by Patricia Oshier Franks

Created on: September 28, 2009   Last Updated: September 30, 2009

A Living Nightmare: Surviving Domestic Violence

A Memoir

Across the United States, indeed all over the world, women are imprisoned in abusive, controlling relationships. Many believe there is no escape and still others have no concept of another life, pain-free and filled with love, respect, and safety. Despite the wealth of education on spousal abuse in its various forms, this epidemic cycle is still widespread with no end in sight. Many who have escaped this vicious cycle counsel those still trapped, offering hope and friendship. I am not a counselor nor is this a how toor signs of article. My name is Pat and this is my story.

My first marriage, to David, was very short-lived; lasting a mere eight months before he walked out. He showed definite signs of being abusive and controlling yet he was the one who left, not I. Growing up with my father in control of everything, I thought nothing of David's behavior. In fact, his father was often drunk and abusive to his family and it seemed he would continue that destructive cycle. He hit me once, apologized profusely, and during the remaining five months of our marriage, never did it again, but the controlling side of his nature was very evident.

I rarely left our apartment and never had so much as fifty cents in my pocket. He controlled the money, and me. Since I didn't have a driver's license and didn't know how to drive, he would even go to the grocery store with, hand me the money at the cash register, and then demand all the change, no matter how small the amount, for himself. We had a joint bank account, but he carried the check book, took out whatever he wanted, and refused to let me access the money. That account was opened with the five hundred dollars my father sent as a wedding present yet I was not allowed to touch it.

In time, I learned not to take so much as a short walk in case he called from work. If he called and I didn't answer the phone, he came home angry and read me the riot act, insisting I account for every minute of the day. Rather than be yelled at, screamed at, and accused of acts I never considered, let along committed, I simply stayed home. Thus I had no friends outside of a girlfriend stationed in Korea, where long distance rates prevented phone contact.

On the other hand, with the typical hypocrisy of the control-freak, he frequently went out for drinks after work without so much as a phone call. I would spend hours worrying until he stumbled home drunk. He didn't care that I worried,

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