The end had finally come. The war was over. And in the aftermath, all I could see was the color gray. All I could envision was me crawling out of a war zone ~ climbing over large gray rocks ~ digging out of the rubble ~ trying to get to the other side ~ where life was normal ~ and somewhat carefree ~ where beatings did not occur ~ where vulgar words were not spoken ~ to a place of peace and tranquility ~ if only for a moment ~ before life's regular stresses naturally occurred.
This is what I described to my domestic violence support group when I showed up for our noon session and told them it was finally over. For weeks, these images filled my head. I could not connect any human emotion to my thoughts ~ only images of war and survival ~ like a World War II soldier crawling out of the war zone on the day the war finally ended.
Gray and rocks and rubble ~ and all the abuse a blur for the moment ~ just tired and weak and exhausted and weary and fragile and in complete shock that my old life was over and a new life had suddenly begun.
I knew the end was near when he banged my head with a light bulb multiple times in mid-June. I knew I had to finally make long-term preparations to get away. I had that familiar mental nausea feeling come over me upon the new realization that yet another woman was involved when he was completely unreachable one night when I had expected a call from him. I naively called and emailed a friend of his asking him to check on him when I could not reach him in over 24 hours. But I knew he was just out doing what he always liked to do ~ carrying on with multiple women behind my back ~ and he really was not lying in some ditch from a motorcycle accident somewhere in the foothills.
And so I drove down Scotts Valley Drive shortly after the last abusive incident and spotted a "For Rent" sign for a duplex. I did not write the number down, but I bought a Sentinel later and looked up the ad. Made the call. Sold myself with my university references. Got my friend Delia to pose as my landlord. And rented a place at the end of the month. I did not tell him that I now had two rentals and had not even taken any items even over to the new place ~ but it was there ~ waiting for me ~ and my safety plan started to take motion.
The previous attempts at breaking up either ended with more violence or 24-7 stalking, and I always returned to the scene of the crime. But I knew this time would be different. That it was really going to happen this time. Because I knew I was going to die if I did not get away. He always wanted to hit me in the head, and how many times could I get hit in the head before the final blow would be fatal?
I thought about the light bulb and how the bulb itself did not hurt as much as his fist. But I pictured how easily the bulb could have sliced my scalp if it had broken. And I wondered why he could not stop hitting me in the head. Why he hated me so much. Why he still wanted to keep me around.
Two weeks later it was over. By his own choice. Finally looked me in the eye and told me about the other woman in the other town. He always had to lead a double life. And so he was finally done with me.
The war was over. God threw in the white towel.
FREEATLASTTHANKGODFREEATLAST!!!!!LOVEDAD
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