Domestic Violence hurts everyone

I put this up yesterday but a reader pointed out it was a bit confusing.  I should have given an introduction.  These are three short notes I found after my mother suffered a stroke.  She died not so long after.

October 1997
It seems dreadful that I am called all the names he can lay his tongue to and nobody knows. I did tape it once but I don’t know what mood he comes in with. Sometimes he comes in not bad and I just have to say something that triggers him off and away we go again. The most hurtful thing is that I don’t get “sorry” or “I didn’t mean it.” We have a few days of not talking because I am upset then its back to normal. Well, if I sulk because I am upset I get called childish or little baby. I go to play darts on those days and I am useless. I get annoyed with myself because I can’t throw well.

How can you leave your home at the age of 77? I wish I could find a nice little one room flat but you get frightened at this age and the man knows it. So he is saying to himself, “she won’t leave, she hasn’t got the bottle. I just wish I had

Mum
What a vile, foul mouth he has. How can you want to be in someone’s company that calls you a “whore”, “lazy”, “not worth a wank”? When I think of my lovely mum and dad who were so gentle and didn’t give off a stream of foul words, also my lovely boys show me such love. Always be loving and show it sometimes.

26th November 1997
After the last drinking bout it’s been fairly quiet because I just had to tell him what awful names he called me and also because I have been having palpitations quite a bit. I suppose that is the stress of waiting for him to come home to see what kind of a mood he is in.

But still it doesn’t matter what kind of a mood he is in, it’s all the same. If he comes in and I can see he has had too much, I try not to speak. But that is wrong, it’s, “you haven’t f----ng spoken to me since I’ve been in.” I think if I don’t speak it’s peace but if I speak I have to be careful what I say because he is spoiling for an argument so that’s how it is. Nobody would believe me because I don’t tell anyone.

Oh, how I wish I could lock the door on him. If I did and he was drunk he would shout and embarrass me. Or better still, a little flat of my own. What a cheek. He said the other day “you’re not a very happy person.” What is there to be happy about? I know there are lots of things to be happy about. I get very down sometimes.

Sunday May 7th 2000
Another afternoon wondering what mood he will be in when he comes home, it was very abusive with fists raised in my face. How can I tell anyone, nobody would believe me? I keep it to myself, so does he. He is entirely different when someone is about. I felt so well after the visit to the USA, because nothing like this happened, but I feel on the downward slope again. I just don’t want to be ill again, the stress is awful. Why I never left him years ago I don’t know, and what terrible names he calls me in his drunken state is so hurtful. I am a bit too old to move now.