On Our Own...

When we finally had a place of our own across town, it seemed ideal. Bill was working, I was working, and we had some money in savings. All appeared well. Bill lived his life with untreated, but diagnosed Bipolar disorder. He also smoked a lot of marijuana and was drinking energy drinks like water. It wasn't long before he confronted his bosses and lost his job just a month after us moving. But other things were also happening. His mood swings were erratic and when he was manic, he would keep me up all night, sometimes days at a time. I was living in exhaustion. I had a cell phone now so he was always keeping tabs on me. I couldn't go to the store, or see a friend or even be home late from work without numerous phone calls.
It was as if having our own space pushed him over the edge and I had no idea what to do. When I tried to talk to a friend about leaving, I learned he was reading my IM messages and e-mails, and then I wasn't able to talk to them when he was around. I learned he was reading my journals and was told I couldn't even write the truth in there because they were all lies. According to Bill, he wasn't that bad. In the meantime, on one income, we burned through savings and I couldn't pay the rent every month and juggled to bring food in and pay the bills. I played bill roulette and used check cashing places so I could make ends meet, all driving me further in debt. He refused to move, even when I told him we couldn't afford it anymore, he refused to believe me. If I dared to say I was leaving, he threatened to take our two daughters from me.
There was still the physical violence behind closed bedroom doors and loud arguments in the middle of the night when children were sleeping. I felt trapped, and even though I had co-workers willing to help me, Bill had made me so afraid of what he was capable of doing with lies and manipulation that I couldn't trust that my girls and I would be safe, even away from him. At one point, he was hospitalized and I tried to make my escape then but the hospital let him out three days earlier than they said they would, and I felt trapped once again.
In the meantime, I was borrowing money to make rent. Using up friends and resources, and feeling worse about myself in the process. My friends at work stopped trying to help and though they tried to understand, I just am not sure they did know how afraid I was. This up and down cycle in our own place went on for almost three years until I broke down, asked my family if we could move in with them, and told the landlord a big lie about why we were moving at the last minute. I hated myself. My self-esteem was shot. Oh...and just before six months prior to losing our house, I had given birth to our third child, a son. I felt so broken. I thought I would never be able to say no to him. He would always win.
So, even though he still was not working, we moved back into my family's house and I did the best that I could. He would refuse to leave causing HUGE arguments with other family members. He broke down and was hospitalized two more times for still untreated mental health issues complicated by pot use. I just kept going. I kept looking for a way out but what do you do when someone refuses to leave and threatens to call CPS on your children? I was scared. I felt alone. My c- workers never really gave up. They tried to help but I felt stuck and trapped. It wasn't until a family vacation when our son was four that finally I was able to do it. He almost ruined the vacation by going off his meds and becoming manic. He was doing the same old behaviors that got him hospitalized. Finally we had an argument where he told me that no matter what happened his brother would take him in. So I did it. I finally told him, "Call him now and move in with him." When we got home, he moved out. This brief summary is taken from a length of eighteen years that I lived with him.
It has only been three and half years since he finally agreed to leave. I am still recovering. Putting your self-worth and esteem back together doesn't happen overnight. I work at it. Shortly after he left, I sought therapy because I was having really bad anxiety attacks. I had anxiety when I was a teenager, depression as well. In seeking therapy, I have learned I still have anxiety and major depression, but now I also have PTSD, some have called it unofficially, Complex-PTSD from long time abuse. This is why the topic of domestic violence is so important to me as well as mental health. I am doing this with the encouragement of a good friend because it is vitally important to share our stories.
I have purposefully changed names and left out specific dates for the protection of my younger children. As they become older, and I become more comfortable with telling my story, more details may be revealed but for now, the protection of my children's identity is important to me. I look forward to continuing the conversation.