working on my book...

I'm writing a memoir. I try to not feel overwhelmed by it. It is a huge undertaking to get all the details right and in order. Thought I'd post a little tidbit and see if I get any feedback! I have a lot done - approximately 100 pages, but have SO much more to write. So, here is a teaser (names have been changed!):

I stepped out of Barnes and Noble, clutching my package close. The rain was coming down in a steady drizzle and I stepped lightly through the puddles, taking care to not saturate my gold ballet flats. It was an overcast day, but one that filled me with optimism. This book in my arms could be what saved my marriage. Or, at the very least, might keep me safe. I hopped in the car and threw my purse to the other seat, scrambling to open my package. I flipped open the book, and was lost in reading what seemed to be an exact account of my life the last few years. I wanted to read it all at once, but felt an even stronger pull to get home to my little girl. I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, anxious to get back home.

On the windy and rainy roads, winshield wipers swishing back and forth, my thoughts ran over the past few days. Some of the most terrifying of my life.

The house was dark as I raced up the thick carpeted stairs, tripping over myself, feeling his rage envelope me, pulling me back from behind. I had just struggled and kicked and fought for my life to get away from him as he threw me against the walls, to the floor, and through the metal baby gate. Secured with screws to the wall at the top of the staircase it broke away as my body sailed though it, as if it was simply leaning there. I threw it behind me, trying to slow my husband, the stumbling drunk rushing up after me and ran as fast as I could up the next set of stairs. He’s going to kill me he’s going to kill me Gracie won’t have a mommy repeating in my head, I made it to my bedroom, my baby in the next room. Slammed the door shut, and locked it. My lungs struggled to take a deep breath as my heart beat faster than air could come in. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and I was rattling inside my skin. Thoughts of his gun in the closet already filled with bullets swirled in my mind with all the ways I was trying to figure out how to get away from this.

I heard the lock being opened, and in what seemed like slow motion he flew into the bedroom radiating hatred and rage.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BITCH! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

I heard Gracie start to cry. “I will I will, just let me get the baby and I’ll leave, I’ll do whatever you want I promise”, I pleaded, crying, terrified. “YOU’RE NOT TAKING HER ANYWHERE! GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE NOW!” The eyes of a person I did not know ripped through me as he charged across the room. Sobbing, my mind racing as I tried to survive this assault, I started apologizing. Apologizing for making him angry, for whatever reason he felt would justify slamming me against the walls, throwing me to the ground, slapping me, controlling me, I apologized. Kept on saying I was sorry, that I wouldn’t do it again. Just let me get the baby. Nothing calmed him down, so I changed tactics, said I would leave, would do what he wanted and I would leave and leave the baby and do exactly what we wanted me to. I was praying desperately in my mind that the neighbors would be home and I could call 911. But it was so dark out, and scary outside our house that was in a forest. The houses were spaced so far apart but anything to keep me alive.

When I was done talking, had said all I could, he looked at me with an odd calm, and said in a level voice “I wish you hadn’t made me do that”. In that moment, as his eyes transformed back to the man I loved, the man who would never hurt me, I knew the danger had passed. Again.

I wasn’t sure how much longer I could last in this marriage, and the whole thing filled me with such sickness in my stomach. I kept myself pulled together for Gracie, wanted to be a place of safety for her and love. And joy. She was only one and a half, but was so aware of what was going on. Daddy hurting mommy. Daddy being loud and scary. Daddy throwing things. She became even more attached to me and after his episodes didn’t want to be held by him for days. It pained me to have her see all of this, but I felt caught, trapped. His threats rang in my ears over and over, “If you leave me, I will take everything from you!Gracie, money, you will have nothing. And if you take me to court, I will win. So go ahead, try and do it and see what happens!”

I needed a plan, and so that is how I ended up at therapy.

It was when I moved in with Danny that the abuse started, although I am sure there were subtleties prior to that. Once I moved in, I was on his territory, he had me. I wanted to please him, to show him how good it would be if he kept me around. I wanted to marry him. I was in love with him. That was all he needed to know to start the control. I wonder if it was something that was calculated, or if it was how he learned growing up to disrespect a woman. Whatever it was, it tore apart my self esteem and broke me down to a version of myself that was no longer whole. Everything was about placating him, making him happy and keeping him that way. If he wasn’t happy, I would pay later, and few knew about it. My sisters, my mom. I couldn’t bare to tell anyone else.