Sunday, April 16, 2006
Why is that people who were abused as children often grow up to be in abusive relationships? I ask myself this question every time after I’ve been run through a washing machine, and told that I’m nothing but a piece of trash that can’t find a waste basket to be thrown into. I am a ‘nobody’ and I always will be, and God only knows I can’t do anything right, I’m a total fuck up. At least that’s what I’ve been told again and again.
I hear different voices in my head telling me what I should and should not do; it’s just so hard to know which one to listen too.
One voice calmly and sadly states that he’ll change and things will be better. It’ll never happen again. Plus in a few days everything will be forgotten and things will be wonderful……for a little while.
Yet another voice reminds me of the children and how breaking up may effect them. He really loves them and would never hurt them, it’s just when he gets mad he takes it out on me. They need a father figure in their lives to make sure they don’t go down the wrong roads. He’s the one who pays for the things they need. I don’t think I can raise them alone.
Then in the very far reaches of my brain I hear this little voice squeaking out phrases like… He’ll do it again, and next time it’s going to be worse. Get the hell out while you can. Remember when he hit you so hard in the back of your head you couldn’t even think straight for over a week? You were so dizzy after he hit you 7 or 8 times with his fist that you almost blacked out, and you had a severe headache for over a week? And you want to go back to him. Get the hell out now!!!
I sometimes want to leave, especially after he hits me. He knows where to hit so that it doesn’t leave any marks, because if the police come he doesn’t want them see where he could no longer control his aggressions. That happened a few times, and that’s what made him smarter. If the police can’t see any signs of abusive then it’s his word against mine. The police have now come so many times, that I don’t think they take it serious. Why do I say that? Because the other day when he and I got into a really big fight and he threaten once more to take my life I ran to call 911. He jerked the phone out of my hand and slammed it down, as I took off running into another room. I stood with my back into a corner expecting him to break down the door at any second and begin to beat me until the blood flowed. My heart was beating so hard in my chest as I waited for the police to come and stop him from possibly taking my life.
I heard the phone ringing, and then came his heavy footsteps walking quickly back down the hall towards the phone, cussing loudly as he did. I stepped over towards the bedroom door and I could hear him speaking to someone from the police.
“No there’s no problem here. Everything is fine.” He said in a voice that was calmer than I had ever heard before. “Sorry but 911 was on speed dial and I accidentally hit it. Sorry, it won’t happen again.” He hung up and then I heard him coming down the hallway again.
“Why in fuck do you always have to call the fucking cops? You know you can’t stand the son-of-bitches and their not going to come to your rescue. You stupid bitch!”
With one big giant push he broke the door jam and stormed into the room and directly at me with such force that when he hit me the first time I passed out.