Didn't I mention this?
While answering a question regarding the deposition, it occurred to me that I must not have told you guys what happened. Although I thought I had, it makes sense that I didn't because of Walter. Anyway, he can't do me any further harm now unless he gets his gun (that a felon shouldn't even have in the first place) and shoots me in a drive by. I doubt he could pull that off, I've seen him drive. Oh well, one way or another, this is what happened on a Friday night last November.
We were watching TV and Walter got mad at something. I don't know what it was, he got angry at least once every 5 minutes and usually more often than that. He could be mad that I fell asleep because if I "didn't go out in the middle of the night", I shouldn't be falling asleep. He could have been mad because I didn't do the dishes, I left the bathroom light on, I didn't lock the door, I didn't answer him quickly enough, I fed the dogs too early, I wanted to use his phone to call my kids, I complained that my head hurt, there was a drop of coffee on the kitchen floor, I didn't want to eat anything, I didn't buy enough groceries, I didn't want to have sex or the ever amusing, "The look on your face when we had sex made me think you were grossed out." Now that I can tell him the truth, I can honestly say having sex with him DID gross me out. He never rounded the bases, he tried to go from the on-deck circle straight home without batting at all. Whatever it was, he was angry that night.
When Walter is angry, he WILL NOT BE IGNORED. I tried, Lord knows I tried. But that only made things worse. That night, after a couple of hours of arguing, I tried to do what I always do, walk away. I went to the front door and tried to leave. I had one hand on the doorknob and another hand on the chain lock but before I got them opened, I saw Walter's hand come from behind me and above me and it slammed the door. In the ensuing scuffle, whatever he did, my right hand got busted. I backed up and said, "I think you broke my hand!" He looked at me with a frightening stare and said what all abusers say, "You did it to yourself." As he said that, he grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me down to the floor. I got up, a bit dazed, and sat on the couch. I stared into space trying to figure out how to extricate myself from the situation. I knew that I would never be able to get outside so I ran to the bedroom and locked myself in there. Then, I pushed a long dresser in front of the door and the tall dresser in front of that. I listened to him bitch from outside the window for a while and eventually I fell asleep.
I spent most of that weekend in the room. When I was able to come out, I couldn't leave (or I felt as if I couldn't leave) because Walter kept saying that all of my stuff would be in the street and I would never see my dog again. By the way, he still has my dog and won't give it back to me.
He spent the weekend saying stupid things like, "If you had your Prozac you wouldn't act like this." That was BS, the only thing that Prozac does is stop me from having suicidal thoughts. But, by Tuesday morning, I was sick of being locked up so I said to Walter, "You're right, it was all my fault. Will you take me to the doctor's office to get my Prozac?" He bit and drove me to the doctor's office.
As soon as I got there, I spoke to the office manager and told her what was going on. They called the police at that time. Later on, Walter told me that he saw a sign in the waiting room that said the doctors would call the police if they suspected domestic violence. He said he had a funny feeling so he left. He was gone before the cops got there but they drove straight to his house and arrested him.
After all of this happened, I tried to leave. I went to a domestic violence shelter but I was feeling so depressed, worthless and stupid that I tried to kill myself. That led to a stay at the local nuthouse after I was taken to the hospital for a few days. When I was discharged from the nuthouse, I called the shelter to come and get me but they wouldn't let me come back. This wasn't the first time that I tried to leave, nor was it the last time I tried to leave. Once I went to a cousin's place and her crazy boyfriend was doing drugs and I was afraid of being in that atmosphere. Once I went to my sister's place but HER crazy boyfriend was a drunk who got angry when I didn't give him money. I've been beaten and beaten down by every man who ever said he loved me, from my father to my husbands, brothers and sons. I get a little nervous when I'm in the company of an angry man. One brother broke my nose when I was 15, another delivered a man punch to me in the left jaw that made me see stars. The father of my kids broke my foot, pulled me by the hair while simultaneously throwing me down a staircase which left a blood oozing bald spot on my head. My own father threw a suitcase at my head while we were on a vacation last year in a motel room. (Yes, for those keeping track, I have had 2 suitcases thrown at my head...both from behind me so I never saw them coming). When I asked my father if he did it on purpose, he said, "If I had done it on purpose you'd still be down on the floor."
