_frantic_peace (_frantic_peace) wrote in _survivors_,


I just want somewhere to share my story, and my letter that I wrote to HIM, even though I'm not sure it'll be sent.


Okay, here we go.

For three years, I was yours. For three years, you had me, and you did to me whatever you wanted, and honestly, I don't think you have an idea what you did. Honestly, I don't think you think about it, and I don't think that you care about what you did, but you know what? I'm going to write it all down and let you read it for youself. This is what you did to me, and this is what I'm dealing with. Are you ready for it? I don't think anyone is.

When we met, I thought you were amazing. I thought you were cute and funny and you said some sweet things sometimes, and our personalities kind of clicked. I don't know if that's because I really wanted them to and switched mine around or if we just...got along at that point in time (which is a completely real possibility). Something about you just fascinated me, and the fact that you were there while I was going through a severe depression was certainly helpful. We didn't like the same bands, and we didn't have the same friends. Well, really, I didn't have friends at all. But, we still really liked each other.

You gave me my first kiss that year and we went out on my first date, and you helped pull me out of my depression, alongside Devin and John (because they were both there for me too; Devin was tugging me along for years and John for quite a while, but I don't quite remember how long). I was amazed that anyone could be interested in me, the quiet girl in the corner. We were tighter than ever that year. Closer than I thought I could get to a person (besides Devin, and...well, honestly, I told John everything too).

Then, the next year - year two rolled along. We fought like cats and dogs. Arguing about everything. Our minds were not as alike as I thought they would be. You weren't the romantic guy you tried to play off as; honestly, you didn't want to do anything romantic. You wanted to just...I don't know. Be there and have that be good enough. You weren't the Christian man you started to turn into, and you would argue that evolution existed and that God was just...a figment of my imagination. After all, BAM! There's the whole world because God said so isn't good enough; there's not enough proof. Of course, nevermind the fact that HUGE evolutions like from monkeys to humans doesn't exist either. Nope. We didn't even agree on small things, like how to drive (I never did like driving five miles UNDER the speed limit). Not that you wanted me to drive anyway. It would take away some control you had over my head.

Year two set everything up and made it happen. I mean, that was the year that you got so jealous of Devin and John because I talked to them all the time. Remember? And Jessica and Jaymie and Chris and Doggie and Elina and everyone! Everyone!! Even if you were there with me and then, you still got jealous and angry at me when I turned to talk to them. Even if I was in your arms at the time. I would apologize. But it was never good enough.

Then there was that fight at sonic which set everything off immediately. I forgot my money at home, so I couldn't pay for your drink or my drink. But, of course, it's not like you didn't have like a hundred dollars in your wallet. But you still got mad, telling me I was only using you for money and we drove off, and you never stopped. We pulled into the empty parking lot next to the bowling alley, and you called me names, telling me I was a slut, a bitch, a whore, selfish, stupid. I told you to stop. I told you to stop and I begged for you to stop, and I was crying hard. And you didn't care. You'd been calling me names for months at this point, do you remember? So I slapped you, and you...well, did it back and when I moved to leave, you grabbed my arm and left bruises there. Shortly thereafter, you apologized in tears, and I took you into my arms and said that I loved you and that it was okay. I know you didn't mean it, but you can't let it happen again. It won't, you promised me, you felt like crap and you couldn't do that to me again.

But it did happen again, and again, and again. All because of me, too. You called me names, and I started snapping more. I couldn't take it all. I would just slap you - and geez, it was never enough to even leave a mark or make you snap your head. Just...enough to, well, supposedly wake you up, but it never did. I was dumb, I should have realized after the first time and something like that would never wake you up. You just did it again and again, and can you imagine my surprise when you did it without it being retaliation that first time?

