You’ve met my wife Grace through my writing. When we met and fell in love, we were both unhappily married. Her future ex was a bipolar obsessive compulsive pothead, and her abuser. Not even in the same universe as the hell you endured, but as you said, much of the abuse is psychological. He punched holes in sheetrock and windows, but never hit her. One time he called her into his office to berate her for what she had done to his desk. The stapler was an inch out of place.
Grace picked up the stapler and slammed it down where he wanted it. “What the hell difference does an inch make!”
He chased her into a corner and held her down. He put his cigarette out on her cheek, an inch from her eye. “That’s the difference an inch makes.”
She had thirty years of misery, but at least I gave her fifteen years of love.
Anyway, thank you for honoring me with your story. I’m an atheist, so I can’t pray for you, but I’ll keep you in my thoughts, and, as one of my atheist friends says, I’ll run the microwave on high in your name.