Until the #MeToo movement took social media by storm. I never honestly labeled myself a victim or a survivor from abuse. As I began to read the breathtaking stories of countless women being subjected to a man’s lack of sexual control. I realized the writings were on the wall. For years I was subjected to this abuse. I was either naive or in pure denial.
One, would think because they were in a “relationship” it wasn’t technically abuse. I soon found out thats not typically the case. No means no regardless of title or not. I remember vividly how it all played out. Where sexual, emotional and sadly physical abuse transpired in moments following a simple no.
It was like a normal night of staying in. He had too much to drink and I was exhausted from a long day of work. The long drive over I could literally feel my spirit pleading with me to turn back. I surpassed the feeling and continued on. In hindsight I wish I would have listened to that small voice that was strangely loud for forty-five minutes. Riding to the epic tunes of Drake I pressed on like I promised.
I have to admit I should have left when I noticed he had way too much to drink. But, the ride in was tiring enough. After, a few drinks myself exhaustion completely sinked in. The bed was calling me but not in it’s usual R. Kelly’s voice. Figuring that he drank himself into a drunken sleep, I curled up beside him. Both my scent and warmth awaken him.
As he started to run his hands down my body. I rolled my eyes and turned away. Sex just wasn’t as loving when he was over intoxicated. He came closer. I whispered, “Not tonight baby……I’m tired.” He firmly grabbed me and yelled, “You didn’t come over here for nothing!” At that moment, I knew I wasn’t looking in the face of my once loving boyfriend. The bottle of Grey Goose had taken full control. He was bursting with lust like never before.
I urged him to stop. He began to caress me in the usual places that could have altered my no to a yes. With all my force I pushed him off me. Unfortunately, that was the straw that broke the camels back for him. The man that I once loved literally took my breath away. And not in the manner that every girl dreams of. This nightmare turned reality has haunted me for so long.
The way he aggressively wrapped his hands around my throat, as he forcefully entered into my most sacred area. That small voice echoed again. But this time it said, “You are not alone I am with you.” It quickly got drawn out by his disgusting groans and the unwarranted sayings, “I will never marry you, you’re not worth the designer clothes that are on your back.” The tears flowed like the Nile. My worst nightmare was happening.
Once he finally finished, he rolled over and fell vastly to sleep. I rose from the bed and walked slowly to the bathroom as if I was an extra in The Walking Dead. The very thought of seeing myself wasn’t an option. The mirror could only tell me one thing, “You will never be the same.” My neck had quickly turned red and soon it would be black and blue. I gathered my things and left without making a sound. The walk to the car was the epitome of the walk of shame.
I drove home in complete silence. Not even my own thoughts could pierce it. It took me half the time to get home. Finally, I had reached sanctuary. I crawled to the shower and attempted to wash all the shame and guilt from my bruised up body. Then I discovered not only my neck had bruises but my legs also. After, a deep breath, I proceeded to my bedroom. There I would lay for weeks not answering the phone and barely eating.
Tears drowned my pillows nightly. I fought off sleep to not relive those horrid memories. I kept this secret for about a month. When forced to leave my chambers, I was thankful for fall. My scarves were suffice to fight the crisp air at night and hide my secret scars. Finally, my cousin texted and said, “Are you mad at me because we have never gone this long without speaking? Whatever I did I am sorry. Whatever is wrong I am here.”
Immediately, I unlocked my iPhone and called her back. There was much silence that spoke louder than words. A cry like no other followed. Such relief it was to express my pain out loud. I needed to get it out. That was when the healing process began. After, that I told certain loved ones and surrounded myself with unwavering love.
It took me five months to return his many calls and texts. Each message I could hear his drunk voice in between the lines. I knew I needed closure to bring my healing process to an end. He pleaded with me on how sorry he was and that he had sought out help for his drinking problem. I listened closely and waited patiently for my turn to speak. With all the respect he lacked to give me, I simply said, “No.” I ended the phone call and never looked back.
For anyone battling with the writings on the wall. You are not alone. You have support near and far. The more we rip the tape off of our mouths and the bandages off our wounds; the healing process will begin. Your voice is needed to trail blaze for those after you.
Sincerely,
Elle C
