“The words, the actions, the pain, sometimes it all blurs into one and when it hits, it’s like a wave – a smash to the chest with instant pain and tears.” – Domestic violence survivor Tracey
Young mother Tracey refuses to be a victim anymore ♥️
The memories are killing me on the inside…
He tells me I’m “pathetic”! So pathetic! So fucking pathetic! I am a pathetic piece of shit that no one loves or could ever love. He always says that he should film me crying on the floor so I can see how pathetic I am, so he can show everyone how pathetic I am.
It’s gotten bad, I’m on the floor, crying, begging, pleading: ”Love me, hug me, I’m sorry, please, please, please, what can I do, love me.” My sobbing is intense and it hurts so much feeling that insignificant.
He is always the same – controlled. He knows to use the same calm tone so my uncontrollable crying justifies his actions, convincing me I’m the crazy one.
He is standing over me. I’m on the floor of one of the many rooms in one of the many houses we have lived in. It is always the same, it’s late of course, he waits for the girls to be asleep – they won’t sleep for long, but they won’t come out. I never found out for sure until afterwards that they heard everything. But I always knew that the the neighbours knew.
He has gotten all worked up over something and it’s built up to a peak so he has to release. It’s all my fault. I know if I don’t fix the problem he is not going to speak or acknowledge me for at least three days. Usually the problem is the internet, sex or lies at work.
It’s these types of scenes replaying over and over in my mind that keep destroying me on the inside after leaving. The sexual abuse; his desire to punch me so bad he needs a metal plate in his hand; his anger at the pets; his complete and total avoidance of anything to do with the kids; the times he was removed by the police and/or ambulance officers; the time we spent caring for him in mental wards and private hospitals after each domestic violence incident; his expressed intentions to kill the children, myself and commit suicide; his suicide attempts when I had a day off visiting him or when I didn’t take cigarettes to the hospital on time; his chasing me with a bottle of alcohol trying to “smash my head in”; the times I protected him and lied for him.
All those memories are killing me on the inside.
The words, the actions, the pain, sometimes it all blurs into one and when it hits, it’s like a wave – a smash to the chest with instant pain and tears.
I’m thinking “Why?”. “Why couldn’t he just love me?”.
But those memories can also give me power.
I see that girl now lying on the floor and I know she is strong, amazing and beautiful. She just can’t take anymore. I wish I could show her the life she lives now. It is full of amazing moments and new experiences. The world can be a wonderful place.
Photograph by Sherele Moody © 2016.