Category: Physical abuse

Abuse

I am in a bad medical condition. I can’t breathe. I have copd and right now, there is a strong flair up. My blood ox is bouncing between 89 and 95. This isn’t good.

I did manage to convince my partner to come home yesterday to help me. He has taken good care of me all day today. I’m quite surprised, honestly. He has offered tea, food, and care without asking and without my asking him for help. This is way out of his normal.

However, this evening, he want’s to leave the house for 4 hours. I begged him not to go. He doesn’t realize, just being here helps me. I don’t have to worry about answering the door or phone, or getting water or getting me medical attention. I need him here. But I guess he’s done his bit for the day.

But by leaving me alone, knowing I am in a medical emergency, I think of as abuse. Just because he did well all day, doesn’t mean the job is done. He doesn’t absolutely need to leave and anyone who knows what’s going on wouldn’t think less of him (probably more).

I just wish I could breathe.

I’m so mad at myself

It would have been somewhere around june ’21. Partner comes shuffling up to me, says; I might have covid, and coughs right into my face. I could feel the fine mist like spray cover my whole face.

I might have mentioned this in a previous post, but I just remembered it and wanted to make sure it’s posted.

I asked why he coughed in my face. He said, I just coughed, that’s all.

And the reason I’m so damn mad at myself, I didn’t call the police. I’d be reading about people getting arrested for doing that. I even had proof – his spittal was all over my face. 😦

Today he comes up and says; I don’t like eating, right now. Everything tastes burnt. It’s not burn’t, it just tastes that way.

I told him I was really surprised he didn’t come home from the hospital with covid, the hospital must be ramped with it. I also told him I’d read an article how people who had covid reported all food smelt burnt to them. Taste wasn’t mentioned, but I think smell and taste are interconnected.

If he decides to have a good cough in my face, I’m calling the police. Paper trail, woman, paper trail!

I happened to read a previous post by me and I mention how he was breathing heavily on my neck. If he thought he had covid, that would be counted as assault. It is at least intimidation. And coughing in my face, after saying he had it, absolutely makes it assault and maybe a murder attempt.

If I count them, it raises his murder attempts to 11, from 8.

“It’s Just a Panic Attack”

I’m trying to remember when this occurred. I think it was as my partner was miraculously healed from his organ failure (see previous post), but not long after. At this point, I was aware of 4 of his family members being involved. One was about to leave but I didn’t know when. I thought he was still there.

I was getting pretty wound up. First, partner is dying, then he’s not. Keeping the house clean – BIL#1 was clueless, from how to sweep the floor to how to tear off a bag from the roll. He didn’t know how to call for an emergency. This became an issue.

I was having trouble breathing. Sweeping, pulling up heavy, full, bin bags, throwing out the detritus that collects if you don’t throw it away. Bending over is always a problem. I had to do it, over and over, and along with a dusty house, and the emotional stress, triggered a good sized asthma attack. I got panicky. I called my partner and asked for someone to come stay with me. Just in case it went south.

I thought two people were with him but it turned out, it was just BIL#1. BIL#1 arrives in the house about 10-15 minutes later. He didn’t know how to call emergency. I explained how it worked. He said okay and went to get a snack.

Now, I’d been sitting very still for at least 15-20 minutes. I was breathing ‘normally’. But if I’d tried to get up, it would have instantly been where it was when I called.

BIL#1 didn’t ask me if I needed or wanted anything. Water? Tea? Medication? Food? Nope to all. He did get his snack though. He comes back, says ‘It’s just a panic attack. I’m going back to your partner’, in a dismissive tone and leaves.

I was in shock. Pretty sure my mouth hung open. ‘Just a panic attack’ floored me. I know people who have panic attacks and it sure and hell isn’t something imaginary. It was insulting to the people who suffer from this, and hella insulting to me, as it’s something imaginary, just out for attention.

And second, he left me. He. Left. Me. Even now, weeks later, I’m shocked. If I had tried to get up, say to go to the toilet, I could have passed out, it was that bad. Just thinking of this day is tensing me up. Dismissive, ignorant and insulting, all in one easy sentence.

It took me 1 1/2 hours before I was able to get up and get a cup of tea.

I learned a lot about my BIL in that moment.

Hammer Time.

The last time we used a tool was about six months ago and that was a screw driver. I can’t remember when we had need of a hammer. Years? Decades? I just realized today, I’ve seen a hammer in the bathroom for the last two weeks. Didn’t think anything of it. But…

Why is there a (really large, heavy duty) hammer in our bathroom, next to the toilet?

