Why Doesn't She Just Leave?

Sunday, 10/23/88 

Mike has been away for four days visiting his parents in Florida. As I was driving him to the airport, I asked if he would let me have two hours free when he got home, because I would probably need a break after all that time with a one-year old and an eight-year old. I knew that Mike would never think of such a thing on his own, would probably not want to be bothered spending time with the children, even after four days away, and would certainly resent my getting free time; but he did begrudgingly consent.

Today, I went to pick him up at the airport and we got home at 4:30. I said I would go out for my two hours. I knew that, if I stayed home, Mike would either send the children to me, scream about their bitch mother in order to upset me, or yell at them hoping that I would intervene, and then use that as an excuse to leave in a rage. He told me to come back after one hour so that he could go jogging before dark (why couldn’t he jog in Florida, where he apparently did quite a bit of sunbathing and relaxing?). So I came back at exactly 5:30 and he went jogging. At 6:30, I asked for my second hour, and he exploded, It’s dinner time now! What’s for dinner?! I knew he was trying to prevent me from taking my second hour because this is typical of his pattern of breaking his word. He then said that he had wanted to take out a pizza and it was my fault that he could not order one, because I had

been on the telephone. He screamed at Sandy, Tell your bitch mother that, if she doesn’t get Donald away from me right now, I won’t be here on Wednesday night! (when I take a class).

Monday, 10/24/88 

This morning, Mike threw my magazine on the floor. Then, when he was ready to leave for work, he couldn’t find his keys and demanded, Give me your keys! I asked, Will you pick up my magazine, then? Instead of answering, he stormed out, slamming the door, then stormed back in, screaming and banging in order to awaken the children, and threw my magazine in the garbage. I feel humiliated and angry.

It’s an hour and a half later now, and Mike just called from work to ask if I was ready to apologize. By the gentle way he said it, I felt that this was his way of apologizing. Now I feel happy.

Uh-oh. It’s the middle of the night. I awoke with a start at about midnight to Mike’s bellowing curses like crazy bitch! and ordering me to take care of Donald, who had awakened and was crying. I knew that Mike was setting the groundwork for refusing to let me go to my Wednesday evening class, using the excuse that Donald isn’t sleeping well because of a cold. Mike frequently sets up ridiculous ‘fights’ just to have an excuse to punish me. He has made trouble every week since I started the class, locking me out, turning out all the lights, screaming and punishing, so that I am getting to feel that it’s not worth going at all.

While Mike was yelling about Donald being awake, the baby fell back asleep. Then Mike suddenly screamed that I’d better stop trying to keep him awake or he would make me pay for it, and he gave me to the count of three to get out of the bedroom. He’s done this many times: awakened me, and then threatened to get back at me for keeping him awake! It makes me feel crazy! So, I went downstairs, feeling helpless, afraid, and alone. When I felt calmer, I went back upstairs, sat on the bed next to Mike, touched him gently and told him that I understood how upset he felt. He said that it wasn’t fair that he had been awakened and that he couldn’t stand to hear Donald’s crying. I tried to be gentle and understanding as you would be to a child, and it seemed to help. I felt pleased for not having gotten sucked into one of Mike’s war-attempts, but it could also work against me if he thinks he has gotten away with horrible behavior. Still, I think I did well, even though I was too upset to get back to sleep. At least I calmed him down sufficiently so that he might not use this as an excuse to prevent me from going to my class tomorrow.

Wednesday, 10/26/88 

Well, tonight’s my class, and he found his excuse. While Mike was in the kitchen, Donald turned off the light, and Mike immediately erupted into cursing at me to get Donald out of there right away, or else. His treatment of me is so barbaric. I feel that I’ve lost sight of what happens in ‘normal’ families, where I think a man might say nothing, or turn the light back on, or ask his wife nicely to take the baby away. Or, even play with the baby himself. Mike screamed at me, so I went upstairs with Sandy and Donald. And then Mike ordered me down. When I went down, he shrieked, You crazy cripple! Couldn’t you even take out the broccoli?! I was completely taken aback, since I had no idea that he had put anything into the closed pot. I tried to tell him so, but he had already grabbed the pot with the broccoli and steaming hot water and flung it in a blind rage. Then he stormed out, screaming and cursing.

