I got married at 31 to a man I had known most of my life. I knew he had depression, and that he was medicated for it. I knew that depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain, which makes it closer to diabetes, than an anything else I knew about mental illness. I would have argued that because he was sick, this was not domestic violence, all the way until I had time to look back on our marriage with more objective eyes.
My life, and the lives of my children, our children were forever changed in May 2015. For the first time ever, he had threatened to kill me with other witnesses to see and heat. This single act prompted me to seek a restraining order. The evening after we went to court for the temporary order, he drove 20 miles to my house, waited in my yard and watched the kids go to bed. He cut my phone lines, kicked in my door, and attacked me with a hatchet. The following is the Victim’s Impact Statement I wrote for his sentencing hearing.
There were always issues in Terry’s and my relationship to some degree. He was diagnosed with Depression before we started seeing each other, and was on medication. He was also attending anger management classes to deal with the rage from his first divorce. I attributed his anger and aggression to that breakup, and overlooked most of it through the early years. He became more angry, and began to turn it on me, and our children. The first time he pointed a gun at my children and me, they were about 2 and 3. They were outside playing in the yard and he trained my pistol on them out the bedroom window. That fight escalated as he ran in and out of the house threatening me and the kids, finally grabbing my grandparent’s dining room chairs, lifting them over his head and hurling them at me. They smashed the chandelier, and the glass in the china hutch, as well as the chairs. His Dad eventually came to the house and got him. Someone called the sheriff that day, the deputy arrived after Terry and his dad left. He was still having his medication adjusted. We talked to the doctor at Lander Medical Clinic again, meds were changed, and he improved temporarily.
That was the visit that the doctor diagnosed that he was Bi-Polar did not just have depression. He has the up and down cycle of Bi-Polar, except that his “high highs” are like everyone else’s “normal”, while his “low lows” are debilitating to the point of suicide. There were many times that he simply could not get out of bed to go to work. He was given medications to address the depression, and another to level the cycle of Bi-Polar. He didn’t like how the leveling medication made him feel, but he wasn’t going back to the doctor again to try another, so he simply didn’t take it. This continued to be the pattern though his aggression was escalating. I just didn’t see it as clearly as I do now.
In the beginning, I found myself calling on Terry’s family to help me reason with him when he was being irrational. They were usually willing to help, and it did seem to help at the time. Often, his Dad, or his brother came to the house and took him with them for a while. When he returned, he seemed more rational, and calm. Time wore on, and my frantic requests were more and more frequent. I began to enlist friends in addition to his family because family was not always available. It was frustrating, and I felt helpless. I didn’t want to leave, because these episodes didn’t seem to last very long, and always followed him not taking his medication. When he would take his medication, and sleep, he would be rational in the morning, and would not remember the horror of the night before. It was harder, and harder to sneak away to call, or send them messages to help. It was super scary. Sometimes it helped, and sometimes their phone calls just distracted him from his fury for a little while. In any case, I got a short break to gather my thoughts, and make a plan with my kids to cope with his volatile behavior. I hoped it would not escalate to another incident of abuse, or a suicide attempt. Each episode, the intervention was less and less helpful. There was conflict between his family and us over the last two years. They were unwilling to help anymore, friends had long since gotten tired of the constant spiral of need. I begged his mother for help as the need for the restraining order crossed my mind, as becoming necessary. She told me simply that I needed to do what I needed to do.
I didn’t have any choices. The fear was constant, there were no breaks from it. I was mentally and physically exhausted. He would tell me when I went to bed at night, that when I went to sleep, he would finish what he started, alluding to either suicide or homicide. I didn’t sleep, I couldn’t make sense of his random hostility. I didn’t want to leave, because these episodes didn’t seem to last more than a few days, and always followed him not taking his medication, so I excused his behavior. When he would finally take his medication, and sleep, he would be rational in the morning, and would claim not to remember the horror of the night before, but the kids and I did. It was awful, I felt worthless, and helpless.
