I made no secret about how much displeasure I felt at my family’s insistence on bringing back a truckload of triggers that they felt I should have to salvage from a life that rife with violence sometimes so brutal that I cannot bring myself to burden loved ones with things no human being should be forced to endure. Adamantly I stood in refusal against retrieving anything he left behind once he was finally evicted for racking up $4500 in rental arrears. They nagged me. Scolded me. Pushed, poked, and prodded me relentlessly, and I threw up my hands in disgust.
“He can choke on it. Let him have it. He’ll come back to get it.”
“You bought it. Why would you want him to get it?”
“Let him choke on it so hard he disappears. I don’t want it. I don’t want anything to do with it. Let it rot. Set it on fire. Use it for target practice. I don’t care. But don’t you dare bring it back to this house.”
I didn’t want reminders of his insanity sitting around to remind of the horrible things he did to me. I have plenty of those stashed in my head already. I wanted it all to disappear, and I thought I made myself clear when I said, “Don’t you dare bring back.” They did not listen. Stubbornly, against my wishes, the went back and loaded up instruments of torture so brutal that even the thought of them can bring me to tears. They called up a gang of co-conspirators, carted it back, and put it in the same storage building where my stepmother insisted on picking that fight. On my dad’s property, behind the house. And they leaned the worst of them up against the window for me to see every day. I have lived in that house since December 14, 2012, and I have yet to venture to the back of the property. I don’t want to see it. I can’t, because I am not ready to. Badness dwells there.
Since they brought it back, I have been hounded about going to the barn and going through it. I have refused. “I said, ‘Let it rot.’ It can sit there until it disintegrates for all I care. I’m not touching it. I don’t ever have to look upon it again. This is why I told you not to bring it back. Do what you want with it. It is no longer mine. I cut ties with everything when I walked out the door.” And there it has all sat for months upon months in the cold Central New York winter just begging for field mice to come in and make a home out of the frigid air. Not even the mice wanted it.
How do I know? After months of insisting they could distribute and otherwise gift the trash of my life from Kevin to whomever they wish without seeking my permission, and most definitely without my help, some of the worst of it has finally begun to disappear.
My father acted all timid this morning on the way to work and he finally broke the silence by telling me that he gave my bed away. My indifference caught him off guard.
“The mice didn’t nest in the mattress?”
“No, I checked, and it was fine. She just needs to clean it.”
“Well you gave her the dresser, right? I mean, it goes with the set.”
“Are you sure –“
“Dad, I don’t ever want to see any of it again. It belongs with the bed.”
He looked at for a minute before changing the subject. I don’t know why my disgust and hatred and fear over this thing is so difficult to grasp. This thing on which he tortured me, choked me, beat on me, forced me to do things I didn’t want to do. It’s all in my head, zipped up and locked in the vault. Why on earth would I want to look at it every day for the rest of my life?
My mother would have a tantrum if she were to find out it was just given away. She paid off the last part of the set for me when she bought the house, and I didn’t want her to. It was one more thing for her to hold over my head, right after the hearing aid and the laptop. Her obsession with objects has caused a rift since I left. The first thing she asked when she talked to me the first time after I left Kevin was where the laptop was.
“Kevin’s got it, but don’t worry, mom. I’m okay.”
If she wants to contest it, so be it. But she will have to be the one to go to this person’s house and tell her it’s hers. And she never will. It’s okay for her to let it hang out around family, but not around anyone else. Appearances for appearances’ sake.
All I know, past the obvious emotional attachment I have to it for the early days, there are so many desperately painful memories attached to that network of cherry and metal, I can’t bear to even have it near me, much less in my face every time I turn around. And my cousin, who has fallen on hard times, who has been sleeping on an old, tattered mattress on the floor, because she cannot afford to even buy anything used, now has a new-to-her bed, frame, hardware, mattress, and boxsprings.
Sleep well, T.T. And I will do the same.
