As many of you know, most of my blog posts describe in detail my own encounters with domestic violence. I have noticed that with each post comes a significant amount of emotional upheaval. This can be cleansing as well as draining and by draining, I mean the tsunami kind of wipe out.
As a result, I have chosen to post videos, which address the issues women and men encounter every day. It is imperative to my well-being to take a break of sorts before journeying on with the rest of my hideous saga.
I hope you all understand and will be patient with me.
I want to thank all those who follow and support me in my journey to recovery.
This post brought tears to my eyes as I have children of my own and I felt it necessary to share with you all. Let us offer support to teen survivor. She needs our support.
Why does this happen so often, the feeling of pain and anger, it’s like that’s all there is left in me. I feel like I’m dying, I need to escape from this life. It has only caused me pain and heartache.
I cried out but no one heard me. Most days I feel like I deserve all of this, it’s my fault anyway. I should have done things differently and maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I feel like each day I get worse and worse but I don’t want help. I fake a smile everyday because I don’t want to upset my parents. No one knows I cry almost every night and sometimes I don’t even know why.
There is no hope for me, I have given up on everything, and I am a disappointment to my family. I am dying inside. I lay in bed everyday just…
This video may be disturbing but it is an ugly truth that needs to be heard. More than 10 million children witness domestic violence every year in he US.
I am compelled PASSIONATE about this issue and I invite you to watch as this small child is forced to act on behalf of her mother and siblings.
I have searched to find the outcome of this horrific event and have yet to find it, however, the true point is to show that there are many, many instances that occur everyday leaving us bereft of any awareness not to mention answers. Bringing forward the real truth that these occurrences are ignored and unknown to so many is the true tragedy. My hope is to bring it out in the face of the public to such a degree that we may be forced to see the ugliness that relentlessly destroys.
Struggling with Lyme’s is a difficult thing to do. Our fellow blogger is struggling with the disabling effects and is telling her story for the first time. Let us show her our support.
I am happy to say that Avalanche of the Soul, also known as StrongerSoulSurvivor, whom I affectionately refer to as Triple S, has given me permission to Press this article. She is indeed a strong advocate for domestic violence and has brought up a vital issue requiring our attention.
This post was made by Lance Marcom over at texantales.com. He also shared with me how hard it would be for him to write this post as it is a skeleton of sorts in the family closet. I am proud to reblog this story because he bravely decided to break the silence. Thank you Lance.
A fellow blogger and “sister-survivor” made a post today that every man/woman should know before taking the plunge. With her permission I have decided to reblog. It is the sincere desire of every survivor to prevent this tragedy from happening to someone else.
So you have met him or her! The perfect person to spend the rest of your life with! Hold On!!! Not so fast!! Ask yourself these following questions, they may bring some clarity to who/what you are actually dealing with.
Charming~does he/she say all the right things? Is he/she over-the-top with compliments? Never ending stream of hearts & flower words, text and emails to you? Has this abundance of charm set him/her apart from anyone else you have met? Is he/she to good to be true?
Egocentric & Grandiose~has he/she told you how successful their career is? If they are a parent, have they told you what a hand’s on parent they have been? Has everything in their life been pretty much ‘perfect’? {except for the ex-relationships}. Do they tell you how demanding their career is? Or other personal obligations?
Disconnection of Their Past~does he/she have any relationship with his…
We are fast approaching the end of Teen Dating Violence Awareness Month. The hurt in this young lady’s eyes is clear, however, she found her voice and I would like to share it with you. The video brought tears to my eyes as I listened to her sing about her own personal hell and her desire to prevent this tragedy from being cycled to her baby girl.
I decided, after three (or more) days of self- loathing, mindless distraction and fear (self-imposed and otherwise), that I would venture out from the confines of my cozy corner.
I discerned a distinct lift in my spirit, listening to Vivaldi’s “Winter” as I began putting away, picking up, rearranging, dusting, sweeping and mopping. Oblivious to anything else, it felt good, right, and free.
A knock at the door, my son running down the hall, and a slightly sinking feeling ended my harmony. Jon was at the door. I suppose, since the restraining order had timed out, he felt he could stop by any time he pleased.
