Happy Thoughts
Some days I receive more phone calls from the police and attorneys than I do friends. And friends, well, I have "air friends" but not any human friends. Having friends was a risk the abuser couldn't take. Someone might see. Someone might know. Better to keep her in her Ivory Tower where he can have her all to himself. The Ivory Tower offered a measure of safety. In it, I didn't have to deflect comments about men looking at me. In public, he wanted me to wear suggestive clothing and then became angry when flashing flesh drew attention. Never been a big fan of having it both ways. Never been a big fan of showing off my bod either, but hey, it wasn't my body.
I digress (I think that's my middle name). Today, the phone call was to emphasize that acording to some sort of domestic violence algorithm, I am in immediate danger. I'm not certain how to approach this. On a cop show, I'd be wisked away in a fluffy wig and dark glasses to a safe location. But I am not a witness in a mafia drama and this is my reality. As an educated adult (at least my student loans seem to think so!) I am uncertain what my next move should be.
If I am missing or dead....
I digress (I think that's my middle name). Today, the phone call was to emphasize that acording to some sort of domestic violence algorithm, I am in immediate danger. I'm not certain how to approach this. On a cop show, I'd be wisked away in a fluffy wig and dark glasses to a safe location. But I am not a witness in a mafia drama and this is my reality. As an educated adult (at least my student loans seem to think so!) I am uncertain what my next move should be.
If I am missing or dead....
Amy's Courage
The Abuse Addict
People are consistently surprised at how “normal” they appear. They aren’t. Yet they aren’t all identifiably insane madmen, macho misogynists, or anxiety ridden neurotics. In fact, they look no different from the man who delivers your mail, who bags your groceries, who writes your prescriptions, who catches a game winning goal. We expect that hurtful people will look the part. We want them to. We need them to otherwise, all the tiny whisperings of something not quite right go unheeded because he looks so normal.
And he acts normally, too. When indicated, the abuser plays the part he wants the public to see: helpful neighbor raking leaves, adoring father cheering from the sidelines, loving and attentive husband. To the abuser, there are three sets of people: those he abuses, those he can abuse, and those he can’t. For each group, he must memorize the part to be played never forgetting his lines. The abuser is always “on.” For those he can’t abuse and for future victims, the abuser is pleasant and witty, always charming, always misunderstood. To his victims, the need for pretense was lost long ago. He appears as he is: angry, intense, agitated, edgy. He remembers the last conquest, the feel of the surge of adrenaline in his veins at the start of confrontation, the smell of his victim’s sweat and tears heavy with fear, the consuming power and excitement seeing his victim defeated and broken. This is his drug. The abusive man is an addict. He is addicted to the brutality as a form of self-maintenance. The only time his shaky self-confidence is intact, the only time he feels powerful, the only time he is whole, is valued, is loved, even, is when he is locked into a violent conflict.
Defeat is not enough. Total annihilation of the victim’s psyche is the goal. It is not enough to merely batter. The abusive man becomes sexually excited at the height of his confrontation and many will culminate the abuse with sexual assault. "Look," he says to her, "I have beaten you and will take what is mine. Neither you nor anyone will stop me, I am that powerful." Spent, the cycle begins again.
And he acts normally, too. When indicated, the abuser plays the part he wants the public to see: helpful neighbor raking leaves, adoring father cheering from the sidelines, loving and attentive husband. To the abuser, there are three sets of people: those he abuses, those he can abuse, and those he can’t. For each group, he must memorize the part to be played never forgetting his lines. The abuser is always “on.” For those he can’t abuse and for future victims, the abuser is pleasant and witty, always charming, always misunderstood. To his victims, the need for pretense was lost long ago. He appears as he is: angry, intense, agitated, edgy. He remembers the last conquest, the feel of the surge of adrenaline in his veins at the start of confrontation, the smell of his victim’s sweat and tears heavy with fear, the consuming power and excitement seeing his victim defeated and broken. This is his drug. The abusive man is an addict. He is addicted to the brutality as a form of self-maintenance. The only time his shaky self-confidence is intact, the only time he feels powerful, the only time he is whole, is valued, is loved, even, is when he is locked into a violent conflict.
Defeat is not enough. Total annihilation of the victim’s psyche is the goal. It is not enough to merely batter. The abusive man becomes sexually excited at the height of his confrontation and many will culminate the abuse with sexual assault. "Look," he says to her, "I have beaten you and will take what is mine. Neither you nor anyone will stop me, I am that powerful." Spent, the cycle begins again.
For more on the Cycle of Violence, please click the link. http://www.shelterforhelpinemergency.org/page19.html
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