Years ago I was one tough chick. I never took any shit from anyone. People used to say I was intimidating. I blabbered on about how I never would get married, never have kids, travel the world and become an amazing actress. That was me, for a while.
I guess somewhere along the line things got messed up. I met a guy and turned into a love sick teenager who wanted nothing to do with anyone or anything but him. He treated me horribly, often calling me names or pushing me around. Come to find out, years after we broke up, he cheated on me the entire four years we were together. Luckily for me, by the time I got the news I was completely over him and felt nothing except annoyance at myself for being with a guy so blindly.
After that I relaxed on the dating end for almost a year. A year in which I spent my time hanging out with my various friends and living my life. I was back to being the tough bitch I used to be. And all was well. I fell in love that year, with the man I now call my husband. What started out as friendship blossomed into best friends which somehow one day turned into hook ups and hang outs. One day he decided he wanted to make me his and we took the title of boyfriend and girlfriend. And all was well. We had fun and he was nice and romantic. For the first time ever I felt loved.
After only five months of being with him he proposed. Out went my idea of never getting married. I said yes. And all was well.
Everything was great until one night he slapped me eleven times across my face. Shocked, disorientated and confused beyond belief, I ran from his house crying and drove away. Still, gone was the tough chick I once was. Instead in her place was a fragile teenager, who’s light was slowly dimming.
My fragility got the best of me and I stayed in the relationship, even after he hit me again… and again. I stayed even after his words became violent too. I stayed because I thought that was love. I thought wrong.
I married the man. At the time, I really thought he was done with the fists, done with his vile words. I was wrong. I was so very wrong. I got pregnant, had my beautiful daughter and he didn’t want her. But he stayed and I stayed and we conformed. Things got better, and all was well.
All didn’t stay well for long. I wanted out and finally got the courage to ask my father for help and instead got pregnant with my son. I hate to say I didn’t want a baby at the time but it’s true. I cried and cried and cried and my husband just sat there and said ok. On to baby number two.
Things got a lot better during my pregnancy and after. I was in love again and thought I felt the love from him too. And all was well.
Recent events, from him reverting back to his abusive side to him choosing others over me, have led me to really think about what is best for my children and I. What’s killing me right now is the change in my daughter since he hit me last. She’s angry, uncooperative, hitting me, talking back. She doesn’t listen and yet she still cries for her dad. I wanted more than anything when I had children, for them to be nothing like me. I am getting exactly what I feared.
I have decided (at least I think I have) that in order for my daughter to heal and for me to live in peace we have to leave. I know, I swear I know, I deserve so much more than this life. I know this. I believe a part of me has known this to be true for a long time. Now, it’s all I think about. Leaving. What happens when I go? What happens when I stay? Is there hope for him? For us? Am I breaking apart my family and is it worth it. I am terrified of what my future holds. I am so scared and confused. I know what I want but at the same time I don’t want to want to leave. I can’t help my husband. But I have the power to save my children and myself.
On to the next step. Leaving.
For all is NOT well…