paris , Tennessee . I was wide awake before everyone else. I felt instinctively trained to do this so I did not miss a chore that had to be done. Carter loved everything to be perfect. If not, a verbal lashing followed.

I stepped over lethargic in-laws who crashed on the puke-soaked floor, careful not to wake them. Just another day of figuratively walking on broken glass while telling myself everything will be fine because Carter loves me and I love him.

After I got some of the bigger projects completed, I woke my family so we could prepare for the 3 hour trek in our British racing green 1981 Rolls Royce Silver Spirit. I had 5 month old baby Geo sleeping strapped to my side in a sling while working on a supper dish. Then I attended to the needs of Carter and Melissa.

I took time to dress, to look presentable according to Carter’s standards which often failed his mark. When we first dated, I was more willing to cater to his desire of how I dressed, but as time went on, it seemed to be the least of my priorities. I still cared what he thought about how I looked, but not enough to follow through to try and make him happy.

I picked out a floor length, flowing black skirt with a long sleeved black sweater and spaghetti strapped white shirt and a pink scarf for my head. Although it is warm day, I had to dress in this manner to cover the self-inflicted scars on my arms and legs. Carter wished I were more of a fashion plate, but if I wore the style of clothing he liked, he would protest because people could see what I did to myself which reflected poorly on him.

I remember once he wanted to drag me to some formal affair when I was too depressed to go anywhere. He saw my nice dress which exposed the fresh marks on my arms. He was more concerned with what his friends would think than the reason for those scars. Perfection and what others thought of him was important in his mind. I was more concerned with how people felt and making them feel better. I could bow where he would shatter, so often I had to compromise my desires and needs for his sake.

People often commented on what a mismatched pair we made. Carter, who just celebrated his 33rd birthday yesterday, seemed older than me. At age 35, I often passed for 21. When I stand next to him, his height of over six feet would dwarf me by six inches. His fair-skin would contrast with my medium-dark olive complexion. His entrancing hazel-green eyes and light brown hair worn in a three inch high quiff stood out in stark contrast to my intensely dark brown eyes and raven black straight hair, often put in a bun and hidden in a scarf.

Carter’s appearance was not the only one that mattered. He loves his car almost as much as he loves his family. His car is a reflection his value for refinement and sophistication. This car he bought inexpensively because it was old, rusty, and needed lots of work. He spent most of his free time fixing it.

Tired and sweaty, trying to get ready, I asked, “Carter, you’re just sitting there watching TV, can’t you give me a hand with the baby or something?”

He stood in my face with a sneer, “I work hard all week long and didn’t even want to go to this function anyway, but I’m doing it for you and the kids. Can’t I get a break? I need to make sure the tires are inflated and the oil level is right. Unless you want us to break down in the middle of nowhere and have me pay for a tow and repair. Why not? It’s only money. So what, right, I’m Mr. Money Bags?” Then he stormed out leaving me with a sense of frustration and tears in my eyes wondering where that came from. All I wanted was a little help and he turned on me again. What did I do wrong?

Before working on the car, he locked himself in the bathroom to powder his face to hide his oily complexion and skin blemishes which was a big problem in the heat of the South. When he was done, he gave me a big hug and kisses me telling me he loves me. Then he strolled outside to start his project on the car. It is hard to resist him when he shows that charm.

People on the block thought he was strange as he worked on his car wearing his blue pinstriped three piece suit with matching tie, pocket handkerchief, and cufflinks while working on his vehicle. I don’t think I will ever understand why he tried so hard to impress people, but it was his style and manner that attracted me when we met.

Carter worried about what people would think when we moved in a house falling apart and didn’t have the money to make the needed repairs, so he slapped on a fresh coat of paint, patched the roof, manicured the lawn and garden, and put up a new mailbox to give it a fresh look. They were not fooled by him or the outer shell of our house. An aura of agitation of the house gave them the chills. Daily barrages of deafening music, fighting, and frequent visits from the cops could never be hidden by a home makeover.

I put Geo in the crib then washed the dishes from breakfast. Melissa had already finished getting geared up and waited in her room listening to loud punk rock music. She did that to drown out the predictable, the profanity from her father fussing at the car. Inevitable, as if on a train schedule, Carter yelled out, “Where the fuck is my oil filter that I put in the trunk last week when I bought them?”

Carter came storming in the house, slammed the door, knocking it off the hinges again. He stood nearly two inches from my face, snarling like a wild animal about to pounce on prey. “What the fuck happened to my oil filters? You know the ones I just bought last week and left in my trunk so they would not disappear? Did you do something with them?”

Taken aback at the allegation and flustered because my mind was preoccupied on my task of doing the dishes, “What the hell would I do with oil filters? I didn’t do anything with them.”

“Well somebody did. It sure as hell wasn’t me. Did my brother get into it?”

My stomach was tightening, feeling the terror of a situation I could not control, wondering how far he would take it this time. “I don’t know. I wasn’t even aware you bought oil filters last week or put them in your trunk. Are you sure you didn’t misplace them again? Are you sure you looked carefully in your trunk?”

