Just Feelings
Most horrible of all is just the feelings that rage through me.
One day, in the middle of her conspiring, Ob gave me a wallet photo of her. It was just before Christmas, I think. A few months later, she would file Intervention Orders against me. I found the wallet photo, and tore it up over the trash bin.
It was the right thing to do, I know, but the horrible pain that slammed through me as I tore it once, then twice, was like being hit with a heavy pole. A numbing, hard pain; like slamming into a wall or a long fall.
I know now that during the last few months Ob was trying to get me to do something that she could claim was physical abuse. She was cruelly insulting over and over. The words hurt, but the idea of hitting her never came to mind.
She even went so far as to say, "You'd just like to kill me right now, wouldn't you?", literally baiting me. I honestly didn't. I couldn't understand why someone I loved would even say that.
I suppose she returned to her conspirators and told them all the hurtful things she had said to me, and they all had a laugh. "And he still didn't do anything?!" -- "No," she'd say, laughing and ridiculing me for my -- What?
Lack of manhood?
Sometimes even now, my thoughts return to her.
The feeling can be described, and it sounds so foolishly romantic: It is as if my heart were torn from my chest. I never thought I could feel that way.
The feeling can stay for days. Days and nights.
I have to hide from it by doing other things. Talking to people. Reading. Studying. But it's still there.
It hurts so much it makes me tremble. Tears flow from my eyes for no reason. Part of me is still in denial, I realize, unwilling to accept what she has done.
Ob told me a few times, when I would point out her abusive actions and words, that if I left I would miss her and her family.
The times I remember were when my world was filled with exhausting pain: from my hip which twisted my knee and back -- sometimes even giving me headaches; and the ugly blood clot swelling in my lower leg.
She would yell at me that she didn't respect me; or that I was lazy; or that I was only in the house because of her pity.
And I'd try to explain about the exhaustion from the constant pain.
And try to show her that her words were abusive, hoping she would be aware of them and stop. Trying to get her to realize what she was doing; to take responsibility for her actions like an adult.
Sometimes it would make her stop for a few minutes, but not for long.
Thinking about what she did and said later, I realize she went to her conspirators. They told her my words were just trying to control her. (There is a sick irony to the truth: She was abusing and brainwashing me, -- and I was trying to control her?)
The heart is a strange thing in love. She turned out to be right.
I don't miss any of her family, but I do miss her at times. The pain in my heart fills my mind and body. Tears flow from my eyes. Not sobbing, just a constant wet flow. My hands shake. My heart aches.
I remind myself that she was cruelly abusive day after day, and it doesn't matter. Trying to find anger, or even just a sense of self-preservation, is futile. I loved her with all my body and soul, and even despite all the pain of her words, and sick betrayal, I miss her.
Boundaries, I tell myself. You have to remember your boundaries. You -- I -- am not responsible for her actions.
It only softens the pain for a while. Emotions are such damnable things!
I do not miss the abuse.
I realized Ob was mentally unstable. My own heart told me that I would survive my own injuries and someday would have to help the person I loved get through her illness. The thoughts helped me deal with being crippled.
I told myself that if she would not deal with her actions, I would love her anyway.
I told myself I was lucky to have my own home where I could recuperate in private. A place where I didn't have to answer to anyone for the embarrassing things my injuries forced me to do. A place where I could claim some dignity despite my pain.
I had no idea the courts could take that from me on just allegations.
If Ob and her conspirators had had their way, I would have been tossed out onto the street when I could hardly walk or stand. I found that out in the courtroom, when her older son shouted from the back of the room
I tell myself now that despite all the indignities forced on me by the courts, Ob and her conspirators, I handled my own affairs the best I could. I refused to let the neighbors tell Ob and Lob what they thought of them. I refused to ever resort to violence even when I was only moments from suicide.
If it had not been for the neighbors who helped me, I would have had to take that small satisfaction alone on a cold street.
Ob and Lob are gone now. They sold my former home and moved away. Their use of the courts for extortion was successful. My own life is slowly returning.
I will say again for all to hear: "I have no rights. There is no way for me to defend them against the prejudice in the Australian legal system. Intervention Orders are inhuman; a crime against civil and human rights."
These finally are not feelings, just facts.
Paul Donley
One day, in the middle of her conspiring, Ob gave me a wallet photo of her. It was just before Christmas, I think. A few months later, she would file Intervention Orders against me. I found the wallet photo, and tore it up over the trash bin.
It was the right thing to do, I know, but the horrible pain that slammed through me as I tore it once, then twice, was like being hit with a heavy pole. A numbing, hard pain; like slamming into a wall or a long fall.
I know now that during the last few months Ob was trying to get me to do something that she could claim was physical abuse. She was cruelly insulting over and over. The words hurt, but the idea of hitting her never came to mind.
