I took the day off from work for no reason other than I wanted to. My spouse worked in the field, and I was sipping coffee and watching a movie in my recliner. We were in truce mode, and my spirits were good. I planned an afternoon of taking a walk and browsing the library. The movie was over, I got dressed, and the phone rang. My spouse had car trouble and needed a ride to another appointment, then back to his car to meet the tow truck. I said sure, got the directions, and picked him up. Everything was amicable until we were on our way back to his car. While driving, my spouse went plumb off on me from the passenger side. I don’t know what set him off: car trouble, asking for my help, me agreeing to help, taking off from work, or because the radio was on. It was road rage. The wrath, the hostility and hate filled words rang in my ear. Spit was flying and I felt the heat. It was a nightmare, in broad daylight, on the freeway. I began sweating and had flashbacks of when I was trapped in his car being verbally abused. This time, I was trapped in my own damn car, being verbally assaulted. I was mute absorbing the rage but I was mad too, driving like a bat out of hell to get him out of my car as fast as I could. As I slammed on my brakes to drop him off, my parting, screaming words were: don’t you ever talk to me or treat me like that again! And he never did because I left him. It was the last straw.
Anger gave way to fear and pain. It was different this time. I was blindsided; it felt like a punch in my gut, and I was shocked. If he could flip on a dime, in real-time, as I was helping him, something worse might happen the next day or week; it might get physical. His air punches might land. I fantasized about leaving but never thought about a plan. I never thought this day would come, and maybe subconsciously, I didn’t want it to come, even under these dire circumstances. That’s how messed up I was. This pain was different; it was physical, a gnawing pain that stayed with me for four days. For four days, I heaved, doubled up, and cried for all the years I was devalued and treated like trash. For four days, my head felt like it might explode if I blinked. For four days, I was afraid to speak when spoken to by my spouse. I couldn’t eat, not even junk food or my favorite comfort food–half a gallon of ice cream. Working distracted me, but I still struggled and cried on my breaks. I feared his instability and unpredictability. I couldn’t sleep, so I grabbed my Bible for comfort and prayed, pleaded, and groaned for mercy and guidance. My brain was scrambled; I was panicky and didn’t know what to do, where to go, or how to do it. I had arrived at the unknown. Please, please Lord, help me; I need you, show me the way. I let go and let God, and for once in four nights, I slept through the night.
The next morning, God’s plan was clear as day. Leave, find an apartment, divorce, plan for retirement, then do something purposeful. I wrote it down. Retirement is a few years away, but I take heed and plan for it instead of fantasizing about it. This blog feels purposeful; sharing my story might help somebody. My tears and fears dried up. The pain in my belly faded. My mind is fixed on leaving. My spouse never apologized but minimized his behavior and tried to joke his way out of it. I am not a joke. Inflicting pain on a whim isn’t funny. I told him that was the last straw; I was leaving and filing for a divorce…