I maintained, I think, as he stood at the door while every thought you can possibly imagine crushed my mind. He had decided to lighten the proverbial load with a menial monetary donation out of the goodness of his heart and look in on the children. (As if)
Refusing to make eye contact, I stared down at my feet and asked him if he had tried to call first. My insides vibrated; I held the doorknob tightly to brace myself just in case the quaking decided to seep into his view. I took in a long, unhurried, breath. I couldn’t give him a glimpse of the storm going on inside my body as well as my mind. The door closed behind him. At first, I thought I’d done pretty well under the circumstances.
Out of nowhere, like a slow winter approaching, my hearing muffled, tunnel vision replaced peripheral, I could feel my body growing cold as the blood literally drained from the top down.
I sat on the bed; huge bullets of liquid terror formed on my face and I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. Shortly after, I regained my composure only to realize the dread growing in my belly.
I should’nt have been so curt. He is going to ‘get me back’ for that little tort. Maybe I should call him back and clarify. Maybe I should apologize. What is he going to do? How will he take it?
Even now, as I type this very post, I’m debating, hoping to stay a controlled, violated and blemished mind. I have somehow landed right back where I started today. Cautious of every next step, I take it anyway.
This is truly a fine example of how just changing your words and how you say them, can have a profound effect or change to any situation that you would never expect. 🙂
It amazes me that people actually believe that men cannot be victims of domestic violence. Some believe that if they are, they are not ‘real men’. Well, not so! Men are human beings, too. They can be hurt or even killed by someone they loved and trusted. As a society we need to remove the stigma of men and domestic violence. Anyone can be a victim of domestic violence, no matter their gender, race, income, etc. ANYONE can be a victim. And all victims need the help and support of their communities and loved ones.
I overheard a conversation recently in which an individual stated, “DV has nothing to do with the growing healthcare crisis and the economy.”
Domestic violence victims lose nearly 8 million days of paid work per year in the US alone—the equivalent of 32,000 full-time jobs.
The costs of intimate partner violence in the US alone exceed $5.8 billion per year: $4.1 billion are for direct medical health care services, while productivity losses account for nearly $1.8 billion.
In the news:
Judge “X” Turned Blind Eye, Woman Dead
Police Officer “J” Arrested For Beating His Wife and Children
Attorney “C “Arrested For Killing Fiancé
DV Shelters Closing Due To Strain Caused By Budget Cuts
Wife Murdered After Alleging Husband Abused Her
Legal Aid Funds Cut
Based on reports from 10 countries, between 55 percent and 95 percent of women who had been physically abused by their partners had never contacted non-governmental organizations, shelters, or the police for help.
A friend told me, “Whatever happens behind closed doors is none of my business.”
Every 9 seconds in the US, a woman is assaulted or beaten.
Every day in the US alone, more than three women are murdered by their husbands or boyfriends.
Around the world, at least one in every three women has been beaten, coerced into sex or otherwise abused during her lifetime. Most often, the abuser is a member of her own family.
Shaking my head.
If you or someone you know is suffering in Domestic Violence please click the link below:
I’ve heard the statement, “if my husband laid a hand on me I would be out the door,” or some other similar statement.
Full of self confidence and naivety, I’ve made that statement myself.
On gathering the bricks and mortar to build my new foundation, I discovered a question I’d never noticed before.
“How can we possibly leave?” -Linda A. Osmundson
I hadn’t realized it until today that following one disastrous failure that nearly ended my life; sprawled out on Eagle’s wings I soared.
I have chosen today to thank God for that ability because for 19 years it escaped my grasp by many treacherous miles. -Me
As a newborn, you cry loudly with your first breath and grip your mother’s hand for the first time; your first bond continues its formation. As an infant, you absorb the world, learn and grow. You learn to roll over, pull up, crawl and walk. Your first birthday is celebrated with grandeur. Your relationships expand as you explore your great big world. You change, adapt and weave yourself into friendships.
Your voice is heard.
At 13, you are officially a teen. At 16, you are now a licensed driver. At 18, you are now officially an adult and graduate from high school and go to college. At 21 you can go to a bar or club, join the military and vote. At 22, you graduate from college, get your first job, and become a contributing member of society.
Your voice is heard.
In this short span of time, every achievement is met with jubilance; shouts from the mountaintops pierce the veil of silence as you are celebrated for each accomplishment. Acceptance is your reward.