It progressed from pointing guns at the kids, and me, to terrorizing them by threatening to kill their pets, or them, or me. It was a regular occurrence for Terry to show up outside on the porch with his hunting rifle and ask for which of the horses or dogs to start with anytime there was an argument over chores. His rifle was constantly used to threaten the kids and me. He also became physically abusive with them. He would get stressed out, fail to take his medication and lose control. I was usually able to talk him down, get him his meds and get him to sleep. Tomorrow was always a better day, often he claimed to have no memory of doing what he had done. I dismissed it because I thought he would never have done what he did when he was rational, but obviously during his episodes he was not at all rational.
Terry’s suicide threats were a constant in our lives. We would argue, and he would tell me “When you go to sleep, I’ll finish what I started”. That was his go to every time we discussed anything or he was upset by anything, ranging from work, to his parents, to his ex wife. I spent the first three years of our marriage hiding the keys to the gun safe, and taking them with me everywhere. He had attempted to kill himself with his hunting knife before we got together. His brother’s wife had taken the knife from him that day after a struggle. He finally got he bag with the knife back from his brother several years after we were married, and he seemed somewhat more stable, at least to outsiders. If I tried to convince him to go anywhere he didn’t feel like going, he usually got in the car and proceeded to see how fast he could drive, while swerving with us all in the car yelling he was going to kill us all since I forced him to go. He resorted to threatening to overdose on pain medication, and last spring demanded the tranquilizer we use to put shoes on horses to kill himself. Waking me up from a dead sleep to get it for him. I told him I didn’t know where it was. He grabbed my coyote pistol from the coat rack and told me find it or he would use the pistol, while pointing it at me. That was the night before I had Jordyn put it in her closet two weeks or so before he broke into my house.
He controlled me by hurting the kids, or threatening them or their animals when I displeased him. He completely controlled everything that went on in the house, even when he was attending pilot school in Casper.
I distinctly recall a time when he was out of control in Casper, not taking his medication, because he thought he didn’t need it. He wanted me to come stay with him immediately, but I had too much to do at home. Our kids rodeo, their 4-H livestock, and horses are all here, the kids had school appointments. I told him that. He proceeded to tell me that since the animals and kids were so much more important to me than he was, “He would drive home in the night, pick off each of the animals in the dark, while I was asleep, then kill each of the kids, and finally himself. I could live with what I had caused.” He then hung up the phone, and refused to answer it for several days. When he came home, he was violent again. This time, it ended in him shooting a hole in the bedroom wall with his hunting pistol, and threatening me in front of the kids. He was taking vitamins, but refused to take his meds, so I filled some empty capsules with his medication and flour. He took them without complaint, because he thought that he was just taking his vitamins. He was back to normal the next day as usual. This pattern continued for 14 years. The summer of 2014 brought a major escalation in his aggressive behavior. I was no longer allowed to do anything out of his supervision. If he was not in the house, I needed to be with him. If I left, he demanded that I be reachable by phone. If he didn’t feel like taking the kids to gymnastics, church, archery or anything else they did, I was expected to cancel, and stay with him.
He told me then that he resented the kids for taking my time away from him. In January of 2015, he hurt his shoulder, and was home all day, every day. He barely left his bed, even to eat, demanding that the kids deliver his food, drinks, and medication to him in bed. He didn’t want me to do it, it was the kids’ job. If I took the kids to their obligations, I was expected to be available to talk on the phone with him. In February 2015, he had shoulder surgery, and it was obvious that his depression medication wasn’t working anymore, and he had been taking it every day. I took him, though it resulted in a huge argument, to see his favorite Physician’s Assistant, Richard, at the Riverton Community Health Center, to have his medication adjusted. It was recommended that he be re-evaluated by a psychologist. He absolutely refused to be seen by a psychologist, it was just me. If I wasn’t such a horrible person, everything would be fine. Once again, I was the problem. I had agreed to help him deal with his depression in the beginning as long as he was willing to follow the doctor’s orders.
Everything had become a battle. Every conversation, every question I dared to ask him, they all escalated to increasing aggression toward me or the kids. It was then crystal clear that I needed to leave the marriage. I had not figured out how to do it without getting physically hurt, or killed. I also knew that if I left and didn’t take all the animals with me, he would kill them to hurt me and the kids. I suspected that he was more than capable of burning the house down and destroying anything I didn’t take. It was my house. The sale of my house I inherited provided the down payment to buy it. My family had made every payment on it as well. It meant nothing to him. He had threatened to move out, and had made plans to do so for over a year, but that meant that he didn’t have control of me or the kids. That was terrifying as well, because I would not know where he was, or what he planned to torment me with. The hatred I could keep an eye on was much less terrifying than that I had to guess at.
