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Unexpected Friendship Part 3

by RaeAnna Mercado 5 years ago in gender roles
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Trigger Warning: Contains Accounts of Domestic Violence

I left off going on about the first of many times my trust was destroyed completely. Thinking back on it now, maybe this was just another one of his games. My intuition was never wrong. Something in my gut would just tell me something was off and I was always right. Yet, I still stuck around, believing all his lies. Two months after married-with-three-kids-and-a-fourth-on-the-way was inappropriately talking to _____, on his birthday, I found more text messages between him and another married woman, him asking her to sneak out, and her saying she said a special "gift" just for him. Once again my heart dropped, my blood boiled, and I again confronted him. This began a vicious cycle that soon turned violent.

I remember the first time he was ever violent towards me. It was right before bed one night and I don't recall what the problem was, but I ended up getting hit over and over and over again in the head with one of those heavy memory foam pillows. Soon, a switch shut off in my brain. I quickly learned that I wasn't allowed to have an opinion or be my true self anymore without a raging, violent fight.

There were certain things I was not allowed to talk about or do without it causing an argument. I wasn't allowed to wear clothes that showed the upper portion of the space between my shoulder blades as I have a tattoo of my son's name there, and he hated it. He wanted me to laser remove my tattoo, and I refused, so to keep that argument at bay, I made sure my tattoo was always covered by my clothing.

I would just shove all my feelings, thoughts, ideas, and emotions deep down inside and every so often they would explode which only made things worse for me. I wanted so badly to be who I was, and I was so determined to show my independence, yet he did anything he could to tear me apart. These explosions always led to him becoming violent. I would say something to stand up for myself and then the blows would come. Many times I tried to escape my house and every time I was never able to leave. I would be overpowered by him. He was easily 4 times my height and 4 times my weight, and I just remember trying so hard to go out the garage door and being whipped backwards like a rag doll and thrown into a wall, kicked, shoved, and punched as I lay, feeling totally broken on my living room floor.

The first time he ever inflicted bruises on me, I documented it. I had photos in my phone that I sent to an email that he had no access to. Photos of my abdomen, reddish purple and swollen. Photos of my arms, with black and blue streaks across them. I remember one afternoon being thrown into our kitchen table; a bright purple bruise appeared across my upper arm. I went to class the next day and did a presentation, and the entire time, all I could focus on was who could see the black and purple streak across my arm, and if they did, would anyone care? If someone mentioned it, would I even tell the truth or would I make up some lie about how clumsy I am and ran into something? Who would I tell and who would believe me? Where would I go if I did leave him? If I left, would he go after me? Stalk me? Possibly even murder me? I had no answers and the fear trapped me into staying.

gender roles

About the author

RaeAnna Mercado

I am a 27 year old mother, wife, and student. I love to write. Sharing my stories and experiences to bring awareness and show support for mental illness and domestic violence. I also do some food writing for fun.

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