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The aftermath of domestic violence

A friend sent me this last night and asked me to post it anonymously, for obvious reasons. 

The aftermath of domestic violence

I feel like a bad person right now because someone’s bad news and mourning is my relief, and in a sense, good news.

Someone has died. Passed away. Committed suicide.

And I am crying. For I am wholeheartedly shocked, my whole body flooded to the extreme with a numbing reassurance that it is all over. There will never be that need to hide. To look over my shoulder.

The man in question haunted me in both my reality and my dreams for over 18 years, and finally I can now let go. He has gone forever. Maybe at the end he thought of me – who he threatened to kill on a frequent basis, who would kick my door in and come at me with razor blades. I just know it is finally over.

I have never spoken of this before but he raped me more than once, at the age of 17. Having already been raped at 14 I tried, really tried to speak up, but when I did he cajoled me, humiliated me.

“She’s saying she’s been raped again. I don’t believe this.”

And so, I shut up. Put up with it. I was still a child myself, and he twisted everything. Trapped me.

To cut a long story short, I eventually ran far away. It wasn’t easy and took so much effort and planning. He chased me for years, but I never let him get to me again. I contemplated buying a gun. I was exceptionally crazy, not sleeping out of fear, not going out and risking a monster nearing the door again.

But here I am. Telling this story. Don’t let that death be you. Get out, like I did. PLEASE.

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About K

YA writer. Voracious reader. Feminist. Home educator. Addicted to tea and Twitter.

One comment on “The aftermath of domestic violence

  1. Pingback: Woman Walks into a Bar | Keris Stainton

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This entry was posted on September 10, 2013 by in Bea Spiritual.
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