At some point, I went, tail between my legs, back to Walter's house. He was quite emboldened by that. There were a few hitches, I couldn't be seen in public. I couldn't go online unless I was playing Words or he was gone and I couldn't use the phone unless it was to talk to my kids and only in front of him. I was never given my mail so I didn't even know that I had Medicaid for months because he never gave me the card when it came in the mail. When I got a box elsewhere for my mail, he wouldn't let me go to pick it up. This was all so that I didn't get served with a subpoena. He didn't want me to testify against him. I couldn't even sit out front, if I wanted to go outside, it had to be on the back porch. Eventually he moved his father into the one bedroom condo so I was sleeping on the couch. But, I had to take care of his father. Now I was taking care of 2 ungrateful nit wits.
When Walter would start yelling at me, his father would tell me to "stop making him mad". That was the dumbest thing I've ever heard because there wasn't anything a normal person could have done to keep a psychopath from getting angry.
So, after 5 months of being in Walter's place with no medical care, no friends and certainly no family support, they started getting to me to the point where I had 2 options. I could kill myself, but I couldn't do that to my daughter. The only other option was to come to this God forsaken place so here I am. I still wonder if I made the right choice.
Everything I was afraid of has happened. I have no place to stay, Walter won't give me my dog and Walter has everything I own except a suitcase full of clothes that I had with me when I went to LA to see my daughter. Unfortunately, I've lost so much weight that they don't fit me anymore. If I'm not careful, my pants fall down when I'm walking. Walking is dangerous enough for me, I don't need help from falling pants. I'm scared all of the time, I feel like shit and my face hurts from this stupid broken jaw. Other annoying things, bed bugs, drug addicts, drunks and just plain crazy people are all around me. I can't get anywhere I need to go and I feel like a jack ass.
I'm sure I've left stuff out but I think you get the gist of it all.
We were watching TV and Walter got mad at something. I don't know what it was, he got angry at least once every 5 minutes and usually more often than that. He could be mad that I fell asleep because if I "didn't go out in the middle of the night", I shouldn't be falling asleep. He could have been mad because I didn't do the dishes, I left the bathroom light on, I didn't lock the door, I didn't answer him quickly enough, I fed the dogs too early, I wanted to use his phone to call my kids, I complained that my head hurt, there was a drop of coffee on the kitchen floor, I didn't want to eat anything, I didn't buy enough groceries, I didn't want to have sex or the ever amusing, "The look on your face when we had sex made me think you were grossed out." Now that I can tell him the truth, I can honestly say having sex with him DID gross me out. He never rounded the bases, he tried to go from the on-deck circle straight home without batting at all. Whatever it was, he was angry that night.
When Walter is angry, he WILL NOT BE IGNORED. I tried, Lord knows I tried. But that only made things worse. That night, after a couple of hours of arguing, I tried to do what I always do, walk away. I went to the front door and tried to leave. I had one hand on the doorknob and another hand on the chain lock but before I got them opened, I saw Walter's hand come from behind me and above me and it slammed the door. In the ensuing scuffle, whatever he did, my right hand got busted. I backed up and said, "I think you broke my hand!" He looked at me with a frightening stare and said what all abusers say, "You did it to yourself." As he said that, he grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me down to the floor. I got up, a bit dazed, and sat on the couch. I stared into space trying to figure out how to extricate myself from the situation. I knew that I would never be able to get outside so I ran to the bedroom and locked myself in there. Then, I pushed a long dresser in front of the door and the tall dresser in front of that. I listened to him bitch from outside the window for a while and eventually I fell asleep.
