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???
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???
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