My swollen eyelids seem almost impossible to open, they hurt so badly
The unmistakable taste in my mouth, a combination of tears and blood
My lips must be busted again
Every part of my body throbs with soreness
My arms black from bruising
The smell of raw unhealed infected wounds lingered around ever so slightly but present all the same,
The stitches must have come undone and puss seems to be emanating from them
My whole body a reflection of pure torture
The bedside lamp that knocked me unconscious lies on the ground beside me
What had the argument been about this time?
Apparently a high school friend I hadn’t seen in ages was my new boyfriend
A crippling pain surges from my lower abdomen, seizing it tightly
Oh God please not again!
The dried blood sticking my thighs together tells me that my prayer is too late
Inexplicable emotions all rushing forth to the front of my heart,
Tears painfully seeping through my wounded eyes
Each one a reminder of how long I had held on to this relationship and how much it had cost me
Uncountable wounds, stitches, concussions, broken ribs, two miscarriages
The sound of the tree branches scratching the roof snaps my mind back into reality
I lie still making a quick metal check of which hospital to avoid
A different hospital each time meant no records were available
I can’t spend more than two hours there, I need to clean up this wrecked room, wash his clothes, pick the girls from nursery and make dinner
All before he returns from work
He’ll be back tonight with my favourite, white roses
He would have forgiven me and he’ll ask me to forgive him too
He’ll try to kiss the pain away but what about the pain gnawing my heart away?
This was a perfect marriage though…wasn’t it?
He said I was his and he owned me
This must be true because HE married me
I was lucky to have him, no one else would want me
These words were embedded in me after constant repetition
His words moved crowds on sundays, he counselled couples, he gave advice to those who sought it
He introduced me to his God,
He told me I had to be submissive
He said the girls and I needed discipline
The same discipline his dad trained his mum with
Maybe he was right, I spoke my mind too often
Mama taught me that but maybe she was wrong
Papa was never there to train her…
Maybe this was how it was supposed to be
Then again if this was right, why did my heart object?
Why am I ashamed to talk about it?
There were so many to talk to but who would hear me?
So many to smile with but could anyone see the sorrow behind my smile?
Was there no one who could feel my pain?
I’m probably over reacting, after all he is my support system
I could never manage without him
It was never this bad, he uses anything he can lay his hands on
I can survive, I just need to make sure we never argue in the kitchen
My girls see this everyday, teaching them that this is the love they should receive from their husbands
….and the cycle continues…
(Abuse never stops, it only gets worse. Get help if you are in such a situation.)
image source: http://yourblacknews.blogspot.com/2009_03_01_archive.html