I remember the first day I was introduced to his rage. We had known each other for a couple of years. We had been laying around in the living room at his house watching TV when a sitcom came on that I thought was entertaining and humorous. I left the channel there. He got up, looked at me and flew into a rage about the show. It was so sudden and so surprising. I don’t remember what he was specifically yelling about anymore. Something about “STUPID,” and “IMMATURE,” and “DEGRADING.” I sat their stunned, really not knowing what just happened. I was terrified by what I just saw and what I was hearing.
My dog had been staying with him because his house had more room outside. He went to bed, leaving me with the result of his rage. I picked up my dog and drove home. I lay in bed wide awake, still trying to understand what had happened. The phone rang.
“How dare you take the dog!!” he said. “How could you do that?!!” It didn’t make any sense to me. My breath shortened, my heart raced, and I know now that what I felt was just terror. His focus was not on his mistake of raging, but on the dog. Is this real? I tried to discuss the anger. He never acknowledged it. He just kept saying, “How could you?!!” It was as if I wasn’t talking really.
Maybe I wasn’t talking. Maybe it never happened because he does not acknowledge it. It is like my words fell on deaf ears, or flew out into a dark abyss. Maybe my feelings were not real, made up, only in my imagination. I convinced myself it was not real—my feelings.
We got married. One year into the marriage we had our first child. The second came three years later. Our second was a son born with multiple disabilities. I quit working to stay at home with our son and daughter. I drove 200 miles a day for nearly 3 years to doctors, and hospitals, for hundreds of events on the operating table. I stayed countless nights with my son in his hospital room, sleeping standing up or in the one chair that 3 other parents shared in a room filled with 4 cribs—a room about 10’ by 12’.
I would try and make an adventure out of these trips with both of my children by stopping by the beach and having a picnic, or stop at Denny’s for dinner. We talked about life, growing up, and the opportunities in every challenge. For nearly 10 years, I slept for about four 15 minute sound bites a night because our son was dying and I had to save him. I saved him from drowning in his own vomit during a seizure, from choking or drowning on his own mucus. I stayed awake to keep him alive. And that I did.
But, about once a month or so he would come home from work demanding that I “Get a job!!!” I would feebly ask his thoughts on what I should do to care for our son—who would care for him, where would he go?
There was the dark abyss again—my words fell on deaf ears. It’s as if I wasn’t really speaking. “Get a job!!!”
This was the pattern for the 16 years we were married. It just came more often as the years wore on. During his violent rages, he became increasingly more enraged. Although he would become very physically violent against inanimate things such as the vehicles, the walls, the washer. He never hit me. I heard him many times over the years how he “would never hit a woman,” when he would hear of domestic violence on the news or in the newspaper. He was proud of this.
Nearly every night he would open the dishwasher and in a rage would empty it. “No one knows how to stack the f….king dishwasher,” he would yell. The dishes would crash back on the kitchen counter and he would re-stack one at a time.
More than 10 years into the marriage, he discovered the syphilis he had contracted 20 years earlier (I did not know) had never been properly treated. I had to bring my two young children for a blood test to make sure they were clean of this disease. I had to lie to them about what it was for. I never lied and it felt so bad. Upon our arrival home, he was sitting in the hot tub I walked out to say hello and report how the day went. He was expressionless and clearly didn’t care. Tears started down my cheeks as I could see right through his chest and into his cold heart. He began imitating playing the violin as if he was saying, “What a sad story.”
Nothing could be moved around in the house. If I did move a chair, a picture—anything at all—his facial expression would instantly transform. It’s a look I quickly learned to dread, that caused my body to feel like all blood had just been drained It’s a look that meant I was to be chastised severely and that I must fear—a fear I never want to visit again.
Over the years, he criticized my cooking, tormented his daughter at every meal about her elbow on the table, or chewing with her mouth open. He drank. I learned to dread the sound of the ice dropping into his glass. “WHO PUT THIS ON CRUSHED ICE?!!!” He demanded the cubes even though it was the simplest of motions that would change the dimensions of the cubes. “I DON’T GET ANY RESPECT AROUND HERE!”
