Divorce, for better, for worse, Fuck That!
The Truth.
I got married one month after my youngest and last beautiful child came in to the world. A few months prior I had started attending church. I lived in an apartment complex and my neighbors which also happened to be high school friends invited me to go. Now I wasn’t technically raised in church. We would usually go during special occasions such as Easter or Christmas. My favorite growing up was Vacation Bible School, which took place during the summer months and most churches offered a week of learning about God, filled with fun and food.
I remember getting baptized when I was around ten, not really feeling anything spiritual, but knowing I wanted to belong to something. I honestly cannot say I truly understood what it meant, but it felt good to fit in and everyone made a big deal about me making the decision. Fast forward some years, I fell out of church and into the world, so to speak. So I didn’t really go back to church again until I was in my twenties.
The church I attended was labeled as Pentecostal, I honestly did not understand all the different denominations and today I am not sure why they even exist, as the goal should be the same across the board. But whatever. My then husband and I decided to get married after our youngest was born, literally he asked me while in the hospital. Looking back I knew this was not a good decision for me to make but, I thought it was what I was supposed to do. I thought it would “fix” us , “save” him, “save” our relationship, mostly I believed it would make life better.
I was wrong.
My then husband and I went to high school together and met the summer before school when my best friend was playing softball. He was there doing community service and I was there to support her. I didn’t really like him when I met him, he seemed rather arrogant. I had previously dated a guy through middle school and that turned out to be a disaster when my very close friend got pregnant with his baby. Needless to say two relationships ended that summer. That alone made me less thrilled about attending high school.
We shared a class together and eventually became an “official” couple. He wanted to drive me home after school and I always declined. He followed the bus one day after school and we hung out that evening. We shared a few normal days and weekends together. It was fun. Things were normal, mostly.
I hadn’t been in high school long, maybe a few months when I got into a fight with another girl and got expelled from school. I hated school. I never want to go and thought up anyway I could get out of going. In my defense it wasn’t my fault, I was just defending myself. The fight was dumb really. I lived in a trailer park and had lived next door to family that had two kids. Both a year or so older than me but the boy and I were in the same grade. We had lived next to each other for years and attended Middle School together. He and I became best friends, we hung out every day after school, ate dinner at each others house, watched movies, played video games, the usual. Weekends we always went our separate ways, he with his friends, me with mine. Sunday evenings would bring us back together and we would share all the things we did, and share things about people we liked. I suppose somewhere along the way I developed feelings for him, my first real crush. I never told him because for one I thought it was weird and he treated me like one of the guys. I didn’t want to make things awkward by throwing my feelings in it. Eventually I decided to tell him how I felt, why I am not sure but I did. Of course, he didn’t feel that way and soon after he got himself a girlfriend. She hated the fact we were friends and lived next door to each other. He still wanted to hang out and I always had to be quiet when she would call if I was there. (Eye roll).
Back to the fight. She found out I was hanging out at his house, not so politely telling me that I was not to do that anymore. Like really we are fifteen, not married with children. Despite her warnings we continued to be friends and hang out like normal. She found out and approached me one day and started shoving me and when she slapped me, I simply fought back. It was hardly what I would call a fight and was over in about thirty seconds. Once in the principles office, the usual happens, we were questioned and both made aware that we were suspended for like three days. I was so pissed because I couldn’t understand whY I was in trouble, I had never been in trouble in school ever. It was explained that had I just stood there and let her smack me around I wouldn’t have been suspended, since I chose to defend myself I was as guilty as she was. That is completely bullshit and I am pretty sure I said that.
Our parents came and picked us up. Over the weekend her best friend told everyone that I was going to kill her on Monday at school. Keep in mind that this is during the time when all the Columbine school shootings happened. So during my second block class, I was called out in to the hall where there were police, they wanted to search me, my back pack , my locker. I was horrified and scared. My mom was already in the principles office when I got in there. He was asking me all these questions and I honestly didn’t even know what was happening. He explained the rumor to which I denied because I never said that. So the decision as made that I couldn’t come back to school until my mother took me to some to have some sort of psychiatric evaluation. Now we didn’t even have guns or any other weapons in our house. My mother was so pissed she agreed to let me go to home school. My high school attendance was very short lived.