I’m so tired of going through this all the time. He makes me account for every cent I spend, won’t give me money when I need it, won’t let me leave the house without permission. Even when he’s given me permission or ordered me to go out, he interrogates and punishes me when I get back, over how long I was out, exactly what I was doing, why it took me so long (even when it’s only been a few minutes), and so on. Why do I stay with him? Why do I love him? Why do I take it? I know I’m very afraid and insecure, but I do think I love him, even though I also hate and distrust him. Just now he demanded sex, and when I told him I didn’t feel like it, he barked, I don’t care what you want! Forget it! I’ll get it from somebody else! I felt so scared and sorry. Then, a minute later, he said he’d be back for it after his television show ends. He’s bound to threaten me and I know I’ll be afraid.

When things like this happen, I usually don’t sleep well, either because I’m nervous from his outburst or afraid of what he’ll do. But at least he’s not threatening to get sex from somebody else any more.

What a marriage.

Thursday, 10/27/88 

Today after work, Mike came home and went jogging, and then took a shower. He hadn’t spent any time with the kids all day. A few hours later, Donald went upstairs to Mike. Mike shouted, Get him away from me! over and over, and then, You fucken bitch! This is what you wanted! You wanted me to scream and curse at you! Congratulations! You got exactly what you wanted, you crazy fucken bitch!

Saturday, 10/29/88 

No screaming today! My parents came over and babysat. The only thing that happened that bothered me was not cruel, but upsetting because of what Mike gets away with: Donald was reaching out for Mike, and, instead of shouting at him or me as he usually would, he smilingly took Donald, as my parents watched.

Sunday, 10/30/88 

I’m feeling better towards Mike. He screamed a little less today and yesterday and shows signs of feeling bad about it, although I don’t know whether this will last.

There was an incident today. I had just put Donald in for his nap and was looking forward to a bit of free time, when Mike told me to go pick up Sandy from Sunday school while he ate his lunch. I went to get her, but Donald was crying in his crib and was not asleep yet.

When I came back almost a half-hour later with Sandy, Mike was calmly reading the newspaper, as he greeted me with, Donald is still crying. Sure enough, Donald was hysterical by this point. After I took care of Donald, I asked Mike why he hadn’t tried to comfort the baby, and he became enraged, throwing Donald’s high chair and the garbage pail across the kitchen. But then later he apologized. Even if that’s not great, I think it’s a good sign.

The other incident today was when the oven didn’t heat dinner enough because of an old heating element that needs replacing and Mike ranted and raved about it. Sandy told Mike about a cartoon she saw in which Donald Duck got a calm-down counting device. She

offered to get or make one for Mike. Then he did calm down and I felt happy.

Wednesday, 11/2/88 

What’s the point? Mike seems to realize at times that he has a problem with his temper, and then I hope he’ll change, but then he goes back to behaving in the same old ways. Even when he isn’t screaming, cursing, threatening, or punishing, he criticizes everything I do. He can twist anything into a personal attack against me. Yesterday I took Donald along when I visited my sister, Anne, for her birthday. Mike attacked me for having told him that it’s hard taking Donald long distances, but I had managed it for my sister. He could have said, That was nice of you to spend Anne’s birthday with her, or, How is Anne doing? Instead he treated me like a lying good-for-nothing. Why do I so quickly forgive and forget? Why, when he is nice, do I feel full of hope? Why do I still love him and accept his hostility and bad treatment? I think he loves me too, but he treats me terribly and doesn’t seem to see it, or blames his anger on me for not doing what he said or for ‘provoking’ him.

Thursday morning, 11/3/88 

Sometimes I feel as if I’m a hunted animal and Mike is the wild animal after me. I was just pretending to be asleep when I really wanted to write because I was hoping to avoid his harassment, criticisms, and demands. So often, I pretend to be asleep, pretend to have to go the bathroom, or turn the shower on, just to be out of the way of his cruelty. I try not to let him know when I don’t feel well, because he gets even more sadistic, and I probably don’t realize myself what I feel sometimes, because it’s pointless.

Last night, when I wanted to go to my class, Mike screamed, If you walk out that door, it’s a declaration of war! My fear says, Don’t go! but my logic says, A declaration of war?? To go to a class one evening a week, forty-five minutes before the children’s bedtime? He calls me crazy, but sometimes it seems like he is.

