I don't often talk about the years my mother was married to #3. They were rough years and I often times "shut down" to survive some of the abuse. I did everything I could to erase the things that happened at home by being overly happy and hyper at school. I think I was in general a happy person and my zaney humor wasn't truly a deflection of anything, but it served it's purpose. This isn't really the story about avoidance or coping mechanisms it's the story of forgiveness, of how I learned to forgive the man that inflicted so much pain to me.
For years I danced around on my toes not sure what I would do that would set him off. When I would set him off I was left in a world of debris not sure what I had done or why he hated me so much. He'd take a load of horse manure and dump it on my freshly cleaned car, leave the tractor running outside my bedroom window when I had a paper due, hide the hay hooks and gloves so I'd have to move bales of hay around with my bare hands (I'm allergic to hay), etc. I was sure he was doing all of these things on purpose. My mom would yell at me for taking things personal. She would tell me I always assumed the worst in people.