You Deserve it Bitch

Ten months have gone and I’m still here. My name is “stupid bitch”. I used to love myself, but since my boyfriend changed my name, it’s difficult.

Believe me, words hurt just as bad as physical abuse. Stress of the unknown is like abuse. I never tell my story. My family and friends wouldn’t believe me. I say that because I’ve always been against violent relationships. I would never be in one or put up with that shit. Well here I am in living hell. Did I mention that I’m 8 months pregnant?

I believe him when he apologizes because I’m pregnant with his baby girl. He must mean it and want to change. He says I deserve it if he yells and curses at me. I believe everything he says.

Usually after he apologizes, two or three weeks pass and he starts all over. Breaking his promises and sometimes other things as well.

My child can hear him and stops moving during these times. I explained this to him but he claims I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m just being dramatic. Maybe I do deserve this. It must be my fault.

When I get home from work, he has a beer in his hand. He ignores that I’m even there once I get inside. Usually this means all hell will eventually break loose. He comes close, I smell the beer, and he tells me he loves me.

He wants to make love. So yes, he loves me and is going to change. He smells of beer and cigarettes,buthe loves me and wants me. I give in. We had sex, there didn’t seem to be any love there. He was rough and hurtful. So much so that I’m cramping.

I finally get to go to sleep. But then I have to get up. I thought my water broke, but there’s blood! He jumps up and screams, “What the fuck? Do you have to go the bathroom now?” I’m shaking, not knowing what to expect. I throw up. Now I’m scared; I can’t tell him about the blood. I’m sure that’s my fault too. He is back to sleep now so I’m relieved. Relief is short lived.

I’m cramping so bad and have to wake him. I’m crying and he is telling me to shut up. I beg him to please take me to the hospital. After throwing things and yelling, he does.

The next things I remember are doctors all around me. They are all asking questions. I guess I passed out. The first thing I can fix my mouth to say, “Is my baby ok”? Silence speaks volumes. Everyone that had allof these questions say nothing.

One female doctor pushes my wheelchair to a far, quiet room. This could not be good. She asks, “Has your pregnancy been stressful or violent? Like is your job or home life stressful”? I just looked at her and said, “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with my baby”? She looks down and clears her throat, “Miss Johnson, there is no easy way to say this. Your baby passed away, probably before you arrived. You lost a tremendous amount of blood. This is why I asked about stress”.

Oh My Goodness! My precious baby is gone. I won’t ever feel her move again. I’ll never hold her. It’s all because of my stressful situation. A situation that I did nothing about. I’ll never forgive myself.

Nobody at the hospital cares. They discharged me that afternoon. I was not ready mentally or physically. My mom lives in another state. I have no choice but to call my boyfriend, Jack. He had to leave work to come get me and he’s pissed. He arrives and doesn’t even ask about me or the baby. He only cares about work. He fucking dropped me off at home.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. He never cared and most certainly doesn’t now. My dog, Max, greets me at the door. He can tell I’m sad and cuddles next to me in bed. The tears won’t stop. I’m still crying when Jack gets home.

Jack gets a beer and rolls a big blunt. Then looks at me and says, “So what was up at the hospital, did the baby die or what”? I had not protected my baby for 8 months.,i was going to stand up for her today, “Yes Jack she’s gone. Are you happy now? You caused all of this to happen”. I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. You can almost see the steam coming from his ears. “You stupid bitch, you better close your mouth”! I was standing in the kitchen just staring at him.

Jack gets to his feet and comes towards me. It’s only been words, but today I could tell he would do more. I’m so ready and he has no clue. As he approaches me, his hands are clasped together as if he is choking someone. I turned my back to him to get my big knife. When he got to me, I stabbed and stabbed. I wasn’t there, in my mind anyway. He would never hurt me or anyone else! I think I stabbed him 114 times. That’s what they told me anyway. I’m finally free from him. Never again will I deal with him. He’s gone, dead.

Over three million incidents, similar to this, are reported each year. 20 people per minute in the US are physically abused.

If you or someone you know is in this type of situation, they need help. Help is at

1-800-799-SAFE or 7233.