Children

As I look at my children and watch them move into their new rooms, I can’t help but smile. I am not smiling because they are beautiful and sweet children. Don’t get me wrong they are. I am smiling because they gave me a reason to smile. A purpose. They showed me what love truly is. They gave me strength.

I will never forget the day that I was at my wits end. I was still married and completely exhausted. I loved my kids, but I was exhausted from years of abuse. The hope for a better future was dim. My husband at the time was drinking every night since he had gotten off of probation. He would hide out in the little red shed in the back yard, drinking beer after beer. He would go to work, usually, come home and go straight out to the shed to “work on stuff.” Occasionally, he would go drinking with his buddies or smoking pot. We both knew the truth, but neither of us said it. I waited every day for a bomb to drop. Tick tock. Tick Tock. The days where he was outside until late, I prayed he would pass out in his truck or the shed or the couch and sleep. I prayed he would stay clear of my children and I who were trapped like prisoners.

At some point, I began to wonder if it was me. Would he be this mean if I wasn’t here? Would he treat someone else like he does me? He had never hurt the children at that point. Only me. I was his only target. I was the source of his anger. I would question what I did and the events of that day. If I had done things differently, would the results have changed or would they have been the same? If I was quiet, would he hurt me? If I told him my feelings, would he have empathy? If I stroked his ego and told him how amazing he was, would he be happy? Should I stay? Should I run? He was good for around three years on probation, could he go back to being good again? Questions constantly swirled through my mind and made me question my sanity. I didn’t know what was real anymore. Everything felt like a horrible and confusing movie that I was watching from outside my body.

The day I broke, I was overwhelmed with uncontrollable thoughts of confusion and pain. I was tired of being hit and thrown around like a rag doll while my husband held our daughter in his hands.

I will never forget the times I was being tortured in my bedroom. Every hit excruciating. Every moment where I was thrown around and slammed up against the wall while he held me by the hair. I took the hits. Never flenching back and always attempting to deescalate the situation. Anything to keep the peace and make him feel heard and not alone. Every blow sharp and excruciating. Constantly being suffocated with pillows and blankets. Water bottles and objects being thrown at me as I tried everything I could think of to keep the peace. Getting screamed at while being called degrading names over and over again. I would try to stay calm, knowing my kids were in the other room and could hear everything. Many times I would hear my son crying in his room on the other side of the wall. I would desperately try to calm things down to try to get to my children and comfort them. I will never forget the times that I would see my daughter go get her little brother and hold his hand as they walked by the bedroom into a room downstairs or on the other side of the house. Watching her close my bedroom door as she protected her brother from being alone and from him seeing the hell that was occurring in her parents bedroom. Making eye contact as she would peak in and quietly close the door. She was protecting her brother but she was also protecting herself.

The day I broke, I was in a fog. Lost in confusion. I don’t remember every piece of what happened leading up to my actions that day or what specific moment lead me to that point, but I remember thinking how tired I was and how hopeless I felt knowing that I would never get away from the constant pain. I was desperate and alone. I remember questioning if the kids would be safe without me. Would they be happier? Would he be happier and would they see less pain? I remember wondering what heaven and hell were like. Where would I go if I took my own life? Was I already in hell? I remember thinking I couldn’t do this anymore.

I looked in the cabinets and got out my saved prescriptions. Everyone I could find. I remember looking up how many of specific pills I would have to take to kill myself until finally I found one. I remember reading that 12 would cause serious emergency medical issues. I dug throughout my closet looking for more of the same pills. I had 15 pills. Surely 15 and a few other types of medication would do the trick. I lined the bottles up next to the bathtub. I made sure the kids were okay playing in their room. I looked at my “Find My” app on my phone and saw that my husband was on his way home. Forty minutes away. The numbers forever burned into my brain. I got a water bottle out of the fridge in the kitchen. I went into the bathroom and shut the door. I climbed in the bathtub. Filled it up with hot water. I laid down and put my head under the water once it was full enough. The burning sensation felt good but torturing. I came up from under the water and looked at my phone again. He was closer. I took a couple of pills. Took a couple more and continued slowly. Each swallow full of rushing emotions and questions. Would my kids hate me? Would they be okay? Swallow. Was I doing the right thing? Would he keep them safe? Would he teach them to hate me? Would they someday understand? Swallow. Then my daughter came in. I had forgotten to lock the door. Stupid. She looked at me and then at my medicine. She picked the pill bottles up and put them on the counter. Then. she came over to me. and kissed me on the head. I don’t remember what she said. I only remember her actions. They are forever burned into my brain. She walked out of the room and shut the door. I got up, stuck my finger down my throat and threw up. I felt like crap. My head was swirling, my stomach on fire and I was shaky. Everything was foggy. I felt like I was moving at snail speed, but I had to remove the evidence of my weakness.

“Dad’s home.”

Two words that shook me and filled my body with uncontrollable fear. What do I do? Where do I go? My kids’ room. My son was still in there, playing with his toys. I ran in there, laid down and got quiet. My son crawled up in my bed and laid with me. When my husband came in to see what I was doing, he saw me laying in bed with our son. My daughter told her dad that we were asleep and eventually, my body relaxed and passed out.

That night my children saved my life and I will forever owe that to them. I realized, killing myself was not the answer. I realized that those children needed me just as much as I needed them. I started going back to counseling which only seemed to anger my husband more at the time because the hits became harder and more frequent.

Now looking back I am proud of how far I have come. I still have a lot of work to do, starting with this journal and no longer hiding, but I am going to continue to grow and build on myself for my children.

***

A few days ago, I was reminded of all the times I would hear my son crying and look into my daughters confused and painful eyes as I lay down and took my beatings. I was reminded of how they reacted to trauma and deep rooted feelings. Reactions they not only had, but continue to have when small moments seem to trigger them. I was reminded of my reactions at that time. Fawn. Lay down and take it. Shut off from the world. A few days ago, all the memories, feelings and reactions flooded back. Moments I remembered but they connected differently. A few days ago, my children, unknowingly changed my life again and saved me from the trenches of depression. A few days ago, I realized that while I do not verbally teach them to be quiet, I modeled it. For eleven years, I modeled how to stay quiet. A few days ago, I was reminded that I have a voice. A few days ago, I cleared away the fog and began to blog, break the silence and show my children to push through and not lose their voice. A few days ago, my children helped to make me stronger and they don’t even know it.