Life's Defining Moments: Part 2

I would like to tell everyone that after that incident that I walked away and never saw him again.  Actually, I would LOVE to tell everyone that is what I did, but I did not… In fact since it wasn’t the first time I ever got beat up by him, it wasn’t the last either.

So why would I write about it as a life-defining moment and why do I think about it everyday? That was that moment in my life where I could have left, I knew I should have left and I chose to stay even though he didn’t care. That day I made what would be, physically, the wrong decision, but twenty years later, may have been the path I chose to take so that I would be strong enough to handle adversity and to recognize co-dependency, addiction and narcissism.

I think about that time when I begin to waiver from the path I’ve chosen because it seems difficult.  It is a reminder that when I chose what would be the easiest, it was the wrong way and would have lifelong consequences.

I stayed with him for eight more months and I can’t tell you it got better because four months after this I finally hit rock bottom and although it was a bad time I quickly learned that you can’t rate evil. It is or it isn’t. I became so desensitized to the pain that I was numb – on the inside and out.

What made me finally leave? I realized I didn’t like myself very much. I found out I was pregnant and couldn’t bring myself to tell my family about it, so I hid it…  I was 20 weeks pregnant when it happened… My second miscarriage… I came home one afternoon – and he wasn’t home. He had gone out with the guys, which was fine with me, because I was hoping he’d have just enough of a buzz that he’d be in a good mood… it was a crapshoot.  I don’t gamble because the odds are always against me. He came home in a rage over something he wouldn’t tell me about and he said I was in his way. He had that look and even though I covered my stomach, he kicked me and I fell down the stairs and it must have been too much.

I didn’t know what to feel. I was numb. I remember laying on the gurney in the OB-GYN unit and nurses and techs were swarming around me with IV lines, equipment and with comfort.  They called my family, which was a cross between humiliating and fear. I was so embarrassed for them to see me like this and for them to find out  about my pregnancy this way… The nurse in charge was heartbroken to tell me that they didn’t think they were going to be able to save my baby.  I just laid there not knowing what I felt or if I felt anything.  My cousin asked me how I got to the hospital and I had to admit that my boyfriend dropped me off in front of the hospital and left, in my car. When they called him to tell him I may have surgery and he should be with me, he wasn’t home. He wasn’t around until the day before the funeral.  I delivered a little boy, Robert.  The nurses asked me if I wanted to see him. If I wanted to hold him. I regret it to this day – I said no.  I felt like such an epic failure that I thought I didn’t deserve to be a mom, if even for a minute. The nurse must have known I would regret it and she brought him to me. I did not understand that he would live for only a few minutes. Robert didn’t survive, and I believe he died so that I could live. 

I pray for his soul everyday and thank him for the strength to leave. I loved this young man more than I loved myself, but not more than that little life. At that point, I began to hate who I was with this person. It was as if a fog had been lifted from me. Things were clear. I realized that I needed to leave. I sought refuge with my cousin and her husband (a deputy). She had been with me through all of the hurt and I knew she wouldn’t let me go back…

The rage I had inside of me was palpable and it propelled me into a world so surreal that I don’t know who that person was when I looked into the mirror. I snuck away to see him and he was just coming home from a date. I remember feeling so sorry for that young woman, she had no idea who she was fooling with. I told her she needed to walk home… He thought the “Tina” he knew had shown up. Wrong. He was drunk and high on himself. He pulled out a 30/30 shotgun and held it to my head all night – the next day he woke up and began drinking while he kept that gun laid across his lap. I wasn’t allowed to leave. I remember thinking at that very moment, that this was no life. I refused to live like this…  Robert didn’t die for me to put up with this. I’ll never forget it… all the abuse, all the foul words, that’s all that passed through my consciousness – like rapid fire. When he passed out, I took that gun and beat him with it. I bit him. I fought him and most importantly, I left.  That was twenty years ago.

I will never go back there. I will never allow myself to ever see that woman in the mirror again.  That woman who lived through that era is gone. The one who is writing this is no one’s victim.