Part III : My New Home

Where do we go from here?  I will tell you.  It is the rule of thumb to not disclose the location of battered women's shelters, but because this one no longer exists, I will.  The picture that you see on this page was the shelter where the boys and I spent the next 9  months of our lives.  It was demolished not too long ago. I cried upon hearing the news, as this building is the place where I began my "new life".

I never imagined that I would live in a place like this.  It was a very beautiful, old, histiric building, but the people inside were like aliens to me. And so were the giant cockroaches and mice that lived under my bed and gnawed into my plastic bins of hidden food.   (No fault of the facility, an inevitable situation simply because of the age of the building and it's location.)

 Let me backtrack.  Before we came here, we spent a week in another shelter in NJ.  It was very structured, educational, and quiet.  All residents were required to participate in classes to help deal with the issues of domestic violence, parenting, and  empowerment.  Many were college educated.  This was good, but the staff was not big on mental health, which was becoming a problem  area for me and the boys more and more each day. We were thrown out soon after my oldest son started having violent tantrums, and, rather than help me find resources to help him, they tossed us out on the street.

A family member made some calls and found this place.  The staff was very kind and understanding.  We were quickly taken in and assigned a room with another woman and her 2 year old son.  She stunk of booze and beat her son with a belt on his neck as my kids looked on. Wait.  What?   Within a week I reported her to the staff and asked for a room change.  I came her to get AWAY from  violence, not see more.  Another woman was screaming  at her 5 year old daughter to clean up the mess she made as the crying child vomited on the hallway floor.  "WTF is WRONG with these people?"   I asked myself on a daily basis.  There was a television in the huge cafeteria where all residents ate with their children.  These women were watching Lifetime movies and other programs during breakfast which contained more violence than I had seen in my home.  I spoke up one day and asked these women why they were permitting their children to view /be exposed to such content.  I was immediately cursed at and told to mind my own business.  The previous shelter was very strict about what children were permitted to watch on television.  Even "MTV" was out of the question.  Physical punishment was also not permitted.  I approached the director about my concerns about the lack of education, and, although most of these women were uneducated and poor with no parenting skills whatsoever, I was shocked to hear the "reason" why.  The state was not allowed to make any type of education or support mandatory to clients. (Logic???)  This, to me, sent these women a message that said, "Leave the same way you come in, and  jump right back into another abusive relationship, which is usually the case when no education is provided.  Having a background in counseling and Psychology, (although non in the field of Domestic Violence), it just didn't make any sense to me.  Once I was back on my own medications, I began to have a clear head, and understand more about what had happened to me as well.  When someone flushes your meds down the toilet and tries to brainwash you into thinking you don't need them, and takes the battery out of your car so you can't see the doctor (I could go on and on)...this usually means something.  "I don't want my wife to have a clear head, because then she'll wake up and realize that I am a psycho and leave me. And I need to keep her sick so she will depend on me...).  Yup.  My husband was abusive, but he wasn't stupid.  He knew exactly what he was doing.  His parents just enabled his abuse, making excuses for his anger and  calling me a nag. Because I should just sit around, be submissive, and not say a word as he bullies me and berates me constantly, puts my head through walls, throws me out of moving cars, and knocks my teeth out.  Be a submissive, Christian woman. This guy was a charmer, a liar, and a narcissist.  His parents believed him, no matter what he said.  To this day, I'm the bad guy, and I'm the liar, and I'm the problem.   There's  nothing wrong with him.  Looking back and knowing what I know now,  I know that the man is clearly insane. The violence.  The narrow thinking and inability to see another's point of view.  The controlling behavior.  He is an untreated Schizophrenic, Narcissistic, Sociopathic nutcase.   Of course he is, because "Therapy is useless"  (words of my father-in-law) and "We don't believe in it."  Talk about doing a disservice to your child.

