Broken

by Tiffany
(San Antonio, TX)

The first time he hit me, I was unaware it was coming. I learned, fast after that what the signs were. His agitation was accompanied by a couple things; he would start drinking water like crazy - the more agitated the more water and he would rub his hands together, almost compulsively. Even now when I hear someone rubbing their hands together it brings me back. The abuse never started out slow with a gradual climb, but just out of the blue one day two years in.

The first time he beat and bullied me for hours until he got tired, then he crawled into bed and went to sleep. Me, I slunk to the bathroom and cried, my face was swollen, my jaw was out of place, I had bite marks all over my body, and bruising around my neck, but the worst part of all was the wondering, "Has he always been this way or did I cause this sudden change in personality?" He continued to beat me almost daily for over two years.

Living in such a way, it was almost as if I willed myself not to be a person but a shadow. I tried to behave in such a way that would provoke no emotion from him, because I could never figure out what I did to enrage him so. Over time the beatings became less and less frequent, but the damage was already done so to speak. I was no longer the person I was when I entered the relationship, she had died, had been effectively killed off by not only the physical abuse but the emotional, and sexual abuse that went along with it. I was with my husband for another eight, or nine years after he stopped beating me before I got up the courage to leave.

When I left, he was shocked. He cried, stating he didn't understand, "but I stopped, I haven’t laid a hand on you like that for years!" yes, it was true, but at that point he didn’t need to. I never stopped living like shadow. I was always terrified; I never questioned him, never argued for fear. I didn’t want to live in fear any more. I wanted to find a little piece of the person I thought I was supposed to be before him. I never did find her, that girl, she was gone and with it my free spirited idealism. About the time I left him, I got the word FORGIVE tattooed on my rib cage, in big black letters. Most people would assume that the forgiveness I want to give is to him, but no, the forgiveness I crave is from me. I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror, in my eyes, and know that I am okay with myself.

Some days I can.