Fear.
Fear of being hit.
Fear of being called names.
Fear of being cursed at because of my actions.
A constant state of fear.
No break.
No pause.
Continual.
I walk on eggshells but he still gets mad because the shells crack too loudly.
He gives me permission to go out with friends but he is dangerously angry upon my return.
He reminds me who the boss is.
And, it's not me.
Belittled.
He forgets something at home and it's my fault.
We are driving out of town for a day trip, he gets mad at something I say, he hits me, and he turns the car around to head back home. My fault again.
He tries to initiate sex at 4am after I just get our baby back to sleep. I say 'no' so he punches me in the leg and leaves the room. I never say 'no' again.
I sit at the kitchen table facing away from him. He is angry. He punches me in the back of the head. I didn't even see it coming.
Eleven years spent in constant fear.
It's no wonder I am so afraid when I am around men.
"Facedown in the dirt she says 'this doesn't hurt.'"
It's okay.
He didn't mean it.
He said he was sorry.
He said he will never hit me again.
My head is pounding from being punched in the temple but it doesn't hurt.
He told me I will never amount to anything but it doesn't hurt.
He made me look like the bad guy again but it doesn't hurt.
I have to say no to my friends but it doesn't hurt.
Sex is being forced on me but it doesn't hurt.
It does hurt.
It all hurts.
But, I keep pretending it doesn't.
Lies.
Shame.
Secrets.
That is what my life is built on.
It's no wonder I want to hide.
I live with the after-effects of this every single day.
My mind and body remind me constantly.
Let me talk about it.
Ask me questions.
I am still sacred.
I am still hurt.
But, I'm trying.
Have grace.
Please.
No comments:
Post a Comment