The other day Sandy complained about what I had made her for lunch. Mike used that as an excuse to launch into an attack of me and my side of the family, and a celebration of his side of the family. He divides the world into his side versus the ‘enemy’, which is my side. Doesn’t he care about the harm he’s causing the children by insulting their mother and grandparents, not to mention the effects and examples of his screaming, cursing and rage?

But, still, when he’s nice, I feel good about him.

Friday, 11/4/88 

I had brought a blouse to the cleaners that Mike wants me to wear to his job’s dinner-dance tomorrow night. I told him that it would be ready last night, but I didn’t dare ask him to pick it up, even though it’s on his way home from work. When he came home yesterday, I said that I would go get my blouse, and Mike screamed, Oh, no, you won’t! You’re not going anywhere without taking Donald! So, I waited until today and took Donald. But each time I went, there was a long line extending out into the parking lot, and I was having so much trouble keeping Donald out of danger from the cars that I had to leave without getting my blouse. I was so afraid of what Mike would do! When he came home, he did scream about what a complete incompetent and total failure I am, that I can’t do anything right, but I guess he didn’t want to risk ruining his image tonight by us not appearing happy, and he let me go get the blouse.

Saturday, 11/5/88 

A good day—surprise! He actually was pretty nice, and did something unusual: When he said he needed stamps and I offered to go to the post office, he didn’t make me take Donald. Today he was good, with only two exceptions. In the afternoon, while Donald was napping, Sandy got upset and Mike didn’t like the way I was handling it, so he shouted and awakened Donald. What was the other incident? I don’t remember. I could love him so much if he were nice most of the time.

Tuesday morning, 11/8/88 

I don’t remember the incident on Saturday, but I think it was a small one. Mike still seems to be trying to be nicer, but I don’t think it will be enough without therapy.

I remembered something from the other week that I don’t think I wrote about. That night when Mike woke me up because he was mad that Donald had awakened him, the night I reacted with love and understanding— well, one of the things I said to Mike was that I loved him. And, you know what he did with that? The next day there was something he wanted from me, I think to not go to my class, and he told me I had to prove I loved him by not going. He managed to twist something nice I said into a method to control me.

Yesterday, he was again trying to be nice, but there was an incident. I guess I should give him credit for trying to control some of his most destructive behaviors, but he still is not loving, giving, and accepting, even at his best. The incident was that Mike was watching television, and Sandy, and then Donald, went near him. Mike became furious and yelled about everybody bothering him. Then the children started fighting with each other, and Mike exploded furiously about me being a failure, too permissive, and entirely to blame. When Sandy and Donald were fighting, Mike screamed that she’d better learn how to defend herself against Donald. Defend herself against her one-and-a-half year old brother? I don’t feel like going on. His battleground mentality gets me sick.

Wednesday evening, 11/9/88 

Yesterday and today—two good days!

Thursday evening, 11/10/88 

He’s starting again. He came home early today, and erupted as soon as I spoke. He went jogging, took a shower, and went to buy himself wine. He just returned with a lot of bottles. He has screamed at me for spending an extra dollar on the national brand of diapers (and, on the other hand, for being too cheap to buy the national brand—I just can’t win). I have to be so careful what I spend, while this is his third shopping trip for himself recently. He just opened a bottle and started making hate-filled faces and weird animal-like noises. I know I have to stay out of his way.

It’s the beginning of a three-day weekend, and, with him like this, I dread it. He called me scum bag at the dinner table because Donald awakened him last night. Why am I a scum bag because Donald wakes up occasionally at night?

Whenever anything bothers him, he uses me as a target. Tonight I made a pretty good dinner and his only comments were to claim that it was horrible and to curse to Sandy about her bitch mother. As he hurled insult after insult, I asked him to please refrain in front of the children. He screamed mockingly, What’s your role in this, innocent victim?! as if it’s somehow my fault. Then Sandy said something to him and he looked at her in disgust and said, You sound like your bitch mother. What must she be learning?

