~Domestic Violence Hurts~
Often, after leaving home in the 1980's I pondered in caring ways with a philosophy of sorts that we can either have a positive impact or negative and there really isn't an in between when relating to each other.
I found myself in dark places with the darkest of people just focusing on a shimmer of light, hoping to open that up on some individuals and when they began to recognize it, and a slight smile would come across thir face I would make my way to another dark corner with another hopelessly alone man or woman to do my humanitarian works.
One person though I was no match for. After six long months he said I saved his life. After seeing him in near respiratory failure with a needle hanging from his arm, sweat beads the size of pencil erasers and gasping for a deepened breath; to see his face, drug free was amazing and though I knew that eventually I would move on, I became a victim and later the victor because alone I stand to make a difference and share my stories with others to give hope and enlightenment at the causality of violence.
In the summer of 1985 he asked me to have children with him. At first I said no. Many nights into they long conversations, not knowing exactly what my travels would include. I then with an endeared heart agreed, knowing that I could make a very nurturing mother and had much to teach and give.
After our first child, he became very controlling. Emotionally injuring me was a way for him to find a level that he was comfortable at.
Then later the drunken physical confrontations that anything could set off. He beat me for the way others had treated him, his family, his past girlfriends. He would go into black outs as I stood still taking the blows over the years (forgetting my cause)I remember I would look into his eyes as he was hurting me, looking for some kind of answer to the reason why, and I drew a blank every time.
I was a nurturing mother of three, I was a protective parent after all, he only hit me? Surely I could get past that.