“Stop accusing me of these things. Whenever something is missing you do this. I know I did not do anything with it. You people are always getting in my stuff and hiding them.” The veins in the side of his forehead were visibly throbbing and his face was red.

Ignoring his tantrum because I was tired of this routine, I responded, “No, the majority of the time when something is missing it is because you misplaced them and I am trying to pinpoint the possibilities before running around half-cocked looking for something that could be anywhere in here.”

“That oil filter better be found NOW or we aren’t going anywhere!” Then he threw his socket wrench and it accidentally hit my leg. As he left, he punched a hole through the wall.

I was glad he left, but he wasn’t finished with this paroxysm. “No one is getting any sleep until I get my oil filter and we are not going anywhere either!” Then he paced about the house making sure everyone was doing as he told them, ignoring the scowling faces of sobering drunks angry at him. It was an untold command to stop what I am doing and find those damned filters or he won’t shut up about it. I never used to stand up to him when he got in my face over something missing, but these incidents were getting so old and predictable.

I propped up the front door and hobbled barefoot outside before looking in his trunk figuring it was probably there, buried under something he had moved during the week. My daughter, Melissa snuck out of her room not wanting to be around her father and quietly followed me. I opened the trunk and moved the black vinyl wheel cover. In the pit of the wheel well was a white plastic shopping bag. Inside was an unopened package of oil filters. I ran inside to Carter with Melissa right behind me, “I found them. They were in the trunk of your car.”

Still angry at his inconvenience and trying to find a way to deflect the blame, “You must have put them there. I didn’t see them there at all.”

I knew it would go nowhere to argue further, but I had to set the record straight, hoping he would see my point the next time he did this, “You had them under the wheel cover. Did you bother at all to move it?”

He rolled his eyes in frustration, stormed out the house knocking the door to the ground and back fussing with the car. Melissa gave me a hug and asked, “You okay mom?”

Too stressed to want to hug back, I brushed her off me, “I’m fine. Why don’t you go back to your room until we’re ready to go?”

I know she was tired of the conflict at home. It couldn’t be easy for a 13 year old teenager to live in this dysfunctional family: Aunts and uncles always drinking and fighting while she barricaded in herself in her room; a grandmother who nagged about little things like socks in the living room while defending the innocence of her children who were taken away by cops. I can only imagine what Geo thought of this situation.

The thing Melissa hated most was how I put up with her father. Every now and then she would mention how she wanted me to leave and take her and Geo. It wasn’t if I had many options. No job history for 13 years. No money saved up. No resources. And to boot, two children who needed things to survive. It’s not like I could leave on the drop of a dime.

Besides, the times when her father decides to behave, his nice period can last weeks or months without him acting up. He loves to buy her nice clothes, toys, whatever she wants. It is not something I could do as a single parent.

I think somehow she feels if I was this miserable in love; she might end up the same way. In most things, she is almost exactly as me. She looked like a slightly smaller version of me, but with the spirit I used to have before Carter.

About an hour later a shout came from outside, “Come on everyone before we’re late!” Carter blasted the car horn seven times not caring that some of the neighbors were still sleeping at eight in the morning. Melissa strolled to the car, looking down at the pavement walking with headphones plugged in to keep her music in focus. I was bundled with Geo, a diaper bag, and parcels rushing to the car, while an impatient Carter nagged, “Can’t you go any faster? “

“Could you at least help me get Geo in his car seat?”

“The car is already started and you are right there, just finish up.”

“Dad, the invitation was for noon until midnight , we have plenty of time. I’m sure everyone won’t be waiting with their thumbs up their asses if we aren’t there right at twelve.”

“I don’t care if they have low standards. I won’t sink to their level. If they want to live on CPT, that’s their problem.”

I got in and Carter peeled out of the driveway nearly missing a neighbor out walking his dog, before I could even strap on my seat belt.

During the trip, Geo was quietly hypnotized by the scenery. Melissa was glued to her music and a book to pass time. Carter calmed down as big band music played on the radio.

He mellowed out, almost as if there was no tension earlier that morning. He reached for my hand and gently kissed it, then placed my hand on his lap. He sensed my frustration.” What’s the matter?”

“I’m just tired from all that activity this morning.”

“Well if you were more organized then you might feel better now.” Then he kissed me while his eyes were still on the road. “You are so beautiful and wonderful. I don’t think I could live without you. You are the greatest thing to happen in my life.”

Carter glanced in the back seat from the rearview mirror as his eyes met with Melissa. He gave her a wink. She tugged one end of her earpiece down.

“What?”

“How’s my little girl?”

“Bored.”

“You know you don’t have to isolate yourself in music. If you want music listen to this good stuff.”

“I like my music. Your music is lame.”

“It’s not lame. It’s classic.”

“Why don’t you ever play music mom likes?”

“She suffers from a serious illness called ‘Blacks without Soul’ and will only listen to music that is truly lame.”

“Whatever.” Then she quickly retreated back into her own world trying to ignore everyone.

Carter looked over at me and asked, “Is that all you could find to wear?”

