Emotional Abuse

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From their web site:
RAINN operates the National Sexual Assault Online Hotline (OHL), recipient of the Technology Innovation Award from Npower for the best use of technology by a nonprofit. We propose to help more victims of rape by expanding the OHL to provide Spanish-language services.

Although my opinion is deeply biased, I believe it is valid. I used to consider myself lucky for not being beaten half to death, like so many other women, but was I lucky, really?
I never had to go to the emergency room, or have a doctor look at injuries inflicted upon me by my spouse, and I am thankful for that; although I was physically assaulted by my second husband. But that's not what I want to talk about...
Both my first two husbands were emotionally cruel people. At least to me they were. Everyone else thought they were great guys.
I took an emotional beating from them daily. But those beatings were barely visible to those who knew me best. My mother suspected something was wrong, but couldn't put her finger on it; she still says, that during this time she didn't recognize me as her daughter. That is to say that I had changed from a head-strong young woman to a submissive waif.
I'll admit that while married to my first husband, thoughts of suicide plagued me. I remember a night, after getting an ear full on the telephone, running to a payphone, in the rain, to call my brother. I sobbed to him about how life just wasn't worth living anymore; how I was a miserable excuse for a human being.
Thankfully, I had a brand new baby that I was completely in love with, and did not want to miss him growing up.

My first husband didn't have to hit me to control me; his voice was enough. I was scared to death of him and all he had to do was open his mouth. It was my son who inspired me to leave that marriage.
One morning, while his dad was screaming at me, my toddler marched up to this man who scared me silly, and he began pounding his little fists on his dad's legs and yelling at him to stop yelling at his mommy.
I was floored by this little boy's courage where I had none. That's when I made the decision to leave.

Abuse in any form is all about control. Isn't it interesting that when a man becomes violent he claims to have lost control. I disagree; it is at that exact point that he is exerting his control.

Psychological abuse is a precursor to physical abuse, but does not necessarily lead to violence. All women who have been physically abused have been psychologically abused, but it isn't necessarily true that all emotionally abused women have been beaten. Violence will usually only occur when control isn't achieved any other way.
By the time I exited my first marriage, I had no idea who I was, outside of being a little boy's mother. I had no confidence, no esteem, and my self-image was in the toilet too. I had become convinced that I was as worthless as my ex had always told me I was.
The best way for an abuser to maintain control is to keep the abused off balance. I call this Crazy-making.
Unfounded Accusations
Deception
Denial of words and events
Name calling
Public humiliation
Belittling
By the end, it is a wonder any woman survives this treatment. Make no mistake... this is very damaging to the receiver of this type of treatment. Children experience this kind of thing at the hands of adults. One of the most difficult things to come to grips with while going through this type of abuse is the acceptance that it is abuse. First the victim must accept that she is being abused, then those around her need to be aware of it too. The latter being the hardest part. Psychological abuse leaves no visible marks. The scars run very deep, but cannot be seen on the surface.
Countless women, yours truly included, do not consider themselves abused unless they are physically assaulted by their partner or parent. I had no idea that I was being abused until I got into a support group. I believed every awful thing I was ever told about myself.

Mr. President, I say that one must look back to learn for the future.

My life is a good one, now that I can say that I learned valuable lessons from the past. 'Fool me once...' they say. After my first escape, I didn't take the time required to reflect on what I'd just gotten away from. Instead, I ran head-long into another bad situation. You see, I hadn't yet learned that I had value, and that I need not look to others for approval. I believed my ex. So, I allowed myself to be swept off my feet by a real smooth talker. I allowed my insecurities to get the better of me and jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
As an added bonus, Prince Charming wasn't afraid to hit.
He didn't get physical very often, because, in my opinion, I think he thought I could kick his ass. I have always been tall, and sturdy. I am physically quite strong, and can hold my own. He was a biter.

Prince Charming was a picky eater too. If he didn't like the look of what was placed in front of him, he'd been know to throw it across the room. Fortunately, I didn't loose any dishes, but I did spend a lot of time cleaning up the floor.

I was back to feeling completely worthless in no time at all.

I would get up early each morning to give myself a chance to wake up. I'd drink several cups of coffee, while working on a crewel project. By early, I'd be out of bed by 3:30 A.M. to get ready for work at 5:00. Most mornings, I'd wake up alone, except for my two-year-old, sleeping in the next room.

Most mornings, I had gotten only three or four hours of sleep the night before; I'd spend most of the night pacing.

My husband got off work at 10 P.M. but didn't typically get home before I had to leave for work at 4:30 A.M.. I wasn't afraid of him being in an accident. I wasn't really afraid of him being in jail. (A little voice inside my head told me that he was safe and sound in someone else's bed.) What I was afraid of was being late for work.

I could not afford to lose my job; I had already decided to leave him. I needed to find a second job and someone to watch my boy, while I worked.

I longed for my lost love to come and rescue me from this drudgery.

When he'd finally come in the door, I was out it just as fast. I'd work my shift until 3:00 P.M., pick up my boy and go look for an apartment. By the time I'd returned home, he would be gone to work. Whew! An evening alone with my son. After I put my son to bed, the whole process would repeat.

Deep down, I didn't mind his absence. It meant no yelling or fighting. However, knowing that he was out drinking and sleeping around didn't please me about his not being home. I had reached my breaking point. I could not take living this way any longer.

He begged me for a second chance and this is how he uses it? It didn't take him two weeks to go back to the behavior that he demonstrated while I was pregnant. I've given him a long enough leash. It's time to walk away. It's past time to walk away. I must rescue myself, if Trampus will not return.

How it all started
How it is ending

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