Abuse Victims: You Are Beautiful, Strong and Courageous

Thanks for your wonderful site!
I've been married 32 years to an abuser.
He changed dramatically after the birth of our 1st child (after we had
been married for 8 years!). His verbal abuse emerged.
He had me convinced everything was my fault for a long long time. A voice told me
he was wrong but it was hard to fight the constant put downs.
I lived a miserable lonely existence. Living with someone who cares
only for themselves is hard. I ate to cope. And everyone else's needs came before mine.
It took me bugging his computer --seeing he was playing
his plaything the same way I had been played. Suddenly, it made sense! I think
it shocked him that I had enough nerve to do that to him. Years later, he's still freaked
by it.
I haven't left him but I can
see with clearer eyes what BS he has spewed
all along. I no longer agree with his opinion of me.
And I find that I don't feel as angry, vindictive or my thoughts all encompassed
by his words or actions. Letting go of all of that is the best revenge.
Thinking my own thoughts for myself is something I'm relearning.
My only hope is that someone reading this does not repeat my mistake &
stubbornly stay...Get out when your voice disagrees with his opinion of you.
It won't get better & they take so much of you & you can waste your valuable time if you stay.

I was born into a life of abuse. It's generational, for my family. But that's something I didn't realize until recently, when looking at family stories and histories with new eyes and recognized the patterns of abuse.
The abuse comes in different ways, but each relationship is characterized by it - for some, it is substance or alcohol abuse, for others it is a violent temper and violence, while for others it is the use of limits on the power of one person to keep them trapped, and yet others use guilt of what leaving will do to other family members who are left behind to keep the relationship intact.
My mother is a narcissistic, controlling, and very spoiled woman. Growing up, we all feared my father's violent outbursts and temper, but we were far more likely to be beaten by our out-of-control screaming mother. Neither parent was a paragon of self-control. Us kids became very close, protecting each other, banding together out of fear of one or the other parent. To cope, we each took up our own sins to enable avoidance of home. My sin was being a workaholic. We were poor, so whatever money I was able to earn gained me a modicum of respect in a home were little else beyond money and church were respected.
I didn't recognize that my family was unhealthy, and so went out into the world after high school graduation with a very faulty set of life and relationship skills. I had no other model to go by.
My first marriage lasted 7 years. It was never good. My spouse had visions of being the next Einstein or Stephen Hawkins and pursued his studies with a manic and self-important fervor. I loved and believed in him, and accepted his barbed criticisms and insults to my intelligence and reasoning skills and anything else he chose to insult with the belief that he must be right - he was something special. As his self-delusion began to crack and he discovered course material that was hard enough that he had to struggle to understand it, his drinking became problematic. When I found out I was pregnant, he stopped working toward a degree altogether, blaming me for ruining his life and great career and stole money from my tips to buy himself beer and cigarettes to sit at home all day, playing video games in a filthy house while I worked multiple jobs to support us. When our son came, he used that as further reason for his non-functionality, blaming our child and my inadequacy as anything resembling a mother for his need to stay home and do nothing. The negativity and verbal abuse that I'd endured, and even supported veered into the physical realm, and I began to fear for my child's life and well-being.
I left with little more than my child, his diaper bag, and the clothes on our backs.
I had no place to go but my parents' home, where I was treated as an irresponsible child (while still working 2-3 jobs and taking classes at a local college), and my son was emotionally taken from me by my mother, who felt I was not adult enough to care for such a sweet, helpless angel. I was 29, and believed what I was told. I had no one else to tell me otherwise.
I graduated, finally, with my BS. Took a nice job for a small company near home. Met someone who made me feel like a million bucks. He loved my son. Got along very well with my parents. We moved in together, got married a couple of years later. His alcoholism got increasingly bad over time. The honeymoon was completely over a month or so after I gave birth to our son. He transferred any emotional attachment he had for me and my first child to our son, leaving my eldest bereft of fatherly love, leaving me isolated and alone. I became depressed. Stayed home after maternity leave because I didn't make enough money to pay for two kids in daycare, so became a stay-at-home mother. Became more isolated, unloved, uncared for. Tried hard to do everything my husband wanted me to do, but my efforts were never good enough. He was always snarky, drunk on weekends, and anything said in love during the weeks turned into criticism and disgust under the influence of alcohol on the weekends.
I went back to work when my second son was old enough for school. Took a lower-level job because as a mother, no one wanted to hire me for what I knew I could do. Started taking graduate courses. Figured that would fix the 'mommy track' I seemed to have been shifted to. After a few years, the graduate school informed me that I couldn't take any more credits unless I enrolled in a full-time program. Discussed options with my husband. He agreed that it was a good choice, for me get my PhD, that I could then get a really good job and he wouldn't have to work any more. I tried to explain that wasn't likely to be the way it would work, that there were many other steps in my field before something that good would come along, but he had his mind set and wouldn't listen to my explanations. I enrolled anyway.
Long, arduous years followed. Lot of hard work. Spouse even more critical, derogatory toward my efforts at home, belittling of my research. Never once came to my lab or to hear me talk. Ears closed and eyes rolled if I tried to explain what I did. He didn't care. Only positive in my life is my children, and with the hours devoted to my research, he was undermining my connection with them. Teaching them to treat me the way he does.
Depression took over again. Almost gave up on everything. Wanted to die. He refused to let me take Ivy-League post doctoral positions I was offered because we'd have to move. But that is what I had explained to him in the beginning, before I started on this path. That we'd need to do this before I could have a real job. Three times, I was offered and had to turn down high-level post-doctoral positions. Realized that my career was over if I didn't take one of them. Depression, suicidal thoughts resurfaced.
Now, I have a PhD, but no way to use it. Spouse has offered to let me take a position out of the area, if I will sign divorce papers. I won't leave my children behind with an abusive alcoholic, so I stay. I've applied to 100's of jobs. Without post-doc, no one will hire me for the kind of jobs I am good at, and with the PhD, no one will hire me for lower-level jobs that might pay the bills.
My last paycheck will come next week. I've never been unemployed in my entire life, since I was 12. Depression is taking over again.
Gods help me, I want to die. But that would be too easy. My children still need me.
Doesn't make living any easier.
I don't know what to do.

Read: Patricia Evans, "The Verbally Abusive Relationship". Wake up, you're not doing yourself or your children any favors. Get out, you're worth it!! You matter!!