My daughters' fear

The worst moment of my life was seeing my ten year old daughter, with tears streaming down her sweet face, wailing "Mother! Mother! Should I call the police?" Her father was pushing me back into the house when I was trying to leave -- all the girls were in the car already. She - the youngest - had overcome her terror of her father and come near enough to shout. I thought I was doing them a favor by relenting. I wasn't. One never knows the right thing to do, and there never is a right answer. And the stronger person is always right. That's why we must all reach the conclusion that we are the stronger.

For good or for ill, my daughters have forgotten this incident, letting it slip in between the cracks of their birthday cakes and family picnics and happier days. But in the dark and quiet nights, they cry, and wonder why they are so frightened in their dreams.

I feel that I have failed them. They admit that they hated me when I did not fight back. And they hated me when I did. There is no weapon one can use when it will surely turn around to pierce your children's hearts.

I have been gone now for 11 years. But I still weep in my sleep and my new husband holds me close and reminds me that I am safe and I cry like a motherless child.

YOU HAVE TO LEAVE TO LIVE!!!

In July 1982 in a small city in Idaho, I went to ER after 4 1/2 years of beatings. I had an 180 IQ but as smart as I was, I wrongly believed that as a traditional, God fearing woman, I had to stay by my husband. Later after documenting the beatings, I realized they averaged one per week. I knew I was a good person though he tried to make me believe I was worthless. I had low self estteem and was afraid of not being able to have the income to raise my child, so I stayed. I stayed 'one day too long' and nearly lost my life. It took more than 10 years to get the ex-husband out of my life and get my emotions back online. I only left because I was down on my prayer bones one morning (when he was gone) praying for God to help me along until my child was 18 and then I would leave him.

It was then I heard an small audible voice that told me I would not live until my baby was 18 if I stayed. Before I had the chance to plan my escape, I wound up in the ER. I still suffer pain from the multiple head and facial blows, though they are not visible on the surface. I have never gotten over the intestinal troubles caused by the poisoning and the EX 'never' spent a day in jail. He was never arrested or charged with anything,.. EVER! He ran my face through the glass window in a door, he knocked me down and kicked me in the stomach and the back with his work boots on so many times I am lucky to be able to walk. He hit me in the face so hard I flew across the bed and hit the wall on the other side of the room and fell to the floor and my ear leaked fluid. He choked me with a phone cord. He'd bend me backwards over the washer or dryer and would hit me on the sides of the head while leaning into me so hard he was pressing my spine into the appliances until I had to quit protecting my face with my hands, and put them behind me to push against the appliances to keep him from breaking my back. Right before the trip to ER he held a loaded rifle to my face and cocked the trigger. My screams made him worry the neighbors might hear so he ran out of the house that time, gun in hand.

I fled from the state and never went back because the law did not protect me. At the time the law would not serve me until I was dead. I lost many years of my life to domestic abuse and violence and never totally regained my health. Don't tolerate the abuse. Get away and do it without letting them know your plan. Then vote in lawmakers who will do the work to protect you. Become a law maker yourself! If you dont become the 'operator' of the carrosell, you will ride on it forever and it won't take long for 'forever' to come to a desperate ending. You deserve to LIVE. You DESERVE to Be Happy. You deserve a life without harm. Pull yourself up by your boot straps and just DO IT!. It is your decision alone, so step out and take control away from the abusers and get your life back!!!! Do it before its too late!

Being a battered woman

When you are young of course you don't have experience and being so called in love makes you very blind. I'm 58 years old now. 37 when it all took place.

At the time of my being brow beaten and feeling absolutely useless, I made a great mistake. Although I really think my spouse was trying to drive me to the point of killing myself, however all circumstanses back fired on him. He always kept a loaded revolver beside our bed, I was taking several heavy duty meds for pain and xanax was one of them, Which I don't know what kind of effects it has on some people but for me I had a don' t give a d... attitude.

My husband must have been a miserable person for every day he was ranting and raving about something besides making me have a low self image. So this one morning I got the kids off to school and waited til the bus left. He and I were both dressed ready to go to work but instead of walking out the door as you can well guess, I went and got the revolver out of the drawer and shot and killed my spouse.

Believe me he wasn't worth it. I did prison time and my life and my chrildrens lives have never been the same. I've been single now going on 19yrs the only thing I don't miss is the h... that I lived in.