My ex and I continued to date and after about eight months I became pregnant with our first child. He had big plans to attend the Army after high school and a baby was the last thing he wanted. When I told him I was pregnant he accused me of cheating, that it wasn’t his, and I should consider having an abortion if I wanted our relationship to work. So it ended. We parted ways for months. I got myself in to a situation that I never should’ve been in but I was rebellious and scared about having a baby. I was angry. I went out with a guy when I was about three months pregnant. I didn’t tell him I was pregnant, I wasn’t really showing yet and we weren’t really that involved. We went driving around and then he wanted to park so we smoke a joint. Yes I know I am pregnant, not the smartest choice but this story is real, its raw, and its honest, good or bad. I only took a few hits, smoking weed really wasn’t my thing, I mainly did it because I didn’t want to look stupid. Afterwards he wanted a kiss so we did, then he asked for another before he took me home. I started to get a little uncomfortable, that feeling lurking in my gut that its time to go. I couldn’t go though, it was dark, and secluded, I had no where to go. So he very aggressive persisted we make out and then things got ugly. I will spare you the details of this incident. I didn’t fight, I gave in, I was too scared and I couldn’t breath. My mind eventually drifted until I completed detached myself from what was happening. After that I went home, cried for what seemed the longest time in the shower, crawled in to my bed, and tried my best to fall asleep.
I chose not to tell anyone about what happened. For one, I never should’ve been there in the first place and secondly I was ashamed, but mostly I was just sad. I didn’t feel good after this and I definitely didn’t want my ex to know, to me it didn’t really matter because we weren’t together at the time anyway. A few months later one afternoon , my ex and his mother showed up at my house. She was claiming he wanted to do the “right thing” but being there for his child and eventually we got back together. Our son was born in July and the month before I had just turned seventeen. That was also the same month that the guy I has seen one time during the breakup decided to share what had happened with my ex. Of course he left out many of the details and even added a few of his own to the story he retold. The day before my birthday I was questioned by my ex about what he had been told. I denied anything at first because I honestly didn’t want to relive that in my mind, I had worked really hard to put it in the very back of my mind. Most days though, the thoughts of that night would somehow make their way into my mind, it was always followed by that nauseas feeling. I hated it, I still feel it even now as I type this out. I am not sure that it will ever go away.
I was promised that if I just answered the questions I was being asked that it would be sufficient and we could start off on a clean slate. No secrets, nothing to hide, we could just simply focus on what was important and how our lives would change once the baby was born. So I decided to answer his questions and just be honest, given the opportunity to tell my side of the story. It happened so fats, I don’t think I even realized what took place. My answer to this question was followed by a hard slap to my face. My skin burned, a stinging sensation that radiates across your entire head. I don’t remember much of what was being said next, just bits and pieces of me being a whore, a liar, disgusting human being. Again I detached.
That honestly is where our relationship should have been ended, but it didn’t, it lasted another fourteen years. Fourteen miserable, torturous years in a hell I thought I would never escape. The years in between brought two more precious gifts in to my life, buying of our first home, the struggle to find and maintain some sort of normal life. Things got worse, they always got worse, but then they would be calm and things would be normal. A pattern I slowly became aware of little at a time. I stayed at home mostly, he worked, or so he said. I got an allowance to shop of things we needed, always providing receipts for whatever I bought. I wasn’t really allowed to have friends and didn’t really go anywhere without him. Because he was never home, I never left home. I didn’t have a car and I am not sure where I would’ve gone if I did. I spent my time focused on the kids. I homeschooled our son and the girls weren’t quite old enough to start school yet but I gave them work and that satisfied them completely, I also started a garden and hung our laundry out. The kids loved to help, I wish that true these days. Haha! We had chickens too and the girls loved collecting eggs. My son wanted a rabbit so a friend gave us two of them which we thought were boys. But then two rabbits became like fifty really fast.
My neighbor next door was an older man. He and his wife never had any children. She suffered from some sort of schizophrenia and they thought it was best. He found other things to keep him busy , like his love for flowers and gardening. He and I found out quickly that we shared a like for both. He said he was quite impressed with my garden and though he hadn’t put one out in several years he decided maybe now was the time to put one out. We talked most days and over several years became close friends. Sometimes his wife would have “episodes” where she wouldn’t recognize him, she wouldn’t let him touch her at all. He called and I would go over to calm her down and get her to sleep. Sometimes he would ask me to write out a check for him when the bills were due. He said his penmanship was awful and his wife used to do it but since she got really sick she wasn’t able. I could see how had it was on him to see her this way, tears would often stream down his face when she would be hysterical. My heart hurt for of them. I could almost see relief on his face when she passed. I know he loved her and took care of her their entire lives, but he was tired and needed a break. I know he had a soft spot for me and the kids too, I am certain he could hear the fighting that took place at my house. The yelling and break-in got things. He never mentioned it to me directly but there are things he would say that told me he knew.