I spent most of that weekend in the room. When I was able to come out, I couldn't leave (or I felt as if I couldn't leave) because Walter kept saying that all of my stuff would be in the street and I would never see my dog again. By the way, he still has my dog and won't give it back to me.
He spent the weekend saying stupid things like, "If you had your Prozac you wouldn't act like this." That was BS, the only thing that Prozac does is stop me from having suicidal thoughts. But, by Tuesday morning, I was sick of being locked up so I said to Walter, "You're right, it was all my fault. Will you take me to the doctor's office to get my Prozac?" He bit and drove me to the doctor's office.
As soon as I got there, I spoke to the office manager and told her what was going on. They called the police at that time. Later on, Walter told me that he saw a sign in the waiting room that said the doctors would call the police if they suspected domestic violence. He said he had a funny feeling so he left. He was gone before the cops got there but they drove straight to his house and arrested him.
After all of this happened, I tried to leave. I went to a domestic violence shelter but I was feeling so depressed, worthless and stupid that I tried to kill myself. That led to a stay at the local nuthouse after I was taken to the hospital for a few days. When I was discharged from the nuthouse, I called the shelter to come and get me but they wouldn't let me come back. This wasn't the first time that I tried to leave, nor was it the last time I tried to leave. Once I went to a cousin's place and her crazy boyfriend was doing drugs and I was afraid of being in that atmosphere. Once I went to my sister's place but HER crazy boyfriend was a drunk who got angry when I didn't give him money. I've been beaten and beaten down by every man who ever said he loved me, from my father to my husbands, brothers and sons. I get a little nervous when I'm in the company of an angry man. One brother broke my nose when I was 15, another delivered a man punch to me in the left jaw that made me see stars. The father of my kids broke my foot, pulled me by the hair while simultaneously throwing me down a staircase which left a blood oozing bald spot on my head. My own father threw a suitcase at my head while we were on a vacation last year in a motel room. (Yes, for those keeping track, I have had 2 suitcases thrown at my head...both from behind me so I never saw them coming). When I asked my father if he did it on purpose, he said, "If I had done it on purpose you'd still be down on the floor."
At some point, I went, tail between my legs, back to Walter's house. He was quite emboldened by that. There were a few hitches, I couldn't be seen in public. I couldn't go online unless I was playing Words or he was gone and I couldn't use the phone unless it was to talk to my kids and only in front of him. I was never given my mail so I didn't even know that I had Medicaid for months because he never gave me the card when it came in the mail. When I got a box elsewhere for my mail, he wouldn't let me go to pick it up. This was all so that I didn't get served with a subpoena. He didn't want me to testify against him. I couldn't even sit out front, if I wanted to go outside, it had to be on the back porch. Eventually he moved his father into the one bedroom condo so I was sleeping on the couch. But, I had to take care of his father. Now I was taking care of 2 ungrateful nit wits.
When Walter would start yelling at me, his father would tell me to "stop making him mad". That was the dumbest thing I've ever heard because there wasn't anything a normal person could have done to keep a psychopath from getting angry.
So, after 5 months of being in Walter's place with no medical care, no friends and certainly no family support, they started getting to me to the point where I had 2 options. I could kill myself, but I couldn't do that to my daughter. The only other option was to come to this God forsaken place so here I am. I still wonder if I made the right choice.
Everything I was afraid of has happened. I have no place to stay, Walter won't give me my dog and Walter has everything I own except a suitcase full of clothes that I had with me when I went to LA to see my daughter. Unfortunately, I've lost so much weight that they don't fit me anymore. If I'm not careful, my pants fall down when I'm walking. Walking is dangerous enough for me, I don't need help from falling pants. I'm scared all of the time, I feel like shit and my face hurts from this stupid broken jaw. Other annoying things, bed bugs, drug addicts, drunks and just plain crazy people are all around me. I can't get anywhere I need to go and I feel like a jack ass.
I'm sure I've left stuff out but I think you get the gist of it all.
posted by Meg Kelso | 2:56 AM
1 Comments:
Can you say personality disorder.
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