I’ve recounted some of the emotional and sexual abuse perpetrated by the Ogre toward me, but until very recently I have stopped short of actually classifying my marriage to the Ogre as “domestic violence”. As a hospital advocate with a crisis center, I know what Domestic Violence is. I’ve had the training regarding the cycle of violence, and the different ways perpetrators gain access and rob the victim of power and control of their own lives. So what stopped me from saying so?

In order to admit that my relationship was domestically violent, I have to admit I was a victim. I have to admit that it happened to me, and that I did not even see it for a long time. I have to admit that I allowed, through inaction, the abuse to continue. I have to admit that I should have left sooner, but didn’t. I have to admit that I was too weak even to leave for the sake of my children.

There’s also the Dysfunctional Family Rule: don’t talk about it. If I discuss any of the Ogre's transgressions, he says I am lying or overreacting, but he feels free to discuss my transgressions to everyone, including the children. I have been conditioned not to speak about David’s behavior. Even now, when the children are asking not to be hurt, the Ogre blames me, demanding “What are you trying to do?” in an intimidating voice. It is very frightening to me to bring up any of his behaviors for me or the children, because I will receive many kinds of backlash from him.

One thing that all of the Ogre's behavior has taught me is that I am acting in strong belief of my cause. I am acting on behalf of my children, to remove them from an abusive environment, and I am acting on my own behalf, to transition from a victim to a survivor. Yes, it did happen to me. It can happen to anyone, but I am strong enough to stop it now, before it gets worse, even if I couldn’t stop it sooner.

So I present a chronology of the Ogre's abusive actions, to me and toward the children, so I can show the pattern of degradation, humiliation, intimidation, and criticism that is life in the Ogre's house. I have audio recordings of some of these items, including a tactic called “gaslighting” and called “invalidation”, where someone twists reality to suit themselves, thus leaving the victim insecure in their own position.

I ask you to consider the scary, hurtful environment that Domestic violence has created, for me and for the children, and I ask you to help me eliminate that environment. I ask that the Ogre be directed to:

a. Refrain from harassment, including bringing up court-related questions (like his need for the car on Saturday) but yelling at me not to speak to him or to “leave him alone” when I respond to statements or ask him for the car for my on-call shift Saturday.

b. Refrain from jokes at my expense in front of the children (Little One mentioned that he had said I was belly dancing and the Ogre had responded, “Well, she has the belly for it”) This includes refraining from practical jokes like driving the car forward when I reach for the handle.

c. Refrain from put-downs and criticism about me or my significant other, whether in my presence or in front of the children

d. Refrain from interrogating the children about what they ate, what they did, etc. when they are with me.

e. Refrain from derogatory insinuations, threats of future activity (“Just you wait”), intimidation tactics (“so you’re not willing to work this out” and “You’re trying for full custody”, “What are you doing?”Stated forcefully and repeated until I say something), belittling comments (“I know you…”said in a negative tone in front of the Little One), Accusations of lying (which can also be taken as discussing the complaint, which he has been forbidden to do by the Judge).

f. Refrain from derogatory actions, such as driving away if I am late to be picked up (which cannot happen if we are not in the car together ever) , being excessively late (more than 10 minutes) to a meeting/dropping off children, or taking me on errands against my will when he is supposed to be dropping me off.

g. Refrain from yelling, shouting, etc.

h. Refrain from repetitive or excessive telephoning (he hangs up on me then calls me right back to yell at me more)

Thank you.

Letters to My Original Abusers

Dear Dad,

I think I’ve written a letter like this before to you, but I don’t know if I ever sent it, and anyway, I understand a lot more about the subject now.

Dad, I’m angry with you. I’ve been angry with you for what seems like forever.

I’m angry that, despite the fact that you worked from home, you were rarely around. I’m angry that, when you were around, you were often mean and violent. I’m angry that you seemed to loathe the family you created. I’m especially angry and hurt that you seem to have mellowed out with D’s family, in a way that you were never mellow with ours.

I’m angry that you cheated on Mom. I’m angry that you lied about it.

Having said that, I do actually understand feeling trapped in a family that doesn’t seem like your own. I know what it’s like to have a depressed spouse, and the strain it puts on one. I understand not feeling wanted, and seeking to fulfill that need outside of marriage. But I’m angry that you didn’t solve the problem, and it was up to me, in my generation, to learn that sometimes it’s better to leave than to be exploited.

I’m angry that you were physically abusive. Dave is abusive and insensitive, and even he was shocked that you found your “training sessions” in the truck funny. You would hit us so hard sometimes we would see stars, Dad. It hurt Annie and it hurt me. It especially hurt me because I would be punished if Annie couldn’t answer fast enough, so in time, I became responsible for math that was five years ahead of where I was. You didn’t make me good at math that way, Dad. It took years of me training myself out of the sheer terror of answering math problems to enjoy math. I used to be terrified of flash cards, because they reminded me of you.

I’m angry, and have been angry for a long time, that you expected me to “make up” for what you perceived as Annie’s deficiencies. I know now that a lot of my academic underachievement was related directly to that expectation and your other unreachable expectations.

I’m angry that you’d hit us, and that you taught me so early that defending myself just made the beating worse. I’m angry, because that set me up to be raped when I was 11. I didn’t fight, and for years I blamed myself for not fighting, until I realized it was a learned response, but still I blame myself, even knowing it was a learned response, because of course you’d assume it was my fault somehow.