He hurt his back in late April, or early May. I took him to the doctor to have it checked out. He was taking his depression medication, but it was apparent it was not working.
May 17th, he went with me to feed the kids’ horses that were boarded near Shoshoni. He got angry with me, the argument escalated, and he not only almost punched me in the face, but told me “I wasn’t going home” “I would never make it into the house, he would kill me before I could get into the house”. My 12 year old son was there, I absolutely would not allow him to go to the house. I called the sheriff and reported the incident. I filed for the restraining order the following morning.
I wish I had known how profoundly my life was going to change forever when my phone suddenly went dead the night of May 28, 2015. We had been allowed to return to our home only the night before, after 10 days because Terry had not been available to be served his protective order. That day, we got up early, and went to town for court to make the protective order official that morning. Terry was so angry because I asked for supervised visitation in a public place so he could not humiliate, berate, or terrorize the children as he often did. He was so angry. He spent the day demanding by text that they decide where they wanted to live, and why. Both children told him that day they were afraid of him due to prior abuse, and wanted to stay with me. He was furious. Then he stopped texting them. We all felt a degree of peace and hope for the future. The children went to bed, restless, but exhausted in their own beds for only the second time in 2 weeks.
It was not the first time I didn’t have a dial tone when I picked it up, but I was actually sitting at my desk talking with a friend about my feelings and emotions about my impending divorce when it went dead. I went upstairs to my kitchen because my dogs were barking like crazy at something big enough to move the picnic table on my back deck. They were incredibly upset as I very quietly pushed the kitchen door shut and quietly locked it. I could not see much outside, because it was dark, but everything looked in order as I looked out the livingroom windows at the front yard. I stopped as I got to the front door, it too was open. I paused as I agonized about stupidly leaving my loaded .38 pistol under the seat of my car in the driveway. Did I think I was safe enough to go get it? Was I safer in the house? My coyote pistol was in my daughter’s closet where I had her put it after the last time Terry and I had fought over it a couple of weeks before. I walked to each of my kids’ rooms systematically turning on the lights and making sure they were asleep, first Charlie’s, then light off, then Jordyn’s. I picked up my pistol, which is always loaded, turned off her light, then headed back to my room. I decided to message my friend that I had been talking to and ask him to call the Sheriff, even though I could not imagine my husband was the one moving my furniture outside.
I set my pistol down at the end of my bed, and walked to my desk. The dogs were still frantically barking, when I picked up my tablet to send the message. The second I took it in my hand, I heard my front door blast open, as he shattered the door frame. I set the tablet down and grabbed my pistol and hurried to my bedroom doorway. I heard Terry screaming “I’m going to kill you, you fucking bitch” “I can’t believe you are so stupid” as he ran across my kitchen to the staircase. I drew and leveled my pistol on his chest and pulled the trigger, once, twice, three times…nothing. I knew in that instant it wasn’t loaded. The next memory I have makes very little sense, I was standing at the end of our beloved log bed, covered in blood, wet blood, looking down at the floor several feet to my right is a pool of blood on my floor, blood all over my hands, dripping on my new comforter. I had just taken the comforter I gave him for Christmas that day to return to him the next day, along with more of his clothes I had removed from the closet. I asked him “What happened?” he simply replied that he didn’t know. I asked a second time, reminding him that obviously I had no memory, what had happened, again, he replied that he didn’t know. I knew that even though that pistol had been unloaded, he knew where the shells were for it. “Did he load it and shoot me?”
I then, knowing I needed help to take me to the hospital, asked him to take me to the hospital, frantically offering that “I would not tell anyone anything if he took me”. That was really simple, because I really didn’t know anything except my children were in danger, and so was I obviously, as long as he was in my house. He didn’t agree necessarily, but didn’t refuse either. I turned to walk up the stairs, he looked at my head then, and told me “It isn’t that bad, you aren’t going to die”. I found my children screaming as I followed him to the hall. I will never, ever forget the sound of my 13 year old daughter screaming, she didn’t even breathe. He walked away, towards our bedroom, and I told her, desperately to please, please listen, I was ok, but no matter what, she needed to call the sheriff and gave then the non-emergency number, as soon as we left, and tell them we were going to the hospital, in Lander through Ethete.
