I'm No Savior

I really want to come clean about why I'm so angry about domestic violence. This shit is dangerous. This has been burning a hole in my soul (not to mention my stomach)  I am neither a victim or a survivor, just a girl who fell in love with the wrong dream once upon a time. Part of me is terrified to write about this. My parents will most likely read this,  and I don't want to cause them pain. The other part of me tells me to get this dirt off my shoulder and take a deep breath of clean air. Because I owe it to other women of my ilk. This is the raw,  brutal truth,  and it's not for the faint of heart.
My ex husband was violent long before we were married. I still remember the first time he hit me. Some stupid argument ended with him backhanding me several times across my face. I ran to the bathroom, locked myself in. My eyes were already swollen almost completely shut. The bruises were already forming, as were the petechial hemorrhages in my eyes. I forgave him,  he begged and cried that night. He brought me ice packs and vicodin to help ease the pain that he had caused. I look back on that night, more than a decade ago, and I think to myself   "Why?". There is no answer,  no logical conclusion. Over the next few weeks  he laid off my face. This isn't to say he stopped hitting me, just not my face, Mostly because those black eyes and broken nose caused my boss to tell me to stay home and until they faded. So that put a huge dent in our income.  I was waitressing at a very busy restaurant located on a well traveled highway. I was making damn good money,  but when that money wasn't there,  I was a fucking punching bag.
I've had people who know me now tell me that they can't imagine me not fighting back or allowing it to happen. I didn't start out going down with out a fight. I fought back,  and hard. I've always been a scrapper. However, he was bigger and stronger, and always told me that as an ex Marine, he could kill me with his bare hands. I believed him. I  mean, he obviously had  skills when it came to subduing me. There were so many times when I would come to with him standing over me saying,  "Get the fuck up,  you're still breathing"  At that point in my life,  I really did want to stop breathing. I wanted him to kill me so I wouldn't have to do it myself. There comes a time when you're just fucking tired. You don't have the energy to fight anymore, death starts to sound delicious, just close your eyes and never open them again.
When you're in that spot,  there is no light. No sunshine, no yellow brick road.
The worst part is, just a few  months after he broke something besides my nose, it was just my wrist, I went ahead and married him. It was an excellent wedding, enjoyed by all. I remember just soaking it all up, enjoying the little bit of his good  moods. People always said that we were a beautiful couple. We were,  we looked great in pictures. But what was truly going on was blackout dark.
He waited almost 3 months after the wedding to hurt me again. This time, he choked me until I passed out and then dumped dirty kitty litter all over me. When I got up and tried to go take a shower, he held me down and told me to "marinate in it'.
The next few years consisted of episodes similar to this. I always say that we had different needs. I needed him to get a job and act like a husband, he needed to lay around, drink beer that my two jobs paid for  and beat the shit out of me for sport.
By the time I was 24, he had broken my nose twice,  fractured three of my ribs, broken my left wrist twice, knocked out one of my back molars, and caused a curvature in my upper spine that still won't go away. And the best was still to come.
Eventually,I  could no longer keep us afloat. Always having to move,  never able to pay rent, evictions and repossessions were the name of the game
So we had to move. This time to Missouri, where. he was from. I hated the idea. And I could have stayed in California, if only I could have swallowed my pride, and told mom and dad that I didn't want to go. Unfortunately, I didn't. I went along,  thinking that the train wreck that was our marriage would  magically improve, and I'd be a fucking Disney Princess.
Things looked pretty good for awhile. He was in a great mood, catching up with all of his old friends. I was working (of course) he was actually in some pulling some income doing masonry work. It didn't last long.
Time out.  You may not want to read the rest of this. Turn back now if you're not ready for the gritty, ugly truth. I won't blame you one bit.
July 17th 2006 was the first time he raped me. Some people don't understand how a husband can rape his wife. Married or not,  sex should never be painful, you should never have to beg for him to stop. I  just had to stop for a second, and take a deep breath and remind myself why I'm doing this. Sometimes honesty fucking sucks. So get honest, Sarah. He didn't just rape me, he also sodimized me. Right now, I can't believe I just put that out there, and I am so tempted to delete it. It's humiliating and embarrassing. But fuck, if I don't say it, who will? I know I'm not the only one. And I was raised with the belief that silence cures nothing, it just creates more ugliness. So there it is. It's out there.
For anyone who has ever been in an abusive situation, you know it escalates. He became increasingly more psychotic.  One night, he stabbed me. Right below the left side of my rib cage. He used a K bar, for those of you who don't know, it's an extremely sharp,  double sided blade, meant to be used in close combat. I think he scared himself that night.. The knife went in a good inch and a half, maybe a little more. When he pulled it out, I went to the bathroom, cleaned it,  and used super glue to suture it.
It was at this point, I knew  that I was going to die. I looked into the mirror and was faced with my own mortality. I couldn't figure it out. What the fuck was I doing? This was not how I was raised.
But I still couldn't stand up for myself. I don't know why.
A few days later, I was going to go out with some friends I had met at work. He was from this area, he had been going out with the boys. I wanted a girls night. He said he was OK with it. And seemingly he was. Until I started doing my hair, which was down to the middle of my back at the time. I was curling my hair and he walked in, demanding to know why I thought I needed to get all dolled up,  since I was just going out with the girls. I tried to keep it light, telling him he always shaved before he went out, so why can't I curl my hair. Wrong move.  Checkmate. He grabbed me by the back of my head and slammed my face into the toilet tank. I could barely breathe , I was choking on the blood pouring from my nose and mouth. The last thing I remember before I blacked out was him saying,  "looks like it's nice and hot for you".  I don't really remember what it felt like when he raped me with that curling iron, I was barely conscious. My sickness continued. The next day, I was in the ER due to the nasty side effects that come with that sort of violation , I was actually texting him to ask if he was OK. Because he was so upset with himself, don't you know.
The point of me telling you this is not to scare you, shock you, or make you hate men. I love men, they're slightly retarded at times, but there are a lot of good ones out there. If you're in a situation , and you need help, there are lots of us out there to help you. I don't have all the answers, but I have resources. There are people who will make the safety and well being of you and your children top priority. We're here for you. You don't have to be alone.