Buried Beneath The Scars

I thought about my blog ~ my survival story ~ and wondered if I actually had anything left to say.  So many stories ~ so many flashbacks ~ has the subject of domestic violence run its course?

Have I said all that I need to say?  All that I need to share with the world?

And then I realized that the rest is really too painful ~ too humiliating ~ to even begin to describe.

The horrific memories ~ even worse than my most graphic stories here ~ that no one but my abuser and I know.  No one else knows.  Can I ever tell them?

My family rarely reads my blog.  The stories of Mom's cancer year were too painful for Dad to read.  I really wanted him to read the stories of domestic violence because he was the main person I tried so hard to hide my terrible truth from for four years.  I know he knew somewhat was going on during that time, but I also know he would be shocked and sickened about how bad my life really was during the time I remained so isolated from my family.

I think about those painful memories and cringe.

It took me several years to share my first story "Death Row" ~ a graphic list of abuses I had endured ~ which was written mere days after my relationship ended.  It took me even more years to write "August 22, 2003" which chronicled the one night I finally called 911 on him.

The hidden memories ~ left unshared ~ are not necessarily the worst cases of domestic violence I once endured.  But they reflect a deeper pain ~ and even more shame ~ that what I have been able to write so far.

Maybe I will share them one day.

But not today.

Today, they remain secrets.

Painful, sad secrets.

Buried beneath the scars.

Uncensored