I worried that he would drop me off somewhere in between and come back to kill them too. He had threatened to do that so many times before, I didn’t know what to think anymore. If we didn’t show up, at least there would be a record of where to start looking for my body. I knew I had to get him away from them, and I needed help. I was starting to get weak. I needed shoes because it was muddy and all I had were my socks. I remember agonizing over my boots, which I could wear with my pajama pants I had on, but they slip on, versus my sandals. I wanted my sandals, but they take both hands, and I was holding my head with one. I knew I didn’t dare ask for help, and if I didn’t hurry, he might leave me. I decided the boots, and hurried to follow him. I grabbed a clean black towel I had just washed and folded that night from the back of the couch and put it to my head. I hurried out the door, and off the porch, so I didn’t anger him even more.
I remembered I needed my purse from my car because I would need both my driver’s license and my insurance card to get help. I turned to walk back up the stairs into my house for my keys, and could no longer lift my feet. He screamed at me from the street wanting to know what I needed. He brushed past me again screaming about how stupid I was, he got the keys, unlocked the car, got my purse, and brought it to me. He also picked up my cell phone that had fallen through the stairs and gave it back to me demanding me to “Come on”. Down the road to the end where he had left the car, far from my ability to see it, we went.
Trying to not slip and fall in the mud, dizzy and scared, I hurried. I knew if I got muddy, he would refuse to let me in the car, and I would bleed to death, and he would still be near my defenseless children. He continues to yell and scream at me until I get in the car. He helped me get in the car, and I got my seatbelt on. I frantically sent a message to my friend to call the sheriff as we raced past the old school, immediately deleting it, in case Terry took my phone, he would not know I had lied about telling no one.
I was terribly car sick, on the way. I told him I needed to ask my Mom to go get my kids as we went down the hill into Ethete. I could not find the number, it was so hard to scroll with my left hand, and I couldn’t focus to read it. It took nearly 15 minutes to find it, I could not remember it to dial it. It is the same number we had as long as I can remember, but I couldn’t that night. She answered it in the first ring, even though it was late. We had been staying there for nearly 2 weeks, while we waited for Terry to be served, so we could return home. My mother is nearly 80. She sounded so scared. I told her I needed her to drive to my house (40 miles from hers in the dark) and get my children. I told her Terry was taking me to the hospital in Lander. She knew immediately the ramifications of that statement. First, he never should have been with me due to the order, second I was obviously hurt, third, it was serious. She simply answered “Ok”, and hung up the phone. I knew then, for sure that my children had help on the way to them. They were safe.
I was so car sick I could not see, and it took everything I had to not throw up in the car. I knew without a doubt he would throw me out of the car if I threw up. He continued to scream at me all the way about how stupid I was for filing for the restraining order, the divorce, and that I needed to think of a reason he was with me, so he would not get in to trouble, over and over again. My head was killing me, and he kept screaming, over and over. All I wanted to do was breathe, I was starting to fade out of consciousness. If I stopped answering, he screamed louder. It hurt so much to talk, and he wasn’t listening anyway. I could feel my blood pressure continue to rise, which I knew would make me bleed faster, and I may not make it, if he continued, but he would not stop screaming.
I have dealt with high blood pressure for the last year due to the severe stress of my marriage. I knew my rising blood pressure was causing me to bleed even faster, and I knew I was in even more danger. If he would only stop screaming, I might be ok. I will always have the potential for a bleed in my brain from the damage he caused. My elevated blood pressure will always be a serious concern.
Finally, we get to the hospital, we park very close to the door, but I cannot get myself out of the car. He drags me into the ER, and no one is there to greet us, and the waiting room is empty. The attendant comes back to her desk, and we are taken to an exam room. A nurse asks “Is this the one we are waiting for as we pass the nurse’s station?” Terry tells me “They know” I replied to him, “No they don’t, how would they know anything, you know I didn’t tell anyone, just like I promised.” I collapse on the bed in the exam room, and close my eyes. The room is spinning, and I’m so sick. The nurse asks us what happened, I reply that I don’t know, and she leaves.
