Tale of Abuse

My niece posted a video on Facebook of a woman showing how to apply makeup to cover bruises caused by an abusive partner.  It inspired me to tell my own story.  In 1974 I was married for a few short months to an abusive man.  This is definitely not a "little ditty", and not humorous or poetic, but every word of it is the truth.





A squeeze on the hand...that's how it started. 
A hard squeeze, almost crushing, that left my hand bruised for days. 
"Ah, he just doesn't realize his own strength!"


A strange slit in the aluminum cake pan.
"Were you mad at something when you cut yourself a piece of cake?"
(Sheepish grin on his face.)


A punch on the arm when I said something he didn't like.
Speaking a little too close to the truth brought this out in him.


Another punch on the arm. And another.


"God, please make him have a car accident and die."


The vacuum flew by me and made a big hole in the wall.
"God, PLEASE make him have a car accident and die."


An unopened can of Pepsi thrown at my chest so hard the poptop flew open.
Pepsi everywhere, and a bruise as big around as a grapefruit in the center of my chest.


I asked myself, "Do you want to live like this for the rest of your life?"
I answered:  "No, absolutely not."


A call to an attorney and the Sheriff's Office.  


So grateful that the house and the car were mine.  So grateful that I had a good-paying job so I didn't have to depend on him.  So grateful my children were mine, and not his.  So grateful I didn't wait till God answered my prayers the way I wanted.  He doesn't normally kill people like that, and I didn't have to have it on my conscience.  


I wish all abused women could get free as easily as I did.


But mostly, I wish abusers didn't exist.


"God?  Are you listening?"