Articles have been few and far between. I’ve painted pretty flowers, painted ratty walls and painted my nails. Whistling in the dark. Sometimes this business of open disclosure is tough.
I’ve been avoiding. Seriously, completely, absolutely avoiding for months now. Thrashing around the bed last night, I realized that freedom comes with speaking the truth. I’ve spoken on intimate topics before but this one has me stumped.
Living In Fear
Late at night I wake to noises in the house. I listen for the dog to bark, then remember the pup knows the beast. Sometimes I picture his truck in the driveway, a knock on the door. When I answer, he blows off my face with his favorite shotgun, then goes after my babies before turning the gun on himself.
Then again, maybe he hires someone else to do the job. That car that keeps circling the block? Why keep looking at the house that way? The truck blocking the drive when I try to pull out? I don’t breathe until it moves on.
I wonder if the news will reach my new friends.
I wonder if it will hurt.
But He Never Hit Me
I lived with him thirty years. I know what he’s done, what he’s threatened, how far he’ll go to exert his manhood, to exercise complete control. Without doubt he is fully capable—and killing all of us would be the ultimate last word. And yet I cannot scrape together enough for a restraining order.
He is careful. He rides the ragged edge, staying within the law. Funny how well versed he is in the finer details. I cannot point to one incident, one definitive moment and convince a jury that this man is dangerous.
I feel crazy. To those who see only his charming side, any such talk would sound like a one-way ticket to a padded cell. But I am *not* crazy. Enough darkness leaked out around the edges over the years to earn him a reputation and those who lived with him, those closest all know. Its the main reason the grown children refuse contact.
The writing won’t be pretty. I’m triggering like crazy just thinking about reliving this nightmare.
This will take several days. Please remember me in your prayers while I write. Planning to take it in small chunks chronologically and post as I go.
Tempting to write another article on sex. As tough as that topic was, it’s way the crap easier to emote on the horrors behind the bedroom door.