I am not your typical survivor. I don’t like to call myself a survivor. I didn’t almost die. Well, maybe once I could have gotten in a serious accident.
August 12th 2012.
We were leaving a block party in the city, hosted by two of our best friends at the time. My son was 4, Addison was a few months old. It was pretty late, and “He” was very, very drunk. I can’t recall why exactly we were fighting, but it was a normal violent weekend night when he had too many beers, and I was sober enough to let him get under my skin. This night I was particularly pissed because I again was being the more responsible of the two, taking care of my children and staying sober.
Like I said, I don’t remember why we were fighting or what it was about really. It was probably about how drunk he was, which was a point of contention all the time. I’ve seen him drink 18 beers before AND shots. I blame myself in a way for poking a tiger. I was driving down the interstate at maybe 70 mph or so. It was a long drive from downtown back to Brookfield. We were arguing in front of my son of course, in which was irresponsible and disgusting. He was old enough then to know what was going on, and he remembers this event to this day.
Things were getting nastier and nastier between us. I was trying to keep my eyes on the road and my kids safe while returning smart ass cut downs, that cut like a knife. Well, I did it. The end all- be all of things I could say, to make him completely snap. It was the only way I could hurt him back deep enough, for he to feel the pain he was imposing on me as well give him a dose of reality.
I called him a “fucking loser”.
Well folks, that was it. I got a full on, full fisted, rock hard punch to the side of my face, driving 70 mph with my babies in the car. I saw stars. It was like I got hit in the head with a brick. It became absolute danger and chaos, and that moment, I was enraged and scared to death. I am so thankful I am physcially and mentally, tough as nails or I could have lost control of my car and possibly killed us all or someone else.
At this point, my son was screaming and crying, begging us to stop. Addison was crying. I was trying to pull off the next exit and call the police. I was crying and shaking and screaming at him my intentions. This is where all of our fears esclated.
You see, this was not the first time or the last time, I had call the police in this marriage. He was terrified of getting arrested and started wrestling me for the steering wheel. I started pulling off the exit and he kept pushing the wheel to keep me on the highway. It was absolute horror and danger. I will never forget it for the rest of my life. Screaming, crying, madness and fear. I pulled into a gas station where he fought me and wrestled me for my phone. I remember breaking a few nails but I won the phone, and the police were called and arrived very quickly.
You see the ends of these stories I don’t remember completely clearly, because the horror of it all I blackout. I know I safely left with my babies and my heart pounded as I cried all the way home. I was terrified. Horrified. Exhausted. Mentally and physcially. I had to get my baby out, my traumatized son, let everyone including myself know it was going to be ok. There is no time for you to heal when you have babies to take care of. Kids to calm down, diapers to change… This would be one of many more nights I slept with both babies in my bed, all holding eachother. I knew one day, I’m going to get us the fuck out of here.