Your voice is heard.
You have discovered right from wrong, the things that are accepted, and the things that are not. You have experienced, in relationships with others, that some will thrive and some will fail. You will feel the sting of rejection, heartache and pain. You will know what it is to succeed as well as fail.
Sometimes silence is preferred.
Failure elicits disappointment while ability is met with credence. Grievances, undoubtedly meet with disdain, while molding into your surroundings connects with respect.
Silence is beneficial.
You never desired to see the person you confide in reflect any sort of disappointment or derision. You never made it your life’s mission to display your dirty laundry, your insolvencies or your mistakes.
You are silent.
Tell me, when you feel intimidated, do you speak up? When you are bullied is speaking out your first course of action? Let me ask you this. When the one you love and trust, the one you give yourself to with complete abandon tells you that you are no one, nothing, mental or unstable, do you believe them? I mean really, you have never known this degree of evil. Will you be able to recognize it when you see it? Are you confused?
Silence.
In any case, let’s bring the deadliest enemy to the forefront. Suppose you have voiced resistance to intimidation, bullying, shame, violence, hurt or pain, did your confidante really listen? Did they believe you? Did anyone offer viable solutions?
Silence is solidified.
Your heart, mind, body and soul is caged like a wild animal and you reciprocate by acting like one. You know nothing but obedience or reprisal. No one hears your cries of desperation; they turn a blind eye and may even take the side of your captor out of fear of retribution themselves. Your life’s spirit now sucked from you and into the vacuum of a soulless being, you give up the fight.
It is now time to die by either his hands or your own.
It is not usual for me write according to the daily prompts, however, I have said these very words to my children repeatedly. Please don’t forget about me, the new me, the me I was meant to be free. Therefore, this is dedicated to them.
Within the walls of pain and shame, I hid behind a masquerade of lies. Domestic violence sucked me up and deposited me in the darkest, most crippling place imaginable.
Not only me, but also my children suffered the deepest kind of pain for which I have no cure. I have no ability to remove their suffering, their misplaced guilt and shame, their hearts or their souls.
I do not have to imagine coming to the end of my life; the end rapidly approaches. I have little time to attempt to right the wrongs. I have failed them in the worst kind of way. It has been said, “It is not your responsibility to bear the full brunt of all that has occurred in their lives.” I cannot accept that statement as truth.
I am their mother. A mother’s role is to protect and nurture, not crash and burn before their very eyes. Security ripped from their trusting hands, safety far from reach, and an abundant dose of a twisted, perverted, kind of love filled most of their lives.
In January of 2012, we chose the door leading us away from that horrid existence. The only goal prevalent and revolving about me is to make up for so much lost time. I want to be there for them, love them the way they deserve to be loved, encourage them; make amends the only way I know how.
The legacy I have given is a garish hell from which there sometimes seems to be no escape. I have to, I must, at all costs, any cost, give a new legacy, one in which no one can take away. I must be sure their rightly inheritance befitting over comers, survivors, and lovers of life are well within their reach before I leave them. It is imperative to make them believe that, for without belief there is no hope and I cannot let go of the here and now having left my children without hope for a better future.
I pledge to do all within my power to mend the brokenness I have affected and allowed and to restore their birthright, the only gift I have left to give. I cannot change the past, but I can pave the way for a good future.
It is for this reason that I write every day to spill myself upon these pages so that when I am no longer with them they will be able to feel my presence as real as the life surrounding them. I never want to leave them, ever again and the only way to do that is to leave a tangible piece of myself behind.
For the sake of anonymity, I cannot post the multitude of photos I have taken in a desperate attempt to capture moments I never want them to forget. In addition, if for some reason, those things are lost, I have only the hope that the new memories far outweigh the old, a touch that can never be lost or stolen.
Let me warn you now that this post contains graphic content and may be / is offensive and is not suitable for anyone, ever. However, I have included one video and one link in order to make my point that Domestic Violence is NOT tolerable.
I am a true music lover and typically, I am opened to most any style of music. The preferred music is primarily wrapped up in the 70’s classic rock genre.
However, I do enjoy classical music, Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” (Winter) ranking number one. Others; Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man”, Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”, Black Veil Bride’s “In the End” ; you get the gist. I believe that a true music lover can appreciate all styles of music, as they are personal expressions of art, all the while maintaining personal preference. Obviously.
