Tag Archives: secrets

But He Loves Me…


You have all read this post already, but it was from Black Box Warnings, which no longer exists.  So, I thought I’d go ahead and copy it here, too.

He is screaming at me so close to my face that I can feel his spit. I close my eyes and hold my breath.

He is wrapping his hands around my neck and squeezing tighter and tighter. I start to see spots.

He is grabbing my hair and shoving my head in the toilet. I try not to breathe, but I have to gasp for air.

He pulls the car over to the side of the road and demands that I get out. When I refuse, he comes around to the passenger side and yanks me out, leaving me standing alone on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with no money or ID.

He is tearing everything in my purse into shreds. I watch helplessly as my social security card, driver’s license, and photos of my babies float to the floor in hundreds of pieces.

He is cutting into tiny scraps all the homemade Mother’s Day and birthday cards I’ve collected from my babies since they were born.

He is breaking my cell phone into two pieces, ensuring I can never use it again.

He rips every signature from my high school yearbooks. I can only vaguely remember the memories my friends have written so fondly about.

He is bleaching all of my clothes in the bath tub. I panic inside, wondering what I’ll wear to work the next day.

He is burning the boys’ clothes in the fireplace in the living room. The boys don’t dare ask what’s going on.

He is shattering my camera into pieces, stomping on it after it smashes on the concrete.

He throws the kitten across the room and into the brick wall on the fireplace. It immediately begins to bleed profusely from the nose.

He tears the boys’ homework into tiny scraps the second they complete it.

He punches my car windshield in a fit of rage. My heart feels like the shattered glass, spreading over every inch.

Source: Madrid Law

Source: Madrid Law

But, despite all this, he loves me… He tells me how sorry he is – how it’s my fault that he loses his temper so often. I made a stupid decision that wasn’t good for our family. He can’t bear the thought of living without the boys and me. He promises that he’ll never put his hands on me or the kids again. All those times were mistakes. I’m the mother of his children and his wife. He loves me.

I stay. For years and years, I stay.

I’m scared of him. Terrified to leave.

If I leave him, he’ll find us. He’ll kill me, or worse, them. Or he’ll kidnap them, and I’ll never see them again. I can’t live without them.

How will I afford to raise two boys on my own? How will I work and pay for daycare?

Where will I go? Who will take in three extra people when they have families of their own to raise and support?

What decent man will ever want me – a 21-year-old girl with a two-year-old and an infant?

How will I ever swallow my pride and tell my daddy that he was right and that I had made one terrible decision after another?

How will it look if I get a divorce and have two young children? Divorce is bad, right?

What if I really am the problem, and I keep provoking him?

What if he really is sorry and will never lay his hands on me again? Will I be throwing away a potentially great marriage?

All boys need their dad, right? How will I ever successfully raise two young men without their father in their lives?

What if the fear that consumes my life is a healthy fear and proof that no one will ever love me as much as he does?

What if he really does love me, and I just have no idea what love is?

What if he really does love me?

Yes, these are really the thoughts that tormented me every single day of my 14-year relationship with my first husband. I was stuck – with no end in sight – in a vicious cycle. I was going crazy… I was literally going crazy.

I had myself convinced that he really loved me and was simply scared of losing the boys and me. I just knew that my family was no good for me and if they really loved me as much as he did, that they would support us and our relationship.

I genuinely believed him every time he swore to never put his hands on me again.

To protect him, I made all the excuses you’ve heard on TV: “I fell down the stairs.” “My son accidentally head-butted me.” “He threw something at me to catch, but I missed it, and it hit me in my face.” “Oh, it was definitely an accident.” “He didn’t mean it.” “But I made him mad.” “Oh, I don’t know where that bruise came from.”

The list could go on, but the point is that I covered for him every time. I even ended up in the emergency room once and lied to the doctors, even when they were quite sure I was being abused. But I refused to budge. I wouldn’t give him up.

Source: Wynn & Wynn

Source: Wynn & Wynn

 

 

Why?

FEAR, plain and simple.

Fear of his rage and temper. Fear of being alone. Fear of being judged. FEAR.

I thought I was alone. I thought no one would understand what I was going through day-in and day-out.

For any of you ladies (or men, I suppose) who are in the same type of situation, please listen and hear me when I say this:

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

You don’t need to be abused. You don’t need to be manipulated. You don’t need to be controlled.

Please, if you shrug off every other sentence in this post, just understand this:

You are NOT alone.

Don’t stay silent any longer. You are valuable, and you are loved. No matter what you’ve done, you will never ever deserve to be abused. Speak out. Get help.

You can start here:

HELPGUIDE.org

THE HOTLINE

Womenshealth.gov

Every lie – whether mine or his – that I believed, turned out to be just that… a LIE. I met a wonderful man who loves me and my kids. I can take care of my kids on my own. I am successfully raising two handsome, respectful young men. My family does love and support me. And most importantly – I will never be alone.

Remember, you are loved, and you never deserve to be abused. Stop the cycle.