Feeling a bit self-conscious, “I like it. What’s wrong with it?”

A look of disgust crosses his face, “You look like a frumpy housewife.”

“I wanted to wear my sundress, but you didn’t like that either.”

“You know why. I don’t want anyone to see what you have done to your arms lately. They will start asking questions that are none of their business.”

“You never like what I pick out anyway,” crossing my arms and looking away, hoping he would end this conversation. He turned his attention to the road. I started wondering if I was making too big a deal over what happened earlier.

At least there was a nice view to appreciate. I was fascinated watching the bucolic roads from outside Memphis heading towards Paris . It was a good way to relax and think, a luxury I was not often given. Living in the state of Tennessee for nearly 15 years after growing up in Chicago , has made me appreciate the Southern culture. It was nothing like I thought it would be when Carter told me we would be moving here.

Driving along the Interstate you can spot many small towns to fill up with gas. Sometimes you would spot friendly folks that hung about the diner next to the station. What better way to know your neighbors than over a plate of chicken fried steak, eggs and biscuits with white gravy! We had to make one stop along the way. The people seemed reasonably educated, willing to talk about almost any topic, but human enough to be insulted if you spoke down to them. Having a Southern drawl did not necessarily mean they were stupid hicks. Carter really loved to stir them up. I felt embarrassed.

His desire to be seen as an important person got in the way of being able to relate to what was going on around him. Experts would probably classify him as having narcissistic personality disorder. Whether he thought the people were beneath him, in his peer group, or whom he felt as very important people, be they stranger or familiar face, he had to put on a show. Even people with problems need love. Wasn’t it my duty to put up with that?

We appeared to be a happy couple, but some family and friends thought he was a bit standoffish, especially around me. Out in public, he rarely let me out of his sight, especially around my family and friends. He would make his way over and wrap his arms around me, acting as if he would not let me go. It was Carter’s way to assure I would not talk about anything taboo. As far as he was concerned, anything going on at home was nobody’s business.

Watching the road go by, in trance with my own thoughts, I was getting depressed. Lately, Carter has been more controlling and domineering. I have been so isolated from family and friends over the years that I had no one left to talk to about my problems, except Carter. He was my main problem. I had no outlet. The only way I could cope was to lash out on myself. Although I have become used to doing whatever it took to keep the peace, it was starting to eat away inside me. It all seemed too unfair and unbearable. A marriage is supposed to be an equal partnership, but I often felt like Carter’s car; he loves it as long as it runs fine, but the moment it doesn’t behave the way he wants it he can kick and scream at it.

Carter feels he is singled out for inconvenience and these things don’t happen to anyone else. If something goes wrong, he does not get his way, or things don’t go according to his plan, it is always a conspiracy against him. He lashes out on me or the kids or even innocent by-standers. He will yell and scream at a baby if agitated enough. It doesn’t matter a problem, small or big, his tantrums are all the same – scary, attacking, profane, loud and embarrassing when done in public. After he gets his way, he acts as if nothing happened. Days like yesterday were typical day and it was getting wearisome.

Carter worked all day. He tried phoning and got no answer, so he left a nasty, sarcastic message on the voice mail for me. I tried to return his call but he was with a customer and would call later. When he called back, he screamed at me over why no one answers the phone. He was so loud I put the phone on the floor and could still hear him. I’m sure people in the restaurant were uncomfortable hearing this. It didn’t matter that I was busy doing something and everyone else was gone, someone should have picked up. By the time he came home, it was as if nothing happened earlier. He brought me a bouquet of flowers, telling me how special I was. He left me to question myself, as if I just imagined the fight earlier. He never apologizes or admits to what happens in these fights.

We finally reached the gravel access road going to the trailer park. Located in a poor section of a medium sized town was Three Rivers Trailer Park crammed in a span of 3 acres just off North Market Street , across the street from the train tracks and a long distance from the Interstate. Each unit looked exactly the same, small, white, and rusty with creaky wooden stairs looking like they would fall apart. Children would play on the dirt and gravel roads ignoring the cars trying to get by. Stray pets would roam up and down the aisles looking for scraps of food left in various garbage bins. The heat brought out the crane flies, mosquitoes, and grasshoppers looking in vain for puddles of water to cool off.

My sister’s unit had two bedrooms, one bathroom, living room that flowed unblocked into the kitchen with a laundry area, stove, refrigerator and a small counter space. Due to such cramped conditions, furniture had to be sparse. She had a kitchen table with four chairs, a microwave oven, a television in each room, two beds in the bedrooms, and a pullout sofa bed. To make things feel more comfortable, she added purple curtains and displayed posters of the Beatles all over the walls. Outside her unit was a beautiful flower garden. She may not have much, but she had lots of love.

As we stepped out of the car, my family greeted us. Carter grumbled under his breath, “I’m amazed you found room to fit all these people in that tin shack,” to which my sister, Tina rolled her eyes trying to ignore his usual digs at her.