We were arguing about something dumb, and you went to leave, so I called you a pussy. Then you turned around and threw my deoderant bottle at me, and before I could do anything (I was focused on dodging that bottle), you were on top of me, with your hands on the hollow of my throat squeezing away. I could barely breath, and I tried to slap you off. You squeezed harder, and I couldn't breathe. Or cry. I couldn't do anything. So you growled at me "Wanna try that again?" and I did. I slapped you as hard as I could, which honestly, wasn't hard. I had no oxygen in my body. I could feel the bruises forming on my neck. If I was going to live through this, I would definitely have purple marks. I had one hand on yours, tugging uselessly. Remember? Then, I looked straight into your eyes, begging with them. I couldn't talk. And something in you finally snapped. You looked at me, and said you were sorry, taking your hands off of my throat.

I was so scared of you then. Knowing that you could just go off on me without me slapping you. God, I was scared. You took me into your arms, apologizing, but I was too scared to leave them. You might get mad if I did. I was shaking because I was scared, not because I was cold.

So, after that you were nice to me again. You took me out to fast food restaurants a lot and even let me have a treat every now and then, like letting me have a night at home alone or something! Even if we were on the phone most of the time, those couple hours alone were pretty neat, because I didn't have those often anymore. Unless you were at work. Then it started over - those nights I was alone, I promise I didn't cheat on you! You were on the phone almost the entire time anyway!! And our fights would become regular, two or three times a day. Over silly things, of course.

The we had the Big Fight. The one where you punched me in the mouth for the first time, and told me that you were going to kill me. Don't remember? Let me refrest your memory. You know, when you pushed me into the wall hard enough for my legs to give out under me. Then I kicked at you to keep you back, remember? I hit your knee really hard and knocked you onto the floor. But that just got you more mad, and I tried kicking you between the legs, but you were really good at dodging. Better than I could ever be. I curled my fingers into a fist because you were circling your fingers around my throat at the moment, and I had to get you off before you cut off my air again. I shoved my fist upward into your skull, trying to keep you off me. You dodged, and I hit you in the stomach. But it didn't hurt you. It just made you more mad, and I knew when I saw your first that I needed to cover my face. But I didn't get my arms up in time. It was like slow motion, I saw you raise it and I saw it coming down on me fast. I tightened my jaw and shut my eyes, and felt it connect with my face. God it hurt. But at this point, I was flailing again. I cut the pain from my brain, and all of a sudden, everything felt like a dream. You punched me again. But I didn't feel it, but I did taste the blood in my mouth. Kinda metallic - I still remember. You raised your fist again, and I turned my head to the side (finally I had control of my muscles again), but you didn't punch again. Instead, you just put both hands on my neck, and I arched my back up to kick you some more. But I couldn't. It did throw you off just a bit, but when you jumped back on me before I could kick you, you made sure my arms were behind my back. I couldn't move with a 350 pound man on top of me. You looked into my eyes, and they weren't yours. I know they weren't. You had transformed. As you usually did. Your eyes weren't brown, they were black. Completely dark. No sign of human life in those things. All of a sudden I couldn't even gasp for breathe, and you held it longer than you ever had before. While I was moving in desperation and crying (sort of) you gave me the most unforgettable look in the world - a look of pure evil. Your knee was digging into my stomach and it really really hurt. I had trouble seeing because things were going red and black - my vision was so full of dots, but I still remember your face, when you said "I'm going to kill you, bitch!"

God, that was scary. Reliving it like that...actually makes me feel the pain in my throat. It hurts now, and my stomach still feels the sharp pain from your knee in it. I feel the back of my head hitting the floor, not once but over and over and over, just like you did it. But...somehow, it feels good to let this out. Especially while it's adressed to you. Imagine how good this will feel if I send this to you?

But worst of all - it wasn't the most...you've done to me. I mean, you've done worse that just toss me through a door, but...

You killed her.

I was pregnant.

I remember giggling at you, waiting for you to get ready for work.

"You get ready like a girl, you know that?" I had teased. But when I saw your eyes flash in my direction, I knew. It was the wrong thing to say.

