I grew up in a large family, the first girl after five boys. My father was stern and controlling, my mother timid and meek. My father had grown up in an orphanage, and I don't think he ever learned how to give and receive affection. At the age of 4, I was sexually molested by a stranger, when I was left in the car while my parents shopped. I grew up feeling ugly, fat, and unlovable.
At 18, I married the first boy I had ever really dated. Mike had grown up with an abusive, alcoholic father, and had lost his mother to cancer. I felt compassion for his hurts, and enjoying the male attention, thought I was �in love.� I had become a Christian when I was 12, but was no longer paying much attention to God. Mike said he never understood all that �Bible stuff,� but didn't mind if I went to church. I quit reading my Bible and praying, and soon quit going to church.
The first year we were married, Mike never was physically abusive, but was emotionally abusive. At 5�8�, 140 pounds, he told me I was too fat. He watched porno movies and looked at porno magazines; I never could measure up to his sexual fantasies. He began to stay out all night after his 4 P.M. to midnight shift at work, and it soon became apparent that there were other women.
While pregnant with our first/only child, was the first time he hit me. He was so sorry afterward, I just knew it would never happen again. After all, I couldn't leave him, how would I raise a child on my own?
When the baby was born, Mike failed to show up at the hospital. The next day, he didn't answer the phone at home. I called him at work that evening and was mistaken for his girlfriend by the person who answered the phone. He told "her" to leave Mike alone, �because his wife just had a baby.� When the nurse found me crying later, she told me that postpartum �blues� were normal, and would go away with time. I was too ashamed to tell anyone the truth.
Once after he'd beaten me, and left for the night, I swallowed every Tylenol, aspirin, or pills of any kind I could find in the house. I just wanted to die. He unexpectedly came home early that night, saw what I had done, and gagged me with his finger until I threw up all the pills. Then he beat me for trying to kill myself.
He turned to other men to satisfy his lustful cravings, once even insisting that I have sex with one of his bisexual friends to learn to be a better sexual partner to him. Thankfully, Mike's friend was a kind and gentle man, and didn't take advantage of the situation, but held me all night while I cried off and on and finally fell asleep.
Out of fear and dependency, and a sense of honor to my vows of �till death do us part�. I continued living in this nightmare for ten years. I must have left Mike four or five times over the years, but I always went back because I believed he �loved me and needed me.� I suffered a broken arm, I don't know how many bruises, caught an STD from him, and gained one hundred pounds from stress and depression.
Soon after the episode with the other man, my one friend invited me to church with her, and Mike permitted me to go. (I only had one friend, because Mike wouldn't allow me to talk or visit with anyone).
There I was reminded that my Heavenly Father loved me so much that He sent His only Son to die for my sins. I began to seek God, by reading my Bible and praying. I soon realized that my kind, loving Heavenly Father could not have wanted me to suffer like this. I don't believe that He ever intends for any of His children to be abused.
I found an apartment, and my friend called on some of her friends to help me move. They sneaked me out one night while Mike was working. I hid my car, so he couldn't come after me. I was so terrified. He had threatened many times to kill me if I ever left him, and I knew he meant it.
Two days later, I was to meet him to give him his credit card and car keys. He bought a gun that morning, planning to use it to kill me when I came to the house. (He told me later). I was two hours late, and by that time he had shot himself in the head, but was still alive. I thought it was a trick, so I went and got a policeman to go into the house. He was transported by helicopter to a major university hospital where he would spend six months recovering. Ironically, I was among those investigated for attempted murder.
When he was released from the hospital he was getting regular counseling and meeting with a pastor once a week to discuss spiritual matters. He continually begged me to take him back. Then, three months after his release from the hospital, I got a call that he had been in an auto accident, and was killed instantly. I was sad, and felt a sense of loss. The father of my child was dead, but I thanked God that I could finally live free from fear. Does that sound callous to you?
Released from Bondage,
Tracy
