ANOTHER PREVIEW from my book “The Power of Addicted Love”, written by Teresa Hamilton
On this particular night it was so beautiful outside. The neighborhood had quieted down and most of our neighbors were inside their homes spending time with their families.
The girls and I were eating dinner in the living room while watching television. We often ate our meals in front of the television simply because our favorite shows were on at suppertime. I didn’t mind it at all as it allowed us to spend quality time together.
Of course Greg wasn’t home this night, but what else was new? I no longer drove up and down the streets looking for him, rather, I would just wait for his return to make sure the front door was locked behind him.
It was relatively early in the evening, and I heard the car door slam. I knew it was my husband, but what I didn’t know was why he decided to cut his evening short.
Traditionally speaking, I usually didn’t expect him until midnight or later. I could hear his keys jingling as he unlocked the front door. The girls and I were in the same room as I greeted him with my usual small “grin.” I very rarely got up to give him a welcome hug. There wasn’t anything huggable about a drunk who decided to come home.
For some reason, he always seemed to want to talk to me at inappropriate times. The girls and I were sitting around the television having dinner. I asked him if it could wait, but he refused. He mumbled a few words, but I couldn’t understand what he said.
Again, I asked him if it could wait, but he was persistent. Evidently I didn’t react quickly enough because he started walking toward me as if he was about to teach me a lesson.
As my eyes locked with his, I knew something bad was about to happen. But what I didn’t expect was what he was about to do next.
With all his force, he grabbed my plate of spaghetti out of my hands. He then lifted it above his shoulders, and with all his might, slammed the plate on top of my head.
The plate shattered into a thousand pieces of glass, tumbling downward, piercing my body as each piece of glass landed. If you have ever seen a Correll plate break, it doesn’t break in giant pieces, it splinters.
My eyes immediately welled up and my face turned bright red. I was seeing stars, my body was shaking. At that point, I wasn’t sure if I had just been shot in the head. It certainly felt as if I had.
I remember calling out to my oldest daughter Sara to dial 911. The girls were all screaming at their daddy to stop hurting me, but he wouldn’t. Sara reached the 911 operator and stayed on the phone long enough to let the police know where we lived.
I was emotionally shocked and physically dazed. I hated this man and wanted him out of my house. The police quickly arrived and saw what had happened. They asked me if I would like to press charges, and, of course, I said yes. I wasn’t about to allow this man to think for one minute that he could get away with treating another human being this way.
The police wrote up their report and hauled him off to jail. The girls witnessed their father being put into handcuffs, but I was thankful knowing he wasn’t going to be sleeping under the same roof as us.
The next few hours were painful and tedious. The girls found some tweezers and spent the night picking every single sliver of glass out of my body.
I remember declining having the paramedics treat me. I don’t know why I was so afraid, but I was. Nobody realized I was living with a time bomb that was ready to explode. I had to constantly tip toe around his mood swings just to survive.
Greg returned home the next morning and as usual, was very apologetic. He said he spent the night in a cold, damp, jail cell and it scared him to death. Frankly, I didn’t give a damn. His sob stories no longer worked. As far as I was concerned, he was right where he needed to be. He earned every bit of what he got that night, and was lucky he was let out as early as he was.
He went before a judge the next morning and was ordered to pay a $1,200.00 fine to victims of domestic violence.
At first I didn’t know where he was going to come up with the money, but at that point I really didn’t care. He committed the crime, so now he had to pay the price. In addition, the Judge ordered Greg to enroll himself in a twelve-month anger management program, with treatment to begin immediately.
Occasionally, I reflect on my life and the things I lived through with Greg. I honestly feel like most of the time I was under some sort of hypnotic spell.
In looking back, I realize I allowed Greg to control my destiny. He continually poked and prodded my body and soul. He was Svengali, and had this magical influence over me.
I did whatever he said and wasn’t allowed to leave. I felt I couldn’t escape his invisible hold. Whenever I would rebel, all he had to do was push that pointed needle into my lifeless body, and I would be forced to ride the wave with him once again.
But eventually, I realized that as long as I was able to breathe, I had the ability to release myself from his poisonous and toxic spell. I didn’t know how, I didn’t know when, but I was determined to find my way, in due time.