Tina was below the poverty level. The trailer was all she could afford on welfare and disability. While in college, she became a mother at age 19. Her son had special needs. She got married and they had another child, but her husband died leaving her with a load of debt. Then she was in a car accident leaving her permanently injured. All this stress left her daughter to act out and she had been in and out of trouble at school and with the law. It was an unfortunate situation for her, but it made me cringe when Carter would make some snide remark about her. He made it sound like we were so much better. We may live in a fancy, pricey mansion, but I envied Tina in ways.

After putting Geo in the play area with Grandma Julie and Great Aunt Linda, I caught up with Tina. We briefly talked about general sister stuff, nothing really serious or prohibited. It wasn’t long before Carter honed in and bolted through the crowd to hang on to me, letting everyone subtly know I was his property and they should back off.

Some of the cousins were starting to unfold the picnic tables for the buffet. Tina turned to Carter mustering up as much sincerity in her voice as possible, “Would you mind going to the store to pick up some rolls, chips and beer? I’m not sure we will have enough.”

Carter, loving to feel like the important hero, agreed after wrapping his arms tightly around me leaving me with a sloppy, wet kiss. After he left, Tina hustled me towards her bedroom. Melissa was waiting there with my mother and father.

“Belinda, Melissa wanted to tell you something important, but she was afraid you would be mad at her for bringing it up.”

I was afraid of what she would say because I felt I knew what she was up to, but braced myself for it anyway, “You can tell me anything. What’s the problem?”

Tears filled her eyes as Melissa started to shiver, “Why don’t you divorce dad?”

I felt as if everything stopped that moment. My parents and sister leaned in with anxious curiosity wondering if the situation was as bad as they thought. It was very quiet as I paused to think how I would handle this situation. This was a delicate matter and I wondered how Carter would handle this kind of fallout in front of my family if he knew we were discussing this to what he feels are outsiders. It was no real secret, just unspoken. Everyone knew for years.

Melissa mentioned, “I wish John was my father instead.” I wish she didn’t go there in front of my family. She did not realize how my family had seen me when he broke my heart. Ever since she met him, she was more inclined to compare how her father behaves with John.

“It’s not as simple as that. I can’t just leave your father and run off with John and live happily ever after. That choice was made a long time ago.”

Tina leaned in towards me and grabbed my arms, “Could you roll up your sleeves?”

Embarrassed, I felt betrayed. I told Tina her about this in confidence. I did not want to try and explain it to mom and dad. Hesitant, I rolled up my sleeves to reveal a smattering of fresh cuts, fading cuts, and scars up and down both arms.

My parents looked horrified. Mom said, “Only someone in so much pain could actually harm themselves in such a manner. You need help.”

Tears started flowing down my eyes. I did not want anyone to see me this way. I believe I must have glared at my sister for sharing my secret because she seemed to be trembling, with tears in her eyes she said, “If you’re that unhappy, you need to leave. It would be better for him to beat you than to have you do this to yourself.”

I felt like they were ganging up on me and beating up on Carter behind his back, “And that’s the key difference, he doesn’t beat me. He tries really hard to make a better life for us. He loves his family. If we left it would destroy him. You remember what happened the last time I tried to leave and serve him with divorce papers. He got really controlling, began to stalk everyone I knew to find me, and then threatened to kill himself if I didn’t come back.”

Dad interjected with force and concern, “That sounds like his problem, not yours.”

Deep down I knew they were right, but felt guilty for being disloyal, “I still love him. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. I just want him to get help.”

Mom turned to me, holding my hands as she tried to look me in the eyes, “You know he won’t. He won’t admit to having any problems. Melissa tells us every time you bring up the idea of counseling; he agrees in the beginning and then decides later he doesn’t need it because he resents having to tell strangers his problems. He can’t be helped unless he wants it.”

Suddenly Melissa started sobbing uncontrollably. I put my arms around her and gave her a kiss. “Will you excuse us? I think I need to talk to my baby in private.”

I did not want to have such a conversation where Carter was likely to step in. I asked Tina if I could borrow her orange 1976 Ford Pinto so we could go for a little ride and to tell Carter we were picking up some cousins at the airport.

Melissa hopped into the front passenger side. As we drove off she got into my purse, digging around for some lip gloss, instead pulling out a note she read:

Dearest Belinda,

Oh my God, I can’t believe you found me. That was my oldest son, Don you spoke to that day. I’m sorry I missed your call, but glad I have your address.

After all these years I have been wondering what happened to you. You may not know this, but Cindy died a few years ago from cancer, so it is just me and the kids now.

I have done a few searches for you without luck since I only went by your maiden name. I'm so glad you found me again.

Love always,

John

Dearest Belinda,

It was so nice talking to you on the phone again. I miss those days in high school when we would be on the phone all the time. I miss roaming the night streets with you.

I was glad to hear that you got married and became a mother. I just wish you were as happy as I was with Cindy.

In all honesty, I never stopped thinking about you and how we ended. I’m sorry I hurt you and led you on, but Cindy was carrying my first child and we had to get married. I wanted to do the right thing. It was never easy hiding the fact that I never stopped loving you, but I honestly had deep feelings for Cindy, too.