I've had everything taken from me, I've been homeless, lived in my car for 5 yrs, and I haven't been able to have a stable life or employment as a result of my poor judgement that unforgetable day. No matter what you do your spouse will never change.! Grant you , you know what you have with that person, Its the unknown thats the biggest fear. They are NOT worth all of the abuse. 

Life From the Ashes

When I was 15 years old, I moved to Chicago to live with my mother. We lived on the West Side and I attended an all girls school. My mother wanted to protect me from getting hurt. However, we both learned that there is not enough protection to keep the evil in the world from finding you.

I met an "fell in love" with a boy who my mother did not approve of. She tried to get me to stop seeing him. But there was nothing that could persuade me, no grounding, no pleading, nothing. "Rafe"(not his real name) was in a gang. And to a girl from small town Indiana, that just made him all the more appealing.

One day while waiting for the bus to go home after school, I met "Johnny"(not his name). He talked to me and would wait there with me everyday. What I did not know was that "Johnny" was in a rival gang. While I thought he was befriending me, he was really testing to see if I would tell "Rafe".

I decided to skip school one day and hang out at Johnny's. He lived close to my school, so I thought I would just blend in when school let out, and who would know??? While at Johnny's I was offered some beer. I did not drink so it did not take too long for me to get drunk.

It was then that Johnny changed. He hit me hard in the face and kept hitting. I could not understand what I had done. It was then that he told me that he had it in for Rafe and that I was his ultimate revenge. The guys that I had been partying with, well they turned vicious.

After a while, I learned not to react. After awhile, I could not see anyway because my eyes were swollen shut. But still they hit me with sticks, with belts, with fist. Taking my pride, my dignity, my body. They raped me in every conceivable way.
This went on for three days. When they were done with me, well they drove around talking about what they were going to do next. I thought they would kill me. But they dropped me off at the end of Rafe's block.

I knew where I was, so I made it to his friends house before collapsing. I was beaten badly, bleeding badly, confused, and terrified. I eventually had to get a hysterectomy due to the damage done to me those few days. I knew who it was that had done this, but would not press charges because I only wanted to put this behind me.

I was not given counselling, and began to act out. My anger was pretty uncontrolable, and then...I fell into depression. I was not able to rise out of it for almost 15 years. I mourned the girl that died that night. I mourned the child I would never have. But more than that, I mourned the loss of my safety.

It has been almost 20 years since that incident, and today my life is full and productive. I help to run two self help groups for people who are survivors of sexual assault, as well as two groups for people who have become survivors of incest. It was not easy to get here, and I suffer from depression and PTSD. But with medication and therapy I live a good life.

It happend everyday

I hadn't even been born yet when the abuse of my family began. My mother got sick and her new disability angered my father to the point he abused her and my three siblings that had been born at the time. I have heard stories of his actions, from the people directly affected. He would hang them by their necks with hid belt as punishment for the slightest offense, he threw my sister into a wall and knocked her unconscience for several minutes. He would whip my other sister accross her back so hard and often that she wouldn't be able to play in gym class the next day. However my mother would be hit and beat for not being able to walk, he wouldn't even take her to the doctor for it. He threatened to kill us on numerous occasions.

By the time my mother got the nerve to leave with my grandparents I was 15 months old and my little brother had been born so prematurely that he needed to be on life support. I am 16 now and my mother still has not recovered from her illness, though she could have if he had gotten her treatment. As for my younger brother and myself, we never had to endure the same volume of pain, but if the services currently offered to battered women aren't renewed, our amount of success could never happen again.

THE BLOWS THAT NEVER DIED

I was an abused woman when I was in my early 20s and I have never shared my story with anyone because it is so intensely personal. For a while I was forced by a "boyfriend" into a criminal life which involved forging checks and prostitution. It began with psychological abuse and with my low self esteem it worked. It gradually led to bigger things. I will not go into detail here because I do not feel comfortable talking about it. I am now 55 years old and for 30 years, this has been my secret, especially within my family. I got out of that life by literally running away after I got the shit beat out of me and left to die in my apt. That did it, and that was enough, and I was far more valuable as a person than things like that that I had to endure. I wrote a poem of the incident , because at one time during the beating, I felt myself spiral upward and I knew that I was going to die. The poem is called, "THE BLOWS THAT NEVER DIED." It goes like this.

