It felt like I had walked a mile in someone else’s shoes, as if I was watching a movie.
It was nothing resembling my real life, kind of like those out of body experiences people talk about, that I never before believed in.
I was standing in the bathroom, looking into the mirror at someone I’d never seen before.
Who was this woman, face tear-stained and bruised, hair messed, and clothes ruffed?
I could hear a man’s voice yelling and hands pounding against the other side of the door and I wanted her to run.
I don’t think she heard him. Even so, she had locked herself inside a bathroom.
She had to get away, to run, but she had nowhere to go. I yelled, but I don’t think she heard me either.
Reality was looking back at me. That’s when her eyes became mine and I could see the bruises he’d left on my face,
around my neck where he’d tried to strangle me, kill me.
The sad fact was that it wasn’t the first time. Who was this man? Sadly enough, I called him my boyfriend.
His name was Michael. In the two years we were together, he had been faithful for...maybe one.
I turned a blind eye to the first woman I found out about, tried to let his one indiscretion slide. We were young.
Maybe he needed to get it out of his system.
But then there was another. And another and then he started to get physical with me.
It was ironic that he became abusive about the same time that he became unfaithful.
His infidelity amplified his fear of losing me. His fear turned into jealously, which eventually turned territorial and violent.
He was so afraid that I would leave him that he beat me.
Anyone else would think that would give me more than enough reason to leave, but I
couldn’t leave. The physical pain, the abuse, hurt worse than any of the emotional pain of his cheating ever did,
which I know is what he intended. And I had no doubt that he'd kill me if I left, even if not intentionally.
But he had already killed my confidence. I had sacrificed myself repeatedly for him, my sanity, my pride, and my heart.
I stayed with him for what I thought was love and for my fear of being alone.
I thought that if I loved him enough for both of us it would be enough to make him stop.
I prayed that he would see my commitment to our relationship, but as time went on the abuse just got worse.
Outside the door, his yells turned into sobs. Behind the door, my fear and sadness were turning into anger.
Once I got my feet to move, I walked out of the bathroom and found him sitting on the edge of the bed.
He had calmed down and was waiting quietly. The room was different than I remembered, smaller, darker.
I felt like I was suffocating.
I went to stand in front of him and I saw where I must have left my fear in his face with my fingernails.
“I’m sorry...”he started.
His voice was meek and small.
It was nothing resembling my real life, kind of like those out of body experiences people talk about, that I never before believed in.
I was standing in the bathroom, looking into the mirror at someone I’d never seen before.
Who was this woman, face tear-stained and bruised, hair messed, and clothes ruffed?
I could hear a man’s voice yelling and hands pounding against the other side of the door and I wanted her to run.
I don’t think she heard him. Even so, she had locked herself inside a bathroom.
She had to get away, to run, but she had nowhere to go. I yelled, but I don’t think she heard me either.
Reality was looking back at me. That’s when her eyes became mine and I could see the bruises he’d left on my face,
around my neck where he’d tried to strangle me, kill me.
The sad fact was that it wasn’t the first time. Who was this man? Sadly enough, I called him my boyfriend.
His name was Michael. In the two years we were together, he had been faithful for...maybe one.
I turned a blind eye to the first woman I found out about, tried to let his one indiscretion slide. We were young.
Maybe he needed to get it out of his system.
But then there was another. And another and then he started to get physical with me.
It was ironic that he became abusive about the same time that he became unfaithful.
His infidelity amplified his fear of losing me. His fear turned into jealously, which eventually turned territorial and violent.
He was so afraid that I would leave him that he beat me.
Anyone else would think that would give me more than enough reason to leave, but I
couldn’t leave. The physical pain, the abuse, hurt worse than any of the emotional pain of his cheating ever did,
which I know is what he intended. And I had no doubt that he'd kill me if I left, even if not intentionally.
But he had already killed my confidence. I had sacrificed myself repeatedly for him, my sanity, my pride, and my heart.
I stayed with him for what I thought was love and for my fear of being alone.
I thought that if I loved him enough for both of us it would be enough to make him stop.
I prayed that he would see my commitment to our relationship, but as time went on the abuse just got worse.
Outside the door, his yells turned into sobs. Behind the door, my fear and sadness were turning into anger.
Once I got my feet to move, I walked out of the bathroom and found him sitting on the edge of the bed.
He had calmed down and was waiting quietly. The room was different than I remembered, smaller, darker.
I felt like I was suffocating.
I went to stand in front of him and I saw where I must have left my fear in his face with my fingernails.
“I’m sorry...”he started.
His voice was meek and small.