|
 |
| I feel I should mention that at the same time I was dealing with the trauma of getting burned, I was also becoming a domestic violence victim. I knew before the explosion that my husband had a tendency to drink too much. What I didn't know was how deeply he was involved with drugs. I thought he earned his living from driving his log truck. As it turns out he was and is one of the major drug dealers in my home town. I didn't find out till he brought his "work" home with him one day. I guess he thought I wouldn't care. Or maybe he figured I wouldn't leave. After all, I was covered with scars and looked like a skeleton at a 100 pounds or so. Who else would have me? We argued constantly about his drugs. The abuse started out with little things. Leaving me home all day with my 5 year old son knowing I couldn't cook for us, verbal abuse, or sometimes he would come in at 2 or 3 in the morning, I would be up reading, and whether I said anything or not, he would knock the book out of my hands, drag me to my feet, and sling me around by the collar of whatever I was wearing. I've learned since then that there is a psychological term for people who've done wrong that act that way. It wasn't long before the abuse became worse. He never doubled up his fists and hit me. He would just put his gun to my head and threaten to shoot me. Or he would verbally abuse the kids knowing that would upset me. I left him several times. But always went back thinking he would keep his word and treat us right. And by that time I was convinced I would always be alone if I didn't stay with him. During all of this, I wanted to be dead. But as time went on, I wanted other people to be dead also. My mother in law who thought I deserved the abuse from her son, the people in the drug business with him, and I wanted my husband and his girlfriend dead too. I planned everything out and had a list of everyone, including myself, who were going to die. I left him and went to the town where I graduated and where my father lives. By this time, I could do everything for myself and didn't care if anyone wanted me or not. I had to get away. I got on my feet after my disability checks started, and began thinking about going back to school. After about 3 months my husband showed up with his promises and I believed him once again. I thought if we stayed away from my home town, our problems would go away, so I let him move in. They didn't. Things were good for about 2 weeks. Then the abuse started again. I found out he had stored something you use to make crank with in the kids closet. Whatever it was had flammable stickers and warnings all over it. When I found it, I asked a friend what it could possibly be for. When my friend told me it was an ingredient used to make crank, my husband and I had a huge fight. After a few months of his drugs, drinking and continual verbal and physical abuse, I tried to kill myself with some pills. Then I tried again. And again. I was too chicken to do it with a gun. I started to think more and more about the plans I had made, and the list of people to kill. My mom came to visit and I opened up to her. She didn't know about my homicidal thoughts or my suicide attempts. She made me give her my pistol, and convinced me that I needed to check myself into a mental unit. She helped me locate one that would take me, and I checked myself in. My husband didn't want me to get help even though he was fully aware of my suicidal and homicidal thoughts. I don't think he comprehended just how close he was to death, or maybe he had a death wish. I decided to check myself in regardless of what he wanted. That's when my journey to becoming a SURVIVOR began. |
 |
         |
 |
 |