Walking Away

Sensitive matters: verbal and emotional abuse

I hear the front door slam and my shoulders slump with relief. He’s gone. Catching my own eye in the mirror, I know today is the day. I can no longer count how many times I’ve dreamt of this moment, of finally leaving for good. There’s always something that keeps me here -- an excuse, a smile, the fear that he’ll track me down, my own fucking pride -- but today is the day I set myself free.

People in my life tell comment on how brave and strong I am. They have no idea the weakness I hide. I’m so ashamed to find myself in this place, spending my life with someone who treats the dog better than his wife. That’s the funny thing about abuse, it never looks like that in the beginning. At first, it’s little things that are easy to dismiss, especially when the damage isn’t physical. “All couples fight”, you tell yourself. When the house is filled with silence for days on end and the rage comes flowing off of him in waves, you start to wonder if it really is your fault. You start to think he may be right. Maybe I really am the crazy one. Whether I am or not, it ends today. 

Stepping timidly into the hall, I make my way through the living room and peek out the curtain to make sure his car is no longer in the driveway. I better wait another fifteen minutes, just to be sure he doesn’t come back for something. If he were to come home and find me packing, there would be hell to pay. Though it doesn’t usually get physical, that may finally be the time we blow the roof off this little house. The neighbors would get quite a show! The one thing I’m proud of in this whole mess is that I always fought back. Most of the time, I concede, just wanting it to stop, but I manage to land a few solid digs of my own before it’s done. 

I call into work, telling them I have a migraine and won’t be in today. If I just don't show up, they might call him to check on me. I don’t want to take any chances that he’ll be tipped off before I clear the state line. I’ll deal with my job later. Today, I have only one mission -- get out.

Every nerve in my body is lit up like a Christmas tree as a pace the living room carpet. A jumbled list of all the things I might need wherever I land next races through my mind. Sarge, my protector and soulmate in canine form, watches me patiently from his bed in the corner. When Ethan figures out I took him with me, it will send him over the edge. This time I won’t be on the receiving end of his rage. 

Ethan only pretends to care so much about the handsome German Shepard I picked at the rescue shelter to get at me. In all the times I’ve threatened to leave, “Fine. Go. But I’m keeping Sarge.” is usually the sentence that drains the fight out of me. I know, staying for a dog seems crazy, but he’s so much more than that. Plus, it’s a great excuse for not doing the hard thing of actually upending my life and leaving. 

***

My hands are shaking and my legs feel like jelly as I make my way down the basement stairs to get the suitcases. A wave of nausea nearly knocks me over and I wonder if I really have what it takes to do this. What if I’m not strong enough?

In the dim light, I make out the two suitcases my sister gave me for my high school graduation. Oh, the dreams I had for this luggage. This certainly wasn’t one of them. Those dreams have been fully eclipsed by this waking nightmare that is my life. 

On our wedding day, less than a year ago, I knew marrying Ethan was a mistake. Everything in my body was begging me not to go through with it. When the minister told me I had five minutes left, I burst into tears and nearly bolted. In the end, I choose to let myself down rather than disappoint a church full of family and friends who had come from around the country for the occasion.

The only thing that got me down the aisle was the constant mantra, “Things will change once we’re married. He will chill out once he has a commitment. We’ll learn how to communicate.” I couldn’t admit that Ethan was abusive and that I should never have moved a thousand miles away from everything I’d ever known to be with him. Of course, his dark side never showed until the move was done and I had nowhere to go. It didn’t matter, my pride couldn’t take that kind of hit.

My feet slip, shaking off the memory and sending me sprawling on the stairs, face wet with tears. Tears for the naive girl who only wanted love and a grand adventure far away from the one-horse town she loosely called home. Tears for the man that never was, the fictional figure she hoped he would become. Tears for the life she thought she wanted, settled and “normal” for the first time. Tears for the disappointment I was about to drop on those who loved and supported us. Tears for my shattered heart and pride. 

“You’re so stupid!” “God, you’re such a lazy bitch.” “You’re so fucking selfish.” His favorite ways to break me down. It didn’t feel like abuse because he was only saying the worst things I thought about myself out loud. That made them easy to believe. He simply gave all my demons a voice. “No one will ever love you like I do.” He’s probably right, but if this is what love is, I’d rather be alone.

I wipe the tears on my sleeve, gather all my resolve, and emerge into the light of the kitchen, suitcases in hand. Sarge is waiting in the hallway, urging me to hurry up and get us out of here. I’ve gotten pretty good at letting myself down, but I’m not going to let him down. Not this time. Those amber eyes always penetrate right into my soul. This dog sees me like no human ever has. 