Picking Up the Pieces 
That’s the best way to do it. SOmeone, somewhere, will build happy memories from the ltter of our ruins. And that’s the best way to put it, and us, at peace.
Good always comes around hun. Hugs to you. ❤
I really have no idea what else could be out there but they said they loaded up the truck and a trailer. I don’t want to know, because I don’t want the flashes that come with whatever is there. If someone else can use it, I’d much rather give it to them for free instead of selling it to someone who can afford to buy new. I never understood that. Why should people go without?
Yep, totally.
Is there someone else who could give the stuff away? Someone with no emotional attachment? I would volunteer if I didn’t live on the other side of the country…
Well, I can’t imagine why my parents would have trouble giving it to people who need it. I have pretty much refused to have any part of it, and I don’t know what’s out there. Cataloguing a nightmare is not very high on my to-do list right now… it ranks somewhere under scraping gum off shoes and waking up to a spider sailing down in front of my face like a paratrooper. I told them they know what’s there, they can distribute it. Fair is fair. But if I knew someone, I would ask them to do it.
Some people are strange – they may think you need to “work through your grief” by sorting through the stuff yourself and that some day you would be angry they gave it all away. Then again, they may think it’s “for your own good” and you NEED to do it yourself. I call bulls*** and wish you had someone who could just make it disappear so you don’t have to think about it any more.
Good for you! No, we do not need reminders and family can stuff it!
A lot of people are having a hard time understanding where I come from on this. It’s frustrating. Some of the most violent things he did are centered on those objects, and I just don’t want them in my face. I have enough in my head. If I know this is something I struggle with, it would make sense to not hold on to it… for what, the sake of torturing myself?
Even if it comes from our own family, I don’t think they will ever understand. My mom asked me what I did wrong? I stay away now…for my own sanity – done explaining. And stick to your guns ’cause they just don’t see it..protect you.
Heh. I am fairly sure that isn’t an issue. And if they act without my consent or deliberately against my wishes, then they bear all liability for the consequences.
I don’t talk to them about anything that happened. They don’t know about my blog. This rift persists even now…. Kevin created the divide, four years of absence is hard to undo, and I feel like a stranger to them. Absolute and total.
Interesting perspective. I still live in the same house I lived in with my abuser, all the same furniture, etc. He took nothing. It’s like he never existed. I have slowly changed things over the years, but many of the items remain. When he left, it all became mine. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
One of my faults is that I have always had two things that don’t work in this situation: a very Overactive imagination, and a memory like a steel trap… that includes the emotions. Okay three things. Some of the most violent things he did to me happened with the things I know had been out there. I don’t want the extra triggers while I am still working through the mountain of garbage in front of me. If someone else needs it, I have no problems giving it to them. I’m not using it, and someone might as well have it. I am starting over clean. I lost so much behind him, I can say I’d rather just let it all go. This is how I have erased parts of him. I particularly enjoyed destroying the car. It was impounded because of him, I couldn’t afford to get it out, and he was stalking the guy, so I told him to scrap the thing. Everyone of his street contacts knew it as the dope mobile anyway. And I didn’t want any part of someone thinking he was in the car and end up having something happen to me. Or someone else for that matter.
Kudos to you for your approach here, which is turning something bad into something good by gifting it to those that need it. God bless.
I have had A LOT of help from certain people since I left. There’s no reason why I can’t do the same. I may not have much, but I can’t let others go without either. I would give someone the clothes off my back if they needed it.
Good for you for being rid of him and everything associated with him! I don’t know why domestic violence issues are so difficult for people – and, of all people, FAMILY – to understand.
I debated for awhile over whether I should move out of my apartment, just because he once lived here, too, and ultimately I decided I couldn’t let him disrupt my happy life in my happy home… but I can still try to erase every memory that he ever existed by redecorating!
