Saturday, August 18, 2007

The Ending: My Story of Domestic Violence

"Some women are not as lucky as I am. Some never walked away. Some died, and there are thousands that wish they would. ... and if anyone reads this that is walking in the shoes that I walked in. Leave. Leave now. Your life depends on it."

The Ending:

For some of us, writing the raw and unguarded secrets of the heart is painful. It brings back many memories and feelings. Some good, and some unpleasant. Some that make you shudder, and some that make you cry. For me, I'm finding that as I've thought deeply this past week about my walk with domestic violence, it has been therapeutic, and both cleansing and healing. It has helped me to write these words and look deeper into my future, and it has shown me that my path is golden, and my future is good. I know that I will never have a hand raised towards me again, and I know that all men are not abusive.

I walked away from that marriage seven years ago. Yet today he haunts me. He continues to be in my present. He harasses me, he threatens me, and I believe that will never change. I believe that he, and others like him, will never change. I don't think he is capable of change. His violence is his sickness and his power, and his attempt to control.

He still yet attempts to control our kids, with threats and anger. He still yet feels that I deserve what he did to me . I believe that his rage lies dormant and I believe that it will rise again, and he will rear his ugly head like that of a snake ready to strike. His venom is poisonous ... his words are deadly. But yet, I am no longer afraid of him. I now pity him.

I used to pray that he would die a lonely man. Totally alone. That was to be my revenge. The satisfaction of him knowing that he will never have me, and that I left him for ~ ME ~. I have prayed that he would feel hands around his throat squeezing, until he sinks to the ground unable to breath. I have prayed that he would feel the cold steel of a gun to his head, and hear the click of the trigger, not knowing if he would live or die, then hear the sick laughter when there was no explosion. I have prayed that he would feel someone kicking his stomach until he's vomits. I have prayed that he would hear the crack of his skull as it hit concrete. I have prayed that he would be unable to see because his eyes were swollen shut, and that he would choke on the taste of his own blood. Many times in the past, I prayed that he would physically feel the things he did to me, and suffer for it. Mainly, I prayed that his tongue would be ripped from his head and I would never have to hear his voice again.

I no longer pray for these things to happen to him .... I have found my peace, my place in life, and I thank God that the nightmares are no longer vivid, and no longer visit me frequently, and when they come, I have safe arms to remind me that I am no longer there.

As I write these words ... I feel like I to was tormented for wishing these things upon him. Forgiveness is hard. I haven't found that I can do that yet. I know that I will never forget.

Because we have children together, there are times that I have to be in the same room with him. I feel the chills running up my spine long before I see his face. Even though I hide it well, I feel the nausea in the pit of my stomach and I hear his cold promise to me the day I left him "I will make you pay until the day you die." .... and he does.

I read this on another blog, and it made me think, "And so I began to think of the power of women's stories, and what they mean in our lives. Women's stories can be, are meant to be, a source of strength, a lesson learned, a poignant memory that unlocks one in our own heart. Something to take forward with us on our own journey - the idea that you are not alone."

Domestic violence is not only in the homes of the poor, or the uneducated. The violence we endured as educated upper middle class people, is everywhere. It is everywhere. There is no neighborhood that is exempt. From the very rich to the very poor. It is hidden behind four walls, tucked away like a great secret, until some woman, some day tells her story.

Everyone has a story to tell. It's been said, "there is nothing more painful than having an untold story inside you."

If you've read these words, please leave a comment. If only your name, I'd like to know. Mainly, if you know someone that is in danger from domestic violence, reach out to them. It could make a difference in their life. It could make a difference if they live. Many women are killed by men everyday in their own home. Statistics say that most of these women live with these men, and have been abused prior to that relationship. Speak up. Save another woman from domestic abuse. ... and for some women reading this, it could be your own life that you're saving.

Be Blessed,

Soon I will write about ~ Starting Over ~ and how I met my Marlboro Man and came to have his triplets.