My first husband and I moved back into his mother’s apartment building in October 1990.
My son was nearly two years old, and I still didn’t have a job. Things looked up when my brother told me of an opening for a pharmacy technician at the hospital.
He worked as a technician and was good friends with the supervisor. All I had to do was apply for my technician’s license, and I would get the job.
I applied the middle of November and was able to start a couple of weeks before Christmas.
I stressed a little bit since I needed a babysitter for my son and all I had was my husband’s family. I was fortunate I only had to have them babysit until the beginning of January.
He turned two on January third, and the daycare center at my job accepted children over the age of two. My husband continued his disappearing acts.
He would finally show up days later, reeking of booze and verbally abusing me. Thankfully, he left our son alone. I could ignore him since I had a job to go to and make plans to support my son and me.
I was so nervous about starting work. I never could hold a job since I had Autism which caused all kinds of chaos. I wish I understood back then what I had so I could have gotten help. I always thought I couldn’t hold a job because of abuse or lack of confidence. I was employed thirty hours a week, but still qualified for health insurance. Life seemed to be looking up.
I was dead wrong.
My job helped with building my self confidence. Each day I worked, I learned the intricacies of the pharmacy. My son loved the daycare, making friends and having fun.
My biggest stress was coming home to apartment building riddled with cockroaches, rats, and drunkards passed out in the hallway. No matter how much I cleaned my apartment and fumigated, roaches found their way to mine.
It was endless everyday, work, take care of my son, and scrub and put borax around the apartment after I put my son to sleep. I was fortunate if my husband was not there so I wouldn’t have to hear his drunken rants.
The mornings I would scurry trying to get my son ready and head to work and my husband would show up drunk, was hell.
He would follow me through the apartment telling me I was a whore and threatening me. I mainly ignored him, focusing on getting my son and I out the door.
This daily routine went on for months. The pinnacle of hell was over the summer. I not only worked, but signed up for my first college English course.
My husband reached the point of not only verbally abusing me, but now felt the need to slap me. He told me I deserved it. It was finally I woke up knowing it was time to get out.
I was terrified not knowing who or where I could go for help. I was afraid my family would not believe me if I told them about my husband. There was no choice other then to speak up.
It took another two weeks before I finally said something to my brother. It would be another month before my son and I escaped from my abusive husband.
I owe my life to my father. We weren’t close at the time of my marriage ending. He took my son and I into his home. I look back knowing full well my dad saved us.