Source: Dr. Phil

Source: Dr. Phil


Daily Prompt: A Friend in Need


Today’s Daily Prompt:

Finish this sentence: “My closest friend is…”

Photographers, artists, poets: show us FRIENDSHIP.

Photo by Leslie Dobbe Photography

Photo by Leslie Dobbe Photography

My closest friend is my little sister.

I was 19 months old when she ruined my title of “only child,” so I spent much of my childhood trying to pay her back.
I cut her Barbie dolls’ hair and ripped their heads off.
I pushed her off her bed, and I scared her by telling her there were ghosts in her room.
I made her take the first bites of mud pie.

I always made her be the dad when we played house.
I ripped her favorite baby doll’s arm off.
We fought, we played, and we fought some more.
I told her that her boyfriends sucked, and she told me that mine did.
I covered for her the first time she got drunk so that Mom wouldn’t kill her.
Then I had babies, and she suddenly turned into the best aunt in the whole world.

During my darkest times, she was the only one who was there for me.
If I needed money, she was there.
If I needed a babysitter, she was there.
If I needed a dance partner, she was there.  Well, in the cage, but there nonetheless.
Then the day came that she was no longer mine, but her new husband’s.
And I bawled my eyes out.
Photo by Leslie Dobbe Photography

Photo by Leslie Dobbe Photography

She wasn’t a little girl anymore, but a beautiful young woman.
My comfort comes in knowing that there’s never anyone who can take her place.
We’ll always have our inside jokes and silly stories from growing up.
She’ll always have a very special place deep inside my heart.
And my only solace comes from knowing that she’ll always be my closest friend…
And My Little Sister.
Photo by Leslie Dobbe Photography

Photo by Leslie Dobbe Photography


“Yeah, I love being famous. It’s almost like being white, y’know?” ~Chris Rock


So, at this point you’ve all seen enough pictures of my kids to know they’re biracial.  And beautiful.  I don’t like to brag, but I do have two of the most beautiful boys on the planet.  I’m just sayin’…

 Something you may not yet know about me from reading my blog, though, is that I don’t see color.  (Well, other than the fact that white boys just cannot dance, of course…)  I honestly just don’t notice it.  I hate love all people.

Source: imgfave.com

Source: imgfave.com

So when someone makes a comment that can be construed as quasi-racist, it always surprises me and catches me off guard.  (Minus the dancing observation, of course…)  A few Fridays ago, two of my favorite girlfriends and I went to happy hour after work.  [Side note: One of those girls has an amazing blog that you should totally check out here.]  We were having a blast just unwinding from a hellacious week at work and had no worries at the moment.  That’s when I run into another friend there who wants to introduce me to the dude he was there with:

Other Friend:  “Alicia, this is so-and-so.  So-and-So, this is Alicia.”

Other Friend’s Friend:  “Nice to meet you, Alicia.  Do you have any kids?”

Me:  “Nice to meet you too, So-and-So. Yes, I have two boys.  What about you?”

Other Friend’s Friend:  “Oh, that’s neat – I have two girls!”

Me:  “Cool!  Here’s a picture of my boys.”

Other Friend’s Friend:  “Oh… Wow.”

Me:  “Wow what?” [Thinking it’s because I look much too young to have children that old.]

Other Friend’s Friend:  “Uh, they’re black!”

Me:  “What?!  Did you really just say that?!  Did that seriously just come out of your mouth?!”

Other Friend’s Friend:  “Um, no, uh, that’s not what I meant.  Uh…um…”

Me:  “No need to explain.” [Turning to Other Friend…] “Dude, your friend is a son-of-a-!@#$%, and you really need to make some new friends.”

Wonderful end to that conversation.  And it was at that moment that I remembered why it was that I went out with my girlfriends in the first place: Because I don’t like anyone else.

Do people STILL really think like So-and-So does?!  Helloooo!!!  It’s 2013!!!  I forgot when I chose to have children that they may actually have to deal with jackasses growing up who still haven’t figured out that we all bleed the same color.  And it breaks my heart for them.  They’re so innocent, and yet they have to deal with people obviously so insecure with themselves that they take it out on others.

In fact, when Gerald’s best friend’s mom heard about Gerald from her son for the first time, she actually said, “Oh, his name is Gerald?  Well that’s not a black name…”  Are you kidding me?!  So I didn’t name my kids Bon Qui Qui AND they’re well-spoken and well-mannered… Whaaaat?!  It’s really very sad that when they go to college, it’ll benefit them to be “black” and when they submit their resumes, it’ll benefit them to be “white.”  Is this really the world we live in in the 21st century?  I’m afraid so.  [Shake my head…]

Source: lunapic_135698468820535_2

Source: lunapic_135698468820535_2

My challenge for you today if you have this secret problem:  Go talk to someone who’s different than you.  Start a conversation with him.  Shoot, hug him even.  You might be surprised and realize you’re actually very similar.  Hmm, imagine that…

Source: epicdemotivational.com

Source: epicdemotivational.com


Tiffany Kleiman ~ Author

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