See! You know what I mean. I didn’t want to leave the apartment I was in because I really liked it. It was in town, it was literally less than ten minutes from work, the neighbors were all decent, and it was a good price… oh the landlord was nice, too. Given my situation, I’m not really sure he would have stayed in jail. Not when other agencies always helped him out of trouble. Plus he is also adept at breaking in… which he demonstrated on one our apartment doors. He was there until April last year so….. Womp 😛
People make such an issue about things just being things, but if they are severe triggers, is it not better for them to be removed from the environment? Why should I torture myself because other people are stuck on who owned what?
Love you 🙂
Once in a while, I miss two watches I own, frequently I think of all that I had materially and lost through the split and road to freedom which cannot be replaced so quickly as I rebuild my life but in the end I think for some people it is better to leave it ALL behind and start anew. I wish you the best, it is not an easy journey.
Due to my circumstances, I really didn’t have a choice but to leave it all. People frequently ask why I didn’t leave when he was at work, what didn’t I get my financial documents out, pictures, etc. Its hard to plan when he worked from home. He was always there watching, he had people watching the house when he was out, people watching me on rare occasions I was out alone, and he had control over and watched what I did with financial documents like a hawk. He audited all phone calls and texts against the online account details. He had my passwords. He knew what I was doing online even if I cleared the cache, cookies, and history. I was literally trapped. I had to walk away.
I learned to cope with not having anything. Ever. He was (probably still is) an addict. He took all my paychecks. He sold anything he could. He let people into our home that stole things. It wasn’t as hard cutting g ties with that stuff as people think.
I had no choice either sweetmarie, what people do not understand when they judge people for not calmly and efficiently leaving abusive marriages is that by the time a person leaves the chaos of cruelty and abuse has wreaked so much havoc most of us are lucky to just get out alive and by that time, if you were like me, material possessions were immaterial. How fortunate are the people who cannot relate to this massive force of destruction that a betrayal of “loved and trusted” person can bring to a life or family. I wish you all the best.
I think part of the problem is that they are thinking in the context of THEIR relationships, so if they are blessed not to be among those of us who were abused, it is hard to wrap their head around much that we say and feel….. And do. Even those who may have left marriages or relationships (thankfully I didn’t have that issue to overcome as well) still remember that property was split between the two.
For them, the thought we could truly be trapped, that many of us ARE prisoners in our homes, is inconceivable. All they know, all they think it’s correct, is that you can just walk out the door if you want to leave, taking whatever you want with you. While the things they say are maddening, I have to constantly remind myself that my experiences of the torture I suffered, while commonplace among survivors of domestic violence, are extreme conditions they can’t begin to fathom. And even though their ignorance and the cruel things they say as a result never fail to irritate, aggravate, and even hurt me, I have to say that I am also relieved for them that they do not know, and I hope they never will.
Oh, you can call me by name. I am over that hurdle. My name is Amy.
I am glad you are over the hurdle Amy. I myself could not believe what was happening around me and to this very day I am still “processing” what happened so I understand how others cannot. They should refrain from judgement and count their blessings instead.
You have been nominated for the Brave Heart Award :).
I totally agree with you ok this one. When I left I left. I had to clean out the apt and I took nothing but my sons crib and clothing and dresser. I even let my car get repoed. Possessions are just that but our sanity and we’ll being is priceless. Sometime they just don’t get it. There is no price for feeling safe and same…
I imagine on some levels the crib could have been a trigger as well… unless the “guy” was “decent” enough to keep it away from that.
I mean, if I want reminders of what he did to me, the migraines, pain in my legs and hips and subsequent difficulty walking and standing, the place on my back where he kicked me, the faint dark rings around my eyes, or the marks left on my legs from the metal bar and the board are quite sufficient even without the garbage in my head.
PLEASE, I gave away that crib as soon as I could-I just couldnt afford another one with the new baby-i was sooo happy to get rid of it and all the other things…the last thing we need is all that crap to remind us-like you said, I am reminded every day when I cant hear what ppl are saying bc he damaged my hearing when he hit me over and over on the side of the head,and of course there are the nightmares…
no thanks yall can keep (or burn) the stuff!!!