I began going for therapy at the suggestion of my counselor at Coalition, and now Sandy has told me that she would also like to go for help. I’m afraid to tell Mike, and don’t think he will be willing to pay for it. It was very embarrassing for me when I signed up for therapy and they asked my family income in order to calculate the fee. Our family income is okay, but I have no access to any of it! I had so much money before I married him, and I feel like a fool for having given it to him. He calls me pathetic for asking him for money, and I really do feel pathetic.

Why do I still love him and hope that things will get better???

Friday evening 11/11/88 

Today was a day off, and, great surprise, Mike was in a good mood! I am again feeling hopeful and good about him. If only he could be like this a lot. Even though he always blames me for starting the fights, the house is pretty peaceful when he isn’t attacking. I hope this lasts a while. Sandy was so thrilled, she wrote him a thank you note! (Look at how excited we get from one good day...)

Saturday, 11/12/88 

Mike is still trying, but he has a new tactic on weekends. He waits until I put Donald in for a nap, when he knows I’m looking forward to a little break, and then he gives me an order. Last week it was to pick up Sandy from Sunday school, and this week it’s to buy him a tomato. He screamed fucken bitch and some other curses when I said I’d rather go a little later. I feel sick.

Thursday, 11/17/88 

It’s been a long day. Mike came home late. I had made sure to put on the outside light for him, and dinner was ready. When I opened the door and greeted him, I immediately recognized his all too familiar look of rage. He started screaming right away about the garbage pail being out front, accusing me of deliberately leaving it there for him to put away. I had forgotten, because when I had last come in, I had been carrying groceries and tending to Donald. I started crying because I was so afraid, and Mike ridiculed me for being weak and pathetic. He called me a leech and a failure who can’t do anything right, and I went to the bedroom to hide.

Sandy came in to bring me a glass of juice to make me feel better. She is so sweet, but she is stuck in the middle, trying to calm down her father, and make her mother feel better. The juice is especially nice because the other day Mike threw a fit over my offering some of it to Donald when Mike wanted it, and he insisted that I go out immediately and get him some more, or else. I had not even tasted that juice myself. Maybe this was Sandy’s way of making sure that Mommy got some of the juice, too. She is such a good girl.

I feel so weary and beaten down, and I wonder why I am even bothering to write any of this. It just takes more of my energy, and I feel so used up as it is.

Mary, from my group at Coalition, called to see how I was because she thought I didn’t look well at our last meeting. I thanked her and told her that I was okay but just tired. Mike was there and I knew I had to get off the phone fast because he punishes me when I talk on the phone, but even after such a quick conversation, he ridiculed and insulted me: One of the girls checking up on you because you’re depressed? You failure, you total failure!

Did I write about how upset I get every time I think about what Mike’s colleague’s wife told me? I don’t think I wrote about my conversation with her because I was afraid of jinxing the chance that her husband’s talk with Mike might help. It’s obvious by now that it didn’t, so I’ll write a little about it: On Friday, November 4, there was a work-related dinner-dance, at which I asked Mike’s colleague and friend, Carl, to please speak to Mike about his treatment of me. When I told his wife about some of the things Mike does, she was very surprised, as anybody would be who isn’t part of the family, because Mike puts on such a loving, caring show for other people. One of the things she said was that Mike had cried to Carl about a health problem of mine. I know that she was trying to make me feel better, to show me how much Mike must care, but she doesn’t know that Mike screams at me for being weak or faking any time I’m not feeling well, and that he threatens and gets violent with me regularly.

Life with Mike means so much fear and pain, threats, the denial of my needs, wants, and feelings. Read that, Lisa! Look at yourself and the life of fear you’re leading. You don’t do anything you want because of fear of Mike! Why are you standing for it? How much longer are you going to stand for it?

Wednesday, 11/23/88 

I’ve been so depressed and fed up, that I haven’t been writing. Just before, Mike wanted me to put on Donald’s coat so he yelled, You’d better put on Donald’s coat by the count of ten! He then proceeded to count to ten threateningly while screaming at Sandy, You have no idea how much I hate that bitch!

Friday, 12/9/88 

It’s been awful these past weeks, and I haven’t had the energy to write. What’s happened? Oh, mostly the usual.

The other day, Mike was ranting about how hideous I looked and shouted, I feel like breaking your face open with a sledge hammer!