I tear through my closet and drawers, grabbing anything I think I may need -- shorts, sweaters, a parka, my swimsuit. I have no idea where I’m going from here. Not a single soul, other than Sarge, knows I’m leaving today. I don’t want to take any chances that someone will try to talk me out of it because they just might succeed. Once I cross the state line, I’ll call my mom from a pay phone to let her know that I’ve left and that I’m okay. She’ll want me to come home, but that’s not home anymore. I will be adrift with only Sarge to anchor me to any particular time or place. My home is with him now. All I know is that I’ve got to go. I’ll figure the rest out later. 

As I scan the room for other essentials, my eyes land on the wedding photo on our dresser. The same old stories start up again. Maybe if I just try harder, things will get better. If I can only keep my mouth shut, maybe we won’t fight like that anymore. I can be different. I can be better. I just have to try harder! The voice of that scared little girl who so desperately wants to be safe and loved echoes through my mind. She’s been taught her whole life not to rock the boat, and this will capsize the whole damn thing. 

The demon of doubt sees the cracks forming in my resolve and is desperately searching for a way in. I collapse on the bed as sobs rip through my body, spilling the pieces of my shattered heart onto the comforter. How did it come to this? Why is it so hard to walk away when everything inside me knows it’s the right thing to do? Gods, how did it come to this?

I know don’t have all day. The sooner I’m on the road, the more distance there will be between us by the time he realizes what’s happened. I need every last mile, hoping the further away I am, the less hold he will have over me. The less likely I’ll be to turn around and let him drag me back. I swipe at the tears and know it’s time to get back to the business of leaving. 

***

My old SUV that drove those thousand miles to this place only has room for the two suitcases, Sarge’s bed, and a handful of blankets in case we have to sleep in the back. I don’t want to use credit cards until I’m far enough away that he can’t catch up. All the possible scenarios run through my mind as I blindly throw clothes, mementos, and the teddy bear I got for my first birthday into the awaiting suitcases. The bin of handmade, family heirloom Christmas ornaments I brought with me from home springs into my mind. There’s no room. They will have to stay, along with all the dreams I had for this marriage. 

It’s nearly 10 AM and I need to start racking up miles soon. Fear ripples through my body, and a renewed sense of purpose and urgency propels me forward. Fear has a wonderful way of eclipsing sorrow and sweeping the pieces of my broken heart into the corner and out of sight for the moment. It’s time to go. 

Though most of my previous attempts to leave have been in my daydreams, the few times I’ve really tried were quickly thwarted, usually by my fear of the unknown and crippling self-doubt that’s built up during my time in this relationship. It always feels like trying to run through quicksand, going nowhere in a hurry. 

I heave the full suitcases off the bed and drag them out to the garage. I don’t dare pull the SUV into the driveway in case one of the busybody neighbors sees me loading up and calls him to find out where I’m going. Squeezing between the packed shelves, I shimmy my way around to the back hatch and load the luggage. Sarge’s bed goes in next, then I rush down to the basement, gathering our extra blankets and a pillow for sleeping. It’s spring, so sleeping next to Sarge for warmth, we should keep from freezing. If I take the bedding we use for guests, it may buy me a few extra minutes as he tries to figure out where Sarge and I have gone. I pray he’ll assume we’re out for our daily walk. 

The back hatch closes with a snap and I head inside to gather my purse and Sarge’s gear.  That’s it. There’s no room for more or another minute to spare, lost in my feelings. 

With one last look around this house of pain, a life of lies stares back at me. The chili pepper decor I chose for the kitchen laughs at my attempts to bring brightness to this place. The green accent wall we painted mocks my desire for tranquility within these walls. A few more silent tears slip out as I say goodbye to this life. I’m not sure now whether they’re tears of sadness, relief, or joy. 

Back in the garage, I throw my purse on the passenger seat and load the last items into the footwell. Sarge is anxious to get going and leaps into the back seat unassisted. He’s always down for an adventure, and I try to match his enthusiasm, though I can barely breathe. My heart is pounding, and my palms slip on the steering wheel. There’s nothing left but the leaving.

The garage door slowly rises, and the world opens up behind me in the rearview mirror. With a deep breath, I ease the SUV into reverse and back into the sun-soaked driveway. I can’t tear my eyes away from the door until it finally touches the concrete, locking that life behind me for good. I will never see this place again. I am free. 

Pulling out of the driveway onto our quiet street, I soak in every leaf, bird feeder, and lawn ornament. I want to remember this moment and the decorations that adorned the world the day I reclaimed my life. 

One monumental sigh later, I shift into drive and gently press the gas pedal. Away we go. Forward, into the unknown.