Not too long ago, I discovered my daughter watching a few music videos and was immediately alarmed by the message it was conveying to the younger male and female generation. I realize that practically every generation has said, what I am about to say. BUT, shattering sirens went off in my brain. DO. NOT. LISTEN. TO. THAT. And for the sake of women everywhere DO. NOT. WATCH. THAT. EVER. AGAIN. Although I didn’t let those words fly from my lips, I’m sure my non-verbal reaction was LOUD and CLEAR.
Upon gathering myself, I decided to broach the subject with caution, as rebellion is the very nature of a teenager. However, my daughter is not your average teen. Until a year ago, she has seen and experienced domestic violence her entire life. I had tragically given her the idea that DV is “normal” and let me tell you people, it’s damn near impossible to unscramble an egg. Well it is impossible; the only recourse is to make an omelet. The mastery of omelet making continues to be a work in progress.
I suppose the purpose of posting these grisly videos is to inform parents everywhere that they are offensive, degrading, debasing, demeaning and a whole lot of other adjectives. While I recognize we are entitled to freedom of speech and censorship is a controversial issue; it remains our duty as parents to retain a certain amount of vigilance over these matters.
To some, this issue may run along the lines of beating a dead horse. To me it is something that stirs blistering passion from deep within my very being with these videos fueling the fire. It is teen dating violence awareness month and the very nature of this particular, crippling, beast is silence.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Befalling freedom from my abuser was taxing; the road paved with falling rocks and repeated avalanches of emotion. I had unchained my physical body from his grasp. I was fortunate to have escaped with my life and the lives of my children. We enjoyed a stress free, perpetual vacation to various places, taking pictures and producing videos of our excursions for a solid summer season.
Upon our return home, we were evicted due to the loss of an income, but that was ok, I told my children. The end of one thing always means the beginning of a new thing. And in our case, it meant the beginning of a brand new life, uncontrolled by bitterness and anger. They seemed to be happy with that.
Move number one:
We moved into a four-room house with my mother . It was painful, but I felt semi-safe. She lived at the end of a dead end road and my heart raced at every car that headed our way. I was nervous and jittery with every door slam or horn blow or any other random noises I couldn’t identify. The phone rang and my heart sank…every time.
No worries, I told myself. I have a restraining order, mace, a bat, a knife, a phone, and I never slept when everyone else did. Someone had to stand guard. My hands shook with every minute movement, breathing was shallow and rapid, but that was no problem. I could handle that compared to what I had to reckon with prior to my escape.
Move number two:
Enthusiastic to find a new home, we searched until we found the perfect home; the last house on the left, on 13th street. (I think there are horror movies about this but I’m not superstitious) I purchased an alarm system, dolled up the house, brought a little of the old into the new, the mace, the bat, the knife, and the phone and lay claim to our new home.
I triple checked the windows and doors to be sure they were locked and set the alarm. I lay on the couch with my various weapons listening intently to every noise the house made in order to be at ease when heard repeatedly. I was as someone “hopped up” on crack, peeking out windows, walking the halls repeatedly checking on the kids. Nevertheless, that was ok I could handle it.
It took about three weeks before finally resigning to sleep in my bed. My nightly ritual of checking windows, setting the alarm, strategically placing the mace, the bat, the knife and the phone in the place my abuser would have slept continued. However, that was ok I could handle it.
It has been an entire year now yet still the ritual continues. The phone rings; my heart stops. A knock at the door; my heart stops. The sound of a car pulling into my driveway; my heart stops. A noise in the night; my heart stops. A flashback dream; my heart stops.
The question that really governs my mind is this. When will my heart stop stopping?
New beginnings are wonderful. Added anxiety of constant emotional, verbal, financial, mental and physical abuses are no more. Instead of the wonderment I expect, continued fear is what I receive.
My former life once filled with independence, freeness of heart, fun, spontaneity, and always on the go no longer exists. I find myself now bound to the solitude of my new home. I grieve deeply for that part of me that is now a stranger. My soul traverses between bargaining, anger, depression, and denial. However, I cannot make the leap to acceptance. One day maybe. One day.
Teela Hart 