Abuse.

Throughout these hard times, many people get stuck. Stuck without a job. Stuck in a job that fills them with fear. Fear of getting sick, of dying unable to leave anything for their family. Stuck in their own home, scared and afraid. Why would one be afraid in their own homes? If you have never lived with someone who abused you, you will never know that fear.

From the day I was born I was in a home where I was always on edge. One eye over your shoulder. Nervous and afraid, wetting the bed constantly and having night terrors so bad I would sleepwalk. This wasn’t because of my father, or my mother.

This was because of my sister. I wish life would have been better for her. I wished so many times that she did not get sick so long ago. When she was two years old, she got meningitis, this caused major brain damage. Her mental age is no older than 10 years old, she is partially blind and has slurred speech. She is quick to anger, especially against women, she becomes very violent. I remember vividly hiding behind a side table, trying desperately to get the curtains to cover my little body. Cowering in fear, trying not to make a sound. Her strong hand on my ankle pulling, her other hand hitting me hard, pulling my hair. My mother desperately trying to get her off me.

In the same turn, I remember good times with her. Running around in the sprinklers, sitting in a circle while Mother read to us. When Father would come home from his 3 months away. We would play house where I would be the baby, she would change my diapers. I didn’t know this was not an appropriate game. I remember sitting in the principal’s office, she was asking about my sister. I told her, crying softly while doing so. A short time later, she was gone. They placed her into foster care with wonderful people who were trained in taking care of her. I know that it was both painful and a relief for my mother. Being alone as much as she was while my father was away, took a toll on her, and their relationship.

Abuse doesn’t just come in the form of a lover, husband, wife, or parent. It isn’t just hitting that leaves outward bruises.

In my first real relationship, I met a man. He was 4 years older than me, I thought I was in love. Now I know, I was just lonely. For years I lived alone, just worked and slept. He took me in, introduced me to his friends. I loved his friends, probably more than him. He was the perfect person. Until we married.

It was like a switch was flipped. He became controlling, emotionally and mentally abusive, and unkind. Made me feel not only hideous but like nothing I did was right. “Why are you cleaning? You are fat go work out for once.” “Why are you working out? Go do the fucking laundry.”

“Why are you doing laundry when dinner has not been made yet?” Yet in the same breath, he would touch my cheek, look into my eyes and tell me how much he needed and appreciated me. Once I had my son, that was when I knew this is not what I wanted.

My husband was out of a job and I was 3 months into maternity leave when I went back to work. I was doing a Sample Girl job at Superstore. My mother was the one taking care of my son when I was gone. Why? Why couldn’t his father look after him? Since he was home all day. Ah, this is a very simple answer. He was sleeping. Every night he would go out and hang out with his friends. I never really knew, asked, or cared. I was just happy he was not there.

I began to fight back once I had my son. Not with fists, but with words. We would argue and scream at each other constantly. I hated him, hated everything about him. He would not help with our son, and when he did it would be in an agitated way that would make the baby scream and cry. He would sleep like a rock all day. I left my son with him once, just once while my mother and I went shopping for food. Parking the car, we got out with all our groceries. A piercing scream hit my ears. My son. I ran upstairs, only to find him screaming in his bassinet, face ruby red, tears falling down his face. My husband, fast asleep beside him. No, this man was not drunk. No, he was not high. He was stone-cold sober, sleeping peacefully next to his screaming child. Never again did I leave him alone with my son.

One night, when I was alone with my son he wouldn’t stop screaming. I tried everything, bottle, warm bath, singing, bouncing up and down, swaying around. My brain was lost in the fog. I was so tired, so stressed, agitated beyond all measure. I stood on the balcony, letting the cold night breeze run over our bodies. I looked over the balcony and thought, just for a moment, it could be so quiet if… Just for a moment, I didn’t contemplate it long. I went back inside and called my mother. I needed help.

My postpartum depression triggered something in me. I knew I could not feel like this anymore. I knew that I needed to be happy, I needed to be strong, for myself, and my son. It took time, but my breaking point hit one afternoon. I looked at my husband and told him that I wanted an afternoon for myself, I wanted to go see a movie and asked if he could please take care of the boy. He looked at me and scoffed. “How dare you leave me and your son alone to go to a movie. You are so selfish. If you go, I am taking him and we are going to leave the city. Since you do not seem to care about us.”That was it. I snapped. I picked up my son and went into the bedroom. I began packing my things. He came in behind me, seeing that I was packing my things he began to scream at me. I held my son close and screamed right back.

I insulted him, told him the truth about how I felt, called him many names, and told him that it would be better if we left since it seemed we got in the way of all his man time. He raised his arm, the back of his hand high in the air. “Do it.” I never broke eye contact, seething hatred filled every part of my being. Holding my shockingly silent son tight I smirked. “Do it.” This caused him to pause, his eyes flashed something I never saw before. Fear. He turned and left the apartment. I broke down crying. Pushing the furniture in front of the door, I locked us both in. Called my mother and told her I needed her. That was the second to last time I saw him. I didn’t stay. I took my son away, then told my husband to never come back.

Abuse destroys you. It tears away at your soul. It can take years to heal. You can keep it hidden away, locked in a box, hoping that one day you will forget. Instead, it can come out in the worst ways. One thing I learned, you need to be happy for yourself. You need to make sure that what you are doing is what you want to do. Never allow someone else to dictate your happiness.

There will always be people who are out there to hurt you. In the same turn, there will always be people who want to help you. Know that you are not alone. That I am always here, I will do everything and anything in my power to help you. Do not be afraid of change, of the unknown.

Be afraid of allowing another human to control you, torture you, crush your soul.

Be strong.

Auralia.