I don’t have regrets for what I did because I have beautiful children, but I can never forgive myself for hurting you in the process. To this day I still love you and probably always will.

I respect the fact that you are now married and have children, I will bask in the fact that you are allowing me in your life again as a friend. I do so cherish your friendship. I know you are going through hard times right now and your marriage is difficult, but you need to find a better way to handle your problems. Hurting yourself will not make your situation better. You know the solution to it, but it is not my place to suggest it.

I love and care about you and to hear about such things makes me angry that there is nothing in the world I can do to stop you. It is up to you to get the help you need. When you are ready, I will be here waiting.

You asked me last time if there was a moment in those years we were apart if I ever thought of you in that special way. I would have to say yes. To be honest, I have had to fight those feelings through the years any time I thought about you. It is also hard to see you and not to hold you in my arms. It is a relief to know you felt the same way, but it is a moot point since we can’t do anything about it.

Love always,

John

“What happened mom?” Curiosity got the best of her, “you obviously love him and he loves you, so why is it so hard to consider divorcing dad and marry John?”

Exasperated at the prospect of having to tell her the whole story, I turned to her and said, “We are very good friends. Right now that’s all we are.”

Giggling, “Sounds like more than friends to me.”

“Put that back now!”

“If you are only friends, why do you carry his letters with you?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” then I quickly snatched the letter from her hand and stuffed it back into my purse. As if I didn’t have enough on my mind, here I am in the car thinking of him.

John is 34 years old. He is a medium sized man at five feet seven inches with clean-cut reddish brown hair and deep green eyes hiding behind wire-rimmed glasses and a very fair skinned complexion with a face scattered with freckles. I have known him on and off for 20 years when I was bussed from my school district to his. He lives with his four children in a middle class neighborhood of Chicago’s Southside called Mt Greenwood.

This region was mostly blue collared workers. Carter, who grew up in the rich suburbs, tended to look down his nose at John and the so-called yokels of the area who seemed to have no further aspirations than making it to the next paycheck and grilling on the weekends. It was a kinder epitaph than he had for the people from my old neighborhood.

John worked extra hours while Cindy was alive so she could be a stay at home mother and they could have a home paid off before they had to send the kids to college. He was racked with guilt for not spending more time with her. He now owned his home, but lost her.

They lived in a modest 4 bedroom brick bungalow. On the porch was a wooden swing which seemed inviting to all who visited. Everyone approaching knew they would be treated like family. Inside was more love than possessions. With so much space, there was more than enough room to invite family and friends who served as better décor than a fine leather sofa could ever bring to his home.

I can’t help it, but every time I thought of John, I keep wondering what if things were different and feel disheartened because it will never be that way. I love him as deeply as he hurt me. I don’t know if I can ever get past that.

Snapping her fingers at me trying to get my attention, “Mom, you can deny it all you want, but you know you would rather be with John than with dad. When we came back from our visit with him last year, you were so happy and he was all you could talk about. John even spent the last of his savings just to come and see you last month when he could have easily used it for something else.”

The mall was only a minute away which didn’t give me much time to steer her away from that topic. “Can’t we talk about this when we get to the mall?”

Hampton Hills, a beautiful 15 years old mall in perfect shape went bankrupt and was marked for demolition. The stores catered to the upper middle class who could afford the high prices of exclusive stores, but this was not an upper middle class town. It had nothing to offer residents what they needed or could afford. As a result, it is a ghost town still open to mall walkers who were dwindling in numbers. Grand dreams of glory were on the façade, but a broken dream stood lonely inside.

Remnants of a past life included shelving, mannequins, and barren spots which used to contain cash registers, signs, and display stands; the only evidence this place once had a pulse. Although most of the lighting, except for the emergency lights, were shut off, during the day you could still see the beauty inside thanks to the glass ceilings which hung above the second floor and shone down the silver-plated banisters. In areas where the light could not reach, an eerie darkness called out to stay away. It was clear its days were numbered.

As I pulled into the parking lot, Melissa bolted out of the car before I could completely stop and ran towards the main entry doors. I chased after her. I found her spinning around next to the water fountain.

I sat next to where she was standing on the edge of the concrete pond. I turned slightly and noticed a pretty, small conch shell in the pond. I scooped it out with my hand. The shell was shiny, tan with a wide creamy white area on the outer entrance and white strips going around the top. I shook the shell and heard a noise like a hard rock rattling around inside that sounded like the remains of the poor creature that had died. I could hear the sound of an angry ocean rushing back and forth inside the shell. I pocketed it as a sign of good luck.

“Seriously, mom, why do you stay with dad? He’s an asshole.” She rolled her eyes towards the skylight in exasperation.

“You shouldn’t say things like that about your father,” defending a man I still have deep feelings for, “You may not like it, but he will always be your father.”

Pulling out a folded and worn brochure from her pocket, she hands it to me, “In school they were discussing the signs of an abusive relationship. Everything they said fits you and dad to a T.”

“It’s not all that bad. Sure he has bad moments, but he can be really good, too. You make it sound as if he beats me or something.”

