It is the dim light of afternoon. My teen daughters are staying with
friends, which I am very thankful for. I am glued to a corner of my
youngest daughter's bedroom...my pulse racing, my left upper arm
bleeding from a glass cut, and my throat displaying bruises from an
attack that took place just moments earlier. The man who had choked
me unmercifully, then pushed me onto the hardwood floor, was still
waiting in the hallway. I had frantically closed the bedroom door to stop
him. But, he continued to scream the most horrifying obscenities,
describing what a "pig" and a "whore" I was. Quickly, I pushed a small
piece of furniture against the closed door, as now, he was trying to
shove his way in.
"Be quiet, Rachel!" I whispered to myself. "Oh, God, I can't let
him push his way back in!" Then, as I stared at the chaos of broken
objects strewn about me, I heard the incessant scolding of voices,
playing like a recording in my head. "How did this happen? How did you
let this happen! What a stupid girl you are! You must have done
something to deserve this! Besides, no one could ever love a fool
like you, Rachel!"
"SHHHH!" I whispered. As I heard footsteps walking away from
the bedroom, I realized the "attacker" must have retreated to the living
room. Perhaps, he was too drunk to continue his onslaught upon me.
As I lifted my shaking and disheveled self from the bedroom corner, I
knew that my husband of twenty years would be "sleeping this one off."
And I would be spending one more evening cursing the day I was born!