Survival

...

I stumbled through the dark to get to his door. He had left the light on, probably by accident. There were no longer kind or caring gestures in our relationship, at least on his part. I tried to hard to be good, to be what he wanted me to be; the "perfect girlfriend". I'd help him pay bills, cook, clean, wait faithfully at home while he was "at work" or "at a meeting" or out for a "guys night". I'd hope he was telling the truth; stupidly pretend that I believed he was where he claimed to be. I'd ignore the rumors, the sad looks that people gave me. I convinced myself that they were wrong, and I was in this for a reason...

I pushed open the gate and knocked on the glass door, he did not even had the decency to unlock it for me, even though he knew I was coming. I tried to avoid his condemning eyes as he made his way over and slid the door open. I dreaded what I had to do. I knew that it had to be done, in fact, it should have been done months ago... I had been in an abusive relationship for months now, close to a year. I endured, to various degrees, every type of abuse in the book; but I stayed because I thought he loved me. Until now I had not had the courage. But as I got closer and closer, I started to doubt myself. I knew what I should do, what I was supposed to do, but I didn't know where I was going to find the courage to do it. I wished someone was there next to me, holding my hand, telling me everything was okay, that I was doing the right thing.

...

As I walked in, he barely acknowledged my presence. I had been out of town for a friend's birthday, and the last time we talked we had fought over the phone. Putting on a serious face, I told him that we needed to talk. Once he had a feeling something was wrong, he changed his emotions. He became sad, quiet, almost heartbroken. It was as if he knew something was wrong; changing from the uncaring man that I had come to know to a meek, mild mannered boy. And I almost believed it; I guess I never gave him credit for being such an actor.

I told him that I could not do this anymore. I told him that this was not what I wanted and I had had enough. I did not feel the love in our relationship anymore, and it had been a disaster for months between us; he was driving me away from friends and even family. My whole life had started falling apart: I was on medication for anxiety and depression, and I had never had problems like this until he had come into my life. He immediately teared up, saying he would change, saying it would be different. He said he loved me and he couldn't live without me. I started to feel bad for him, bad about my decision. I started to question myself, my decision. He hugged me and wouldn't let go. He asked me to reconsider. I sat there, not knowing what to do or say.

I started to cry, slowly losing my will to free myself. Just as I was about to agree to stay with him, my phone vibrated. It was so bizarre; neither of us got service in that place. Ever. As I grabbed my phone I looked at the caller I.D. It was the friend whose birthday I had been at the day before; when I had decided that I was going to leave him. I stared at the phone and realized what I was doing. A voice rang in my ears from the night before, saying that I deserved better, that I knew this, and I knew what I had to do.

I stood up and shook my head as I burst into tears. I told him I could not stay with him, and that I would not. I declared that I could not love him anymore and I was done. I told him that there would never be any reconsideration. And that was the moment he flipped.

...

All of a sudden the pain and sadness in his eyes was replaced with anger and hatred. I backed up, and tried to keep my distance from him. He took my phone and listened to the voicemail that had just been left. The voicemail, which I did end up listening to later, was just my friend babbling about what she did that night on her way home: saying she went here, she saw this person. But he heard a guy's name on the voicemail, and immediately started screaming at me. I had been out of town for that weekend, so he immediately thought I cheated on him and that was the reason that I was doing this.

He flew into a rage and started going off about how I was a slut, how I did not deserve anything, and how stupid I was. He pushed me onto the couch and started hitting me. He hit the back of my head and my back over and over, with both open and closed fists. Every hit stung more than the last. And as I started sobbing, he mocked me. He hurled more angry accusations at me as he continued to take his anger out on my body. I closed my eyes, hoping it was a dream, but the strikes did not stop.

Slowly, I started to lose myself. After the first minute passed, I went numb and I couldn't tell if he was still hitting me. I opened my eyes, and I could still see the hate in his eyes. He yelled at me as he hit me again, and I cried out. He took a sock from the floor and gagged me with it, afraid that his landlord upstairs would hear us. Not satisfied with the gag, he grabbed a pillow and sat on top of me while attempting to smother me with it. I struggled, squirmed, and fought to break free. Despite my efforts, I could not move. I started to feel light headed and could feel my hope, as well as my breath, slipping away.

