"Long term domestic violence: Being abused in this manner is like being kidnapped and tortured for ransom but you will never have enough to pay off the kidnapper."
Where it all began...
I had a rough childhood. My mother was extremely abusive to me and my brothers. We lived in fear for a large portion of our lives. Some of us have yet to cope with the pain and anguish that was caused from her violent behavior. Some of my brothers have gone to counseling, and some have distanced themselves from the family entirely. I’m one of them. However, I seem to be the only one that has buried it way down into my soul. I don't like talking about it. Even now I just want to stop typing. The only thing I could ever say about it, being a father myself now is “How in the hell can anyone do something like that to someone they love!?!” I may never know the full answer.
The abuse we suffered from the hands of my mother affected me more than I knew. I seemed to flock towards women who were physically or mentally abusive. I tried to fix them and failed. I tried to make them mine, only to make it worse. However it always seemed that the harder they fought, the more I wanted them in my life. It was for this reason alone that I believe I had such a hard time leaving “Tara.” In the beginning it was story book. We feel in love rather fast and we seemed to have a lot in common. It wasn't till the 3rd or 4th month that I sensed there was a problem.
It started with name calling, which seemed harmless enough at first. Then it escalated to full on shouting matches where every name in the book was thrown at me. I would engage in this as well. It would never lead anywhere and at the end of it we would usually laugh it off, because none of us would know what we were even fighting about. I would go home later that day and wonder if she meant what she said or why she even said it in the first place. I knew I loved her though and I decided it would surely get better before it got any worse. I was so damn wrong.
One day she started in on me rather early and I still have no idea what it was about. She got in my face and was screaming various insults. I reached for the bedroom door and she grabbed my hand. She continued to scream as I repeatedly told her I was leaving. Of course she wasn't hearing it. So I tried to open the door and she grabbed my arm and turned me towards her. She was quiet and there was this definite flare in her eyes. Something I have only seen in a man's eyes prior to this occasion. That flare that screams “I'm going to kick your fu*%ing ass!!!” I tried to say the words “I'm just going to go.” I think I reached the word “going” right before her forehead came slamming down into my open mouth. I stepped back and saw the look of horror (or as I like to call it the “Oh SHIT!” look) on her face. I had no idea why she looked like that. Not until I looked down and saw the pool of blood on the floor. I reached up and felt my lip. It was swollen of course, but I was puzzled by something. It seemed half of my bottom lip was missing. It wasn't, but it was split in half straight down the middle. I said nothing, cupped my mouth and quietly exited the house, leaving a trail of blood as I went.
I walked down the street in a daze. I had no idea where I was going. I cupped my mouth, dumping the puddle of blood on the sidewalk when I needed to. I started to panic when I noticed it was not slowing down. I was dumping pools of blood from the cup of my hand every other second. I needed to get to the ER as soon as possible. I passed the gas station just in time to see my knight in shining armor. My friend Shawn was parked across the street in front of his girlfriend’s apartment. I walked to the window and tried to say his name. He opened the window and stuck his head out and looked at me. He instantly turned white. The front of my shirt was covered in blood, almost to my waist band of my pants. He muttered “What...what the hell happened...?” I pulled my hand away from my mouth and he screamed “Jesus Christ!!!” He jumped out of the car and grabbed a hold of me. He led me to the passenger side and I got in. He got back into the car and asked me a million questions. I tried to speak but couldn't. He rushed me to the ER. When the nurses asked me what happened I couldn't answer. It wasn't till they sewn my lip back together and the bleeding stopped that I was able to respond. “I hit myself in the mouth with a wrench while trying to remove a tire from my girlfriend’s car” I said.
Later that night I cried like a baby. I had no idea what I was going to do. I loved “Tara.” I must have done something wrong. I must have said something to set her off. I just needed to find out what it was and never do it again. Surely that would stop this from ever happening again, wouldn't it?
To be continued...