Domestic Violence & Me

Due to recent events & the memories & feelings those events have brought up in me, I would like to share with you all this article, which I wrote 2 years ago for publication in a friend's zine. This is just one aspect of my story, but it is a side that is not often discussed when stories of domestic violence & "survival" are presented... & it is one that I have found many other "victims" can relate to. If you know someone who may be in an abusive relationship maybe this will give you some insight into what they are feeling or what you might be able to do to help.

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I would like, as a battered woman (a term which I personally detest), to explain to you, the general population, a thing our two about us & our choices. Choices which may seem to you like foolish or ignorant ones.

First of all, unless you have lived through the things we have lived through (& no I do not mean, "Oh yeah I had a friend who that happened to" or "My uncle used to beat the shit outta my aunt all the time".... no, I mean IT HAPPENED DIRECTLY TO YOU) do not presume to understand. Do not tell us that you understand. Do not attempt to tell us what you would do in our shoes. Because, as we all had to learn the hard way, until you are physically in our shoes, you don't know shit. You don't know what you would really do, how you would really react, or even if you would actually be able to take action. No one knows the answers to these questions until they are staring straight down the barrel of the loaded gun (figuratively speaking, at this point). And, what's more, is the fact that although those of us who have experienced it do share a common bond - an unspoken understanding - we can never really know what it is like for other women either, because we all experience these things seperately. In fact, the one & only common thread that will always trail through each & every one of our lives is this... that each & every one of us experience these things completely & totally alone. Period.

Now, that said, the first issue on the table is "Why didn't you just walk away right then, the very first time it happened?" Yeah... I've said that too. I said it to my best friend when the two of us were in our last trimesters of pregnancy & I learned that her boyfriend was severely abusing her & had been for months! I said it to her a little over a year later, after an attempt at reuniting with said boyfriend almost cost her her life! I swore time & time again that there was no way in hell any bastard would ever lay a finger on me (especially while my child sat there watching) & live to tell about it, much less get me to come back to him!

But that was before I became just another statistic. Before I too joined the ranks of the weak, the oppressed, the voiceless, the nameless, the scorned... the battered women. That was before I knew what it meant to become a prisoner within your own life. Before I realized that I would have to learn to fight against every natural instinct I have ever had in order to survive what was to come. Before I understood that sometimes the best way to stay safe is to stay put... at least for awhile.

NOW is not always the right time. When the aggressor is at the height of their tirade it is not necessarily a good idea to attempt escape. Any woman who has been in this situation can tell you that this will only fuel him more. And if you are anything like me, your natural instinct is not to submit to such treatment, it is to fight back with everything you have. And if you are as stubborn as I am, you may do this for years before you come to the realization that letting go & giving in holds his anger at bay just a little bit longer, keeps you from getting hurt just one more day, saves the children from the screams for a few more hours. No, this is not the right way to live, but sometimes there are more important things at stake than your pride. Sometimes you have to lie low & wait in silence for your window to appear.

You become cunning, calculating... you learn to pick up on the little nuances in vocal patterns that you never even knew existed before. You learn to decipher between the sound of an angry husband pulling into the driveway & a typical everyday "Honey, I'm home" pulling into the driveway. You learn to predict his cycles. You are alert, aware, constantly ready for anything. You know every way out, every escape route. You may not come away unscathed, but you're pretty sure you know how to at least stay alive.

Experts have likened the life of a battered woman to that of a combat soldier, always on high alert, ready for anything, constantly aware of the enemy. The psychological effects of war are not unlike the psychological effects of domestic violence. In fact the two populations most highly diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) are victims of domestic violence & those who have served in combat.

For many of us our plight is further compounded by the fact that we have children. Our children are everything to us. We would walk through a burning building, face down an angry bear, or gladly give up our right arms just to protect our children. This leads me to the other thing that most of you fail to understand. When we stay "for the children" it is not necessarily because we are trying to keep them in some illusional happy home with a real mom & a real dad. We're not that naive. We know very well that our homes are battlegrounds & that our children are effected by what goes on there. We are not so ignorant as to believe that our children are better off this way. No, what we are doing when we stay because of the children is biding our time & trying to find a way to ensure that we hold all the cards, so that when the time comes, we can protect our children.

When a woman with no money, no car, no property of her own makes the split second decision to flee in the middle of the night with only the clothes on her back, children in tow, as the media & the "helpful" pamphlets would have us believe is the "right" thing to do, she is risking everything... including the loss of her children. Yes, there are shelters... & they are all full. Yes, some of us have family... but many of us do not or we have become estranged from them due to our circumstances, or (& this is just my favourite!) they have turned their backs on us because they believe that we are over dramatizing things or - even worse - that we have done something to cause our situation! So, where does this lone woman & her crying children go at 3:00 am? Who does she call? The police? Chances are she's already turned to them for help on more than one occassion & found herself even further victimized or told that there is nothing they can do because this time he managed to not leave any visible marks. No, despite all their "public awareness" & ad campaigns, the police are rarely a help & no matter which part of the country you are in, in times like these you will learn quite quickly that law enforcement is still just another "good ol' boys" club!

