Free My Son Marshall, My Son Eminem by Annette Witheridge, Debbie Nelson

his truck.”
    With that, Marshall ordered B. J. outside. He stood glowering in front of the door. I pleaded with Marshall not to be silly. “We’re married,” I said.
    Marshall stormed off to his bedroom.
    B. J. spent our wedding night in his truck. I remained inside. The overprotective mother now had an overprotective son.
    Marshall had a violent temper. He’d pushed me a few times. He also threatened men he thought were admiring me. Sometimes at traffic lights, he’d roll down the car window and shout at unsuspecting male drivers, “What are you looking at? She’s my mom.”
    His father had been insanely jealous, too, constantly accusing me of having affairs. At the time I thought it was ironic that the cheating Bruce lashed out at me for perceived adultery. But now Marshall was exhibiting the same jealous streak. We talked throughout my wedding night. He finally let B. J. back into the house the following day.
    B. J. was strict, but I told him there was no way he was going to discipline my kids. I refused to let him raise his voice to Marshall or Nathan. Meanwhile, I smothered him with love. He’d had such an awful first marriage that I wanted him to know I truly cared about him.
    We’d been married only three months when B. J. started to act oddly. I invited his children over for Christmas, but as we drove them home, he began driving erratically. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but it took more than an hour to calm him down. Even his kids pleaded with him to slow down, but that just made him drive faster. They were as frightened as I was.
    A few days later, he insisted on checking my car. He was outside with his tools for ages before he’d let me drive off. I got halfway down the road and a wheel fell off. He’d loosened all my wheels. It was winter, there was snow on the ground, and I thank God I was in a turning lane on a quiet road, and almost at a stop. On another occasion I woke up with a shadow looming over me—B. J. was wielding a tree saw over me. I screamed and Marshall came flying into the room.
    “What the fuck is going on here?” he shouted, as B. J. backed off. He’d hidden the saw beside the couch.
    I had no idea what was going on, but I was starting to get very worried about the man I’d just married.
    Then one afternoon he came charging into the house like a crazed maniac. He screamed that he wanted to talk, but his eyes were big and glassy. He looked like a wild animal. I tried to run into the kitchen, but he dragged me by the hair and started hitting my head against the fridge, followed by a couple of slaps to my face. Nathan was hollering B. J.’s name outside in the sandbox. I begged B. J. to stop. He heard Nathan and paused for a second before going outside. I grabbed the phone and called 911.
    The police found B. J. in the sandbox with a shovel, playing with Nathan and our chow dog, Teddy Bear. He was acting like a little kid. Then he spat in my face as the police led him back through the house and out the front door.
    Nathan was too young to understand, but Marshall was furious. I wanted to die when he asked how I had got the marks on my face.
    B. J. was locked up by order of court in a psychiatric hospital. He’d apparently suffered a massive nervous breakdown. The doctors thought that he’d had such an awful time during his first marriage that he’d finally cracked when he met someone who truly cared for him. He couldn’t believe that someone so nice, with a lovely home and children, could love him. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me. I was now terrified of him. I got a restraining order to stop him coming near me, then I started divorce proceedings.
    The marriage had lasted exactly three months. But B. J. didn’t go away easily. He was on the phone so often that no one else could ever get through. Once, Marshall snatched up the phone and told him, “Punk, get over here so I can beat your ass. I’ll fight you.”
    I was working as a home healthcare assistant, but I