Chaos and destruction (part 2/3)
Chaos settles in
This crisis was the start of a psychological and emotional violence which never stopped. I gradually found myself caught up in permanent insecurity and a chaotic and destructive pace of life. One day I was showered with compliments and gifts, intensely loved, whilst a few days later I was knocked out with criticisms that I did not understand, faced with an anger that was impossible to control or an inexplicable silence. He could scream for hours without letting me leave the room. The children began to spend most of their time in their rooms. I intervened several times when he yelled at them for little things that didn’t deserve to be yelled at for. He drank every day, a lot. When I would see him grab a drink, I’d become scared and started to live in the obsession of knowing whether or not the evening would end in screams.
I was caught up in a whirlwind that I no longer controlled. Between my work, the children, the time wasted undergoing crisis situations and then recovering from them, I lost my smile, my spirit, my sense of reality and time. We still had moments of joy — a few hours, a few days. I hung on to them like you hang on to a buoy in the middle of a tormented ocean. Then his older sister moved to Bordeaux, where she did not know anyone. She lived alone with three dependent children, one of whom was violent. Her energy was as chaotic and dark as her brother’s. A black hole.
Soon we took in her daughters, to protect them from their brother, who had to be reported for violence. Then A gave his flat to his sister and, without asking my permission, moved into my apartment with his two children. Every moment spent with him became difficult. I had to deal with his sister’s problems, his anger outbursts, take care of the children who felt left out, sad, lost in this turmoil, take care of the housekeeping — shopping, meals, homework, etc. — which he was increasingly neglecting.
We spent several weekend getaways, in an attempt to recreate moments of pleasure, relaxation and reunion in the midst of this dizzying daily life. But he systematically sabotaged them, following the same pattern: a cheerful start, an illusion of returning to the sweetness and enthusiasm of our beginnings, then alcohol, something, a word, from me, from his sister, from anyone, followed by cold anger, silence, more drinking, and harsh words for hours, relentlessly. He was angry at the whole world, at his sister, at his family. He resented me, blamed me for a thousand things he invented or distorted. The arguments went on and on, he constantly shifted the blame, using everything I said against me.
Several evenings I felt as if I had been punched, knocked by his words, and woke up exhausted the next day. He asked me to forgive him. He said that he had forgotten what he had said, that he did not believe a word of it, promised not to do it again. He said he loved me, promised that he would make an effort, that he would seek treatment, that we were the most important people in his life.
Derniers feux
And so I stayed. For fear of loneliness. To protect the children. To try to save a family from destruction. Because I thought, without really believing it, that this was just a bad period of time, that it would pass. But above all, because I had lost control and my grip on reality. I no longer saw my friends, rarely my family, and I was ashamed to tell them what was going on. I forgot all about myself.
I experienced my darkest hours in October 2019. I got pregnant due to a contraceptive problem. Just a few days after I realised it, I was in acute pain and twisted myself on the ground. I had to drag myself to bed where I fell into a deep sleep. He left the house at dawn for a work trip. I woke up wobbling and when I went to the bathroom, I realised that my thighs were covered in blood. Once in the bathtub I expelled what looked like a large blood clot. I had just had a miscarriage. Shaking, alone, I went to the hospital. He called me later that day, and I acted strong. He didn’t come home, nor did he shorten his stay. I stayed alone for five days, mourning, crying a child whose life I had felt growing inside me, crying the indifference of my companion, and crying that terrible feeling that it was probably better that this child did not survive, because our life would have been a living hell.