“You’re in denial, mom. He doesn’t have to beat you; you do enough of that to yourself because of him. Look at the pamphlet. Out of all 58 signs, I can point out 52 that apply.”

The Warning Signs of Emotional Abuse


Does he/she ignore your feelings?
Does he/she disrespect you?
Does he/she ridicule or insult you then tell you it’s a joke, or that you have no sense of humor?
Does he/she ridicule your beliefs, religion, race, heritage or class?
Does he/she withhold approval, appreciation or affection?
Does he/she give you the silent treatment?
Does he/she walk away without answering you?
Does he/she criticize you, call you names, or yell at you?
Does he/she humiliate you privately or in public?
Does he/she roll his or her eyes when you talk?
Does he/she give you a hard time about socializing with your friends or family?
Does he/she make you socialize (and keep up appearances) even when you don't feel well?
Does he/she seem to make sure that what you really want is exactly what you won't get?
Does he/she tell you that you are too sensitive?
Does he/she hurt you especially when you are down?
Does he/she seem energized by fighting, while fighting exhausts you?
Does he/she have unpredictable mood swings, alternating from good to bad for no apparent reason?
Does he/she present a wonderful face to the world and is well liked by outsiders?
Does he/she "twist" your words, somehow turning what you said against you?
Does he/she try to control decisions, money, even the way you style your hair or wear your clothes?
Does he/she complain about how badly you treat him or her?
Does he/she threaten to leave, or threaten to throw you out?
Does he/she say things that make you feel good, but do things that make you feel bad?
Has he/she ever left you stranded?
Does he/she ever threaten to hurt you or your family?
Has he/she ever hit or pushed you, even "accidentally" ?
Does he/she seem to stir up trouble just when you seem to be getting closer to each other?
Does he/she abuse something you love: a pet, a child, an object?
Does he/she compliment you enough to keep you happy, yet criticize you enough to keep you insecure?
Does he/she promise to never do something hurtful again?
Does he/she harass you about imagined affairs?
Does he/she manipulate you with lies and contradictions?
Does he/she destroy furniture, punch holes in walls, break appliances?
Does he/she drive like a road-rage junkie?
Does he/she act immature and selfish, yet accuse you of those behaviors?
Does he/she question your every move and motive, somehow questioning your competence?
Does he/she interrupt you; hear but not really listen?
Does he/she make you feel like you can't win? Damned if you do, damned if you don't?
Does he/she use drugs and/or alcohol involved? Are things worse then?
Does he/she incite you to rage, which is "proof" that you are to blame?
Does he/she try to convince you he or she is "right," while you are "wrong?"
Does he/she frequently say things that are later denied or accuse you of misunderstanding?
Does he/she treat you like a sex object, or as though sex should be provided on demand regardless of how you feel?
Do you express your opinions less and less freely?
Do you find yourself walking on eggshells, careful of when and how to say something?
Do you long for that softer, more vulnerable part of your partner to emerge?
Do you find yourself making excuses for your partner's behavior?
Do you feel emotionally unsafe?
Do you feel it’s somehow not OK to talk with others about your relationship?
Do you hope things will change...especially through your love and understanding?
Do you find yourself doubting your memory or sense of reality?
Do you doubt your own judgment?
Do you doubt your abilities?
Do you feel vulnerable and insecure?
Are you becoming increasingly depressed?
Do you feel increasingly trapped and powerless?
Have you been afraid of your partner?
Does your partner physically hurt you, even once?
(Matiatos, 2007)


As I quickly scanned through the checklist, feeling the heat of anger from the pit of my stomach realizing some truths I did not want to admit, “It’s not as bad as you think. I don’t think it’s that many,” then I pause and reflect how Carter would see it. “Besides, it goes both ways. He would probably accuse me of some of those things on the list.”

“Only because he brings it out of you,” she said with a loud exasperated sigh.

I was starting to feel cornered, “That’s no excuse for my bad behaviour; your father does work really hard for us. He loves us. He has sacrificed so much of himself to keep us together.”

Incredulous at my state of denial, Melissa raises her voice, “Mother, stop making excuses for him. Everyone is freaked out by his control over us. What about the time when he didn’t feel like waiting any longer for you to cash your check and he drove off leaving you behind so you had to walk five miles to catch up with him? Or the time he was pissed off over not finding a parking spot and he drove like an idiot and ruined his tires then started screaming at us?”

“Look, Melissa, I know your father has problems, but what am I supposed to do about it? I don’t have any money saved up. I don’t have any skills to get a job. How do I support two children without him? There are no laws against what he does. There are no legal grounds for divorce for it either. Sooner or later you and Geo will want a roof over your head, clothes on your back and something to eat. I can’t give that to you, but your father can.”

“John could.”

“What makes you think he is any better than your father? You don’t really know him the way I do. He may not have the same issues as your father, but he does have issues. If he didn’t, we would have been together.”

Melissa seemed stunned. I think she finally started to understand why John was not an option, but disappointed still that she has her father, “What do you see in dad anyway?”