Terry proceeds to walk up to me, and tell me “I’m going to go kill myself, so they can’t arrest me.” I didn’t want him to die, just to get better. I didn’t want my babies to live with the suicide of their father the same day I might die. Who would raise them? I needed to buy time to make sure he got arrested. That would keep him from committing suicide, and from hurting my children. I begged him to stay with me because I am so scared of the hospital and he sat back down in the chair.
I began to relax a little, he was calm, and not screaming at me, and I had help, for myself, and my children surely were safe by now. Minutes later an officer asked to talk to him and he went into the hall. I didn’t see him again, until we went to court after I got home. The nurse came back in and asked me again what had happened. I told her what I remembered. She looked at my obvious injury and with much upset in her voice remarked “He scalped you!” I had no idea how, or what had happened. The room continued to spin, and I kept my eyes closed to will myself to just relax and focus. I started to vomit on the ride to the CAT scan. I was so tired, I just wanted to go home.
Many hours had passed, I didn’t know where my kids were for sure, or what had happened. I asked the nurse if I could go home, she told me “No” I was being lifeflighted somewhere she wasn’t sure where because they were waiting for a surgeon to accept me. I then found out I had a very seriously fractured skull, and a subdural hematoma. That injury that took out the whole back of my skull, didn’t break the skin. I was lifeflighed away from my whole family, far away from my children, I was terrified for myself and for them. The last thing they had seen, I now knew was the whole right side of my scalp laying open and pouring blood, how terrified I knew they were. No one knew if I would live or die, but the odds were not good.
DFS had taken custody of them, because I might die, and it was unknown the extent of my ability to ever take care of them again, and their father had been arrested. My mother was allowed to take them, but DFS was in control. I had brain surgery that afternoon, and spent the next 4 days alone, 2 hours from home, dealing with the dizziness, disorientation, nausea, anxiety and brain fog of a Traumatic Brain Injury. All I wanted was my family, but it was shattered, and far away. My children were so scared, so was I, but I had to be strong for them. I learned that the back of my head had been eggshelled, and the fragments had lodged in my brain. All that was removed, and a titanium plate was inserted over the gaping hole in my skull. I finally made it out of ICU, and then the hospital altogether.
I got to go with my family at least, but not home. I could not drive, was incredibly exhausted most of the time. Reading text messages was nearly impossible most of the time. I could not understand the words of my divorce, I could not read a book, or an email. I had to send my divorce draft to a friend, to be sure everything was in order. How will I ever be able to work again? How will I be able to support my children? I am a certified teacher, but I can’t read words or numbers.
Many things have needed to be repaired, some are simply destroyed. He had destroyed the garden by driving all over it with the pickup. We had carefully planted it with the kids, on a wonderful afternoon just days before he threatened to kill me. I had to have my phone lines replaced because they were cut that fateful night, so was an old Direct TV line. My internet still worked, but it was terrifying to go into my house to even take care of the pets that were still there. I had made the kids turn out their horses into the pasture from the stalls knowing Terry may well return and kill them as he had threatened many times before. I knew he could still find the horses, but it would take him longer. They had taken their 4-H dogs with them when we went to stay with my Mom after I filed for the order, so they were safe. I had to ask permission from DFS to take my children with me to Casper to have my staples removed, because they were still in their custody. I had 39 staples in my head. They counted each one as it was removed. My children would not leave my line of sight for weeks. We all slept in the same room, because they would not sleep without me in the room. They were so scared I would die.
I began to go with my Mom to my house when the kids did the chores. The first time I went, I walked through the house and cleaned up the blood that had dripped from my head that night. I picked up the bloody gloves, and paper booties that the investigators left all over my driveway as they left that night. I had been in my house to help my kids feed for nearly 2 weeks before I could bring myself to venture down the stairs into what had been my bedroom. I found bloody rubber gloves left from the investigation on my brand new comforter, and the dry blood pool on the floor at the foot of my bed. I wanted to vomit, and run. I knew however, that I had to get it cleaned up. I cried and cried, though I had to be strong for my kids. I could not let them know how upset I was about it.