She even went so far as to say, "You'd just like to kill me right now, wouldn't you?", literally baiting me. I honestly didn't. I couldn't understand why someone I loved would even say that.
I suppose she returned to her conspirators and told them all the hurtful things she had said to me, and they all had a laugh. "And he still didn't do anything?!" -- "No," she'd say, laughing and ridiculing me for my -- What?
Lack of manhood?
Sometimes even now, my thoughts return to her.
The feeling can be described, and it sounds so foolishly romantic: It is as if my heart were torn from my chest. I never thought I could feel that way.
The feeling can stay for days. Days and nights.
I have to hide from it by doing other things. Talking to people. Reading. Studying. But it's still there.
It hurts so much it makes me tremble. Tears flow from my eyes for no reason. Part of me is still in denial, I realize, unwilling to accept what she has done.
Ob told me a few times, when I would point out her abusive actions and words, that if I left I would miss her and her family.
The times I remember were when my world was filled with exhausting pain: from my hip which twisted my knee and back -- sometimes even giving me headaches; and the ugly blood clot swelling in my lower leg.
She would yell at me that she didn't respect me; or that I was lazy; or that I was only in the house because of her pity.
And I'd try to explain about the exhaustion from the constant pain.
And try to show her that her words were abusive, hoping she would be aware of them and stop. Trying to get her to realize what she was doing; to take responsibility for her actions like an adult.
Sometimes it would make her stop for a few minutes, but not for long.
Thinking about what she did and said later, I realize she went to her conspirators. They told her my words were just trying to control her. (There is a sick irony to the truth: She was abusing and brainwashing me, -- and I was trying to control her?)
The heart is a strange thing in love. She turned out to be right.
I don't miss any of her family, but I do miss her at times. The pain in my heart fills my mind and body. Tears flow from my eyes. Not sobbing, just a constant wet flow. My hands shake. My heart aches.
I remind myself that she was cruelly abusive day after day, and it doesn't matter. Trying to find anger, or even just a sense of self-preservation, is futile. I loved her with all my body and soul, and even despite all the pain of her words, and sick betrayal, I miss her.
Boundaries, I tell myself. You have to remember your boundaries. You -- I -- am not responsible for her actions.
It only softens the pain for a while. Emotions are such damnable things!
I do not miss the abuse.
I realized Ob was mentally unstable. My own heart told me that I would survive my own injuries and someday would have to help the person I loved get through her illness. The thoughts helped me deal with being crippled.
I told myself that if she would not deal with her actions, I would love her anyway.
I told myself I was lucky to have my own home where I could recuperate in private. A place where I didn't have to answer to anyone for the embarrassing things my injuries forced me to do. A place where I could claim some dignity despite my pain.
I had no idea the courts could take that from me on just allegations.
If Ob and her conspirators had had their way, I would have been tossed out onto the street when I could hardly walk or stand. I found that out in the courtroom, when her older son shouted from the back of the room
I tell myself now that despite all the indignities forced on me by the courts, Ob and her conspirators, I handled my own affairs the best I could. I refused to let the neighbors tell Ob and Lob what they thought of them. I refused to ever resort to violence even when I was only moments from suicide.
If it had not been for the neighbors who helped me, I would have had to take that small satisfaction alone on a cold street.
Ob and Lob are gone now. They sold my former home and moved away. Their use of the courts for extortion was successful. My own life is slowly returning.
I will say again for all to hear: "I have no rights. There is no way for me to defend them against the prejudice in the Australian legal system. Intervention Orders are inhuman; a crime against civil and human rights."
These finally are not feelings, just facts.
Paul Donley
posted by Unknown at
6:13 AM
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2 Comments:
I have to admit that I thought for more than a day before putting that post up. Even then, the words came jerking, lurching out of my mind.
I'll have to read it later to see if I wrote it well. I doubt it.
I decided to write it for two reasons. One is the sense of catharsis I feel now. The other is to offer an example to other men who feel just as deeply and intensely, but have no examples of how to express their feelings.
I'm not sure this post is a great example.
There is a great deal written about the love of a woman.
The love of a man is equally beautiful and deep. A man will sacrifice himself physically and emotionally, day after day, ... and always blame himself even for the ugly things the people he loves do.
He will endure unending abuse, day by day .. from his spouse, children, and employers.
He will do all of this in silence. In silence because there are no good ways for him to say he hurts.
And if he becomes disabled in Australia, he will know he is a social pariah.
By
Unknown, at 7:20 AM
Ob must have had a good laugh with her daughter and family after talking to me just following the extorted settlement.
She said, "I'm not feeling well. But at least I will be able to recuperate in my own home."
Said coldly, the words would outwardly seem to have no malice, unless you were aware of the events of the previous year.
She was subtly and sarcastically making the point that she and her conspirators had denied me the right to recuperate in peace in my own home.
By
Unknown, at 8:39 AM
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