A teacher of words, I think.
Why after years of training could I not see through yours?
The bitterness still crouches around the corner. It waits for me to reopen bandages and allow the return of infection. Yet I evade such hatred; such a vile living space.
Instead, I’ve reintroduced myself to what my heart used to feel. Artificial as it might be now, there’s no reason it can’t become organic again. If I just lay here and feel again, my heart might sense what I’ve emphatically sung out to my brain, instead of what you infused into my psyche. Toxic words. Harsh glances. Breaking blows.
“You’re not utilizing your talent, Fina,” you used to say to me.
Funny. You only believed you were superior when I was a failure. What’s wrong with a strong woman?
I left my life to make one with you.
Now, peering out my window, I see stillness in the yard. It calls to me, the same way peace has since I left. The uninterrupted safety of the silence tells me that I’ve made the right choice.
When you were here I was intoxicated by the Siren’s song; the flashing crimson lights and blaring whistles were normal.
Now, an unapologetic gaze out my window assures me that life isn’t about having to pick up shattered pieces every day. The sole reminder of you is the two-post advertisement in my lawn. Time to move. Goodbye, broken home.
I no longer have to hide bruises under long sleeves. The sweltering summer in St. Louis is too damn hot for that.
I limped away half dead, but now bravely move forward. Alive.
If you or anyone you know suffers from domestic violence, survival is a choice. Look for an organization nearby or check out a site like SOAR.
Part of the reason I write this blog is to reach out to women who have suffered, survived, or still struggle with horrific relationships. It’s time to walk away. You can heal. I did.
Want to read more of my story? Just click here.