Ok, so not all battered women are stay at home moms with no friends & no educations. This is quite true. I, myself, was very gainfully employed, quite independant, & had some very close friends I could confide in at the time of my last & most horrifying "incedent" with my abuser. However, I was only a week away from leaving my job to return to college full time, I did not have a vehicle, no money in savings, & I was on the opposite side of the country from the only source of refuge I might have; my family. The cards were stacked in his favour & matters were only made worse by the bungling police officers who arrived at the scene that night. Officers who would later be brought up on charges for failure to act in a life threatening situation. Officers who only agreed to force entry into my home, in order to access my husband, after they noticed blood on the steps & accussed me of harming him! No, they would be of no help to us... despite the fact that Portland law at the time stated very clearly that no evidence of violence had to be present. All domestic violence calls were to be treated as real & life threatening. If the vicitim stated they feared for their safety, the purputrator was to be arrested & held for a minimum of 24 hours. My husband was never arrested. He was asked to voluntarily check himself into detox, based on the fact that appeared intoxicated (he was not, he was having a psychotic break). He agreed & returned to our home less than 8 hours later & let himself in by kicking out a basement window! Thankfully, the children & I were no longer there. We were at my office, explaining why I would be collecting my final paycheck a week earlier than planned & why I could not manage to stop shaking or put my words together in coherent sentences. We were answering questions like, "Why aren't you going to the nearest shelter?" "Why isn't he in jail?" or "Won't your parents come up here & rescue you?"

I tried, as so many do, I tried every number in the phone book, every resource I had. I watched my life fall part in my mind's eye as I thought about taking what little I had from that final paycheck & just packing what I could carry & hopping on a plane. I considered strongly the offer made by my dearest friend to jump on a plane, "take care of" my husband, & pack us & our belongings up & take us back to Colorado with him. It was probably the best offer I got... but I knew it would come at a cost & not one I was willing to let him pay. No, this could not be settled with more violence.

And what's worse... if I left then & there, I would be leaving behind a 12 year old step-daughter who was dependant on me for her own safety & security. How could I rescue one child & leave the other to rot? I had to ensure all of our safety. I had to get the upper hand. I had to turn the tables & gain control of the situation & learn to use his insanity & co-dependance to my advantage. I was damn lucky that I was a psych major! ;)

I spent the next 2 years preparing for our "escape". I convinced my husband that I wanted to "save" our marriage by any means necessary. He saw this as my submission & agreed to make certain "changes" himself, one of which was to see our family doctor & be 100% honest with him about the auditory & visual hallucinations he had recently confided in me about. He was diagnosed as Rapid Cycling Bipolar I (for those of you not familiar, there are BP I & II... I is the bad one!) with Psychotic Features. Eventually a psychiatrist would also add Borderline Personality Disorder to the mix. He was medicated. The medication made him retreat into himself. It was not an ideal situation, but it meant that he left us alone. Medication robbed him of his energy & took away his mania & aggitation. It allowed the rest of us the freedom to go on with our lives, while I continued to make plans for our return to Austin with minimal disruption.

Yes. I stayed for over 2 years with a man who tried to kill me in my own home. The man my then 5 yr old son literally saved me from when he was the only one with courage enough to respond to my screams for help in the middle of the night. I stayed. I waited. I watched. I played the game. I got us home. And I stayed. And I waited. And I prepared.

And then one night it happened. One night I saw my window. I had the upper hand. Our son was spending the night with my mother, his daughter had moved in with his mother months before. I had just received a student loan disbursement & had a couple thousand dollars in my savings account. I had even made contact with a few old friends who I knew could keep us safe & hidden, should the need arrise. His old patterns were returning... I could feel it in the air. So I left. I walked out the door & I didn't look back. I won. I got everything I wanted, which primarily means full custody of my son & our belongings. I received free legal counsel from a local organization established for battered women. I left January 29th... our divorce was final 3 & 1/2 months later.

If I had left that night in Portland I know in my heart that I would have lost my son & everything that was important to me. In fact, there's a damn good chance I would have even lost my life because I was on his territory, in his hometown, surrounded by his friends. Our survival depended on my ability to play the game. I suppose I could have done things differently, but to this day I stand behind the choices I made for my family. And today I will stand behind the difficult choices made by countless women all over the world, as they decide what is best for their families. No one can ever understand our situation. No one can ever know our pain, frustration, fear, regret, heartache, or constant self doubt. Only we wear this badge. Only we can understand that ever present need, no matter how long you've been "free", to always have an escape route & constanly carry a cell phone. Because we are survivors... whether we have won our freedom yet or not, we survive. Every day that we wake up to face one more day, we survive. Every day that we hug & kiss our children & make it through the night without incident, we survive. And every day that we are "free", living in our own homes with no need to constantly walk on eggshells, we are painfully aware that we will never be truly free because what happened to us has changed us for the rest of our lives. Who ever we were before no longer exists. She has been replaced by someone else... someone she once thought that she could never be. We have become battered women. We have survived, but we will never be free, & we will never forget.

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