Getting back to  my son, he was getting worse by the minute.  Ever since he was a baby, he would hit himself in the head with his fists when he became frustrated.  Of course, nobody else thought this odd.  His violent outbursts were horrifying.  He was hearing voices that instructed him to kill me, staff, and his brother.  He threatened to cut me up with a chainsaw and throw me into a desert mineshaft. He was hitting himself in the head more than ever.  A case manager who took a liking to my family and helped us out above and beyond her duty suggested that he had Autism.  I told her she was nuts.  Autism to me was 'Rainman", and I had never even heard of Aspergers Syndrome or the "Autism Spectrum".  After an outburst in which it took three staff members to actually restrain him, I was told that if I didn't admit him to a psychiatric hospital, we would be asked to leave as my son was becoming a danger to other children in the facility.  I didn't know they had psych hospitals for children, and immediately said "No way."  I was terrified of what might happen in a "place like that".  Who would bathe him?  Who would read him a story?  Well, eventually I had no choice, and did what they suggested.  This changed everything.  My son was diagnosed with ADHD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Aspergers Syndrome...also possible Schizophrenia.  My husband did nearly kill me a few times  for leaving the microwave plugged in.  (The oven was allowing the government to send us subliminal messages and doing mind control to overtake our minds.)  And he believed this SOBER!  Later on, my youngest was also diagnosed, with PTSD, ADHD, Anxiety, and OCD, same as me,  diagnosed 20 years prior.  Lovely.  The diagnosis of my children made my Depression increase, but I held on and remained stable for the sake of my children.  Of course I blamed myself for the hereditary aspect, and beat myself up constantly.  Even while learning that much of this also came from my husband,  didn't make me feel any better.  But I couldn't give up, and took all the suggestions I was given.  The staff at the shelter gave me resources and got my boys into a therapeutic preschool.  They found me a therapist and a Dr.  My kids were both medicated, against my better judgement because of their age and my denial...  Today I am gratetful for those staff that went out of their way to give me so much support.  I would never have known about  the boys  mental health issues and probably would have went off the deep end.

Meanwhile,  I was still chased with broomsticks, stolen from, and pushed around by other residents...but learned quickly to adapt to the environment.  I was the only white woman in the place most of the time.  I grew up in an affluent area and went to a mixed school.  Nobody was a racist where I came from.  I thought that stuff went out in the 60s.  But here, many of the women were racist and disliked me for no reason.  One called my youngest a "white, blue eyed devil.  (His eyes are brown).    In any event, I  wasn't taking any shit , and never showed fear.  They eventually backed off, fearing that I was more crazy than they were.

 This was going to be a bumpy ride, but never as bad as I would have imagined.  After all, I was free, right?  I was in for a big surprise on that one!!!

So how did I survive, financially, socially, and mentally?  Keep following and share if you will.   There was still a light at the end of the tunnel, I just had to find it.

After my personal story, I will continue with some very important information that will cover issues about Domestic Violence and it's complexities in general, from educational and well researched sources.  The facts that most are unaware of .

Women Against Abuse Shelter in West Philadelphia, Winter of 2004:

Part II: The Leaving

In my last post, you probably remember reading that I had put up with abuse for 4 years of my marriage, and are probably wondering why.

 Let me start off by saying that if you know me well, or have known me since childhood as some of you do, then you know that I kind of have always been very independent.  I left home for personal reasons in the ninth grade and have worked hard and supported myself all of my life.   I have never been one to take any crap from anyone, especially a guy.  If you told me you didn't like what color pants I was wearing, I'd tell you not to to look, plain and simple.   I was smart, strong, and streetwise,  I also had a college degree in Criminal Law and worked for the school district.  I was a well known bartender in town, and knew all of the bouncers.  Lets not forget the boatload of people that I knew from working "back East" in Philadelphia.  I was a South Philly bartender, worked in most of the clubs, down the shore in the summers, and knew just about everyone. Everyone I knew was either a cop or someone who was running from the cops. I had all the "connections" I needed.  Could it still happen to me?  Yes, it could.

