I am a domestic violence survivor and was formerly a victim. My middle son, Joshua, was also mistreated and abused by my former husband, his biological father. Joshua’s father detested my brother, David, so much, and here Joshua looks and acts like him so much to this day. I remember my five year-old son being pinned against the wall and hearing him scream. My response was high decibel levels of pleading for his father to stop torturing our son. A decade has passed since this occurrence of which I speak, and I left his father for many reasons six years ago.
Sometimes Joshua’s siblings and other loved ones get under his skin. His response can be just as frantic as when he was five. When I witness such things along with Joshua’s behavior it is as if I traveled back in time to moments I wish never occurred. I’m barely able to breathe or speak without wailing or weeping.
The interesting thing about this injury or what seems to be a result of this injury is that old memories can seem as if they are occurring in the present. At times, this means a lack of weight in my baggage. However, at other times it is as if I need to get back in the time machine and travel back to present life. The result of these types of moments is to tell myself that the past is the past, and there are no present effects of this being a detailed account of Einstein’s definition of insanity (” Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”) Life is not the same, but sometimes the feelings of the past are surfaced, and life can feel just as threatened as it was years ago. However, there is enough proof that life is wonderful with caring children, a loving husband and faithful friends filled with love that contradict my life’s past. Focusing on such things are how I have come to find my way out of the maze.
As aforementioned, I have quite a rocky past. About seven years ago, I was about three to four months pregnant with a baby when I was married to my abusive ex-husband. I do not recall the details of our argument or his anger. However, I do remember what he did. He picked me up and threw me onto the floor of our home. The result was that I passed out. According to our older children, he mocked me as if he did not believe what the consequences of his actions were. I did not miscarry the next day. Instead, the baby and placenta stayed within me for about six weeks, thereby causing a massive deterioration until I expelled. The result was that it was approximately a fourteen-hour process, as I laid on a blanket on the main bathroom floor.
My second oldest daughter checked on me regularly. I remember one time feeling like I was phasing out and to the point of near death. Rachel asked if I was okay, and I said “yes” in a hazy manner. It was not until she asked if I needed to be admitted in the hospital that my senses returned to me, and I decided I needed to be alive for my children.
One of the things I detest in life is medical invasiveness. I have very little if any appreciation for any tube to be installed in me for whatever logical reason. I had a feeding tube from August 24, 2014 to November 7, 2014. I started eating food again on September 17, 2014. Furthermore, I was released from the rehabilitation center on October 3, 2014, so there was two and a half months that the feeding tube was being irrigated and available for removal. HOWEVER, I had to irrigate it when I was home. In itself, that is not an awful procedure UNTIL I started seeing brown matter that was draining out of the tube when I opened it to perform cleansing of it. When I would irrigage the tube, I would talk quite loudly and even wail, for it reminded me of this life-threatening miscarriage that WAS FULL of brown matter in the expelling process due to the waiting for the brown matter to drain out of it before I began the irrigation process.
When this happened the first time, I called the rehabilitation center to seek understanding. I was told that everything was okay. After about the fourth time of this occurring, Dan helped me shift. He talked to me about this not being the past. From that point on, I pretended to be Joe Friday, who always seeks “just the facts” (without the drama). Once I did this, I was more at ease with this occasional event of having this matter ooze out of the tube into the bathroom sink before I irrigated it. I simply would tell myself what was occurring at that very moment to moved passed my horrific past.
In writing my life’s travels to victories, I have veered away from agonizing topics like domestic violence, as I do not wish to create woeful stories. Instead I aim to offer encouragement to those with an extensive amount of hurdles over which they are attempting to jump. My main contribution to convey at this time is why I withstood the mental, psychological, emotional, and physical abuse. Here in the state of Florida, if an individual calls the police and files a complaint or report regarding domestic violence, SOMEONE IS GOING TO JAIL. That, to some, would seem like ceasing the problem. HOWEVER, the accused returning after thirty days is a vastly fearful thought. You see, it’s not like I would expect that individual to return happy to see me and to change his behavior. My thought process was that he would be more intense and vengeful. Thinking of that is more fearful than coping with things as they were. Luckily, that is my past reality and I have a beautiful, healthy life now.