This is a very difficult picture for me to post, but it is important for me to speak out. This is the result of the final act of physical assault my husband inflicted on me. It was done because I didn’t fill up his teapot. This occurred with the children in the car crying and screaming at him to stop as we sped down the highway with him behind the wheel. This is about five days following the incident, so it had started to heal. I never knew to take pictures of my wounds. Even after calling the police a friend had to instruct me to do this.
Why don’t women leave? For me it was because I didn’t know to call it abuse. I lived in constant fear and thought it was all my fault. If I could just do more, work harder, stop being so stupid and worthless I could fix my marriage. I believed I deserved it and it was my fault.
This photo may seem shocking, but perhaps more shocking is that this is not the abuse that damaged me the most. I would rather have been beaten over all the other forms of emotional, mental, sexual and financial abuse I endured on a constant basis. This was easy to handle. Usually the beating was the end of an attack. It meant peace. I could go away from him and the bruises would heal and disappear.
Abuse is such a complex issue. It is personal to each of use that suffer through it and yet we are a sisterhood that understands each other without the need for explanation. It is sick. It is cruel. It is without comprehension. It needs to end.