I am proud, I am strong, I was shaken...up, but not stirred.
I am in the middle of a divorce. Not a particilarly pleasant one (if there is such a thing). My soon to be ex, is a very angry man, one who had complete control of me. I was verbally abused for years, and my confidence in myself declined as time wore on, so I allowed myself to be a victim I guess. This past March I finally had the guts to tell my husband on nearly 11 years that I was brutally unhappy. I explained a little of what my issues were; his treatment of me; his violent outbursts; his refusal to get help. His only response was to throw up. Literally - that is all he did - he went to the bathroom and vomited. I told him I wanted a seperation, to which he finally replied that if I left - that was it! His usual response to me walking out the door in the middle of an argument, one that I believed wholeheartedly up until that very day. and so - with the thought that maybe there was something we could possible salvage (NOT), I made the mistake of remaining where I was. We both went to see a therapist, individually at first and then together. The depth of my anger for what he had done to me over the years knew no bounds. It erupted regularly and with great emotion.
The clincher came the day he tried to strangle me. We were in the country, andhe was drunk (not unusual), and when he said something that upset me, I got up to get my things, purse etc, and leave. He couldn't allow it, and lunged at me. I have never known such fear in my entire life. I strugggled for what seemed like ages, trying to scream in the hopes that one of our neighbours would hear me. They didn't of course, and things began to go fuzzy on the edge of my vision, and I started to see stars. I knew that I was in trouble and that if I didn't break his grip I may actually die right then and there. I was able to wedge my legs up in between us, and as I dug my fingers in to his ears, nose and mouth he was distracted enough to lose his grip on me. I ran like a demon to the front of our place, towards the main exit, but not quickly enough. He had me in his grip again and was choking with more power than before. I thought my head was going to pop open. I somehow got free of him and ran outside, in my pyjamas with bare feet into the snow. I ran, and cried, and thought I was screaming for help, but my voice was barely above a whisper.
I eventually found what I thought was a safe haven. A friend of ours had heard a commotion, what I believe was my husband calling my name, he came outside to investigate. He took me in and got me settled down and asked what had happened. I poured my heart out to him, and he told me I was safe, not to worry. That night I smoked my first cigarette in 13 years, which was awful by the way. My safe haven was a farce, as the hero in question eventually decided to get fresh with me, but I pulled thru the night and went back to confront my husband at day break. He was a mess. Scratched, bruised and bloodied from my attempts to get away from him. I should have pressed charges, but I didn't, and I should have left immediately, which I did not. But I am safe now, I have my own home, and I am never going back.