When I think of saying , "My first time...", it is not about a kiss, sex, love, driving a car, etc. It is about filing for divorce. It is about attempting to save my own life. The first time, my first time, was in 1995; shortly after my first son's Bar Mitzvah. I had tried so hard to hang on until then. The abuse was just getting too unbearable, as Robert was hitting me more than ever. You see, he was charged with a felony - an FDA case for which he plead guilty - and he took it all out on me.
When he would lock me in the bathroom, lock me in a closet, he started involving my sons - asking them, "How long do you think we should keep her in there?" All I would hear from the other side of the door was laughter. All three of them were laughing. It was as though a Boys' Club was formed. My sons were recruited and groomed to participate in abusing me.
The violence, the threats, the blatant cheating - I couldn't take it anymore and began voicing my desire to get out. I started to realize that so many of Robert's behaviours were extremely bizarre (as were those of his family members - his parents and sisters). It took me years, like a slow death, drowning in a pot of boiling water - years of abuse.
It was like living in a cult.
A friend recommended an attorney and Robert was soon informed of my desire to end the "marriage" legally. The day we were to appear before a judge in the Westchester County courthouse of New York, in the courthouse lobby before both of our attorneys, Robert started crying! He told me he didn't want the divorce. What he really didn't want was anyone looking into his finances during a divorce.
And in the next breath he took, he told me that if I followed through with a divorce filing, my youngest son would never see his own Bar Mitzvah and would never have all that his older brother had. After Jared, my younger son, saw all that his older brother Jason had just enjoyed, his celebration was in December of 1994, Robert announced that it would be my fault that Jared would always remain deprived.
Next strategy: Robert said I would never see my children again. This was stated matter of factly as a threat in front of my lawyer at the time, Joel Bender and his attorney, Sandy Dranoff. Joel told me not to believe anything Robert said, that it was impossible for Robert to carry out his threats.
Joel Bender also told me that if dropped my divorce filing, it would give Robert more time to set me up for disaster - but Joel was referring to financially. I don't believe he realized the abuse that was about to escalate and the alienating of my sons that Robert was about to accomplish.
My children were my world. They were my priority. I feared that Robert would carry through on his threats regarding my sons. I withdrew my petition for divorce.
Always too scared to tell others about the abuse I endured at the hands of my husband, there was only one time when I reached out to Donald, my father in law. It was after a terrible beating. I got to the house phone (no cell phone), called him (he lived 5 minutes away in Armonk). I told him what happened, and my condition - bruised and weak.
All he said was, "You must have provoked him."
That was it for me.
I didn't reach out again for quite some time - not to anyone. Not until 1998.
The abuse heightened.
Leaving an abusive relationship is complicated and can be very dangerous. It typically takes 7 attempts to leave an abusive relationship. The moment someone tries to flee is when they – and their children, pets or other family members - are at the highest risk of violence.
I tried to leave 7 times.
I filed for divorce 3 times.
He kept me in court for 21 years.
I have lived through real abuse, and I have also endured the pain of false allegations. The abuse from my daughter’s father began when I was three months pregnant and continued until he tried to strangle me when I was five months along. His substance abuse was severe, and he was not a safe person when he drank. None of that excuses what he did. The violence was never okay.
ReplyDeleteAfter the third attack, the judge issued a permanent restraining order against him. When my daughter was born, that order was extended to protect her as well, because his behavior still had not changed. That decision was heartbreaking, but it was necessary for our safety.
He died from a drug and alcohol overdose when my daughter was seven. It was tragic, because she never had the chance to know him in a healthy way; he was still using and still violent. And even though he was abusive, I never stopped caring about him. Beneath the addiction and the chaos, he had qualities that were genuinely good. Those parts of him were real too, even if his demons overshadowed them.