He would neglect his children when he was mad at me, and he would always choose golf over a couple of hours with his family on a Sunday.
I hated the rain because his work as in landscape maintenance would keep him at home on such days. My every move was scrutinized, and although nearly sleepless if I lay down to rest when my son was resting, I was not to be forgiven. I was lazy and needed to get a job. If I fell asleep on the couch in the evening while the family was watching TV, he would become incensed, and sometimes enraged.
He drank, raged, neglected, ran over a beloved cat, ignored his son’s cries of pain, nearly allowed his son to drown in the pool, dismissed his daughters pleas for him to stop raging, and emotionally tortured us for years. But, when the rages were over, he would walk up to me, give me a hug and say, “I love you.” One day I asked him how he could do this after his anger the night before. “Oh, get over it. That was last night.”
So, one day I couldn’t do it anymore. Thank God.
He left for work. I grabbed my 12 year old son who was in a body cast from hip surgery, my 15 year old daughter, 5 cats and 3 dogs. My daughter would not leave the animals to be cared for by such cruelty. We stayed in motel rooms who would accept animals (just never told them exactly how many we had). He would not leave the house so we could return. He tried to hunt us down, calling on my cell phone and saying, “Come home, I won’t hurt you.” I borrowed money from family, friends and wherever I could to pay for my attorney to keep my kids a roof over their head.
Only after my daughter wrote a letter to the judge, did the judge ordered him out of the house. There was no evidence of physical violence. But my daughter made clear that she feared it all the time—that she was afraid to go to sleep at night because “he might kill my mom while I was sleeping.”
But he kept coming back, breaking into the house. I told him, “Take it all, and don’t come back.” He would only come over to use the washing machine and dryer, to eat food from the refrigerator, to take a shower, to take little things that we would only eventually notice were gone. He did this all when no one was home. My daughter and I rented a U-Haul and packed his stuff up and put it in a rented storage space. I gave the key to my attorney to mail to him. He was enraged at my cruelty. One day I called him and said, “You come here again, I will call the police, have you arrested and make sure you go to jail.” His response, “Do you want to keep getting child support?” I hung up the phone.
I was able to get a job in the field of disabilities, found a mortgage broker willing to fudge my work record a little and bought his ½ of the house from him. He still came over, I called the police to have him arrested for trespassing on my property. The police just chuckled at the “domestic dispute.”
I sold the house, the kids and I moved 500 miles north. He drives 500 miles to make surprise visits, to spy on us, to torment us. I haven’t accepted money from him in years. He used it to manipulate, to threaten, to blackmail. We have been divorced now for six years.
I now know, he will never go away. He has said so. His daughter has not seen or spoke to him in 3 years. She has written him a letter saying, “I hate you from the bottom of my heart. You are evil.” He hires a private detective to find her, sends her emails to tell her he loves her. She now lives out of the country but has purchased pepper spray in the event he one day shows up at her door. He just might.
I own a gun now. I know how to use it. If he shows up, when he shows up, I will hold him at gunpoint and maybe the police will come and arrest him then. What happens if he doesn’t believe I will shoot if he comes any closer?
Restraining orders, court orders defining his restrictions and obligations to his children, mean nothing. He doesn’t care. He makes horrible accusations against me and my current husband. He spreads rumors, we respond with a letter from the attorney, and he doesn’t care.
He is a monster, and I (we) will never be rid of him and that I know for sure.
Questions for Dr. Vaknin:
1. I feel compassion for the newborn and the child he once was. What horrible things were done or not done to him? I want to stop hating him.
2. What can I do to help my children, more specifically my daughter, with the pain of having been dismissed by their father for every feeling they have ever had?
3. What can I do to forgive myself for having stayed with him for 16 years at great expense? I love my children beyond measure, and would never wish I did not have them. But why did I have children with this man?
4. What is it about my own self-esteem that would have drawn me to him in the first place and why did it take me so long to leave?
5. Will my children ever be absent of the pain their father (and my weakness for not leaving him earlier) has caused? In other words, will it ever just become a distant memory for them?


