Chapter 67 Falling into the Well - from my book Changes

Just Under the Surface

Chapter 67

Falling into the Well

In the past when I felt frustrated and emotionally abused, I would cry.  The helplessness I felt did nothing toward protecting me from abuse.  I had learned about verbal and emotional abuse and had some reasoning skills to use, but when up against gaslighting and someone who knows how to throw me off track, and spin me in circles while I’m trying to make him understand, I always ended up completely frustrated.

One night that changed significantly.

We were on the property again, in the Wikki Tikki.  It was late in the evening after a long day of work.  The kids were asleep (or so I thought) and my husband wanted to be intimate.  I was too tired.  Plus, the kids were in bed right there in the same area and I didn’t want to do anything with them right there.

He became frustrated.

He started pacing and threatening me.

First he said, “Well, you obviously don’t want to be with me so I think I’ll just go back to Florida.”

In a choice to resist reacting, according to what I was learning about dealing with verbal abuse, I said, “Well, if that’s what you want to do.”

Not getting the reaction out of me he was hoping for, he continued, “And I think I’ll take the kids with me.”

Wow, I thought, he is ramping it up because he is not getting a reaction.  I decided to continue not reacting and said, “Well, if you think that’s best.”

He was becoming visibly more agitated, and loud, and said, “If I leave, I’m going to sell everything we own and not give you anything.  I will cut you off!”

I laid there in bed, purposely keeping my cool, though inside I was feeling way off balance, and said, “Well, if that’s what you feel like you have to do”

By then he was beside himself with anger and yelled, “And, I am going to sell this property and you will have nothing and no where to go!”

At that point I felt myself falling down into a deep dark well.  I hit the black oily bottom and landed on a black dragon that had been sleeping.  The dragon woke and launched itself upward with me holding on.  Together we flew out of that black well.  Somehow, I was no longer in bed but standing up by the bed, and the dragon and I together were vomiting fire at my husband.  In the fire were the words, “I hate you!  You’re so stupid!  I hate you!  You’re so ugly!” Over and over the words poured out of me like spewing lava.

Once exhausted, I sat down in the chair by the bed.  I felt like a deflated balloon, leaning forward with my head down.

My husband was pacing the floor of the Wikki Tikki, back and forth, saying, “She hates me, what do I do?  She hates me, what do I do?”

Then he came over, kneeled in front of me and said, “Hit me Michele, maybe you’ll feel better if you hit me.”

“I don’t want to hit you,” I said.

Then he was up, pacing again, saying, “You hate me.  I don’t know what to do.  What am I supposed to do.”

“I don’t hate you, I love you,” I said, still slumped over in the chair.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked.  “Do you want me to leave?”  He seemed panicked.

“Let’s just go to sleep.” I said, “We can talk about it in the morning.”

I don’t remember us ever addressing what happened that night, but I found out later the children heard it all.  The kids told their older siblings who were both married and on their own.  The siblings had a conference and decided to offer to take the younger four children into their homes for awhile so I could work out my problems.

They knew I was struggling and had not overcome my depression.

I was so out of it at times that I was often unresponsive when my youngest tried to get my attention.  He would turn my head to look at him, and I would just turn my head away again.  He would yell, “Mom” and I wouldn’t respond.  He would finally hit me to get me to notice him.  He was four.  Things were really bad.

So the oldest two daughters took the youngest four children into their homes for a year.  I don’t remember much about that year.  I know I stayed at the property part of the time, and at my parents house part of the time, and went to Trackerschool for classes frequently.  I am still confused as to the order of things during that year and the time around it.

I do know that at some point my husband came to Oregon and we went to a couple sessions of counseling.  My husband talked me into coming back to Florida with him so the children and I were reunited as I joined them at our home there.

I was disconnected from my feelings again, and my dragon.  I didn’t feel much.  But there were a couple times I reconnected with my rage.

One was when we were driving home from the airport after a Trackerschool class.  My husband started picking at me and the dragon emerged again.  I started snarling at him and my hands were like claws as I menaced him while he drove.  He pulled over and called 911.  He told them he was frightened and that I had gone crazy.

I calmed down, not wanting to involve the police, and told my husband that I was ok now.  We went home.

I disconnected again from my feelings and my rage, and it didn’t emerge again until I was driving our big 15 seater van with all the younger kids, and my husband started verbally abusing them.  My rage emerged and I started yelling at him and slapping at him with my free hand.  I was so tired of the abuse!

He was yelling at me to pull over and stop driving, but I didn’t.  I was completely in control.  He stopped the abusive language.  And that was that.

It may sound odd to say, but connecting with my dragon, though draining, was glorious!

I understand now that the dragon, or my anger, is a part of me that needs to be known.

Now, the dragon and I remain connected.  My dragon is always there, just under the surface.