As a little girl, I had dreams like everyone else. I wanted to be a doctor and I wanted to be married to the perfect man, and I wanted to have lots and lots of babies. But that was all they were....dreams. Dreams I wish had come true, but I know they probably never will.
I began dating John when I was 15. I was a sophomore and he was a junior and though we were young, we were in love. My parents never encouraged our dating, but we went against their wishes and remained an item. 3 weeks after my 17th birthday, I found out I was pregnant. John and I were married 3 days later (we eloped) and then I moved in with him and his parents. They owned a nice sized house and said they would have room for us and the baby. It wasn't very romantic, but I became more and more used to the fact that it was my life.
Then, sometime during my 5th month of pregnancy, John and I had a huge argument, where he accused me of being selfish and lazy. He said that all I did was "...sit around at home all day and run up every bill we had to pay...". Which wasn't in the least bit true. We argued back and forth until John lost his temper and slammed me against the wall. What caused him to be that extreme, I don't know, but he did it. He told me I was stupid and I didn't know anything, and I'd better start acting more mature or there would be consequences.
Needless to say, I was frightened. I went to bed that night feeling more afraid then ever, because I had never really seen that side of him before. Sure he'd been possessive in the past, but that was because he loved me. (I foolishly told myself) The next morning I woke up to flowers and sorry gifts, and the most gentle husband I could ever have imagined. I convinced myself he was just having a bad day, and tried to forget the incident...but found myself constantly staring at the bruises on my arm...
To make a long story short, I gave birth to a beautiful little girl named Georgia, and for 1 whole sweet year all was well... Then John began picking up drinking, and our "relationship" turned into an all out war. I began having to cover up my bruises with make-up and was eventually not "allowed" to wear make-up anymore, because I looked like a "slut" and other things (so he called me). I had to lie about why my eye was constantly black and blue and why I always ached. I was isolated from my friends and family and always stayed in doors, until oneday, I couldn't take it anymore. I picked up my daughter, and turned around to leave. And who should be standing there, drunken and mean? My husband, with hate in his eyes and cold fear in mine. (use your imagination for the rest)
For 2 more years I stayed in that prison. Crying every night and morning. THen one morning when my husband went to work, I called my father, to whom I hadn't spoken for a few hours, and he came and got Georgia and I out of there.
Today, I celebrate my 3rd year since the divorce, I feel liberated and freed and am enjoying life.
Today I encourage all you ladies who are dealing with Domestic Violence to get out! Anyway you can! LEAVE! They'll do it again...trust me! For now, ignore the good times and focus on leaving and living. Get HELP!