We were supposed to be clearing all the crap out of the garden today ready for it to be gutted totally on Monday, ready for new turf. It’s a big garden with lots of crap dumped in it so a whole day’s work. I went outside with Annie and started to tidy while Tom sat doing nothing except scrolling through Facebook. Eventually, after I’d dug up and moved loads of heavy slabs, he came out, looked at a fence panel he’d chucked on the grass nine months ago and then said that he was going to phone his friend to help. He did that, came back out, watched me move more stuff while he sprinkled ant powder about then messed around a bit with his mate.
Eventually, he put some old decking in the van and declared that he was going to the tip. I asked if Annie and I could come too and give him a hand at the other end (rather than me doing all the heavy work here on my own). He was holding Annie and I was trying to get her muddy wellies off but each time I pulled the wellies, he lowered her so the wellies wouldn’t come off. I said, “I’m trying to get the wellies off” and he said through gritted teeth, “Don’t ever fucking talk to me like that again.” He got in the van and started screaming at me about how disrespectful I am, showing him up in the street like that, that I need to keep my voice down and stop shouting in the street, which I hadn’t even done. He called me a fucking cunt, told me I was thick and screamed abuse at me until his voice began to break under the strain. The second I tried to talk he went ballistic, he shouted and screamed at me more than he ever has before. He told me that I’ve spent two weeks being moody and miserable and that he’s sick of it, that I have no respect for him, that my moods make him miserable and that I’m a fucking thick cunt.
At this point, Annie was screaming at him to stop shouting at her mummy but he wouldn’t. I asked him to stop the van and take me home and he refused. He carried on ranting, totally losing control for a full five minutes, eventually telling me that because I’ve had a few weeks with a psychotherapist it doesn’t give me the right to psychoanalyse him, that there’s nothing wrong with me, I don’t have depression and I’m nothing more than a fake.
He sees nothing wrong in how he talks to me and says I need to get over myself. I told him that thanks to the therapy, I’m not taking his crap anymore and will be looking for a place to move to. I’ve said it before but never felt strong enough to do it but I’m choosing that this crap doesn’t have a place in my life anymore and he can depart. I’m sick to death of him but that doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel at the moment.
I’m not putting my kids through this anymore. Annie has had this since the minute she was born, the poor girl is not getting the life she deserves. My other kids rarely see it as he doesn’t want them to see what he’s really like. He’s a nasty piece of work and I’m going to get out no matter what it takes. My kids and I deserve so much more than this shit.
He really is a weak, pathetic, insecure, selfish pig of a man and just not worth my time any longer. It’s time to start making plans for a whole new future and actually sticking to it and doing it this time. I’ve had concerns that I’m acting selfishly by leaving but I know it’s not selfish. It’s about loving and respecting myself and my children to say the cycle of abuse stops NOW. I’m really starting to see that anything is possible. It is possible to come from a seemingly impossible situation to a life of contented happiness, that is what I’m now working towards. I have a new determination and drive that I will see to the end. The end being a great deal of happiness for me and my children.
I asked myself, How would my life be different without him?
- I’d be more relaxed
- I would probably cook more because the threat of criticism would be gone
- I’d have my own money
- I’d have choices
- I’d have less guilt, although most of that is his doing not mine
- I wouldn’t have to suffer his boring TV programs
- I would smile and laugh more.
- I would have clarity of mind
- I wouldn’t be depressed
- I wouldn’t be shouted at
- I would feel in control of my life
- I would play and have more fun
- I’d eat less and lose weight
- I’d have more emotional energy
- I’d start to believe in myself
- I wouldn’t be verbally put down any more
- I’d be able to relax in my own home, without fear of being attacked
- I’d be able to decorate my way and not be told that I have no taste and that everything I like is cheap and nasty
- I wouldn’t have to ask his permission
- I wouldn’t have to ask for his money.