Constant Harassment

Life has not turned out the way I imagined. It isn’t even remotely close. Life for me is an endless story of pain, grief and seclusion. The more I fight it, the more of a recluse I become.

Currently I’m being subversively attacked by a couple using intellectual warfare to wear me down. People are so focused on the physical side of domestic violence that they over look the mental abuse that happens just as frequently. Even after removing myself and my children from the home of my attacker 9 years ago, the relentless attacks upon me continue. There seems no end in sight until my youngest child turns 18, but even then there is no guarantee  he and his wife will stop.

They are on a campaign to ruin my reputation. They have isolated me from some family members and lost me friends. The constant lies they tell those closest to me are beyond vile. Its repugnant the stories they tell. Yet they continue to try and paint me as the hateful woman. The mother not allowing her children to see their father. They paint me as the attacker, the abuser, the wretched parent who beats her children. They make me out to be some vengeful harpy, intent on revenge.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Am I glad my children are refusing to have contact with their father? Bet your bottom dollar I am. Now I know they are safe, but this doesn’t give me any sort of sick pleasure. I find it saddening that they have no father they can love and look up too. That they are missing out on all of the extended family from their father’s side, makes me want to cry. Family should mean so much to each other but in cases of domestic violence family takes on a whole new meaning.

My children are not so trusting of people, they are quiet and reserved in new situations. Always analyzing for a threat. It takes them a long time to truly warm up to new people but due to the scars they bare, they never fully give of themselves. As a mother watching them always being on alert breaks my heart.

So I do my best to hide the attempts of control from their father, the attacks he makes on my character to all those who will listen (even forced too in some circumstances). I don’t tell them when he demands things or uses their school as a way to try and undermine me. I don’t tell them he has been in the area dropping things at the school to play the ‘poor father’ card. I hide the endless threats from his lawyer.

My daughter only recently learned of the physical damage I received from him by accident. As she was too young to remember when I left, she has no memory of his abuse, just a vague feeling that not everything was right. The knowledge that her father had physically harmed me, left me with a permanent injury made her scream in torment. She cried and ranted, stormed around the house slamming items down on the table. Her rage, her pain was more than she could handle. It made her more adamant she never wanted to see him again.

In her mind that was over stepping the line. Her father had no right to harm me just as no one has the right to harm her. Now every time I drop a glass or can’t carry the shopping she curses her father. This is not healthy for her and I wish she would let it go for her own mental state. But the slightest show of pain or discomfort from me has her face turn to stone as the fire of loathing burns within.

So now I wait……wait for the next round of the assault.  There is no protection for women in my situation. Just an endless cycle of highly intelligent attacks.

 

Hiding in Plain Sight

I never think of myself as a victim of domestic abuse. But I am. My tormentor still takes great glee in making my life miserable when ever he can. I actually count the years until the only contact I will ever have with my tormentor is weddings, births and deaths. 6 more years. I’ve lasted 21, another 6 seems like a walk in the park.

I’m a stubborn person. I stand up to him and his wife. I won’t let them push me around or turn the children into tiny voiceless beings. But all this constant harassment and the continual assault on myself and the children has left its mark. Outwardly I am a tower of strength, a woman happy with her life and full of fun. Inwardly I am a wreck more often than not.

I am terrified of meeting new people. Constantly worry about how they are judging me, mocking my choices, laughing at my obvious low education and inability to speak a coherent train of thought. I don’t ever feel that I am valued or needed. These are some of the scars I carry. My burden from years of being told how worthless I am. I’m my mind this doesn’t make sense. I argue that this information, this outdated view is from one man and not the consensus of the majority. Yet I find subconsciously I fall into to the same pattern of ruling out my worth as a human being. It is an endless cycle that even effects my health, to the point it is actually worrying me.

I am almost 40kg over weight. That is a massive number. I can chart my weight gain with every major event in my life. While some of it is due to my illness, the rest is psychological. I gained 25kg to hide in. 25kg to make me unattractive to the opposite sex. 25kg so that people wouldn’t want to talk to me in case they too caught the ‘fat bug’. 25kg to be a buffer against the human race.

It is totally illogical. I wrestle with the knowledge that I am committing self harm in order to preserve a safety barrier from people who may or may not hurt me. I know exactly what I have done, what I continue to do and yet find myself completely unable to stop myself. I am hurting myself to protect myself. It is maddening to think about but this is my everyday existence. If people view me as disgusting to look at, they don’t interact with me. Nobody wants anything from me. I’m safe in my fat.

I take mental notes on all interactions I have with people. 80% of those are negative. I’m not kidding. From the supermarket checkout to the Doctor’s waiting room, people judge me and treat me based on my weight. Depending on how I am feeling at the time these judgements are either mild entertainment or irritating. Some days I feel sorry for those that judge me harshly. It must be awful to live in such a narrow minded world. Other days I want to scream at those judgements “you don’t know me or what I endure”. But no matter what I’m feeling I still am thankful for my excess weight. My buffer against people getting to close to me.

This madness has to stop. Hiding in my weight, hiding in plain sight from the possibility being emotionally hurt is ridiculous. The only person being hurt is myself. I have closed myself off to even the smallest chance of ever finding friendship. I hide in a body that disgusts most people just to be over looked, ignored and left alone. It is working. Men no longer admire me or give me compliments. Women don’t like to be near me for I convey everything that they might deem wrong in a female form. Most people would prefer to scoff at me and point out the harm I am doing myself than to strike up a conversation. I can stand in a crowded room and know I am safe from being approached. It is a very lonely life. A safe but lonely life.

This madness has to stop.