Scars

Hello, my name is Dee and I am a survivor of domestic abuse. A good friend asked me if I would write a piece about domestic abuse. He said it would be therapeutic for me and beneficial for other women who have been abused or are being abused, and I think he is right. So here I sit wondering where to begin, after about an hour of emotional flashbacks. And when I do think about this I wonder how on earth could I have let it go on, and for as long as it did. And more-so, what did I ever do to deserve it.

I was never abused as a child. Never beaten or abused emotionally or mentally, never called names, or cursed at, and I suppose I grew up thinking this was how it was for everyone. I was only 19 when I met my abuser. I already had a son, and had been out on my own for 2 years. Life was hard, bringing up a baby, surviving on living assistance, living in ghetto like neighborhoods. I had always aspired to be a journalist, but my dreams were broken when I became pregnant right out of high school and was forced out of the house to care for my son.

I met my abuser one day when I was down town shopping with my son. He came into my life like a "wolf in sheep's clothing", and was just about as nice as he could be. I suppose I was somewhat lonely since I never got to go out very often. He soon moved in with me and helped me with my son, helped in the house, and helped financially so things were definitely looking up. Or so I thought.

He was from an abusive home himself, and years later I learned his father had abused all the boys and sexually abused all the girls. He had been thrown out of the house at an early age and was alcohol and drug dependent, and he had a mean temper. He was possessive, jealous, dominating and controlling. Soon I found that my life was no longer my own, and he was my boss.

He would go out every night while I was home with my son. I didn't mind so much the idea of him going out, but he started coming home drunk and high and began to beat me. He would literally beat me up, and the after effects were very visible from the black eyes and bruises on my body. The very first time he beat me up I was terrified that he was going to kill me. I was just a skinny little thing, defenseless and terrified. I would use my arms to protect my face, and try to run from him. But where do you run, from room to room? I couldn't run out of the house and leave my son behind.

Someone would here the screaming and call the police. In those days if the police came to your house for domestic abuse, and the victim didn't ask the police to arrest the abuser, the police would leave. He would be hiding somewhere in the house, and I was so scared to tell the police because that would really make him mad and I would really be in trouble, so I would tell the police everything was OK. Maybe if I did have him arrested, he would have thought twice the next time. Thinking back I know I should have had him arrested. This went on for years and at times even then he wasn't living with me, he would come by my house and beat me up. It was almost like a ritual. he would break the door down if I didn't let him in. I have never feared anyone like I feared him.

When I think of the terror this man put me through not only the physically abuse, the verbal and emotional abuse also, I feel very angry, and very much hurt inside, deep inside. Although years have gone by, we did eventually have a daughter together, and he was stabbed to death outside a nightclub on New Years Eve when my daughter was only 2, I am still angry. Right now, I am very angry that he did this to me. How could he have treated me so badly when I was nothing but good to him. How could he beat me, call me names, destroy my house, blacken my eyes, break my nose, my teeth, my spirit, rip my clothes, and every nasty thing he did to me. These are things I never got to say to him, confront him, because he died. I am now expressing what I should have years ago.

I am angry with my family. They knew this was going on, why didn't they get me out of there. They seen the black eyes, and bruises on my body, some just couldn't be covered up. Why did they allow this to go on. Why did I for that matter? I can't even answer that. I sit here just thinking about all of this, flashing back, and shaking my head, and wondering how I could have handled it different.

And what is worse, years later I met another "Wolf in sheep's clothing" and found my self in a similar situation. Being beaten, and being verbally abused, again. It's kind of like the same scenario, nice at first, move in, and when they feel comfortable, the abuse starts. This man only did it when he was drunk, and that doesn't even matter. What really matters is that I allowed this to happen to me twice! One day I woke up, went to him and said "I am going to do whatever it takes, no matter what it is, to make this stop, and I mean it". That was the day I vowed to myself I will never take this kind of abuse again. No one has the right to put their hands on you in a negative way.

I guess it did help to finaly confront these old memories and emotions, and so I end this with a tear stained keyboard, hoping that if I helped just one woman understand something about herself, it was well worth it. Thank you Steven.