Pink Flags

It was an ordinary day. All four children were in bed pretending to sleep. My husband was screaming at me. I was numb to it. I had quit trying to defend myself from his perceived slights years ago. It had never helped anyway. It was just part of the daily routine now. His face cranberry red, fists balled and cocked as though he was seconds away from delivering a swift right hook, spittle caught on his lips and flying onto my face every few minutes. An ordinary day. This time it was because I had gone grocery shopping: peanut butter & jelly, milk, eggs, frozen chicken breasts, frozen green beans, bacon, bread, kool-aid packets, diapers, and sugar. It was enough to feed the kids for the week if I skipped breakfast and lunch every day. He told me yesterday that I could go to the store and spend $100, but I ran out of time and didn't get to go until this afternoon.

This was clearly a Violation of His Trust. If he couldn't count on me to go when he told me to, how could he trust anything from me? He screamed about this for over two hours. Then we got to the receipt. Bacon? BACON? THAT WASN'T ON THE LIST! It didn't matter that I had spent less than $100 - he hadn't told me that I could buy it. And KOOL-AID? God-fucking-damnit - KOOL-AID? Why was I trying to spoil the children? They can learn to drink water and like it! Another two hours on how wasteful I am. But the biggest problem was that I spent the money. Since I didn't go yesterday when he told me to, he decided to show me why I should obey and went out to eat lunch. His steak lunch yesterday was $42, and his McDonald's for lunch today was another $9, which meant that the $100 was no longer in the bank, and my meager grocery purchase would overdraw the account. I was so irresponsible to spend anything without asking him. This was obviously all my fault. The bruise on my upper arm where he grabbed me when I turned away showed that he believed that. The dog got to eat his leftover steak.

When he finally got hoarse from raging at me for a smidge over six hours, he finally went to bed, entertained himself with some porn, and went to sleep. I sat and wondered how we got to this.

There were little red flags while we were dating, things easily dismissed as job stresses, nothing glaring... more like pink flags. I accepted his excuses for his rudeness early on then made excuses for him after we got married. I heard somewhere that when you're wearing rose-colored glasses, red flags just look... like flags. Things escalated little by little, until every day was filled with dread; my little notebooks - a ragged blue one, a leather bound hot pink one, and a smooth new black one - hidden in the bottom of my nightstand were filled with journal entries of what the raging was about so I could get it written down and wouldn't dwell on it and could let all the hurt pour out in ink and try to make sense of it and try to analyze his tantrum for any nuggets of truth and then, then I could cry myself to sleep. Again. Again & again & again; every damn day.

He's already isolated me from loved ones, cut off my finances so that his bank account has over $1,000 at all times, but "ours" stays empty, sabotaged my job, defaulted on everything that was in my name so my credit is ruined, keeps me hungry and sleep deprived, and constantly mentions how much easier his life would be if I was dead.

Every day I wonder if today will be the day he snaps & tries to kill us all. If I try to leave, I'm sure he will kill me.

...

Then he beat our five year old child. She didn't get out of the bathtub as fast as he thought she should have, so he yanked her out & beat her. I ran in & got between them, threatened his very life, shoved him back and stood up to him in a way I had long since given up on.

I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, baby.

Her welts last three weeks. Her bruises last six. Her fear will last for years.

...

I expect nothing from the court. He is a skilled manipulator, feigning emotion and care and love. He refused to pay his child support while we were separated, and I just hustled and hoped for enough work to come in so I wouldn't have to go sell my blood plasma to feed my children. An entire year waiting for our day in court. An entire year of still flinching when I hear a cat at night because still I have that split-second of thinking he's coming for me. A year of diminishing nightmares. A year of children learning to be happy again, laughing, having impromptu dance parties, and inviting friends over. A year of learning to live again.

And then it happens. I get the judge's ruling. She... she believed me. I was so afraid she hadn't believed me. He had trained me to believe that no one would believe me. I get the house. He is being required to pay the back support and the debt he took out in my name. It's in the neighborhood of $20,000. I, well, I really didn't expect this. It's paltry to some, I know, but I'm still hungry and struggling. I can stock up on food, fix the roof... and run. I can run. I can take my kids and go have fun and not have to walk on eggshells waiting for him to be triggered, constantly looking for Red Flags or Pink Flags. Maybe... we'll start with... Six Flags.