And then what?

Sorry to leave you hanging for a whole week there. I wanted to think things out as clearly as possible and NOT make impulsive, reactive, emotional decisions.

The next morning I told Ron what he had done, calling from a house 50 miles away. He was horrified, of course. The first few days were a horrible treasure hunt of bruises popping up, one after the other.

I don't regret my decision to leave the police out of this. If I had to, I have plenty of witnesses to Ron's behavior and my injuries. Nothing really hurt that much, unless pressed, and the worst damage was to the side of my hand when I was whacking him (before the shoe).

The first couple days, it was "When are you coming home, you have to come home!"

I told him, I was taking his calls. That was the best I could do at present. My aunt was very impressed that I wasn't hateful, just firm.

Not easy to do when you're staring at deep bruising on both your thighs and your right arm. Not easy at all. What I wanted to do? Call my brother and have him beat the shit out of Ron. It wouldn't have been a difficult job to persuade him.

I didn't. Yay for my Christian witness.

I took a couple days just to unwind. Something like that is horrible. I was as angry about him scaring and possibly injuring the cat as I was about what was done to me.

Ron said the cats were fine, but the black one didn't speak to him for a few days. Good boy.

Time passes. What do you want to do, Heather? I don't know. I need to think.

I thought. This is not the first time. Doing things the old way doesn't work. Before, either he didn't feel like he had to apologize, or he would say "I'm sorry I did __ but it was your fault." This time he pretty much accepted responsiblity. "It wasn't me who did that to you but I'm very sorry. It was an alcohol monster."

I told my aunt I wanted to see a professional and discuss a contract to keep me safe. She thought it was a good idea.

I had seen a few encouraging signs. He accepted my decision to leave. He told me to take my time.

I saw the counselor. It was pretty helpful and I came up with a decent contract. Some points:
A credit card in my name so I can leave and stay in a hotel if I don't feel safe.
He is not to drink hard alcohol, ever.
I'll buy him one wine box a month, but that's it. No more than 1-2 glasses a day.
I mentioned that I sincerely believe he is drinking to mask depression symptoms (The reply - "Anyone who was in my shoes would be depressed, it's all my circumstances."). I mentioned I would like him to try getting evaluated for depression and perhaps medication. He said no.

I also came up with a contract for if he touches me again:
File charges.
Leave.
Most likely divorce, but he would need to enter a 12 step program, take anabuse, and undergo anger management to have even a chance.

I'll also apply for my own metrolift, but I am 98% sure they'll say no.

Ugh. This is all so depressing that I went up on my antidepressant. That's sad. I had just gone into remission.

Ron heard me typing and kept "bothering" me. Asking me what I was doing, talking, etc. Then he told me, as he's standing in the doorway, see, I had some wine and I'm fine.

I didn't react well.

"But I'm trying to make you feel safe and secure!"

You aren't, you did just the oppposite. Don't EVER tell me you are drinking. Especially, between us, reader, especially say "See how well I can hold my liquor." Because then that's led to demands and blackmail to buy more alcohol ("I'll just call a cab! You said I can hold my liquor!")

I don't know much but I'm not validating his drinking. If I had my way, he'd be on anabuse, antidepressants, in therapy, and anger management. Instead, I have a promise to avoid hard liquor (heard that before) so he won't hit me again.

Kind of thin blankets.