There were times when I was a child, especially after the rape, that I wanted to kill you.

I’m angry that because I’m used to men being controlling and unpredictable, violent and aggressive, that I continued to pick out men in my life who were like that (with one notable exception; my firstborn’s namesake).

I’m angry that the house was messy all of the time, and that you’d suddenly require Annie and I to clean it, without ever having taught us the habits of picking up after ourselves regularly.

I’m angry that you took better care of the horses than you took of us. I’m angry that, despite the fact that Mom worked, too, she was still in charge of grocery shopping, much of the cooking, and housework that of course she couldn’t complete.

I’m angry that when you cleaned, you got violent.

I’m angry that you were mostly unpredictable.

I’m sad that I lost out on a lot of feeling good about myself because I was never good enough for you.

I’m enraged that you treated Annie so poorly throughout her life. It actually makes me sick that you were so terrible to her, and that in order for her to do things she wanted to do, I had to ask for her.

I’m angry that you didn’t protect me from Grandpa, knowing what you must have known about his relationship to your sister. I’m angry because molestation leads to hypersexual behavior, which also set me up to be raped again and again throughout my life. I’m incensed that you would place your daughters in situations where they would be alone with a known child molester. I can’t even put words to my rage and confusion about that.

I’m angry that you broke my tailbone because I forgot a math book at school. I’m angry that, to this day, I’m afraid people will leave me if I’m not exactly on time.

I’m angry that I was so terrified of the school calling the house that, whenever possible, I’d screen calls, and say you were unavailable.

I’m angry you didn’t try to help me with my school troubles, but instead just believed that I was bad.

I’m angry that you only loved me when I did things you wanted me to do, like roller skating, spending time with the horses, getting good grades or acting smart.

I’m angry that most of your comments were hurtful, were put-downs, and now that’s what I assume everyone is saying to me all of the time, without even realizing I’m doing it.

Mostly, I’m angry that even though I try my hardest to avoid you, you are still very present in my life, still influencing much of what I do, still making me feel small and unworthy.

I’m angry that I never busted you right in the face, that I never kicked you in the kneecaps. I’m angry that I rarely, if ever, screamed at you until my throat was raw.

I’m angry that you didn’t ever realize you were a crappy parent, and seek help to become a better one.

I’m mostly angry and betrayed, though, that you don’t seem to realize how much you hurt everyone in our family. That you don’t even think that torturing the cats was bad.

I’m angry that I never felt safe to express myself, even though I did it sometimes, anyway. NEVER. I’m especially angry that you told me that if I wrote about our family, you’d disown me. The answer to that is: Then don’t do things you’d be ashamed of others reading about!

I’m angry that you taught me to fear you, instead being someone I could respect. I’m angry that I’m afraid of Dave, partly because I’m afraid of men in general.

I’m angry that you didn’t show how evil you were to other people, although some people could sense it, anyway.

I’m angry that, to this day, I still have trouble expressing anger and rage, because you showed us that those emotions aren’t “safe”, and because we weren’t allowed to express them toward you.

I am looking at my life right now, and naming things appropriately. Dad, I was molested as an infant and a toddler, as a young girl and a teenager and finally an adult because you didn’t stop it. Because I was molested, I was hypersexual in play, and because I wasn’t able to fight back, I was raped. The majority of my sexual experiences have been rape, sexual assault, even though I told myself it was my choice, I was still only having sex because I thought there was no other way out, because I felt I caused the situation and it was my fault, because I didn’t know how to say “no”. With 84 people, I could not say “no”. I allowed people to use my body because I didn’t think I was worth saving.

I have been reliving my relationship with you, with Grandpa, with Mom over and over, trying to get it right this time. I now acknowledge that I cannot make it right. You cannot make it right. All I can do is express my understanding and genuine rage at this, and stand up for myself and say “NO MORE”.

NO MORE silence

NO MORE intimidation

NO MORE threats

NO MORE tolerance

NO MORE sweeping it under the rug

NO MORE ignorance

NO MORE abusing myself

NO MORE letting others abuse me

NO MORE repeating my past.

NO MORE you being in charge

NO MORE fear of you

NO MORE accepting criticism from you

NO MORE sharing my time with people who don’t want to be around me.

NO MORE allowing people to intimidate me just because I’m used to it.

NO MORE!

I hate you for what you did, and that you never cared enough for us to see the impact you were having. I’ve hated you and hated you, until I had no energy to hate you anymore. I’ve hated myself for being like you, for being molded by you.

NO MORE.

I may forgive you one day, for my own peace of mind, but not today. Today, I need to see where my wounds are, so I can begin healing them. And you have no choice over it, no power to give or deny me permission to do it. You have no power to stop me from writing about the things you’ve done in my life, because you did them in my life.

For now, I just forgive myself for continuing the patterns of abuse I learned as a child. I forgive myself, and I dedicate myself to learning healthier relationships. This Generational problem stops with me.

A letter to Mom,

Dear Mom,

I cannot express anger to you directly, yet. I suppose part of me is still afraid you will break. I have only resentment. I will work on the anger part. Right now, I try simply not to relive your life, not to repeat the mistakes I lived through you making. I will not allow my husband to abuse my children. I will not attempt suicide. I will not abandon my family.

A letter to Grandpa,

I’ve said everything I’ve needed to say to your spirit. I’ve released my negative energy toward you, and I let you go, willingly, into your eternal slumber.