He left this earth after eighty-six years on my birthday in 2011. My birthdays have always seemed to bring some sort of heaviness with it. Every Damn year. The following week he asked me over to help with bills as usual. While there he mentioned that they never had children as I knew, and I was the closet thing he had ever had to a daughter. He told me that he was going to leave things to me in the event something were to happened to him and he asked that I not share this information with my husband. I knew then, he knew what was happening. He explained he had an appointment with a lawyer and once it was done he would let me know the details. Two days later he was at his sisters house cleaning out her gutters when he took a fall of the ladder and hit is head. He was rushed to Nashville where they somehow missed the internal bleeding on his brain. He never made back home. his nephew organized everything. They auctioned off all his things and whatever money he had been saving went to his nephew as well. The funeral was small and very lonely. There was no viewing, only a burial. Myself, the kids, and his nephew along with the officiator were all who attended. Sometimes I go by and take flowers out. I know he would appreciate them and I don’t think anyone else ever visits.
One of my sisters and her husband lived on the other side of me in the same neighborhood. She became a mother at fourteen and has a total of four children. Most of our children are close to the same age and spent most days playing together. My sister has struggled the majority of her life with addiction. About a year before our divorce I gained custody of her two oldest children, then teenagers.
“The Accident”
I guess looking back I might blame myself for what led up to this terrible thing happening. There is always someone to blame right? I mean someone has to be held responsible, to be accountable, there is always reasons that caused something to happen, to justify the behavior and loss of control of one’s actions. It's me, I am the one to blame, my fault always. If I hadn’t said that or acted in a way that was inappropriate, if I had tried harder, been more honest, you know basically perfect.
Five children are a lot for anyone person. I did the majority of the “household” responsibilities. The cooking, cleaning, the yard. Somehow there was always a hobby that took precedence over being at home for my husband. In the beginning of our relationship it made me sad, in the last days it became a blessing that he was gone so much. When he was home for short amounts of time it was challenging. Nothing was right, the kids were too much , the house too much, I was too much. I was acting as the head of our household but that was not my role. My correct role was to submit myself to my husband in all they ways. I did the best I could. Somewhere along the way I learned to operate on auto pilot whenever we were together. Stay off your phone, keep the house clean, make sure the kids don’t make too much noise, be careful what you watch soon television. If things start to get heated, try and de-escalate the situation as much as you can. Don’t make conversation that could lead to anything questionable involving morals or values. Just be calm. JUST. BE. CALM.
The things that I am going to share with you next are hard. Hard to relive, hard to type, hard to read. The last year of my marriage was filled with fear, abuse, sleepless nights that never seemed to end. The intensity of what was yet to come was building with every passing day.
June 19th, 2013 I woke up like any other day, to chaos. My husband had been drinking more than usual for the past few months and was still semi drunk from the night before. I did my best to keeps things calm that morning. I wasn’t doing a very good job. The year before I had gotten a nice concussion and filed for a restraining order which only lasted long enough for things to return to normal again and we were back together. He ended up on probation and had to attend some anger management classes which were basically a joke. A few weeks of anger management classes didn’t help anything and the fact that he had to pay money for court costs only fueled his anger towards me as. A friend and her partner moved in with us that year, which I pushed for because I thought them being there would keep him calmer. It did in front of them but every chance they were not around it was worse than it was before. My husband who was rarely home, not used the excuse that there was no home to come to since we were operating like a hotel between the children and my friends. I was turning 29 in a few days and I just couldn’t find any excitement about it. Instead what I felt was an uneasiness. I had been having the same nightmare for weeks. I would wake up wet with sweat and I couldn’t talk. I was in a bed but not mine and I could hear a rhythmic beeping. I never could make out fully what was making that sound. I know I hated it and it left me feeling full of anxiety every time I woke up.
