The Purge

I remember everything. My husband was blessed with a poor memory, so he doesn’t recall a lot of the damage, but I remember everything. We are working on rebuilding our marriage, but I feel that in order for that to happen, I need to get some things off of my chest and out of my mind. 

When we would go to take the trips to visit his family, I was the one who would do all the packing and ensure everything was ready to go. One of the times he was griping at me for not having everything done, and (this was before he knew about what his dad did to me) I came to a breaking point. I told him that it wasn’t worth it-going through all of that and listening to him bitch-and that I wouldn’t be going with him next time. He said something about what his family says about me, and I said “Fuck your family! All they ever do is talk behind my back!” He flicked me really hard on the side of the head, and then started yelling at me when I began to cry.

On the way back from one of the trips, we stopped at a hotel for the night. The kids and I weren’t moving fast enough for him, and he was bitching. Our daughter threw up in the backseat as we were loading things up and getting ready to go. He slapped me in the back of the head as I was cleaning up her vomit. I didn’t cry, but I was angry, and I began to emotionally detach from him.

Shortly after we returned, he started looking through my Facebook. He saw that I complimented a transgender woman on her makeup, and got mad at me for referring to her as a her. He started accusing me of wanting a gay man and looking for other things that he could accuse me of. When there was nothing else, he started talking about my initial trauma and not only minimized it, but started blaming me for it. 

Who was this monster ranting and raving before me? I didn’t recognize him. When the conversation went back to the transgender woman, I referred to her as a  her again, and this time he slapped me in the back of the neck. 

I screamed because I was already having neck pain, and then I fell to the floor and sat balled up with my arms around my legs. This is the position I get into when my anxiety attacks begin. I was sobbing uncontrollably and he was still yelling and trying to justify his actions and words. I kept begging him to stop and to just go away. 

I remained detached from him for a long time after that. I began looking into divorce lawyers and apartments. I didn’t want to be with him anymore. 

Then, a while later, I told him about what his dad did to me. We grew closer,  and I thought for sure we’d be okay. That is until he told me about his infidelity which happened during the time he was treating me like dogshit. 

Now,  he doesn’t want to be the person he was. Now, I’m supposed to try to forget it all and take him at his word that he won’t hurt me anymore. I feel like the stupid woman I vowed I’d never be. I’m afraid to make him mad. I’m afraid I’m not measuring up. I wonder if he’s afraid at all. 

Maybe the fact I’ve stuck around through it all will make him think that I will stick around after he has one more episode because “it hasn’t happened in a long time.” I want to believe him. I want to give him a fair chance, but I have so much hurt and my heart is too guarded to let him in completely. 

Maybe this purge will help to get it out of my mind. One can only hope. 


Morning flashback

I was blessed and cursed with the long term memory of an elephant and the short term of a goldfish. At times, I’ll find myself so frustrated because I misplace my phone and I’ll be on the damned thing. I may get appointments mixed up and forget names, but by golly I can tell you what my cake looked like on my third birthday. It had Big Bird on it with a yellow border and a white background, in case you were wondering.

This morning I find myself running on maybe three solid hours of sleep. My mind went back to when I found out who took the picture of me. The piece of shit standing at attention in my chief’s office, and all I could say was, “It was you?!”

I try to take control of the flashbacks by changing my reactions. This morning I envisioned myself smashing the son of a bitch in the back of the head with a paper weight and giving him a solid knee to the groin. Instead, I remembered how he casually said he was drunk, but was able to recall everything that had happened. I can’t remember anything after leaving the table to use the restroom that day. 

The rage took over me as I began to try to look him up. 

I’m going to make him pay. I’ll go fuck up his car, or…wait. 

I couldn’t remember his name! This was a victory for several reasons. Next thing I know, the birds start singing and the sun comes up. By the time his name popped into my mind, I’d realized I had wasted entirely too much time and energy trying to remember it in the first place.