He’s telling everyone I was abused as a child (which is not true). And he is telling everyone that I am “severely mentally ill”. Our trial date got moved. When we met, soon after. When we moved to our second house. He kept telling me “I really think you were abused by your dad”. Holy hell of a out right outrageous assumption. I grew up with incredible parents who took a baby in from a fourteen year old girl – who picked out them. And even though we have our differences and the ups and downs – I would not trade them for the world. My dad. Nor any family member has ever harmed me. Boys in high school abused me and assaulted me and I was raped. But that was in high school and college. Nothing as a child. My (soon to be ex) husband kept repeatedly saying this over and over. Saying that “someone must have abused you as a child”. He wore me down saying this constantly. To hear that he’s using this as his defense to what he did. For him to justify choking me against a bed frame in front of my one year old baby who was breastfeeding and my two year old daughter. Throwing their bed railing, raging and spitting at me until I passed out IN FRONT OF MY CHILDREN. It pisses me off and it throws me for the biggest loop. Even though it doesn’t shock me. Every time I’ve had to flee for my safety with my children. He had called me mentally ill. Crazy. I hate being called crazy. You know. Friends they call each other crazy as a joke. Family does too. Crazy has been torn from my vocabulary. A cashier joked the other week to me. About walking home with groceries or something mundane. Not meant to be mean. I got so upset. The whole way home I had to hold back tears. My ex husband. He used to come home at lunch everyday purposefully I believe to check in on us. I was so afraid of his yelling and his rage that I would lock the door. So I would hear the key and then hear him come in. The unlocking of the door was my own little peaceful acknowledgement that he was coming home. That’s just so wrong. To be afraid of your husband walking in the door. Marriage shouldn’t be walking on eggshells, being afraid. He wouldn’t let me take the kids or myself anywhere at lunch time. Anytime I tried to have something go on around that time. He would yell or rage at me for being stupid. For being so ignorant and dumb. Listing off all the bad things that could happen if we left the house. He made me terrified of life. I could throw up thinking about this all and here we go again with the blurring and dizzy feeling and nauseous feeling of trying to let out this junk infestation that he leave behind. The PTSD…. You know… It was so awful this weekend. I try to hid all my hurt and pain and scars. I try to disguise my PTSD as only anxiety. This past week I spent it with family celebrating the fourth. I got through the first two nights with no PTSD problems. But the third night, a basement thing that happens that is totally normal a fan type system thing came on. I thought it was car doors slamming. I was worried he was violating the DANCO. Car slamming doors is all to familiar to me. It’s a PTSD trigger for me. I flinch when this happens and I freak. I literally break a sweat. Most people don’t see it for me. But my mom. She pointed out that she had never seen or hear me have a problem. And for once, since coming out about the pain and trauma I have experienced in my lifetime. She reassured me. Everyone says I am on the right path. The right path to healing. But is there ever any right path… I feel so desperate to just unleash everything. To yell to the world and just cry and scream and punch and kick and cry some more and talk. Then yell some more into a great abyss. Look up at the sky. The stars. And just fall back. And let it all fade away. However. I can do and repeat all of that. But trauma. It remains forever a scar in my head. I’m told I can heal but my brain will never go back to the way it was. Symptoms and things will get easier to manage, I’ll be able to heal. But what I’ve experience, what has happened. It’s like tearing paper. You can tape it back together. But it will never be the same paper. But then again. That’s life. One of the last conversations we had. I told him, the first time ever I remained calm and didn’t cry in front of him. He had spent hours yelling at me and was not compassionate. I told him, trying to get him to come back to earth. To come back down from his ego. I tried to show him how hurt I was without having to yell. I didn’t want us to fight so I told him, you’re not the man I married. And he told me with the most emotionless, stone cold face, “I was never the man you married”. He told me that he’s fake being christian man. The sound guy, the drummer, the guy involved with volunteering to do what he could in the church. That was the man I fell in love with. I had dealt with the biggest heartbreak I had ever experienced prior to him. I was looking for a lifeline. And I found my ex husband. Honestly, it’s sad to admit but I craved being high all the time. Weed. Nothing hard or crazy. But with weed – I didn’t feel so depressed and the hurt from my past faded. I was able to live in the moment and enjoy my days. I wouldn’t cry hysterically going to school. Most days. I would cry, shaking when I had to go back to campus. Dorm rooms. They’re a trigger for me. I was raped in a dorm room. By a soccer player. It;s something I can’t talk about much. But I switched colleges after my freshman year. And the dorm room became a trigger. Boys. College boys. Became a trigger. Frat boys. Sport plater boys. Campus. My freshman year of college was hell. I was raped. I also saw a rape go down. And the guy that i went to the party with – I tried to stop the rape – but guess what. My “friend” and his friend. They pulled me away with force. Told me I couldn’t tell campus police cause they wont do anything. Some real bullshit right there. It was hell. But I thought that was hell. That was only one layer of hell. My husband took me down the other six layers of hell…

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