The day had a terrible start to it. He was angry with me, accusing of cheating, too many people in our house, there other things I cannot recall that he wanted me to fix before he got home from work that day. I assured him I would and tried my best to calm him before he left. I spent the day with my friends painting a house for some extra money. I didn’t get much work done because my phone kept ringing. My husband was checking in with me and then it escalated in to a full blown argument in a short time. The day was spent with me on the phone defending myself against his accusations and trying to find answers to his demands. I was angry and exhausted. I knew better than to let any of that show in our conversation but I slipped up and let my emotions that I usually kept tucked away out. That was a poor choice and I dreaded thinking about what would happen when I got home.
I got home that evening about twenty minutes before he did that day and was in a bit of a hurry to get to the bank so I could get money from the job that day before he got there. I had planned to leave but I needed money first so when the opportunities came I tucked little bits of money away here and there. The kids had been at my sisters house and when they saw me home they came home and she came with them. She was so messed up on pills, we were arguing about that when my husband got home. I went to our bedroom to grab my purse int eh middle of this argument when my husband got home. He grabbed her and threw her out of our house. I was next. I went to the bedroom to grab my purse and met me in the door way. As I backed up he closed and locked the door. We began to argue about my attitude, my behavior earlier in the day, the fact that I had left the children with my sister who was so messed up, not addressing the fact that he had been drinking for days. I could feel it in my soul things were escalating very quickly. He was really angry and I was detaching my self from the situation trying to decide how to calm him.
We had moved to the far side of the bedroom, a small television set behind me on an entertainment table and the window beyond that. He began telling that I was cheating and he wanted to know with who? I tried to calm him down by reassuring him and finally asking if I could go to the bank before it closed. He acted like he was going to punch me, I hid my face with my hands. He laughed and reminded me that I have already cost him enough money the previous year and he wasn’t doing that again. I thought it was over. When I moved my hands away from my face, all I felt was warmth. HE hit me so hard, it knocked me in to the TV. It took me several minutes to gain my self. I couldn’t hear anything anymore, it was like someone muted everything around me. AS soon as I stood up, the room got bright and then everything went dark. I don’t know what happened after that really. I vaguely remember speaking to my children on and off. My husband kept saying he wasn’t going to jail again. I kept asking for help, but nothing. Then It was dark again. I woke up sometime in the night to go pee. My shirt was wet like when you are sweating, it stuck to my chest. As I stood up I got really sick to my stomach and noticed that my face felt weird like I had slept on it wrong. I went in to the bathroom, pausing at the sink because my face and hair was wet too and I wanted to wash my face. I turned on the light and instantly I remembered.
My nose had been broken, it was bleeding, I had blood all over my face. It was in my hair and had dripped into my hair. My shirt wasn’t sweaty, it was bloody. I realized I couldn’t open my mouth very far and I had no feeling on the left side of my face. Everything hurt, all at once I felt sick again, then the darkness came back. I woke up sometime in the morning. My husband had already left for work. I knew I needed help. I cleaned my self the best I could, got the kids ready, and drove myself to the hospital. I was terrified and told them I had gotten hit in the face with a bat. I know your probably thinking, “what the fuck Hannah?”, but you see our justice system isn’t the fairest when it comes to domestic violence and since we had a past of it, I had been informed that I was equally responsible for staying. My question though is this… a mother with five children can only stay at a shelter for a few days, then its off to another. No family to help, no job, no money, but the expectation for us “abused” women is to get out, but how??? How do we??
The hospital informed me that the entire left side of my face, along with my nose was broken and due to the fact I could have internal bleeding I was to be rushed to Nashville, a larger hospital about and hour and a half away wither by ambulance or helicopter, whichever arrived first. I called a friend to come get the kids and was loaded in to an ambulance as soon as they were being looked after. I left my children crying for me, scared, and that made me feel worse than I already did. The ride to Nashville was a blur. The EMT who stayed with me just happened to be the father to one of my best friend’s in high school. I felt comforted on the outside, on the inside I was dying.
When I arrived in Nashville there was a surgical team waiting to give me a full evaluation. After some time a cop came in and asked me questions. I know that everyone knew I was lying but I was so afraid. I did not want to lose my kids, they are all I have. Against knowing better they took what I said and left it at that. After meeting with a surgical team they informed me there was no internal bleeding, but do to the nature of my injury surgery could not be done for at least seven days. Once surgery was scheduled, I was released.