“I met him just as he turned 18, shortly after I broke up with John. Your father used to live in the suburbs of Chicago until your grandfather inherited the house. He left home when he received a full scholarship to attend law school. We met at a park while I was on break from work. It was love at first sight and we were engaged only within a few days later. Back then he was so full of charm he was hard to resist.”

“Is being with him for his charm worth losing your soul? I know he is my father and I am supposed to love him, but I don’t believe ‘love is never having to say you’re sorry’ like that movie you love. He keeps hurting us and you let him get away with it.”

“I know he doesn’t always treat me right, but there are times he does. He can be sweet and kind and loving. And he does love you and Geo.”

“Then why is it he wanted both of us aborted like those other abortions he forced you into?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Everyone in the family knows it.”

“Our first year we were together, I got pregnant. We were engaged and I thought the right thing to do was to tell him and hoped he would be happy. Instead, he blamed me for getting pregnant and insisted I get an abortion; he said if I didn't do it he would have to leave me.”

“Why didn’t you just keep the baby?”
“It wasn’t that simple. We were living together with his parents. We both had temp jobs. My parents would never accept the situation of having an unwed mother living in their home. The few friends I had were not in a position to help. I contacted an adoption agency, but faced a different problem. The agency said I needed permission of the birth father to sign away his rights. He did not want to put his unborn child up for adoption because he did not want it coming to haunt him 20 years later, so he refused and continued to pressure me to get an abortion. I had no money and no place to go.”
“But couldn’t you have left him after getting an abortion?”
“I could have, but I still loved him and he promised things would get better. He promised we would move out on our own and eventually we did. Then we got married. We had another encounter later with an unexpected pregnancy after getting married. He insisted on an abortion again, but I stood up to him and refused because by that time he talked me into four. I wrestled a gun out of his hand as he threatened to kill himself if I didn't go through with it. I miscarried a few days later. The gun wasn’t even loaded.”

“That is so fucked up, mom. Why didn’t you leave him then?”

“I was afraid that if I left, he might kill himself. I did try leaving him a few times and he threatened to do it, so I always came back. It wasn’t until I actually had to fight with him over the gun did I feel his threat was serious. You have to understand something, he might be a jerk, but I love him.”

“You’re right, mom. I don’t understand.” Melissa put her arms around me and kissed my forehead. I hugged her and looked into her worried face. “You still deserve better.”

“You are only going to be around for a few more years and then you will be free. Hopefully you won’t make my mistakes, but you will see that life is not as clear as you think. What you are asking me to do will affect everyone. Besides, the idea of being a single mother, quite frankly, scares me to death, especially with a baby.”

“All I’m asking mom is that you just think about it.”

Looking down at my watch, I knew I had to cut it short. “I’ll do that. We’d better get back before your father starts to wonder where we are.”

We left the mall behind and headed back to the trailer park. I was glad I cleared the air with Melissa, but I don’t think it gave her the comfort she hoped for. As I parked the car, Carter broke away from the buffet table to bolt over to us. “Where the hell have you two been? Tina said you were at the airport to pick up your cousins. You sure took a long time to get back here. Geo woke up about half an hour ago and needs a change.”

I was mildly annoyed, hoping he wouldn’t put on a show for my family, “Why didn’t you change him?”

“I don’t do diapers. You know that. Besides, he likes it better when you do it.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded if you attempted it. Where is he now?”

“He’s in the play area with the other babies.”

“Has anyone changed him yet?”

“No. Julie and Linda fell asleep on the bench. Geo went to sleeping in the shade.”

I walked quickly to get Geo and tried to avoid Carter, but he decided to follow after me.

“Do you need something?”

“Not really. I just wanted to be with you. What were you really doing?”

I picked up Geo dodging his questions and tried to ignore him while I made my way inside the trailer to give Geo a much needed change. Carter started demanding answers as I began to change Geo in the small bathroom, “Well, where were you, really?”

I quickly started thinking of a lie to get him off my back, “If you must know, I went to the mall with Melissa. She just wanted to talk to me about girl stuff.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, he responded, “When you’re finished with the baby, can you fix me a plate of food? I haven’t eaten yet.”

I was really losing my patience with him. After everything I had been through already today, he was being an annoying toddler, “You were just at the table and you haven’t eaten yet? Why can’t you ever do things like that for yourself?”

The veins started to pop out and his face turned red, “I work hard all week long. I bring in the money. I sacrifice everything for the family. I didn’t even want kids, but since you insisted on having them I had to go broke in the process. I don’t ask for much, just a little respect and cooperation.”

Something snapped in me. Suddenly my normally soft-spoken voice got loud and angry, catching the attention of relatives standing outside the trailer listening with anticipation to the drama inside. “So you think I do nothing worthwhile. You think my contributions don’t matter.”

He backed down a bit and lowered his voice before people started getting into our business, “I didn’t say that. All I asked is for you to fix me a plate and all you get hysterical.”