The next thing I know, your bedroom door is closed, and I'm stuck in there with a monster. I couldn't get out. You told me to leave, but I couldn't. The door opened to the inside of the room, and you trapped me against the door and the two walls next to it. You pushed me into the wall, and my head slammed against it, God that had hurt. Then I pushed myself off of it, to reach for the doorknob. You did it again. I hit my head harder, hard enough to make my body collapse into a mess of flesh on the floor. I cried, trying to get my sight back. I was hit hard enough to see dots in front of my eyes, as my vision went completely black for a second. I felt you open the door on me, hard. It hit me, over and over and over. No, you can't open the door with something in front of it like that, but you knew that. I finally got the strength to head back up, and you grabbed my arm hard enough for bruises to help me. Maybe it wasn't the moster anymore, but when I saw your black eyes, I knew you weren't yourself still. Things became dreamlike, like they usually did. I had to get out of the room, that was all I knew. That was all I could think about, and I pushed you. I wasn't strong enough to push you far enough, and before I could even reach the door knob, you pressed me against the door itself, your hands around my throat, breathing heavily.

I saw your fist raise, and I knew where it would go. I could have taken a step to the left, to the right. I could have turned around, and could have covered my stomach, but I didn't do anything. I couldn't, my muscles stopped working. I couldn't get my arms to move or my legs. I couldn't do anything but watch you connect with my stomach. I felt the door crack underneath me and it flew open in the opposite direction, and I hit the wall behind me. I fell into a heap of skin onto the floor. It felt like a dream, and I saw you coming at me again, angry this time because I had broken your door. But I couldn't even think about it when you told me to get up and kicked my thighs. My stomach hurt worse than it ever had before. And when we finally left, I had to keep my tears in.

I bled when I got home. I bled more than I ever had on any of my periods put together. I wasn't pregnant for very long - I had just found out the week before, and I didn't want to tell you because I though that you'd be angry. But now I wouldn't have to worry about telling you. I felt the loss hang heavy in my heart, and I couldn't stop crying all night.

I still cry about it, especially because all I had to do was take a step to the left or right. I don't know if I can have a child now - how can I be a good mommy if I can't even protect a baby in my body? No, she's gone. She's been killed.

It's hard to face the fact that you got away with murder, but somehow...I still blame myself for not moving left or right, because deep down, I know that I should have. I saw it coming, but I couldn't move. If I had more sense at the time, I would have done more.

But this is what you did to me.

You've killed me, but guess what? I'm not letting that stop me. I know that we broke up a long time ago, and I'm so grateful for that. I met an amazing guy, just so you know. He makes me feel loved and secure. You had told me never to talk to him again, but damn, he makes an amazing man. Remember John? He's building my self esteem more than I thought anyone could. Especially after how many times you've told me I was nothing over and over and over. I had believed you, you know. But I'm not nothing anymore! I'm not.

I'm still scared of being a mother, but he's certain that after we're married and through college that I'm going to be a wonderful mother. And he's working with me through all this. He knows everything.

So...I just needed to get this out to YOU. I want you to know what I went through. And you know what? This isn't even half of it, and I know that you know that. It happened endless times, and you told me an endless amount of things. And honestly, the verbal abuse killed me on the inside when you started, and then the physical abuse just backed it up. I hated myself, and now I don't. And what's worse...is that I still think of reasons that you did that to me.

I hope this was your wake up call. Get help; please don't do this to another woman. No woman deserves that. NO woman deserves that.

Your Punching Bag.

Tags: domestic violence, letter: empowering, murder, pregnancy

  • Removing the Sword of Trauma

    I want to share this inspiring video of Angela Shelton talking to battered mothers about removing the sword of trauma. The video doesn't have many…

  • Difficult Times

    I was sitting being very confused in my room and this poem popped out of my head. Sometimes my thoughts are more organized through writing then…

  • (no subject)

    I posted yesterday. I fear I will be posting a hell of alot in this community. When I was twelve I got in with the wrong crowd. When I was thirteen…

  • Post a new comment


    Comments allowed for members only

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded