“Abuse Me!”

“Do I have a sign on my forehead that says, ‘Abuse me?’” she asked.

In a sense, she did. Her actions, her body language, and her words betrayed that in her deepest self she was accustomed to the role of victim.

She had been married 40 years to a husband who abused her sexually, physically, and emotionally. He told her she was incompetent, laughed at her decisions, and belittled her. Though she was successful in her job, he denigrated her accomplishments both at home and at work.

He controlled everything: the clothes on her back, the handbags she carried, the length of her fingernails, the height of her hair, and her weight. He took her paycheck and decorated the house in his taste, not hers. When he gave her money to buy clothes for the children, he demanded sex in return.

This woman’s religion does not allow divorce, so she lived with him, bearing his abuse, until she began receiving social security. At age 65 she moved halfway across the country to get away from him.

Using her social security income, she moved into a small subsidized apartment in Central Texas. Though her money was tight, she managed.

She bought a used car and began to maintain it. Each step she took, his voice of derision resounded inside her. She learned to take action anyway, and with each risk, each success, she replaced his words with her own experience of accomplishment.

He begged her to return to him. He sent flowery holiday cards that repulsed her with their insincerity. She cut up the cards and pasted them into a homemade card of her own that put her memories of abuse alongside the platitudes of the cards. She sent the cards to him; he stopped sending cards.

Her grown children criticized her decision to separate from her husband, their father. It was years before she could convince them that she wouldn’t return to visit them and their children until she could be sure they wouldn’t force her to see her husband.

This woman had chosen to move to Texas to be near to other family members. One day she came in with the question: “Do I have a sign on my forehead that says, ‘Abuse me.’” She had figured out that a family member was using abusive words and actions in an attempt to control her. Once she identified the pattern, she was able to change the relationship.

She continues to live in her cozy apartment beautifully decorated on a shoestring. Though they are still married, she has not seen her husband. She reports that she enjoys life now, especially hanging out at her the pool, reading, cooking, and taking on projects to improve her home. She is no longer abused because she just won’t tolerate it.

Written by HCWC counselor about a HCWC client, age 65

Don’t Ask Why

If you ever walked a day in her shoes,

If you ever suffered the perpetual and insurmountable pain and anguish of having your children deceitfully and maliciously ripped from your heart and isolated from you,

If you ever had to cry yourself to sleep night after night over the once-in-a-lifetime events and childhood experiences that were so selfishly stolen from you,

If you ever experienced the guilt and helplessness of wondering what you could have done differently, what more you could have done,

If you ever watched your most trusted and cherished friends and family suddenly abandon you and incomprehensibly not only condone but contribute to your injustice,

If you ever looked in the mirror and wondered what happened to the innocent, trusting, happy person with hopes and dreams who used to occupy this brittle, empty shell,

If you ever walked a day in her shoes,

You would never, ever again ask

“Why does she stay?”

Written April 24, 2008
By HCWC client, age 53

Point and Counterpoint

The bitterness and frustration weigh heavily

Bringing me to the point of lethargy.

I long for the fulfillment of music

But it does not grow within.

It will not even wither and die.

It only lies dormant, waiting.

Waiting to be born –

For a birth that will never come.

I feel the warmth of encircling arms,

The strength of someone on which to lean.

Yet there is only emptiness.

The times of sharing are past.

I stand alone.

I curse the very strength for which I am admired.

I am tired.

I want to lie down and rest.

The face returns – ever turning, changing.

It will not settle for there is no foundation

Or it is buried too deeply to be found.

The truth does not set me free;

It binds me deeper to myself.

More layers are added and I sink deeper.

The sun shines only on the outside;

Even the moon is a dark one.

Laughter fills empty space

And always before me is that taunting face.

Words fall on empty ears.

There is no power to express

The overwhelming spiraling depth –

The agony without the ecstasy.

But tomorrow there will be the smiles,

The idle chatter of an over-full mind.

And no one will ever really know

The void they cover.

I will not let them see.

A portion perhaps, but never the whole.

Never! It is not acceptable.

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?

Because I have shut the door

And only I possess the key.

Written by Sharon, Age 41

Private. Keep Out. Abuse in Progress.

Among the locals there were stories of a naked woman wandering on rural ranch land, far from a house, far from the nearest town, and far from the state of Texas. It was a joke among the locals, but not to her. Not only was she being abused, but people in the community knew of the abuse and did nothing about it.

This woman’s married life had been a dramatic saga of victimization. It was her husband who stripped her naked and dropped her off in the middle of vast prairie, leaving her to pick her way back to their ranch home. For years he isolated, tortured and terrorized her. No form of abuse was off limits: physical, sexual, emotional, financial, verbal, and psychological. She served as his constant target. He fathered a child with her, then abused them both.

Her husband knew she wanted to leave the ranch. To keep her trapped, he took the batteries out of ranch vehicles, hid the saddles and reigns for the horses, destroyed the bicycle, and told the mail carrier not to stop because she was “crazy”. Once, the mail carrier veered around her as she stood in the road, waving her hands in the air to stop him. When she was occasionally allowed to go to town, she had to go alone to ensure that she’d return for her child. Finally she did leave—alone. She still grieves for the abuse her 3-year-old child endured as a result of her decision.

This woman--alone and homeless and damaged from years of abuse--contacted a local women’s center for help. She had no money, no place to live, no possessions, no friends, or family, no job, and no will to live. She received housing, counseling, and legal support for efforts to regain custody and get a divorce. Even though she worked through the legal system, and even though her husband’s abuse history was well known in the community, still the court awarded custody to him. He continued to abuse the child.

Her husband died before the divorce was final, and the courts then required her to let their child visit her husband’s relatives. There the child was again abused.

Eventually, she moved to Texas, far from the scenes of her degradation.

Though her husband is now dead, his multitudes of abuse remain in her, as her. “I just want to make it go away,” she says.

Not likely.

Healing from severe abuse and learning to create a healthy life for herself and her little family—well, it’s a huge challenge. She inherited some money after her husband’s death and used it to buy a house. She never wants to be homeless again.

Recently she received two boxes stuffed with documents that represent years of past legal efforts to regain her child. The papers bring back old emotions, including grief for the loss of everyday moments she expected to share with her young child

Today, this family is actively involved in the work of recovery. At age 42, Mom is in college, on her way to a degree. She and her child have long attended individual and group counseling. Many days she fights her way through depression; she fights on behalf of her child. On one level she knows she cannot make the past go away, but works to heal massive old wounds. In daily life with her family, she’s struggles to look forward rather than back.

Written by HCWC counselor about an HCWC client, Age 42