A scene from the rearview mirror

It was never my intention to begin my blog in this manner. I initially had the idea of a cutesy little introduction that would eventually lead us along a straight and narrow path. That being said, I suppose we should get something straight right now… I’m not really into cutesy, and I wouldn’t know straight and narrow if it if it were drawn out for me on a map. It’s kind of like the little GPS dot that allows you to see where you’re located on the map and the line that shows where you should be… I’m usually never on the line!

Anyway…

Spousal abuse/family violence is still under-reported and misunderstood. Many people have their own definition of what abuse is, and who is affected. Many don’t think about it at all unless they read about it in the news. Unfortunately, by the time it gets that far it’s way too late to help the victim or victims. Then opinions are formed. People are thinking or saying things like “Why didn’t she speak up sooner?” or “She would have left if it were really that bad.” The fact is a woman (or man) will attempt to leave an abusive spouse many times before the final break. Because abuse isn’t limited to physical actions, the abused spouse/partner will believe the emotional turmoil they are going through is deserved. They will be made to think they aren’t capable of making it without the abusive spouse, or they will be threatened.

The past:

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP…. Heart pounding fear. I can feel it in my ears. It’s so loud I can’t hear anything else, and I really need to hear what’s going on around me. I need to know if he’s coming down the hall looking for me. Ughhhhh… I can picture him stalking the hallway in his bare-feet, opening each door and looking inside. I’m not in a place that can be seen from the door. He will have to come in if he wants to find me. He likes this game… he thinks it’s funny. I don’t. I left him sleeping on the couch about an hour ago… praying he would stay there. Praying he wouldn’t wake up and that I could sleep in peace. That didn’t happen. I just wanted to be left alone. I managed to jump up from the bed, but seriously, where do I go to get away? Where do I go in my pajamas, with my kids sleeping down this same hallway? With one sleeping in the very room I’m sitting in right now… I’m trying to pull myself together, trying to listen for footsteps or for the door to open. After years of this, I’m past the point of crying, and he’s past the point of feeling guilty. Now he feels justified… now I’m in more danger than ever before. No one knows… it’s embarrassing. I’m smarter than this. If I call the police, it would only make things worse the next time, and the next time… so I never call. The room is dark and I can hear the sound of my sleeping child in the bed. The hall light shines under the door in a most unwelcoming beacon. I hear them now… the footsteps. He opens the doors, and then closes them. “Where are you?” Then, “Come on, come back to bed.” He opens the door to the room I’m in and the soft light casts a harsh beam through the black of the room. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it straight down my arms. I’m sitting with my back to the wall, my knees folded up. Like a child who feels like she can’t be seen if she closes her eyes, I bury my head in my knees.

This heart-pounding fear will never leave me. Seven years later, there are nights I will still unwillingly revisit this scenario in my dreams. It’s not a fear of being hurt, but a fear for my life. My life is so far removed from that now, and I am so thankful, yet, just when I get to the point of feeling completely safe… I find out he’s bought a gun.