More ties that bind
A couple of weeks ago, when we were heading into the anniversary surrounding the last attack by the now ex-husband; Liz asked me if I missed him, and if I wanted him back in my life. As an adult, I immediately said “No, I don’t want anything more to do with him”. If you look at it from a dispassionate, adult point of view, it makes total sense to want nothing to do with him – he was sexually, physically and psychologically abusive. It’s not a good thing to be abused, so therefore it’s not good to be in that relationship as it existed. This makes intellectual, and common sense!
Today, I realised the answer isn’t that simple. The dynamics surrounding being a battered partner come into play – he didn’t hurt me THAT badly… it was only when I did something wrong… it was really all my own fault… other people said we picked on him… Suddenly the waters start to get muddied. Parts of me excused, allowed and encouraged his abuse. There was a comfort in the pain he inflicted, it was familiar to us and therefore gave a sense of certainty about what to expect. He was also very good at inflicting pain… he knew the right insult to throw, when to be nice, when to inflict the worst of the sexual abuse. In this respect, the relationship was a perfect storm.
He was immature in many ways, and that immaturity showed through in ways that were unexpected. He could be incredibly gentle with the very young ones. He could also make us laugh - I really miss laughing with someone. So it wasn’t all bad… This all adds to the feeling that the relationship is being blown out of proportion…
But today, I realised what I really miss, is his violence. He was a dangerous man – over six foot tall, solid build and trained as a security guard. His violent rages could be spectacular – holes were punched in doors, walls and objects. His level of sexual perversion meant that I was often re-creating abuse from the past. But most importantly, he tried to kill me! He put his hands around my neck and squeezed until I couldn’t breathe. He had a power over our life that some of us miss. We’ve failed at committing suicide several times, but he came close to killing us… he could take that suicidal failure out of our control… He could kill us… This is what some of us are missing – the ability to have the choice about whether we are alive or dead taken out of our hands. This is also what we were looking for with some of our self-injury… that dangerous situation where things will get out of control, and we’ll be killed.
We’ve constantly struggled with suicidal ideation, but I never realised the depth of the feelings. We don’t want the ex-husband back to work on a happy marriage, we want him back to kill us.
This makes me wonder how often we goaded him on… how often we started the arguments… how often we poked at him, knowing it would cause a reaction… Even after the last attack, I’m aware that Frank came forward to goad the ex-husband – “Come on, come on, pick on someone your own size”. Frank was slapping at the ex-husband while saying this… I’m not sure if he was defending us, or trying to continue the fight.
I’m not sure where I go with this realisation. I consider it serious and have contacted Liz to let her know what is happening. But really, what the heck do I do with this? Is my wish for death so great that I will try everything possible to ensure I succeed? Do I wish for a miserable existence, with an abusive man? If this is the case, I know there are many men who would be willing to abuse me…
Sometimes I shake my head with the realisation of how screwed up I am…
Stand by me
I was 24 when I last talked to the father. It was during my first year of being on-campus at university and I’d agreed to stay with him for a long weekend. He hadn’t been contributing to our care since the divorce when we were 16, but we still a sense of duty to him because… well, he is the father. To say that the weekend was a disaster, would be an understatement. He lived alone in a cold, small, two bedroom semi-detached house situated at the bottom of a hill. The house felt dirty, but I think that was our association of his dirtiness getting mixed up in the perception of the house. He had become a bitter, mean old man who took pleasure in putting others down and feeding his narcissistic desires. He was not pleasant to be near.
In a move similar to asking the mother to leave when she came to visit, I left the father’s house earlier than planned. I couldn’t cope with him. The day I left I knew that I would not be able to see him again as he was too toxic. I grieved on the drive home… grieved for the father I realised I would never have, and the one I was now leaving behind. While listening to the radio during the drive, a song came on that started the tears – Stand by me by Ben E. King. To me, the song is about being strong enough to face the darkness of your fears, as long as there is someone standing beside you. During that car trip, this was particularly meaningful… I knew I was about to tell the family about my decision to no longer have contact with the father. I also knew that I was probably going to have to confront the father as well.
At the time I was living alone – I didn’t even have Winnie (our cat). So, I knew that there would be no one standing beside me, instead it would be up to the dissociative system to come together in a meaningful way to protect us all. This was at a time when I had no working knowledge of my dissociation, but I remember the internal conversations which evolved as I was taking the long trip home… There was fear, screaming, celebrations and physical pain caused by tension… But then, in a shift that I’ve now come to identify as M taking over, there was a sudden calmness and knowledge of what needed to be done. This calmness allowed Sophie to listen to the song and begin our grieving. I don’t think we fully explored the grief, but the song allowed us to cry for things we wouldn’t have and to get to a place of accepting what was happening.
When we got home, we made the necessary phone calls to the family. I don’t remember much about that time, but I do remember slamming the phone down on the father with the parting words that he and I had “never been able to talk”. I have seen him since that time – grandfather’s funeral etc. We’ve tried to be civil to him, purely out of fear and not wanting to cause more trouble within the family. But I know that under that veneer of civility, Frank is waiting to tell the father just what damage he has done. I also know that such a discussion would be pointless, as he is incapable of seeing his own faults and it would only serve to frustrate us further.
There have been other versions of the song done, but it’s Ben E. King’s version that affects us the most…