He’s never closed the door when on the throne (disability made it so people may need to get to him fast. Can’t have a closed or locked bathroom door.). And I just got into the habit. And the cat can’t use the handle, so we have the door open for her, too. We have wandered in and out, with one of us using the pot, it’s totally part of our natural routine. Even the cat thinks toilet breaks are actually social times and requests pets.

I ‘saw’ the hammer today and my mind went to a dark place.

Lockdowns have increased domestic abuse. I’m always on the look out now. I never expected my partner to use physical assalt (you can’t pretend to be innocent when your knuckle pattern is on her cheek) but he may be getting tired of my continuing existance.

I’m not getting very good sleep. I think I’ll ask about the hammer, see what he comes up with. Should be inventive!

Edit: I asked him why there was a hammer in the bathroom. He says he knows he took it in but has no idea why.

Terrorizing

My partner drives like a maniac. And I’m not talking like the joke cliché of a woman screaming ‘slow down, you’re going to kill us’, to the man driving 10 miles an hour. No, I truly mean he drives like a mad man. He knows how to drive, but the second he gets behind the wheel, his dick grows 10 sizes and he becomes aggressive. We sold ‘our’ car two years ago. He didn’t tell me how much he sold it for, and I never got any of the money. Since he sold it to a friend, I suspect he basically gave it away. I was just glad it was gone and I didn’t have to make up excuses not to go anywhere with him.

This story wasn’t the first time I was in a car with him. But it was in the first week.

We’re going up a long road. Far ahead, I can see cars sitting, waiting for the light to turn green. There were four lanes, and they all had four or five cars in line. We’re maybe a quarter of a mile away. He’s going the speed limit. Once we’re on the straight, he speeds up. And keeps speeding up. My foot involuntarily makes breaking motions. I tell him to slow down and he ignores me. The point where I would have started breaking, if I were driving, comes and goes. The point where at our speed, I don’t think we’ll be able to stop without hitting the stationary cars, comes and goes. I said, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I brace myself. He says, ‘They’ll move out of the way.’ (remember, four cars deep, sitting at a red light. They are going nowhere.) When he finally hits the brakes, the nose of the car goes down, I’m thrown forward and we come to a screeching halt. Inches from the car in front of us. I must have looked pretty pale. He just laughed and laughed.

He did it once when his brother was in the car. His brother pitched a mild-mannered fit and told him to stop. He did stop driving like that when his brother was in the car. But he still did when it was only me.

Before him, I was a good, solid driver. But I was in a different country then. The roads were smaller, very winding, and I became very afraid of being on the road, in a car with him. I became so afraid, I didn’t update my license and have never driven again.

The years passed, I became more afraid. First, I always hung onto the door handle. Then I hung on to the seat belt. It just got worse and worse. He’d aggressively move into the flow of traffic. Cut people off. Stopped hard. Rode on peoples bumpers. My heart would pound, I’d hold my breath. And after a few years, I just closed my eyes, held onto the seat belt, and waited to die. If I told him to slow down, he’d go so slow, barely over idle speed.  I was afraid someone would ram us, expecting us to be going the speed limit. He’d sneer and say, see, I’m slowing down.

I slowly stopped going out with him. I stopped socializing because I couldn’t take being in a car with him, and my disability made using public transport impossible. If I had to go, I’d spend the entire trip with my eyes closed. One day he noticed my eyes closed and just laughed. He practically pissed himself, he laughed so hard.

I thought he was just being a dick.

But looking back now, I think it was torture. Not a joky kind of torture, but real, dangling off a face cliff torture. Every single time I got in a car with him driving, I expected to die. He put me in physical danger day after day. He liked the control, I guess. My face full of fear. Pale and trembling. It was fun for him. A good laugh.

edit:

I guess I should say how this has impacted my life. I can’t drive. I’m afraid of narrow roads. I will not get in a car with my partner driving. My socializing has tanked, I just don’t now. (I can sit in a taxi, though, without fear. I expect them to be respectful drivers and so far, they have been.) The sound of a car’s breaks squeaking, even if I’m not in a car, makes my heart pound in fear. I am terrorized of cars, driving, travel, and roads. I think I might be for the rest of my life.

Practicing.

For the last couple of months he’s been very attentive. Bringing me food – even cooking it! – or coffee, ‘whatever I needed’. Like, every couple of hours stopping in and asking if I wanted coffee or tea. It was very helpful. I’d been given a new prescription from the doctor and one of them had a very nasty side effect. Headache, nausea and vomiting. It took me a couple of weeks to figure out where the illness was coming from, at first thinking it was a simple migraine. But during that time, nothing – and I do mean nothing – stayed down. I lost 10 pounds. His checking in on me every few hours was comforting.