On my birthday, he got mad at Sandy because he had told her to watch Donald while we had dinner by candlelight. When Donald came to the table and reached for a lit candle, Sandy tried to keep his hand away, and accidentally knocked over the candle. Mike jumped up in a rage and threw Sandy to the floor, screaming, Fucking bitch! over and over.

He continues to threaten that I’d better not take any more classes after this semester. One night as I was getting ready to leave, he blocked my way and wouldn’t let me go until I promised never to take any more classes. I said okay just to get out the door safely. Now he says, We made a deal and if you break it, I will break my deal about repaying your $1,500, referring to $1,500 I had before we got married which I had lent him. I guess I knew that he would find some way of sneaking out of keeping his word about that, but I feel so helpless to prevent it. He always makes sure to get what he wants and then comes up with excuses for not giving back, but I’m too afraid not to give him what he wants. It’s incredible to live like this. Still, when things aren’t hell for an hour or a day, I think, It’s not so bad, and hope that things will change for the better.

It’s evening now and Mike wants sex. I came up to bed, and he followed, threatening and calling me frigid. He told me I ought to be glad he still wants to touch me. Does he think I should be glad that he wants to touch me whenever and however it suits him, with no regard for my needs or wants? Almost ten years of so little love and affection, of so much rejection and hurt, and I should be grateful? It really embarrasses me to think of all the years I’ve begged him, actually begged him in tears to please hug me, and he’d respond with contempt and disgust.

Why am I still here? I wish I really understood. What seems to make sense is that I am used to being hurt, intimidated, and frightened, and it has come to feel comfortable. So, how do I make it ‘uncomfortable’ so I will stop tolerating so much deprivation and pain and fear? Why am I still here and still taking it?

Saturday, 12/10/88 

Mike has been threatening to leave. The first clear-cut threat was the night of my birthday. It was a terrible birthday, very depressing and lonely for me. I guess I didn’t write yet about what I asked for but didn’t get: that Mike go for help.

After Sandy and Donald were in bed, Mike started lecturing me, warning that he will move out, adding gently, but they’ll always be my children. I felt sick to my stomach. He has as little as possible to do with them, doesn’t talk to them, listen to them, or take care of them, except in front of other people, but they’ll always be his children. He’d probably love the freedom of being single again, which is what I think he’s really wanted ever since he insisted I move in with him all those years ago. At the same time, he’d feel completely blameless, because he thinks he’s been a decent husband and father all these years.

I wrote Mike a note suggesting that we go for marriage counseling. I included the telephone number of a local program for men, but I didn’t say that it was for abusers. He ignored my note, and again threatened to leave. At least I didn’t break down and cry and beg him not to go. I wish

I weren’t so intimidated by him, because it felt good not to be reduced to sniveling, scared child-like behavior this time.

Saturday, 12/24/88 

Mike gets me so sick. On Thursday, he went straight from work to dinner and then a basketball game, and didn’t come home until nearly midnight. On Friday, he again went straight from work to dinner and drinks, again until midnight. I hadn’t been feeling well, and I guess I shouldn’t have told him, because he responded by screaming over and over, You bitch! You crazy witch! I hate him!

I am also mad that he takes it for granted that he can go out whenever he likes, for as long as he likes, while I get punished for going anywhere that he hasn’t told me to go. I feel like a prisoner. When I tried reasoning with him about how unfair it is, he said, You’re not going to convince me of anything! When I attempted to point out that he depends on my being home so that he can go out, he screamed, You’d better not be threatening me, because you’ll be sorry! Am I going to give in on this? It’s horrible! What kind of marriage is this? I do what he wants, or else.

Sunday, 12/25/88 

It’s really unbelievable. Before, as I was putting away the dishes, Mike suddenly bellowed, Then I’ll do whatever I want today! I was very afraid and went to calm him down. When I asked what was wrong, he accused me of deliberately ignoring him and refusing to answer his question. I simply hadn’t heard him, but he launched into an angry lecture about how I knew very well what he asked, and that I had cracked, and I’d better watch it because he didn’t like the way I was acting and the look on my face. These are some of the excuses he uses to punish me when I haven’t done anything wrong.

It’s Sunday evening now, and I feel totally drained. It’s such an effort to write and seems like a waste of