My husband was waiting outside for me when I left the hospital. The ride home was equally scary as waves of anger and sadness would erupt from my husband. He went back and forth between being sorry and reminding me he was not going to jail over me. He went sorry for me, he was sorry for him. Sorry he lost control? Sorry the abuse could no longer be hidden? Sorry that his facade of this greta guy people knew him as would tarnished and reveal who he really was behind closed door? I just wanted out of the truck, I wanted quiet. I wanted not to panic as reality set in of what had happened over the last twenty four hours. He didn’t take me straight home, but instead to a friends house. His friends. I knew the couple but had never really spent much time with them. He worked with the man who I believe tried to influence him in a Godly way but I don’t think things ever stuck withy husband. The wife was a nice lady, very religious, both both of them. I remember explaining what happened to her while my husband was outside talking. She said we have to pray, right now. Pray for your marriage, pray for you, your husband, your children. I know it was a sweet gesture but at that moment one I wasn’t interested in. As she began to pray, I could feel myself detaching again, disappearing from that moment as if my spirit went someplace else. I wasn’t interested in praying for my husband or my marriage. My marriage was over. It had been over for a long time but I couldn’t leave, wasn’t allowed to leave. I tried, but the end result was always the same.
Our next stop was to his older sisters house to get our children. She hated me, she had always hated me. In my mind I expected some compassion, some sort of comforting words to what I was experiencing, instead I was asked what I did to make him mad? Again, detachment. All of my physical being present in the room, head nod, eye blinks, but I am gone. I am safe in this space I create for myself when I close everything else out. Its surreal. We gathered the kids and went home. The next week was hell, a week filled with “sorry” and “please forgive me’s”. You see this is a pattern that had been repeating itself for years. Things are good and normal until they aren’t. Then comes the anger, the loss of control, the throwing things, slapping, kicking, shoving, hitting, breaking anything and everything, followed by days of apologies and assurances it will never happen again, but it does. Iy always does.
I had surgery the day after my 30th birthday. My husband decided it best not to come with me as he was concerned someone would find out what really happened and he didn’t want to chance that. So two of my sweetest friends came with me to the hospital. I remember asking the surgeon not to let me die, he assured me that I would be just fine, to try and relax. I woke up in my hospital room. One of my eyes had been stitched shut, I couldn’t open my mouth at all. I made it!!
I went home after a few days. Yes, I went back to my house with my husband. I had no place to go and he had the kids. A few weeks went by quietly, as usual, then it started all over again. I don’t recall the argument we had but I do remember him grabbing my face. I knew then I had to get out, regardless of what that really meant. School was about to start and at some point over the summer I put an application in with the school system for a teachers aid. I had quite honestly forgotten that I had even done this, but I thought it would be a way for me to keep a job and it works with the kids schedule.
My emotional state was not the greatest. I was trying to be strong for the kids and keep hidden what had happened from the world. I was trying to survive. I had to go to therapy to strengthen my left eye. The cat scan revealed that it was only hanging by a tendon, my eye socket shattered, it was very possible I may not have use of my eye and I could be blind. By some great miracle I can use my eye just fine and I can see! I also had to learn to how to eat again. No solid food for almost six months, no bending, no jumping, no strenuous exercise. I lost all the feeling in the left side my face which made me look sort of like I had a stroke. You know the droopy look. It was lot to process which I didn’t really, I just focused on the kids and getting out.
I got the job I applied for with the school board. I found a tiny trailer I could afford and pleaded with landlady to help me. She was the first person I opened up to about what really happened. I am thankful for her and I have never forgotten her kindness to me and the kids. I hid the fact that I had a place for several weeks before I actually moved out. My husband was calmer little while, performing his best because he knew he really fucked up by what he had done to me. All good things must end and so it did with him losing his temper and breaking so many of my things. That’s when I loaded all my clothes into my car, along with the kids clothes. I wanted ore things but I didn’t care any longer I just wanted out and away from him. He begged me to stay, but he didn’t put up the fight I thought he would. He could end me at this point but I was leaving one way or another and I did.
Leaving was the best thing I ever did. It was the right choice. Looking back I am sad I didn’t leave sooner. I want to leave you with this staying is hard, leaving is harder and scary as hell. The good news is it can be done, and you should NEVER allow anyone to hurt you. Nothing is worth staying, but you find reasons, in reality you only need one reason to leave. I want you to know that if your’re reading this and you’re in a domestic violence relationship you can reach out to me. You are not alone, there is help!!! Please know that you are not alone.
Love & Light, Hannah
