part 2!

So in my head I told myself. 1 year. People kept telling me the first year was the hardest. And in my 21 year old naivety I thought that it meant after a year we would understand each other and the hurt he was putting me through would end.

But life has a funny way of changing those plans. I should've gotten out. I should've went home. But I didn't. And 6 months after we were married, we were expecting a baby. The first two weeks I did little more than cry and stress. Jeffrey was ecstatic. He had wanted a baby even before we got married.

I said at the time I just wasn't ready to be a mother. And I do believe that was true. But think the pregnancy felt like a nail in my coffin called marriage. I admit though, our relationship got better. He was so happy to be a father. He was much less abusive and quit hitting me altogether.

He was still hard on me about the house, but during my pregnancy I was so weak. I passed out many times. So I couldn't do a lot of housework. But that didn't make him help me. We didn't have a dishwasher and I would have to bring a stool to sit on while I did the dishes. I didn't start showing until my 5th month or so.

We were having a boy! Another thing I cried about... was so certain it was going to be a girl. lol* His family was thrilled, and although most all my family told me they wish we had waited they were happy for us too.

Before the pregnancy Jeffrey's mother knew mildly about the abuse. But she never said more to him than, "You really shouldn't do that." They were/are religious and tried to get him back in church, but he was having none of it. Jeffrey's father never knew about what was going on, though I assumed he did. But his mother protected him.

Ashton came that September. A beautiful, perfect baby boy. All of a sudden my life was complete. I had something that had all of my heart. Tiny fingers. Tiny toes. Beautiful big blue eyes like mine. A bundle of perfection.

Jeffrey was happy too. And at first he was 100% there for me. We were a happy family. Though I was utterly exhausted all the time. I never recovered. Slowly, as time went on Jeff did less and less. He had a computer game he was obsessed with. A shooter game and was part of a team. He'd always be on mic when he was home. And it bothered me to ask him anything with people listening to me.

By this time Jeff had a better paying job, but hated it with passion. He was always stressed coming to and from work. And his stress was pushed onto me.

But I loved him. I can't begin to express what love does to a person... which is probably why it scares me so much now. I simply tell people. I was crazy! I lived for a person who saw me as a vacuum, sex, and baby-maker. After we married for some reason he resented me as a person.

I'm not saying it was all bad. It wasn't. Sometimes we played the part of hapy family. All snuggling, watching movies, hanging out with friends. But inside I was empty. A shell. And after Ashton was born I slowly started disaccociating myself with the world. Which hurt and left me lonely. Jeffrey also admitted that the only reason he didn't hit me during my pregnancy was so I didn't lose his baby.

Things with my mother were not better. We fought constantly and she overheard Jeff call her a bitch once and all was let loose! I even had to take her out of my life for a little while, which further isolated me from connections with my family.

New Years - Ashton 3 months old - I decided I wanted to have a party. I cooked and cleaned all day. His family and a few of our friends were coming over. All I had left was to make the cheeseball. And he started yelling at me for not vacuuming the stairs. I told him if he wanted them cleaned so badly he could do them! It was too hard on my back to hold the vacuum up the steep stairs. (When I had Ashton the bed was "broken" and it couldn't be raised high enough, so I was on it wrong and it did something awful to my back). He threw a folding chair at me and more words were exchanged he crossed the room and had his hand on my throat.

When his family and our friends came they asked what was wrong. I was so embarrassed, so I lied and said, "I'm just nervous. This is my first party to throw here and I hope I made enough food." I regret that decision too.

So fast-forward. Ashton grew and we had ups and downs. We had a house built for us and moved out into the country. I thought things had gotten better. But I was highly depressed and put on medication. Towards Fall of last year I didn't go a single day without crying and Ashton was my only realson to get out of bed.

Within a month of each other I lost Mr. Incredible (the afore mentioned cat) and Max our wonderful black lab/pointer puppy we had found. I was devastated.

Then Thanksgiving was the turning point.

We went to his grandparent's, who now lived in our own home, for dinner. We had a great day! We were driving back home and mentally I was thinking about what all needed done at the house. We had been out the last couple days and laundry was backed up and the house was a mess. So I thought I will call mom and let Ashton talk to the family, and my grandma to hear Ashton before I put him down for a nap and then I'd start cleaning. All this was a mental note.

So we get home and I call my Mia (grandma), because my grandpa was still in the hospital for his surgery. While Mia and I talk before I put Ashton on the phone, Jeffrey starts slamming things in the kitchen - obviously mad about the mess - we had just been to his gp's who keep their house lovely... and all decorated for TG... so he was comparing I know. I could tell Mia was hearing him and kept hesiatating. So I put the phone down and tell him he's being an ass and it's rude. He continues his petty fit.

I get off the phone with her. And tear into him. Telling him how rude he is. And she's an old woman (83). I called him an asshole and he crossed the room, had me by my throat, and threw me to the ground. Standing next to me, watching intently, was Ashton. I lost it. I was crying and mumbling. I walked to our bedroom, and then turned on my heel, and like a mad woman walked to him. I am 5'3 106 lbs and he is 6' 190 lbs. I put my hand on his throat without pressure and said, "How do you like it?" He took my hand and was bending my thumb backwards. I knew it would break. I hate pain, but I wish I had let him. I wiggled it away.

That day I died inside. I was literally a walking, breathing dead person. It hurts me know to even remember that feeling. That nothingness.

It was time to leave. That week I called and told my mother the truth. I don't think I've ever shed so many tears in all my life.

We got into counseling because I "needed it". Or so he said. He didn't have a problem. If I just didn't yell. But the couselor was a Christian counselor and didn't give us what I felt we needed. She went as far as to say she wouldn't counsel us through divorce. She felt it was a sin. Bogus.

I tried. But things had gone too far. And so Jan 31st 2009 I left. I moved home to Texas.

Unfortunately, I was told if I took Ashton over the state lines it would be conjured as kidnapping... later I found out that was false. But the backwards state of West Virginia (and forgive me if you are from there) will not let my son leave the state with me for permenant custody. So Jeffrey automatically gets him and I visitation.

It's been a rough 10 months. But I have grown so much. And learned so much about myself. And had many firsts this year. And I'm happy to say I made the right decision leaving and getting new life. And it hurts my soul not to have my son, when for so long I was a SAHM, and spent every moment with him. But he's a happy kid. And I trust all things to work out for the good. :)