He took the pillow away and looked at me and said that I was a slut, and that everyone should know it. He ripped my shirt and hit me again. He noticed me try to move, and continued to torture me. He dared me to try and get up as he took a wooden rod, used for martial arts, and told me that if I moved, he'd "break my fucking nose". He stood over me, taunting me with the weapon inches from my face.

He continued trying to beat and humiliate me as I sat there in tears, too scared to move. He told me to go ahead and call the police, and threw the phone at me. He told me go ahead and scream for help, no one was going to come. The second I tried to move or open my mouth, he lunged at me with the stick. I thought he had lost his mind.

He finally removed the gag and he dared me to say something. I sat with my mouth barely open, trying to regulate my breathing. I felt like I was breathing for the first time. I held absolutely still, paralyzed by a fear that had taken over my entire being; even though every cell in my body was panicking.

He had broken me at that moment, and he knew it. I thought I was going to die. No one knew I was there and no one could reach me on my phone. I was utterly and completely alone. And that was the scariest feeling in the world. The door was two feet from me, but I could not get to it. I kept a blank face but inside I was dying, screaming, begging for some type of escape. He grabbed a handful of pills from the table; an assortment of Nyquil and various pain medication he had picked up. He told me that they were originally for him, but that I deserved to die. He told me that I could never leave, and there was no way he would let me. He told me to take the pills, and tried to force them down my throat.

After I resisted, he again gave me the choice. Take the pills or he would make me. My choice was to suffer at his hands or end it myself. At that point, I truly believed that I would not make it out of there that night; and I was going to go out my own way. There was no way in hell I would give him the satisfaction of making me take pills, so I said I would do it on my own. I took the Nyquil, swallowed four of them one after the other, without water. Each felt like a rock slowly snaking its way down my throat. As I finished and looked at him with empty eyes, I held my hand out for another one. Then he started to shake.

....

The anger was gone from his eyes, the hatred had disappeared. He burst into tears and started asking what he had done over and over. He sat down on the couch next to me and held me. All he could do was cry. As I felt the dead weight of sleep creep onto my eyelids, I realized that this was my last chance.

A tiny sliver of hope rested in the words I was about to say. If that did not work, I would be beaten. Defeated. Dead. I looked at him and through the haze that was quickly starting to overtake me, told him he had to let me go. I told him that he had lost me the moment he hit me. That he had ruined it for himself. I told him that I used to love him and I never cheated on him, I had never been unfaithful and never done anything to purposefully hurt him. I told him this is not what love is. He looked at me and continued to cry. I told him the difference was that he had intentionally hurt me. That he had hit me and tried to break me. I told him that if there was any love left in his heart, he would let me walk out that door.

He walked over to the closet and gave me a t-shirt. I took it from him, grabbed my phone, and walked out the door and into the darkness.

...

I stumbled again back to my car. I got inside and shook. I locked my doors and cried. I did not know what to do. Drive home? I was falling asleep even as I was entertaining the thought. I grabbed my phone and dialed, determined to make it home. I cried when the person picked up and I just explained what happened. I tried to remain clearheaded and told them to stay on the phone with me, because I had just taken sleeping pills and I didn't know if I was going to make it home. I told them if I stopped responding to call 911. I clung to every word they said and kept my eyes glued to the road.

The whole drive was a blur; a mix of bright and dim lights and darkness. Somehow, I made it home. I hung up the phone and climbed into bed and cried myself to sleep behind a closed door. I had done it. I had left him. I had made the change. I felt a mixture of exhaustion, confusion, shame, sorrow.

And hope.

...

...

...

I am a warrior. A survivor.

You will not break me. Ever.

Despite all the ugly things I have seen, endured, and been a part of; I still see beautiful things. I am beautiful.

And you cannot take that away from me.