Two days after Christmas I almost lost everything

A few days ago I posted on the anniversary of my grandmother's funeral. If only that were the only major trauma my family suffered in 2010. Caution is advised when reading this blog as it's a revamped version of the original post I wrote the day after it happened.

This is all true events and happened to myself and my children.

My babies' bedroom door....

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Three years ago today, 27th December, my ex (Happy Helper's biological father) had some kind of psychotic break, and reenacted slasher horror movies akin to The Shining  with myself and my children as the costars.

My ex (lets call him Joe) had just brought Happy Helper (1 at the time)  back after virtually kidnapping her for Christmas (he refused to bring her home after he had his agreed visitation time) and only brought her home because I got in touch with his mother and she made him.

My housemate was going to stay at his girlfriend's place as they didn't get along and my ex was supposed to be staying the night on the couch before the 3hr long trip back to his place the following day.

My housemate and his girlfriend left telling me they'd be back tomorrow.

Joe got a phonecall and started to get angry and upset, and left the house with a 1ltr bottle of Jack Daniels Whiskey.

An hour or so later I started getting hateful text messages from Joe, who was alternating between saying he was going to kill him self and calling me names, such as 'whore'.

I stopped replying to him after a while and was talking to friends online after putting Happy Helper and Cuddle-Bird (then 4) to bed when I heard banging and crashing coming from the balcony door upstairs. I picked up a torque [read: BIG] wrench and went to investigate. It was Joe. Joe reeked of alcohol.

I started to have a panic attack due to the thought of someone breaking into my house (Joe or not) and sat on the stairs trying to breathe. Joe just stared at me silently before going into the kitchen to retrieve something, he then went into the downstairs bathroom.

As I regained my composure on the stairs he came out of the bathroom and stumbled into the living room and sat on the couch. Where he walked he left blood. He had stabbed himself with a small knife he retrieved from the kitchen.

There were blood drops on the floor, on the carpet, on the couch and on the children's chalkboard.

I came down the stairs and stood in the doorway to the living room, my emotions were high and I was in a bit of a panic still, I was afraid to go near him as he sat on the couch, his long hair hanging over his face, watching me while playing with the blood on his hands.

I kept asking him what did he do, what was going on.

He finally spoke, as he played with the blood. "Blood everywhere." He said in a monotone.

I was completely terrified right then.

I went upstairs, calling my housemate on my phone and telling him to get home NOW. I stood halfway up the stairs, between Joe and the kids' bedroom. And he started coming up the stairs after me.

I made it up the remainder of the stairs before my legs failed me. I turned around and put my back to the door of the kid's bedroom. I was still holding my big wrench, my phone was still in my other hand, call to housemate still connected but I couldn't hear him calling me as the phone was at my side, Joe was still coming up the stairs.

He stood midway up the stairs looking at me, before suddenly rushing up the remaining stairs at a run. I screamed.

Happy-Helper woke up in the room behind me and started to cry. He took a step back and started to repeat over and over in his monotone voice "you're scaring my daughter, get away from her". I didn't move, so he began to yell it, and grabbed my hands and pulled me towards the stairs. I screamed again.
He let go and went back downstairs, smashing the walls with his fists and throwing the children's toys.

My housemate was still on the phone, I could hear frantic yelling on the other end before it got disconnected.

While Joe was downstairs destroying everything he could I went into the kid's room, pushed the baby cot in front of the door and pulled Happy-Helper out of it. My phone beeped with a text message saying they called the police and were on their way back.

The next thing I knew Joe was back upstairs bashing on the door trying to get in. Both Happy-Helper and Cuddle-Bird were screaming and scared. I was holding the cot in front of the door while trying to keep them calm.

And then, 1 year old Happy-Helper toddled her way towards the door. So I let go of the cot for a split second to pull her back, and Joe got his arm through the door, he was holding the biggest knife my kitchen had, his still bleeding arm dripping into his daughter's bed.

He shoved the cot, hard, knocking Happy-Helper down and knocking me over using her body.

He came into the room. And stood above us, Cuddle-Bird was hiding on the other side of her bed, I was cradling Happy-Helper and looking up at him.

He demanded I give Happy-Helper to him, knife still in hand. He reached towards her, and blood dribbled onto her teddybear pjs.

Banging. On the front door. He jumped up startled and ran out of the room. I re-barricaded the door behind him and tried to stop myself from shaking and the children from screaming.

Someone tried to open the door and I started to freak out again, until a familiar voice greeted me. I about died from relief. I opened the door and faced my neighbors, my roommate must have called them too. They stood outside the kid's bedroom between Joe and us as Joe came back to the stairs, having regained enough sanity to tell me to call someone, my neighbor stepped between us and said that he was here already. Joe stared at him hatefully as though he could kill him with a look.

Finally the police arrived and my neighbors told me to shut the door and stay in the room with the kids. Eventually Joe was taken into custody and I came downstairs as another neighbor arrived to take care of the kids while I dealt with police.

Joe was on the front lawn, on his knees with his hands on the back of his head. There were 3 police cars and police were all over the place with weapons drawn.

My housemate arrived as I got to the front door, and I don't think I have ever been hugged so tightly by my friends as they all piled out of the car.

Joe was talking, saying "check on her, check on her, I love her." as police led him to the wagon.

As I went back inside to sit and show police the bloody hand prints, smashed walls and overall damage he had done to our home I could hear him as they drove him away.
He was yelling again: "I'm going to kill you you f**&ing whore."

When we came up the stairs I came face to face with my daughter's name, written on the wall in the blood of a madman.

This was the most terrifying night of my existence. And I'm posting it, on the 3rd anniversary of it happening to warn you, do NOT ignore the signs of violence, with Joe it started with him throwing things or putting holes in walls. He was always sorry afterwards and always said it would never happen again.

People often ask women in abusive relationships, "why don't you just leave?". This all happened because, after years of an off-on relationship of me breaking it off and he promising it would be better this time, I was finally sticking to my guns and not going back. This happened because I made it clear that I wasn't going back to him.

It will never be better next time, and it will more than likely happen again.

Don't put your family in the place mine was. Leave and don't look back, before it gets this far.

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*Joe is not his real name.

My baby girl's name, written on the wall in blood...