“You are implying that you are the only one doing the work for the family. You imply that it all rests on you so I should submit to anything you request.” Feeling sick to my stomach, sad and angry, I got up to his face, trembling I told him, “I do plenty of hard work everyday without a break. I sacrifice everything I have for this family. I can’t even go on vacation or have a day off because I am always doing something for someone. You’re a grown man. You should have walked over to the table, taken a plate and piled on what you wanted to eat.”

Looking like a defeated puppy, he backed off and softly said, “I just wanted you to fix me a plate like you always do, without the lip.”

“Carter, you treat me like a machine under your control. That is sick.”

“Who have you been talking to? Who’s been putting these silly ideas in your mind? You need to stay away from them before they poison your mind.” At that moment, as he was defending himself, I saw him in a whole new light. He fit the pattern of abuse I did not see before. Right now, he was justifying his outrage over not being able to control me.

“You have total freedom to do whatever you want. I work full time at a job I hate just so you can have the money to buy anything you and the kids need. I work hard so you don’t have to go out and get a job and be a stay at home mother like you wanted. I gave in to your demand to have the children I never wanted. If anything, you are the one controlling me.”

It seemed surreal to hear this déjà vu conversation as if I were a stranger looking at this scene. Instead of reacting how he expected with me backing down, I called him on his distortions.

“I have begged you for months to move out but you won’t consider my needs unless I get a full time job, by that you are controlling my freedom. How about the fact that you hang over me every moment in public? That is control. You bullied me into having 4 abortions I didn’t want. You insisted if I wanted to keep Melissa I had to prove I could work so I worked 2 full time jobs which caused medical needs that have kept me unable to work. You were the one who bullied me into having my tubes tied after having Geo. You want to control my body. If that’s not control, I don’t know what is.”

“Forget it. You are being so damned unreasonable. I’ll get the plate myself.”

I reached in my pocket, grabbed the conch shell and threw it at the wall. It burst into dozens of pieces on the floor while some shards of shell embedded into my cheeks. I felt no pain in comparison to what was going on in my head. The broken pretty shell revealed its emptiness, just as dead as my feelings for Carter in that moment. “You know what; you can get your plate on your own from now on. I’ve had it. While I still have some love and respect for you, I must leave you now before I end up hating you.”

Tears came in his eyes as he realized I was serious, “You’re not making any sense. Has your family spoken to you about me while I was gone? Why don’t we go home and forget all of this? You know I love you.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough. I need respect and that is something you are not capable of giving me. You don’t know when you are doing it. When I point it out to you, you get too defensive to hear it and turn it around on me. It’s over. I can’t take it anymore.”

Almost begging Carter tries to hold on to my hand, “What is everyone going to think?”

I took my hand back and could not look him in the eyes for fear I would fall for him again and started to cry, “Why do you care so much about what other people think? Why don’t you care about how I think or even how I feel? I just can’t continue being your slave.”

“You make it sound as if I am some kind of monster.”

“You really don’t see it do you? You are not interested in fixing the real problems. You would rather gloss things and look like the hero. The problem is you are a scared little person afraid of being hated so you control me. I have waited for too long for you to change, but now I know it will never happen.”

“I can change. We can do the counseling and I can do anger management like you mentioned before.”

“Carter, we’ve been through this before. You always say you will and you never follow through. They need to know the problem or they can’t fix it. You don’t want to admit to having any problems and those problems are eating away at me. I can’t live like this anymore.” I took off my long sleeved sweater and pulled off my scarf.

A look of horror came over Carter, “Put that back on. What’s your family going to say if they see the cuts all over you?”

I glanced at him only to see his usual act of control and started walking out the room, “After all I just said you don’t understand why this is the essence of me leaving you. I don’t have to put on airs for my family. I am in pain and I need their help since you won’t do it.”

Realizing he lost the fight, he got angry, “Fine, have it your way. I’m out of here.” Carter got into his car and slammed the door hard, breaking the glass on the driver’s side. He revved the car and peeled out knocking loose the gravel as he sped on out towards the street.

As Carter drove off, I tucked Geo in the bed. Tina knocked on the door after picking up the shell pieces which landed in the hallway and poked her head in. Melissa came creeping up and burst into the room.

“You and the kids are welcome to stay here until you can figure out where you want to go from here.”

“Thanks. You know where I want to be.”

“I can’t say I blame you. Stay with us a few days and I’ll help you find a place back in Chicago . Maybe you and John will have that happy ending you have always dreamt about.”

“I want to be near him, but I can’t think about moving on with him yet. He still grieves Cindy. Two rebounds never work. We can at least be there for each other and see where that takes us. Besides, the reason we weren’t together in the first place is he dumped me for someone else. How would that make me feel any better than going back to Carter who claims to love me? I already lack self-esteem. I don’t want to be a second prize.”

At least I knew my family was there for me and took some comfort in that. The day was over and everyone went home. Deep down I knew this was a new beginning. I had no idea how it would end, but guessed it would have to be better than the last 15 years with Carter.
Reference

Matiatos, Irene (2007, January). Abuse Signs. Retrieved August 21, 2008 , from Dr. Irene's Verbal Abuse Site Web site: http://www.drirene. com/verbal1. htm