How do abusive women get away with it? Dr. T. explains.
“Our eyes met across a crowded room. As trite as it sounds, that is how I met the woman who became my wife and my abuser… the Hungarian Horntail.”
“I met her through work and, by all accounts, it seemed like the most normal relationship I ever had. “
“Absolutely, unequivocally, as soon as the words, ‘I can tell…’ have been uttered, I know I’m in for a ride on the roller coaster of emotional insanity.”
“Why was a fellow student phoning me up and asking to meet at the police station? What was it that he couldn’t discuss over the phone?”
I broke down. I couldn’t even look myself in the eye anymore. I truly believed that D was right. I was a monster. “A monster who was so horribly scarred that could never be loved or be healed”, as D put it.
I remember waking up to my head being slammed against the wall, causing me to have a goose egg on my forehead for about two weeks. When I looked over, D acted like she was sleeping.
I did lie to her. I lied in order to survive living with her. I put my happiness aside in order to keep her happy.
I went to comfort him. When she realised what I was about to do, she pulled him out of his walker by one arm, flung him into the air, and caught him in her other arm.
“The first time she physically attacked me, I instinctively pushed back… I quickly realized that I would lose if I defended myself, and should just take the beating.”
“She kicked, scratched and slapped me regularly. As time passed, her physical violence escalated and became more frequent. The objects she threw at me became bigger, harder and heavier.”
“Both parents are to blame,” was said repeatedly, especially when Crazy’s behaviour was clearly wrong and indefensible. And while they were blaming “both” they were always looking at me.