Domestic abuse, my point of view.
Back in the 1988-89 time frame, domestic abuse was something that was stilled locked behind closed doors. No one was really addressing the problem back then. Maybe that is why I didn't realize what was happening to me. The relationship didn't start our too bad. A few shoves and slaps here and there. I was only 18 the first time it happened, fresh out of high school and on my own in college. I was naive having grown up in a stable, non violent home. I had no idea what evil was out here in this big world. This was my first real boyfriend and as with all these kinds of stories, he was wonderful at first. Showering me attention and gifts that drew me into his lies. Things really did seem perfect for awhile. Then his jealousy started to show. I couldn't look at, let alone talk to another man. It was my first year in college, he followed me to my college a hundred miles away. He would wait outside my apartment, watching for a while. As I said, it started with just pushing me around, then the slapping started. Not long after that he started pulling me by my hair and then throwing me on the ground. He would break down afterwards, crying about how sorry he was and promising to never do it again. I was young and stupid, so I believed him. He finally got himself into my college so he could be closer. Then he talked me into moving in with him. That was not common back then and I got a lot of grief from my family for it. Things were good for a while, then it got really bad. The beatings got worse. The final one came after he threw me against a wall and as I laid curled up in a ball, he started kicking me hard. Something strange happened. After he was done, I couldn't get up. I pulled myself into the bathroom and started throwing up. It must have scared him because he carried me to the bed. I still couldn't move without getting sick. He called my Mom, that's how I know he was really scared. She could drive down until the next morning. She took me to the hospital. That is where I found out I was pregnant and was close to losing the baby. If I would have moved to much I would have lost the baby. We were all in shock. It was a different time back then and was not an acceptable thing. My mother took me home right then, not back to college, not back to him. At that point it was no longer about just me, I had someone else to worry about. Everything changed at that moment. I left him that day and never went back. It was easy once I had someone else to fight for. I would do anything to save that baby, and I did. I look at my beautiful 25 year old daughter and thank God for what he did by giving her to me. She saved me, and probably him too. He has never been a part of her life, or mine again. I was blessed by being able to get away. So many are not. They think there is no way out.They feel trapped and that no one can help. The abuser takes everything away from them, including hope.
I have written my story before, but this is not a copy. It is real life, not a story. So if you think you have seen this before, you have seen it written in a different way.
Image Credit » This is my own photo, taken by me.