I cannot lift more than 5 pounds, or bend over, because it may cause a brain bleed where the shards of skull had lodged in my brain. I have to have modified activity at least a year, and my brain will forever be susceptible to bleeding in that place. I asked the kids to take the shampooer to my room so I can get started. It sat in my room every day for nearly two weeks while the kids did chores, and tried to get my blood out of the carpet and cried. I thought about what had happened, how close to dying I came, and wondering what I had done to deserve what had happened. I agonized every day about what I should have done differently, and how to repair the damage that night had done to my children.
The blood is still in the carpet, and I still have to walk through it every day. My children walk through it every day to work on their schoolwork. I have not been able to afford to replace it. I had to have the phone lines replaced to be able to return home with my children, and the front door had to be replaced, so the door latches worked, and the house could be locked. I was still arguing the case that I was capable of taking care of my children, at my house, by myself, and that they were safe there. I wasn’t able to look at a phone number on a piece of paper and dial it on the phone. Every day was exhausting. There were so many times, the room or the car spun inside my head until I vomited. I began to drive by myself. I wanted my independence back, and the doctor did not restrict me from it. There were, and still are some days I don’t drive, because I feel too disconnected, and foggy.
I began to have anxiety issues when I went out to get groceries. It is much more likely that I will leave the store and end up hysterical in my car, than that I will finish my errand. I find that crowds are terrifying, and I do not recognize people. I went to help with the thank you note table with a friend at the fair. I had taken my children to enjoy the last day of the fair with their friends. I had to look up addresses, which was terribly difficult, and made my head throb. I had to relearn this skill, I wasn’t going to let him take my memory and ability from me. My niece came to the table with a friend, I did not know who my niece was, I knew I knew her, but not who she was. I cannot recognize anyone at all if they are more than a few feet from me. My daughter came to check in with me that day, and I could not recognize her either. I was heartbroken again. I knew I would not be able to recognize people I knew were dangerous. How could I possibly keep my children safe, if I couldn’t recognize danger? I cannot deal with chaos, or crowds anymore. I cannot be around loud noises, and sometimes bright lights.
I eventually got to move back home with my children, and try to put my life back together. They slept on the couch, and would not venture into their rooms, they won’t go to the basement, even to do laundry, or in the daylight. They traded rooms after a month of sleeping on the couch, and finally returned to their beds in their new rooms. We repainted the inside of the house, and rearranged things to stop the triggers. Every sound still triggers a panic response for my children, and me. The time came for the mountain archery hunt we had looked forward to it for a year. I knew I did not dare try to drive them there. I was afraid I would not be able to drive back. My Mom ended up taking them. I had to work so hard to convince them I would be fine, even though I wasn’t sure myself. When I get upset, I still can’t dial a phone, or remember a phone number. Slowly, my memory is returning, but there is no guarantee I will get it all back. I went to pick up a horse for a friend. I had delivered it, and knew exactly where it was, including the street I had to turn on. I have been on that road hundreds of times. I could not remember how to get there. I get terribly disoriented now, I have always been good at that but now I can’t. It is agonizing to sit and watch my daughter play volleyball. I cannot recognize her on the court, even though I know her position, and sit in the front row. I can’t tolerate the noise, and often have to leave during the game. I can’t read the numbers on the jerseys of the football team either, even though there are only 6 on the field at a time. I often can’t navigate, without step by step directions, as I execute each step. I get much more car sick than before. I can’t go out on the lake in a boat and fish with my kids. I can’t ride on a 4 wheeler, or ride in any vehicle off paved roads. I can’t be around my horses, or those of my children. I can’t be around anything that may bump my head. Turning my head makes me sick. My anxiety is often overwhelming. I often spend my nights locked in my closet. My blood pressure often is dangerously high, and a brain bleed is still very possible. I frequently do not know where I am. I think often of the reality of even now dying from the fallout from this attack, and how little sense it makes that I have survived this far to still lose the battle. He may still kill me, just the means are different, and this takes much longer.