And then one time he brought me a cup of tea. He just materialized next to me, I didn’t see or hear him coming. He said: There! I got all the way here and you didn’t hear me. I said: why would you want to? He said: So I could walk silently like you do. 

It took me a few days and the shoe dropped. He’d been so attentive because he was practicing.

And I made an error. Maybe not my fault, but still an error. One of the times he materialized next to me, I jumped. The slight smile on his face told me I’d screwed up. My counter to this was to place some metal clothes hangers on the hook behind my door. Whenever the door opened, they jangled. They lasted a few days then he moved them. Rearranging the things on my door so they didn’t jangle. I moved them back and so far they’re still there.[A]

One of the things that’s confusing me is, he’s been making my coffee/tea for almost twenty years. But suddenly he doesn’t seem to remember how I like it. For that matter everything he’s cooked for me isn’t made to my taste. That sounds so petty of me, and I quickly realized I couldn’t complain about it. It made me sound abusive almost, petty. Examples are so little sugar or too much milk in my tea, it was undrinkable. Or a lovely steak cooked to leather and seared to charcoal. A soup with so much garlic it made me gag. So even though he was bringing me food/drink, most of the time I couldn’t eat it. And this is after the side effects had finally worn off.

Briefly, I debated with myself on if he was poisoning me. He has the knowledge to do so. And he’s already proven he’s willing to go that extra mile to help me along to the great unknown. The food was so ghastly it wouldn’t surprise me at all if there was an added ingredient that I couldn’t taste behind all the ‘mistakes’ of cooking. I’m still 50/50 on this but falling on the side of ‘no’. It seems more aggressive and harder to look a copper in the eye and lie about.

I’m feeling a little better now. I can make my own tea or coffee again by myself. It usually triggers a non-breathing spike, but I can do it. It’s sometimes hard to fall asleep at night because I’m thinking of all the foods I want, I’m starving. Maybe tonight I can make something light. A sandwich or soup. Although I got to say I’m sick to death of soup. Soup and yogurt are the only two things that have a chance to stay down.

My stress level has spiked.

[A] edit: today the hangers got moved again. It only took him 3 days.

Attempted murder

It sounds so dramatic. It’s what happens in novels and movies. Maybe something you read in a newspaper. It doesn’t happen to you. And when it’s done in such a way they can look the police in the eye and sound perfectly innocent? Yeah, hysterical woman vs loving, caring man. You know who’s going to be believed.

So how did it happen?

Over the months, I mentioned ‘unexpected noises cause my heart to stop’, but I don’t think he really understood what I meant. Until the day he comes busting into the bedroom* and screams my name. I jump, put my hand on my heart (which had stopped beating) and said: you startled me, my heart stopped, ow!

And the look that came over his face. And Ohhh, realllly, look. Understanding.

And the next day his behavior changed. He took to leaving the bedroom door open (my computer is in the bedroom, so I’m in there a lot), and rather than his usual kick in of the door, would quietly enter the room. Every day, he’d get a little closer before he blew his cover and made a noise. With my back to the door, I wouldn’t see him coming in.

One day he managed to get right behind me without my knowing. It was his 4th attempt. He slapped his hand on my shoulder (never did that before, either) and shouted ‘I just came in to see how you’re feeling’.

But he’d misunderstood what I’d said. It was ‘unexpected noises’ that startled me. Not getting touched. When he slapped his hand on my shoulder, it was nothing. I calmly replied: I’m fine. It’s a good day.

A few days later, he tried again. Only this time, he slapped both hands on each of my shoulders. “Just came to see how you’re doing!” he shouted. “I’m fine, a bit of asthma but nothing unusual.” … totally calm, but I knew what the hell he was doing. That look on his face stayed with me. The change in his behavior.

But you know, if he’d only stuck to his normal way of entering the room, I think it would have worked.

*When entering the room, his right hand pushed down on the handle, but his fingertips stayed on the handle. His left hand, fisted, would slam into the door, sounding like it was getting kicked in. But the right hand slowed the door, so it didn’t hit the wall. He’d then scream my name, in the tone of voice men would use when finding their wives in bed with the postman. Accusing, angry, horrified. Then he’d ask something totally benign. ‘What’s for dinner’ was the usual inquiry. The sudden, unexpected sound of the door getting kicked in always caused my heart to stop. So, yeah, if he’d just kept up his usual routine, it could have worked. And he would have been innocent.

Trying to kill me by scaring me to death. Its childish plan was amusing. Seriously, I found it funny. And he did it in such a way, he could look the police in the eye and say ‘I was just asking her how she was and she just keeled over, officer.’

But this was a straight-up murder attempt.