Isolated and Helpless

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. I don't hear much about it anymore. Perhaps it's because I've fallen out of the loop. Perhaps it's because it gets lost in the more hyped up call to awareness of Breast Cancer. Perhaps it was merely the "flavor of the decade" and it has now fallen out of fashion to talk about violence in the home. Maybe people have forgotten just how prevalent it is; how it rips at the seams of our society. Really all one has to do is watch a couple of episodes of "Cops" to see that it hasn’t magicly gone away.

I once felt isolated and helpless. I was insecure and quiet. He was also insecure, but angry and controlling as well. He played on my insecurities, telling me that I wasn’t a good mother, wife, cook, housekeeper. He limited my time with friends by not allowing me time to spend with them, and when they came to our house, he behaved so badly none of my friends wanted to come back. Phones were ripped from walls when he didn’t want me talking on them. He rarely apologized for anything. I was usually the reason things were so bad. Everything from our financial situation to our arguments were my fault. When he was angry, it was because I made him angry. Substance abuse was the law by which we lived. Inflicting hurt became a way of showing how much we cared. Jealousy and mistrust ran rampant through the relationship.

I thought I was going crazy. I believed I was doing something wrong, but couldn’t figure out what. It always seemed like the rules were changing and I couldn’t keep up. I was so stressed out trying to keep the family unit safe and happy that I made myself sick. I was grossly underweight. I landed in the hospital twice with unexplained kidney infections. I nearly died from an asthma attack. A friend saved me when she happened to call and realized I couldn’t even catch enough breath to speak. She drove to the house and literally carried me to the car to take me to the doctor.

It took much courage and strength of will to decide to leave. It meant giving up everything, including ripping the family apart. I had very little money and no place to go. I was afraid he’d follow me and hurt me more. I didn’t like having to go on welfare. I didn’t like living in a basement apartment furnished with milk crates and mattresses on the floor. I wanted my life back. If I were the victim, why was I the one to continue to suffer? I thought my suffering was a sign that perhaps he had been right. Perhaps it had been my fault. It is a vicious cycle of self doubt and self hate. And I can guarantee that you know someone who is living this life.

The key to stopping this cycle is letting the victims know they are not alone, there is help available, and there is a better way of living life. It took a long time, but I found that better life. Given the same opportunities, I know others can find it too.