Growing up as a young girl my mother often told me, "what is private is private, there is no need to bring anyone into your private life no matter what happens or who it happens to"
Many years ago while my mom was growing up it was considered voodoo to ever talk about what happens behind closed doors each day. Appearance was everything, how one dressed, the car they drove, the job title they held, and the circle of friends they often socialized with. Many women worked really hard at giving off the appearance of having a great family. They had to show off their loving husband, their more than average children often bragging about having the greatest family life ever.
My mom was one of those people. We all had to appear put together followed by a loving family, a doting husband, and mother who could do it all. She worked, cleaned the home on weekends. did all the grocery shopping, and still cooked a hot meal each and every night gathered around the dinner table sharing about our day.
Little did anyone ever know, my father drank every night, my mom always went to bed alone leaving my father to drink himself into a deep slumber of sleep later waking himself up from a roaring thunderous clap of snoring. I swear my dad was the king of snoring. We, living in a three story home and I could still hear my dad each and every night as I slept on third level of the home. He sounded like a locomotive pulling out of the train station each and every night. I'm surprised he never sucked the curtains right off the wall.
Domestic violence is still one of those topics many wish to never talk about. Yet, our vast world of the "Internet" is flooded with stories of survivors, how to know if your living with an abuser, how to get out of domestic violence, how to protect yourself, know the signs, understand the red flags, the list goes on and on.
We can sit and read the more than hundreds if not thousands of web pages about survivors or watch them on television unfolding their story for the world to hear but I have learned a great value through all this. You will survive even when you think you never will. Oh, of course you will never the same person as you were before, but you will survive.
Just because you have survived this, you have become educated in the red flags, you know the signs, you understand what to look for, and often through some lucky twist of fate you even become a stronger person. I have wondered for many years if domestic violence is genetic? Can it flow through the blood lines and transfer the need to abuse to their own children?
Not only is the one abusing ill but the one being abused becomes ill also. Rick discarded me like the people when gathering their trash within their home then dumping it for the trash collectors to pick up. My parents spent a life time loving me, educating me on love, what real love is, trust, empathy, kindness and with one back hand from Rick, all those years of unconditional love and education was then gone.
You see, after Rick was arrested the guilt I felt for screaming, the crying, the begging to then punishing myself for being to loud. I was angry with myself wishing if I would of been a little more quite none of this would be happening. He would of been in the apartment with me which for some sick reason gave me peace, it gave me comfort that I never understood. I was confused with the differences of his love then his abuse.
I was instructed to go down to the police station and file a report on Rick so that he can be charged with domestic violence. Part of me wanted to charge over and sign the papers and then call my parents begging for their forgiveness followed by putting my baby up for adoption so I would never have to ever deal with him ever again.
But once I stepped foot into the police department I was flood with guilt. I walked over and told the police on duty I was not going to be pressing charges and I wanted him out of jail and released to me. of course that was followed with begging not to do that, with he will do this again, with stories of women who have died from being abused.
My mind just kept telling me over and over to shut up, they didn't understand my level of love that I had for this man, the urgency to prove to Rick my love, my devotion, my life time commitment that I had. I was determined to prove everyone wrong and that he was the man for me. He just needed to be understood, he needed that gentle loving soul that I knew had somewhere inside of my heart.
Well, five days after being out of jail, I went into labor and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. My parents were there of course and of course Rick was charming as always. He was pleasant to be around. He proved to be a dedicated father.
The doctor told me not to have sex for at least seven to eight weeks so I can heal. Rick of course had a different agenda. Six weeks into our baby daughter, he took me and forced sex on me. I begged for him to stop, I continued to sob and through the sobs I was screaming how much it hurt but Rick didn't care. I tried to get away and yet he continued to shout how worthless I was, what a horrible mother I was, how fat and ugly I had become.
Once he was done and he climbed off of me, I remember hurting so badly. I just laid there while he took the baby from the room that watched everything just happen. I later got up and noticed a pool of blood on the sheets and when I stood up it then ran down my legs.
Eight weeks later I found out I was once again pregnant with my second daughter. She of course was a product of rape. I had planned on getting an abortion and just never telling Rick and that one day I had a neighbor take me down to planned parent hood to do the abortion, I felt her kick, I felt her flutter inside of me. That of course stopped me from doing something that I would of probably killed myself over.
Finally I had enough, I felt disposed, I felt alienated from my family, I never felt more alone and ugly in my life. I took my then fourteen month old baby and then new born just seven weeks old packed my things and called my parents to come get me.
It was over, three years of living in hell, three years of my life I lost. Three years that will forever be embedded into my memory as the darkest days of my life. As my dad loaded up the SUV and then drove away I didn't care about the hell hole I was living in. I didn't care if I ever saw Rick again.
I just left a note for him that read....
Screw you, I'm done being your punching bag, I am done with your abuse, I am going to fight my way out of the hell hole you put me in and I that allowed myself to be there and for what? For you to hate me and never love me.
And the story continues...........