I still have a huge stain on my bedroom floor, and the entire floor needs to be replaced. I have several projects to complete to clear that room out so I can replace it. I am remodeling my basement to erase more of the memories of the tyrant who ruled my life for so long. It takes a long time because I can only work a couple of hours each day, and sometimes I am too tired or anxious to work on it at all. I now always answer my door with my loaded .38 and have it on me all the time. I cannot work, and may never be able to. I would love to go back to school, but don’t have the concentration to attend. Grocery shopping is a complete nightmare. It causes debilitating anxiety, I often leave the store in tears without completing my purchase. If my children leave me, even to go to the restroom, I will not recognize them when they return. I rarely recognize people I have known for years, and can’t identify anyone more than a few feet from me. I am almost always battling a nauseous headache, that makes it hard to see, and impossible to concentrate. I need a nap every day just to function, and I can’t drive more than 2 hours in a day. Every atmospheric pressure change not only causes an anxiety attack, but usually lands me in bed for several days. I can’t tolerate loud noise, or any chaos. The surgeon told me that he does not have any idea how I will heal from this attack. The largest reason is that he doesn’t get to fix people with the damage I have, they don’t survive long enough to make it to his table.
Terry is a difficult person to ever truly get to know. In 15 years, I still didn’t know him apparently. He is a chameleon, and is a different person depending on who is watching. In public, he always expected everyone to put on a happy face. No one must ever suspect anything other than perfection exists. I spent 15 years trying to stay one step ahead, and anticipate his every wish and whim to keep him from coming unwound. It is an impossible and all consuming task. There is no way to win, and thus, no way to ever be safe from his wrath.
I knew if I ever took a stand against this incredibly manipulative, violent and often terrifying man that I would forever be his enemy. He completely controlled me for our entire marriage. If I angered him, he physically abused our children. He constantly berated all of us. I lived every minute of every day trying, usually in vain to keep him happy, to keep them safe. There is no doubt in my mind that if he is out on his own ever again, he will again refuse to stay on his medication, and he will be dangerous to anyone he comes into contact with. His first priority will be to make us pay for sending him away. He will stop at nothing to make that happen. The only reason he didn’t kill his first wife after that divorce was that he did not have a vehicle to drive, and she had moved out of town. I remember he was dating a woman, who cheated on Terry with his cousin. He took his pistol to his cousin’s house, because she was with the cousin at the time, intending to shoot them both. The only reason he did not complete this task was that it was below zero, and he got too cold to sit outside any longer.
I deserve the peace of knowing he is far away from me, and unable to hurt me again. I need to be able to sleep soundly again, unafraid of the retribution I anticipate from him. I need to be able to move on. Only then, can the lives of my family return to what is now a much more peaceful life without the turmoil he brought to it. Please consider that my life is forever changed. The lives of my innocent children are forever changed. We have to live with these things for the rest of our lives.
The impact of both life with this man and the crime he perpetrated on me deeply affected all of his children. I asked the children for their thoughts. I have compiled observations of the children, and their thoughts for your consideration. These children grew up in a very tumultuous home. They never knew stability, even to the point of knowing if they would still be alive at the end of each day. Terry told the children often they were worthless, and that he would be far better off without any of them. His unhappy life was all their fault. He coerced each of the children, including my now adult step-daughter to stay with him when divorce happened. He told the oldest that “He would commit suicide without her, and she didn’t want to be the reason he was dead.” They were afraid to tell him anything. There were times that were positive, but they never knew when everything would change, just that it would not last very long. It was not uncommon for that mood to change in the blink of an eye. He could go from being almost blissful, to holding Charlie up by his throat against the metal exterior door in the kitchen and punching him in the face until he stopped screaming. He would then drop him to the floor and kick him until he stopped moving. He then, usually turned his anger to Jordyn affording her the same treatment, including dragging her across the floor by her hair. He would constantly berate them for anything they did that fell short of his expectations. The hardest part of that was he didn’t make his expectations clear, and they were constantly changing. Most of his abuse was verbal, referring to Charlie as the stupid one, and Jordyn as the lazy one. His bipolar prevented him from being a consistent example of love, or support for them. It was a constant battle for my attention, always Dad won. The only time that was not the case, was when he was at work without phone signal.