Silence

There was so much silence, so many secrets during my four years with him.

Secrets from my father about the depth of my isolation and the escalating abuse.

Secrets from my brother and my extended family which included some local cousins and a great aunt.

Secrets from my colleagues who may have wondered what was wrong with me.

My life consisted of trying to maintain some type of normalcy on the rare occasions I did see my family and showing up for work every day despite the chaos in my private world.  I then secretly spent my lunch hour twice a week at the Walnut Ave Women's Center, working so hard every day of those four years to finally break free.

I could be real at the Walnut Ave Women's Center with the advocates who accepted me for "where I was at" in my situation and be real with the other women in my domestic violence support group.

I could not be real with my family or my work colleagues.

I could share a little more with my older sister who had first-hand knowledge of my situation, but my time with her was so limited when I was tucked so far away in the Santa Cruz Mountains.

It took the young students to figure out what was wrong with me.

I remember Diane who coined him "The Bad Man" ~ she worried about my well-being even though I shared very little with any of them at work.  She was the only person at work who validated my experience simply by giving him that nickname.

In the early days, the advocates would call the front desk at work to check on me ~ to literally make sure I was still alive ~ but once my boss found out, she made them stop calling.  I think about those early days back in 2001 and wondered if she had any comprehension that this call was my only outlet to any kind of safety plan ~ this welfare check made to a woman who was being abused and could not call the center from her own home.

So it really was the students who were there for me during the whole ordeal ~ being the only people who actually saw me nearly every day ~ offering silent support to a woman they knew could not really share what was going on in her life.  They were compassionate and caring ~ they had both sympathy and empathy ~ these educated young women who may have only had textbook knowledge of domestic violence but clearly knew a victim when they saw one. 

I made the call that early morning on August 22, 2003 to ask Diane to fill in for me.  I could not tell her exactly what happened.  But she knew.  She knew.  She knew this time I had been viciously hurt by The Bad Man.  She knew The Bad Man had finally did it.  Had finally tried to kill me.

And so she covered the front desk for me ~ no questions asked ~ while I recoved at a motel in Watsonville after having my head bashed into a wall three times a mere four hours earlier.

Silence in so many forms every minute, every hour, every day of those four years.

Silence looking out the window or at the wall every time he viciously berated me, focusing on another element in my world instead of his angry face.

Silence of never being able to truly speak, have an opinion, an idea, ask a question.

Silence in the form of secrets kept from my family after every episode of abuse.

Silence in the form of lies about where I was living, who I was living with ~ that I had actually moved back in with him a mere 3 1/2 months after having my head bashed into a wall.

Silence in the form of no longer asking for help from my father after going back to my abuser again and again.  Dad helped me leave the Santa Cruz Mountains once; I could never bear to tell him I returned only 9 months later.

Silence in the form of financial extortion as I never told anyone he made me pay him back the lawyer and the bail money after I called 911 on him.  The payments went on for two years in which he told me I had to live with him until my debt was paid.

Silence in the form of supreme isolation that I could not even leave once I had finally saved up enough money.

I have Ended My Silence on Domestic Violence.

There are no more secrets, no more lies, no more reasons to be ashamed.  Nothing to hide anymore.

A Life Uncensored. 



Uncensored