I’m back after taking an extended break from writing. I am trying to get back into the habit of it.
I just finished reading through some of the old posts I had written on my other blog about my life and how it is less than ideal, and thinking about how much it has gone downhill since the last post I made. I will post some of those old ramblings here over the next few days.
I also remembered some other things that happened years ago that I need to get out of my head, so here goes.
My husband has always had a horrible temper, and on multiple occasions, he has become so angry at either me or our son that he has gone off and punched holes in walls, punched holes in doors, broke the front door in half once, cracked the window in his car because he punched it repeatedly in a fit of rage because I contradicted him. He has grabbed me by the wrists so hard he left bruises, he has sexually assaulted me repeatedly, been deliberately unemployed, and a couple of years ago he slapped me. Hard. But, before most of that, this:
One evening years ago, I was trying to brush our son’s butt length hair and he didn’t want it brushed and was crying and screaming because he didn’t want me to, and I insisted on doing it anyway. Once it was brushed, we talked and decided that the next morning I would take him to get his hair cut.
When I left our son’s room, my husband was waiting for me in the hall, clippers in hand, and said that he had had enough of the boys attitude and he was going to shave his head right now. I explained that we had already agreed on a haircut the next morning, but that wasn’t good enough for Mr. Control Freak. He started screaming that I was undermining his authority as a parent, and that we needed to present a unified front to our son, and how dare I try to stop him from shaving the kids head?
I explained to him that mayhap we should wait until he had calmed down a bit to talk things through, and that he shouldn’t try to shave the boys head until he was more calm, and that just made him even more angry. He stepped into the bathroom and put the clippers on the sink, then came back into the hall. Our son was crying and scared and trying to get to me by this point, and my husband shoved him away, back into his room, and then went into his room and picked him and pinned him against the wall.
I took that opportunity to grab the clippers and throw them into the hall closet, then went back to try to get my son away from his father.
Mr. Control Freak put the boy down and went to get the clippers, which he couldn’t find. He started yelling incoherently, looking everywhere for them, and while he was doing that, I grabbed our son and headed to the door of our apartment. I was about halfway out, when he grabbed our boy by the ankles and started pulling him away from me. I noticed that he had a pair of scissors in his hand, so I gently sat our son on the floor, he kicked his feet free and I told him to run to his room and lock the door, which he did.
Mr. Control Freak slammed the front door and said that if he couldn’t find the clippers, he would just cut his hair with scissors, so I fought him and managed to get the scissors away from him, and behind my back.
My husband was so mad that he grabbed me and threw me over the back of the loveseat that we were standing next to, then he turned and started punching the closet door. I landed on my shoulder on the floor and was very fortunate not to stab myself with the scissors when I fell. I scampered up as quickly as I could and threw the scissors into our bedroom.
Punching holes in the closet door brought him back to his senses and he grabbed the car keys and walked out of the apartment. I locked the door behind him and he was gone until morning.