Guest Blogger: I Didn’t Expect This

It happens slowly. Creeps up on you. You don’t expect that when you marry the man of your dreams he will one day be mentally ill and by proxy, an abuser. You don’t expect to one day be so afraid of the man that you are paralyzed – so you stay.

When I married The Daddy, it was my fairy tale come true. The thing is, I fell in love with a Marine. I fell in love with a strong man with honor and conviction who would protect me from the world.

Instead, I ended up with a bipolar man who needed me to save the world from him, or save him from the world, maybe both. Instead of being swept off my feet I was constantly trying to find solid footing to stand on.

It is hard to live in that place where you have to defend your husband to your friends and family, try to explain his actions and moods. Then you have to go home and defend your family and friends to your husband because of their reactions to his actions and moods. It is a never ending cycle with one blaring constant – me in the middle.

Before long, I was cut off from friends and family despite the fact that we had moved back to my hometown. It is amazing how long 5 miles can be when you are walking on eggshells.

I did the best I could to help The Daddy conquer his illness. Each time bipolar disorder reared its ugly head, I was hurt. I vowed each time that the next time I would be prepared. I would not be caught off guard. I would be ready. And I was. I started putting on more and more armor to deal with the tug-of-war and the episodes, the paranoia.

The last two years have been tough on this family. We have suffered through more than one layoff. We have dealt with lengthy unemployment, which comes with a LOT of togetherness. We have lost family members and dealt with the illness of a child.

In each of these things, the support system that your husband should be – wasn’t. If I had a bad day, his was worse. If I was falling apart, he was already in pieces. I always had to be the glue and the strength. It is hard to watch the person that you fell in love with change. It is hard to look around and know that no one else can see what you once saw.

It is even harder to realize that your true love, somewhere along the way, became an abuser. When things got tough, not only was I the glue, I was the fall guy. Since I took care of every minute detail of our lives, if something went awry it was my fault. The Daddy called what happened after that “stepping in front of the bus.”

He yelled. He threw things. He said the exact things that he knew would hurt me. He threatened violence, not to me, but to others. There were more times than I would like to admit that I truly believed he would pick up a gun and go on a shooting spree. Once he even pointed a gun at me while I was holding our children.

And I stayed.

I stayed because he was ill and needed me. I stayed because I was afraid of what would happen if I left.

And then one day, a phone call changed my entire perspective. The Daddy had been spiraling into a deeper and darker depression. He drank more and took more of his medication than prescribed. The good moments were gone. And he was suicidal. I called the Suicide Hotline. They connected me to the Veterans Affairs Suicide Hotline.

I explained to the person on the other end of the call what was going on with The Daddy. His first response was, “Let’s get you and the kids out of this abusive situation and then we can deal with the suicide threat.”

Abusive situation? I was calling to get The Daddy help. Not me.

The VA rep then explained to me what verbal and emotional abuse was. He asked question after question to which I had to reply yes. And then he said the words that would change my life forever.

“I don’t want to see you on the news because you stayed too long.”

Thousands of images flashed through my mind from the past five years. I pictured my children being raised by the monster The Daddy had become. I was scared.

It took me another three months to gather the courage, but one evening I packed up my boys and took only what I could fit in my car and left.

Months later I am still realizing the effects his emotional and verbal abuse had on me, and on my boys. It will be a long road to reinstate the confidence in me and my children. I am stepping out of that box I was placed in. I am stepping out of the role of the one who must absorb the anger to keep it from moving elsewhere. I am refinding my voice and my strength.

Lindsey Renuard is a professional procrastinator, single mom, poet, broom whisperer, laundry hater, and boo boo kisser. She is addicted to Dr. Pepper and tattoos. She has a passion for writing poetry and taking photographs. Her poetry has been published in several magazines. She is the author of Dishwater Dreams, a daily dose of (in)sanity. Find her on Facebook and Twitter.