She feels the fists
before she sees them
and looking up at him
in surprise,
she shields her belly
from the oncoming blows
that deprive her of the oxygen
needed for her to breathe,
and then,
her eyes open wide
as she sees the stick,
oak or ash,
she can't remember
but some kind of hardwood.
No, no, nooooooooooo!
And she holds her head
to protect it
as the stick strikes her
again and again
and again,
and she hears the words,
"bitch"and "whore"
and others
she doesn't quite understand,
and the sticky, warm liquid
runs down the side of her face,
and it just doesn't stop,
and the names don't stop,
and she's trying to remember
what she did
to deserve this
but she can't,
not this...
just won't come...
and she thinks about
how she doesn't want to die,
not ready,
too much to do yet,
and the red stuff
just keeps flowing...
into her mouth now,
tasting it,
her blood
so bitterly sweet,
like life itself.
Oh Lord,
not now, not yet,
her tears
long dry from fear
and horror at the stick
that just won't stop beating her.
Why won't it stop?
Just so much blood,
so much,
don't want to die,
don't want to die.

Past caring now...
drifting off...
disconnectng from her body,
from the blood,
from the pain.
Watching this happen to her
like a spectator,
listening to the names
as the stick comes down
again and again
and then,
the pain begins to cease,
and the numbness sets in...

Time may heal the wounds on her body,
but what about the scars on her soul?


This is my poem which allows me never to forget. I have lost part of my hearing from this beating. I live with it every day. But for the monster who did this to me, I hope he burns in hell. I have bettered myself--went back to school and got my BA in biology where I am a strong advocae against animal abuse. They cannot make choices. We as women can, and it is our responsibility to take care of ourselves first. A man who abuses will always abuse and to think otherwise is to think like a fool. I married a man who loves me to death and would do anything for me. He knows about the abuse because he knows about my hearing, but he does not not know all the specifics of that horrible, fetid relaionship. For you women who are in abusive relationships, get the hell out before it is too late, before you lose your hearing, before you end up dead like I almost did. This is my story abbreviated. To tell the entire story would take hours. But from the poem, that is the essence of my abuse. I hope that all who read it will not allow themselves to be put into that position. Germaine

Beat up and bruised inside & out

You did not load the dishwasher right. I got dishwasher 101 millions of times. Everything I did was done wrong. I tried everything to please my husband and started to believe his brainwashing. He withheld affection for months. He never wanted me to go out and if I did somehow he would have a need that would interupt and take me from what I was doing. Being the good wife, I did it. I walked on eggshells and never wanted compnay because I was afriad of embarrassment or that my friends would be uncomfortable. I would be on the phone with my mother and he would start a project that required my help. He would start working in the yard and expect that I drop what I was doing and help. It never felt like a choice for me. He showed me no respect.

This went on for years. I wondered why am I with this guy. No affection, constant struggle, cant make him happy, I feel lonely and isolated. I started to pull away and do what I wanted with friends, traveling to see my family. Money was another issue. I paid for everything I wanted myself. One day I booked a flight to see my parents. I used my frequent flyer miles so I was flying free. In one direction I needed to fly first class. I decided it was not that many more miles to fly first class in both directions. He inquired to find out if I had booked my flight, I said yes. He asked if I had to book it first class and I explained that I needed to one way and just booked it that way for the other direction. He blew up, calling me a princess and he went off the wall. I remember standing there staring at him thinking I am moving out today when he leaves this house. I did. I went and stayed with my girlfriend. My husband called me and I did not answer. He called my friend and asked if I was there and said he wanted to know if I had taken the phone charger. He did not care about me. I went the next day to get something I had forgot and my husband had locked me out, he had changed the garage door opener and code. Eventually I went back and tried to work on it. He got progressively more physical and I felt even more on eggshells, not knowing what would set him off. I have scars where he grabbed me and luckily I am alive to right this.

One time he locked me out of the garage again and I told him I was going to drive right through the door if he did not open it. He would not. I came him 3 chances and said I am going to drive right through the door, let me in my house. On the count of 3 I slammed on the gas and rammed the door, I backed up and then did it again. I backed out of the drive and was going to leave and stupidly enough I parked the car in the rode and started walking up to my house, he came charging out with rage and grabbed me and threw me to the cement drive. I landed on elbow. Today I have problems still with my elbow that felt fractured at the time. If it had been my head to hit the drive, I vary well not be here righting this. It continued to get worse, I left again, but the violence and intimidation did not stop. I found a local shelter for woman Crysalis. It saved me. It saved my heart and my esteem. I leared about abuse physical and emotional. I was more abused emotionally. You could not see my internal bruises. Abuse is abuse inside or out. Trust yourself and get away from any form of abuse.