If you read my last entry, you saw the last words spoken on the day that I left.  "When I get back, I'm going to kick your ass right here in front of your kids, and the neighbors, and I don't care who sees."  Well, I wasn't going to wait around for an ass kicking, so I took the full ten minutes that I had to get the hell out of dodge.  I grabbed birth certificates, photo album, and jackets.  I took my boys and, looking like something out of a Lifetime movie, ran as fast as I could down the street.  I got around the corner and phoned a friend from work.  She picked me up and brought me to the train station in Denver, Co.  While waiting for the next train back to Philly, I took the kids to Chilis for a bite to eat.  That was mistake #1.  My husband and I had a joint bank account, so of course he traced my last transaction to the restaurant, which was right next to the train station, and not only did he know where I was, but immediately closed the account.  With no money, I had to call my parents, who charged train tickets for me.  We boarded the train for a two and a half day trip back to Philly.  At each stop my heart pounded for fear that my husband would have somehow beat me to it, and be there waiting for me.  We ducked under seats and hid in bathrooms throughout the entire trip.  My kids were whining and carrying on as we had nothing to eat and of course, being suddenly pulled out of their familiar environment, although not a good one,  added to each of our anxieties.  A kind man handed me twenty dollars and told me to get my children something to eat. Fighting to stifle tears of humiliation, I did. One woman yelled at me:  "I'm sick of you and  your children!!!  You need to correct them before you go on vacation!"  I wanted to punch her in the face.  Yeah, I'm going to Disneyland, bitch, I muttered to myself.  At the same time, in a way, I felt like my destination was better than Disneyland.  I was free.  Going home, with my family, with all of the support I needed to get back on my feet.  That kind of thinking was mistake #2.

My aunt from the city picked us up from the train station and no sooner did we get to her South Philly home did the phone calls start coming in.  My mother in law threatened that I'd be arrested for kidnapping and my husband threatened to come to Philly and kill me. I believed him. He knew where they lived, and was a total psycho.  We went to my parent's house in NJ that night, and soon after going to sleep and feeling somewhat safe, the inevitable happened.  More threats, and now sheriffs shining lights into my elderly parent's windows at 3am, in the quiet retirement development in which they lived.  Now he was going to kill my parents.  Thank God my brother was Chief of the local fire department, and although small, the connection led the sheriffs to leave us alone.  But where to go from there???  

Part I: Introduction * The Last Day*

 I am not looking for sympathy, warm fuzzies, or hugs.  I want to share my story in an effort to educate people about the subject of domestic violence and hopefully let others know that they are not alone, and, although it is not easy, there is always a way out. I don't know why I find it so difficult to write this and have tried many times before. If it sucks, oh well. I suppose the fact that October is "Domestic Violence Awareness" month has reminded me that I need to.  Oh yeah, and my therapist has been telling me to do it for quite some time now.  So here goes. I will add a little more to each blog post, so please follow, and share if you wish!  :)

"I don't give a shit what Mommy says.  I'M running the show here, not her!."  (What he said when toys were on the floor as he walked in from work and the boys said, "Mommy said we could play.")

"Nobody is gonna tell me there's anything wrong with MY kid."  (What he said when I suggested having our first son evaluated because he repeatedly hit himself in the head at the age of 9 months)

"Here, ya want me to do that for you?"  (What he said while hitting my son in the head when above action occurred.)

"Shut up, you fucking little punk brat"  (What he said when he slammed my son into the wall and hit him in the face.)

"When I get back I'll kick your fucking ass right here in front of your kids, and the neighbors, and I don't care who sees" (What he said before he took my car and went to the store for cigarettes.)

 "You ever touch my son again like that and you'll never see me or them again,"  (What I said the last time I saw him,)

 Noah was four, and Daniel was two. I was married to this man for 4 years, and lived with this almost every day.  Me, Miss Independent, was in an abusive marriage.  The one who, in the past, had advised many a friend in the same situation:  "Just leave."
Sounds easy, right?  Of course, it's very simple.  And we stay because "We like it."  At least that's what I've heard.  There is a lot of ignorance floating around out there about domestic violence.  The biggest piece is that "just leaving" is easy.  Stay tuned, follow my blog and read the rest of my story.  What you read here might surprise you.  What you share may save a life.  :)