Just When I Think It’s Over

If nothing else comes of the writing I hope it will touch one person.

I was married for 13 years to this man. Thirteen years of hell. Was I ever happy with him? Yes, for about 6 months I was in heaven. We had moved away from his family to St. Louis, Missouri. We had a small 1-bedroom apartment and both had jobs. He would pick me up from work, go pay our rent, get groceries and then off to the movies. Sunday night we would sit down and divide the money up equally even though he made more than me. No fussing, no fighting and we got along great. I fell back in love with my husband. (Big Mistake).

 One Friday I came off work and he had all our stuff packed in the car. We where heading back to his family. Surely he won’t go back to his old self, he had been so sweet.

Just outside of St. Louis we stopped to get gas. I got out of the car and he asked me, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I told him I had to pee. I wasn’t in there 30 seconds before he was banging on the door. When I opened it he grabbed me by my hair and slung me towards the car. I started to cry. I got in the car crying and asked,  “Why Luke, what did I do”? His reply to me was a fist in the mouth.

Then came the “I love you’s” and “I don’t know why you make me do this”. It got to where I hated to hear the words I Love You because I knew he was fixing to beat me or he just had.

I left him 100’s of times. He would either beat me where I was going or promise me the moon. I have 1000’s of stories I can tell. But most of them are just too painful to remember. In the 13 years we where married I had my nose broken 6 times, more black eyes than I can count, broken ribs, pulled bald 100’s of times, broken lips and bruises just about everyday. The only time he truly loved me was when I was gone. He never wanted a wife he wanted a slave.

And the name-calling! I was called everything but a white woman. His favourite thing to say was “No one else would want a fat pig like you”. I have been beaten so badly I had to be hospitalized. Can you imagine waking up and his face is the first thing you see? He would hold my hand and when they asked me questions he would give his warning squeeze. For someone who never drove, I sure was in a lot of wrecks, or fell down a flight of steps. Any thing but the truth. And to this day 20 years later, every time I hear his voice I cringe, not with fear any more, but with hatred. We moved at least every other month. He would not hold down a job. His dad lived with us because he got a check every month. When his dad died his means of support stopped.

This is how I got away from him for good. My daughter was born with a heart condition and got a check for being disabled. I was not allowed to read or have anything in my name unless it was the light bill so he could run that up. Even with my daughter’s birth certificate, he had to have it. I went to register her in kindergarten. I forgot to give him her birth certificate back. He had his bedroom, which I wasn’t allowed in, and I had a rollaway bed for Christy. I slept on the floor. He woke me up with a foot to the face. Did his favourite thing and pulled me up by the hair. He tried to put my head through the bathroom door.  He beat me all over the house. Of course Christy woke up. She grabbed his leg and begged don’t hurt my mommy. He picked her up and threw her into the wall. I snapped. The one thing he always told me was to never call him an SOB. I was standing by the table and a butcher knife was lying there. I called him every SOB I could think of. I wanted him to hit me one more time so I could kill him with a clear conscience. He sensed it and all he did was laugh. Told me to get in the kitchen and fix him some coffee. I fixed him some good coffee. I put a half bottle of sleeping pills in it and made dang sure he drank 2 cups. When he went to back to bed I stole the car keys and took my daughter and we left. It was one thing to be stupid enough to put up with his beatings but I vowed he would not hurt my child.

I went to a place called Favor House. They helped me get strong. Strong I got. I never went back. I learned I wasn’t the cause of him beating me. I deserved a better life than that. No person has the right to put his or her hands on you. You don’t have to take it. I won’t lie and say it is easy. It isn’t. Breaking a life style is hard. But there are good people out there who will help. I still have nightmares of my bones being broken but they don’t come as often now.

This memory was brought back by a friend who is going through her own hell.

Remember your wing may be broken but you are learning how to fly..

Written by Shirley Goodwin

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