I lay in my bed in the fetal position, barely moving for the third straight day, sobbing, not eating, wearing the same robe I had put on after returning from the court house. My head was spinning, my thoughts dark and sad as this was the first time my kids and I had ever been apart. I got the restraining order because I was afraid of him. I was afraid for my kids and afraid for myself. Now they were with Him, and the minutes passed like hours as I persevered through the time before I knew they would be home again.
My “father” showed up at the courthouse after two weeks had passed and it was time to deal with the restraining order. He was there to “support” my ExN, his made-of-the-same-Narcisstic-mold-adopted “son,” whom he chose to favor over his own biological daughter. He uttered no words during this short court visit; he just sat proudly on the bench behind my ExN and his attorney, carefully taking notes and nodding in agreement whenever he could. I had not spoken to my “father” in over two months, and the time before that even longer. The last call we had?
It was summer, I was driving, and I was afraid. I called him crying, telling him I really thought sometime was wrong with my Ex, that he needed help, that I was scared of what he was going to do next, and him hurting me or my kids. I told him his behavior was irrational and I genuinely told him I didn’t know what to do and thought he needed help. My father was, well, my father, and I thought he might actually listen to me.
My father’s response to me simply was this: “Well, Lucy…. What you are telling me does not seem like “Ex” at all, I’m not sure I understand. Exactly what did YOU do to cause him to start behaving like this?”
For domestic violence to exist there must be one or more of these: punishment, coercion, control, intimidation and revenge. My father punished me because in his eyes, I was just like my mother. He packed his things and left her out of the blue one random morning after more than two decades of …punishment…coercion…control…intimidation…and revenge.
This was my “normal” growing up, what I knew. And this is why I went on to marry someone who was exactly the same as him.
The ExN, and my “father,” picked the kids up shortly after I returned from the court house. I had to carefully explain to the kids what was happening, as they had not seen or spoken with their father for two weeks, and up until a few hours prior, I did not know that there would be a visit so quickly. They were cautiously excited, not knowing quite what to expect.
Neither was I.
We agreed at the court house that the kids would call me at 7PM each night they were with their dad so I could at least have comfort in hearing their voices.
The first night they left I received a voice message from my “father” letting me know that the kids “were not interested in talking with me right now” but they would try again later. About a half an hour later I spoke with my daughter for a few minutes before she was interrupted by my “father” saying “it was long enough,” and that my son “did not want to talk to me at all.”
The next night I experienced the same thing.
And on the third night I finally got to talk with both of my kids.
~LLS~ Lucy K. Wright
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