Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Beaten to a Pulp

One of the worst beatings still haunts me to this day. It was a few days before my birthday. My sister in law wanted to celebrate my birthday, along with two other friends of hers. Our birthdays were the fifth, sixth and seventh. So anyway, we went out drinking and had a great time.

When I got dropped off it was about three in the morning. I climbed the stairs to the second floor apartment and tried to open the door. It was locked. My key didn’t work. What I later found out is he used the skeleton key near the doorknob and locked the other lock.

I knocked and knocked but no one answered the door. Eventually l sat on the floor and leaned against the door and fell asleep. I was woken by him opening the door and screaming bloody murder at me. I tried to defend my actions but he just started swinging.

He punched and punched. I was now in a fetal position on the floor with my hands over my head trying to protect myself from the horrendous blows. I’m not sure how long he continued to hit me and I’ll be honest, it was probably a good thing that I’d had a lot to drink that night.

Again I fled when the opportunity presented itself. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. I had to escape. Somewhere along the way he found me. He didn’t threaten. He told me to get to in the car and he’d drive me to my mother’s house where my son had been spending the night.

I took the ride and showed up on my mother’s doorstep at five in the morning. Her husband let me in and I crawled into bed next to my little boy and fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up and the first thing I did was look in the mirror. My first reaction was to cry. I cried and cried. The horrific sight of my reflection looking back at me broke my heart. I looked like a raccoon. I had two black eyes; my ears were bruised so bad they were black. I’d never known ears could bruise the way mine had. I couldn’t imagine my husband had done this to me. This was the first time he’d shown the world the monster he was.

I’m sure most of you are asking if this was the point I finally left. Nope. It wasn’t my breaking point. Later that day I asked my mother to drive me home and guess what…she did.

No one took pictures of my face (something I totally regret), no one called the police and worse, someone allowed me to go back to the person who did this to me.

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