I wrote this post some time ago:

Today is not an easy day...I am starting to see more clearly, like that feeling when you surface from a pool, pull off your goggles, feeling that pop of the suction around your eyes, and suddenly there is no blurred underwater glass, but clear-as-day vision and a breeze that makes you blink. I am seeing that I am suffering from a form of Stockholm Syndrome.

I am in love with a man who is so ill he cannot stop hurting his wife and children.  Even when he wants to stop he can not stop. This is a man who has sexually assaulted me more than once, and the last time was not that long ago.  This is a man who supposedly helped me heal from a date rape situation I experienced years ago at college.  I say supposedly because now I wonder if there was any real healing that came from his words, or his touch, or his care, if he can turn around and do the same thing to me again and again?

I cleaved to him because he taught me that my no meant no; I closed my eyes against his chest and took a deep, ragged breath of gratefulness when I was twenty years-old and he was only nineteen, because he convinced me I was safe...but what does that word mean when SAFE can turn to terror once a ring is on your finger and you are living alone with him.

I excused the first attack.  I excused the next one.  They were spaced out by some years.  I forget how many times now...I think four?  He recently said he remembered four times he attacked me in that way.  The mind loses its clarity under high duress, but I will never forget the last time.  It was only a few months after my dad died...during my most vulnerable season of my life, when I felt the lack of protection of a father.  I am no kid...I have kids of my own, but I still would have turned to my father if I could have after this last attack.  But he wasn't there.  He was buried.  And I was without a cover, a shield, a father's defense.  And I realize now that I never turned to my father when he was alive for two reasons.  The first is that I was ashamed and excused away the abuse.  My father never really wanted me to marry this man and I did not want to seem like a fool or a failure in his eyes.  The second reason is that I had a very complicated relationship with my dad...he had serious psychological issues of his own...but I am confident that he still would have helped me if I had told him.  I did call him only weeks into the marriage (when I was twenty-two years old and still living at college), letting him know that my husband hit me.  My mother got on the phone and heard this too.  My dad begged me to annul the marriage...but I did not.  He got on the phone with my husband and made him promise never to hit me again.  My husband gave his word. And then broke it...time and time again.  Yet, each time he broke his word many many months separated the incidents, sometimes even years...and I often felt like I must have done something to cause his wrath, that it was somehow my fault.  If I had been a better wife?  If I had not spoken my mind so freely?  If I had, had, had...I don't know.

I am intelligent, have a college degree, have won numerous awards in my lifetime...I am a professional musician and a writer...I am a successful mother and have many good friends.  In the professional and social circles I move in, I experience the respect and favor of others...yet, and yet...

in my most private life I feel that I live a kind of hell.  The hell of loving a man who is the father of my amazing children...loving his family too...but unable to fully break with his abusive ways. After the last sexual assault I went to my mother and my brothers and I asked for help.  Not much help came.  Sometimes it takes a strong rope to pull a woman and her children out of abuse.  The rope has many threads, some are financial, others are psychological and emotional support, and then there is the thread of unconditional love and a non-judgmental attitude.  There are more threads than this, but it would take a while to separate them all out and decide how to describe them, give them each a name.  All I know is that this cord is very strong, truly a life line, and can change the course of history for a family, especially the children--the next generation.

When I talk to other women who finally escaped an abusive relationship they all had the help of their families.  Money, shelter, love were all given.  Many also had the help of a protective man.  Nobody does it entirely alone.  It is one thing to shift just your own life, another to shift children as well. There are legal issues, protection needed, sometimes you must even hide.  Coming up for air, getting your bearings, all these things also need support. Post traumatic stress syndrome is very debilitating...for example, since I am still living in my war zone, I have not slept well for weeks now, not since I left a safe place I go to on occasion.  I go to bed in deep anxiety and awake never knowing what I will face. Even my sleep is troubled, full of tight muscles, nightmarish dreams, and a sense when I awake that I got not one hour of rest.  The fatigue is truly overwhelming and makes it hard to function during the day.

Last night, for example, my husband had a stormy response to a small purchase I made...a  thirty dollar mattress cover for my son's bed, a padded one, to help him get sleep, because his mattress is cheap, broken, and he gets poor rest on it.  Until we can buy the new mattress I thought I would get him this softer support and I knew we had the money in our budget for it.  My husband admitted later that his anger was not related to money...he just felt angry because I did not consult with him on the purchase.  He'd already bought an unpadded cover and felt insulted that I bought the padded one to go over it.  And why did this insult him?  He said he felt that his choices weren't valued and that I, in a sense, disrespected him for buying the new cover.  He said he knew he was entering a bi-polar storm and could not stop it...his voice grew louder and louder, there was no reasoning with him.   My son ran out to him with his hundred dollar birthday check from his grandmother and handed it to him, wanting him to take it, hoping that by giving away his gift his father's wrath would subside.  This was such a sad moment for me, to see how my son would do anything to protect his family and calm the storm...to end the strife over a cover he never asked for and now would probably feel guilty about sleeping on!

The storm continued and, though my husband gave the check back to our son right away, he had to be pushed by me to calm down the kids and let them know that his wrath was an illogical response...and he knew this, that the rage made no sense, but he still could not make it go away.  He awoke the next morning in a dark mood, as usual, entering the depression part of the cycle.  The meds he is on right now only contain the worst parts of the storm, but they do not stop the storm from happening.  There are deep rooted issues going on that he would have to work through in order to become a healthier man with a happier family.

And I end this post many months later with these new paragraphs tacked on:

And in order to work through these issues he would have to commit to intensive counseling, be willing and able to take an honest inventory of his own mental state, and also stay accountable to someone who could help him reign in his violent, combative behaviors that destroy the peace and equilibrium of his family. Ultimately, the marriage could not progress in any way, shape, or form without total restitution. Sadly, all these facets of the healing process are beyond his reach at this time...and perhaps forever.

Stormy people riddled with demons are the ones who need help the most and yet often are the last to seek it.  That day so long ago was not an easy day...but this day is a different one (perhaps no less easy).  I filed an emergency restraining order which was renewed for 60 days.  I also filed for divorce.  So much has happened since I wrote that post...I will have to fill you in soon.  The bi-polar storms still rage but for now I am out of the pathway of the maelstrom...and thank God my children are too!

Today I can say I love a man who hurts his wife and children, yes, I love him enough to draw a legal boundary that protects the people he cares for from his own madness. And I love myself and my children enough to say no to the insanity that was tearing us all apart. There is always a cost for freedom but I am willing to pay it for a breath of unadulterated, fresh air.  I try not to count the costs or let them tangle me up in fear because all that matters right now is trusting God for the pathway out of this hell we've all been living in.

I am taking this journey one step at a time, like a dogged soldier, marching up and out of the trenches with my bayonet pointing forward, bullets whizzing about my ears, the battle raging on every side, trying to keep going without showing fear as I head for a combat free zone I believe exists on the outskirts of all this madness.  I won't stop heading that way, even if I am hit in the process.  I trust somehow I will succeed and if I don't, I will die trying.  It may sound melodramatic but there are no guaranteed outcomes in this process.  If a judge decides to lift that restraining order I don't know what will happen.  I hope it won't be lifted and we will make it...I can't even imagine his wrath and what punishment he will desire to inflict upon me if that restraining order is removed.  How dare I send him away!  How dare I put him through hell!  I can see it now...

So I trust that God would not give me the strength to go if there wasn't going to be a victory in the end. The kids and I deserve to be safe...truly safe.