Editor’s note: Lovefraud received the following story from a reader whom we’ll call “Corrine.” Read Part 1.
We were working together, but would come home to an environment that continued to whittle away at me. He would leave on the weekends or whenever something happened to a community member. He ignored me physically and emotionally, even if he brought me with him on weekends away. We would stay in his parents’ home. He would go out and leave me there, alone. (His parents would take my son into their bedroom and close the door during this time.)
I wasted away spiritually and physically. Eventually, my father came over to ask what was happening. He (anyone really) could easily see me wasting away in spirit and body (weighing about 95 lbs as opposed to 115 when I was married). My ex played it off to me and others as my inability to function, suggesting mental illness—a recurring theme. I contemplated leaving him very seriously, but like so many women, thought staying was important for our son, and I’d already lost some self-esteem.
He came around enough for us to have another son. After 5 yrs roughly, he changed again. This time embracing my family’s way of life. He worked hard, and with the guidance of my father, started investing in a couple of lucrative real estate purchases. I had a third child, our first daughter, and he seemed very content.
It was at this time, 6 months prior to our 10th anniversary, that he flipped again. He started seeking out illicit drugs, fighting with his mother, who had started attacking my character to him, in repetitive violent bursts. He defended me, as he explained, and again became very attentive to me, but more intensely than when we dated.
He suddenly showed interest in a mutual sex life. He took me on a second honeymoon during which time I finally felt a deep love for him. It was so relieving to me, after so many years of being ignored, living without affection, both physical and spiritual. It had a profound impact on me. This was his well-planned intention.
It was shortly after this that he began to look for things to fight about. Fixating on a friendship of mine from 5 yrs prior, he flipped completely. He mentioned the thought of moving us back to the city he was from. It was implied, but we left one weekend with plans to return the following week. He didn’t want me to return. He left the medical practice, which was mostly run by him at this time, as I had just had our youngest child. He did it abruptly. And while it was extremely successful, respected, and lucrative, he abandoned it.
He played on the feelings I had recently rekindled with him. After so many years of being virtually ignored, with virtually no sexual relationship (other than for procreation) he suddenly was interested again, in love with me again. It was with that overall tone that he initiated the move and subsequently introducing me to my isolated hell.
He never allowed me to return, not even to pack the contents of our home. He gave me no warning, and made me believe I was at fault for making him feel like he was living a lie. He attacked me physically the first time prior to driving all of us away for the weekend, the one I believed was a visit. He then, diligently separated me from my family. He warned of them being a bad influence on me. He kept me down, on the defensive, blaming me for everything wrong in his life with the exception of his sporadic cyclical behavior typical of an abuser.
With the move, he started feigning ‘concern’ for my well being. It was only to suggest I wasn’t well. Emotionally distraught over the changes in my life, he was successful in making me look and feel inept. He constantly criticized my driving, repeating, “you’re going to have a wreck.” I know he was planting a suggestion. His book collections were complete with mind control training. If something is said repeatedly it will certainly become a reality.
Three months into the relocation, and after a sleepless night of perversity followed by arguments that were one sided, ending in my obvious defeat, I did indeed have a life threatening car accident. I was in the ICU for 5 days. When I was released for internal hemorrhaging (countless blood transfusions were required to keep me alive) he was overtly rough with me physically during sex.
A few days after my release, I began to feel abdominal pain that I knew wasn’t right. I pleaded with him to at least allow me to get a CT image of my abdomen. He argued with me. He said he had a terrible eye twitch because of the stress I put him through. “It’s always about you!” he said over and over.
By the time we reached the imaging center across the street from our office, I told him I was scared I’d die. Reluctantly, he drove us back to our offices. He wouldn’t allow me to take the elevator insisting I could walk up the stairs. The nurse, and my dear friend, couldn’t get a blood pressure and called 911, saving my life.
When the paramedics arrived, he cried false tears out of concern for me. I quietly asked the paramedics not to cut my new shirt off. I liked that shirt. I had to make all the decisions regarding my well being once we arrived at the hospital. I requested a transfer to a tertiary care hospital, the one I trained at in Internal Medicine, instead of allowing a splenectomy by a surgeon who wanted to, “get the surgery over with” because he was leaving for vacation the next day. (Never allow a surgeon to rush through an operation. That’s never a good sign!)
It was another hemorrhage, started by his physical toughness with me and his refusal to wait until I was healed to have sex, and rigorous sex it was. After another 5 days in the ICU, and a visit by social services where they asked me if he had hit me, I was released. I didn’t answer yes to the question. I lied to myself, not yet ready to feel the pain that was inevitably coming.
What I didn’t realize was that it was already the worst it could be. After I was released he continued to be particularly rough with my abdomen. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I had bent over the passenger seat to buckle the car seat on my youngest. He stepped on the gas, causing the headrest to hit me in the belly. His face carried an evil I couldn’t even conceive of at the time.
Going to kill her
It was a horrific year before I left in the middle of the night with the children and his parents escorting me. He followed, and swore he he’d move back and start providing for me again. The following 8 months were more horrific than the prior year. There was little to no time spent in the ‘Honeymoon’ phase. His disgust for me was growing more and more obvious.
During this time the physical abuse was impossible for him to hide, especially from our children. He would never allow me to be ill. On one particularly memorable evening when I was laying in bed with pneumonia, he became angry at me for asking him to try to maneuver around the bed more quietly so I could actually rest. He started beating me in the bed, picking my ill, limp body up to deliver blows. My younger son, then only 8 yrs old, screamed at him to stop, “Dad you’re going to kill her!” That’s something that’s impossible to forget.
As I mentioned before he had come from a “connected” and strongly social community. For the most part his family and friends of his family were always very kind and welcoming to me. They had always advocated strong family values. His parents sent me the kindest message praising my ability to raise their grandchildren and regretting his behavior. They saw how he was treating me. They saw that after I finally broke away I led an honorable life and raised my children with unconditional love and compassion. Before the separation, I’m sure there was great confusion. My ex was (is) a master manipulator. He knew how to make me look “unstable” and did so effortlessly, in front of our children as well.
Tomorrow: His behavior was worse than ever