Unhappily Married Girlfriend

I had a shotgun wedding. I was pregnant with my first child when my husband and I walked down the stairs at his parents’ house and stood in the basement as a couple of relatives and close friends watched the preacher marry us.

He was happy and crazy in love, but I had reservations. In every picture, my eyes were sad and at one point my mother asked if I was sure about my decision. It was obvious from the start that our union was doomed, but I had no idea just how awful my life would become.

For the most part, I’ve spent my life regretting that cold, rainy day when I said “I do.” I wish I had the courage to walk away, big belly and all. I didn’t. As a result, my life has been a living hell.

My husband, who was once handsome and caring, became addicted to alcohol and drugs. Over the years, his good looks have faded. His desire to stand up and be a man dissolved and he had no ambition. There was a time that he had dreams, big dreams, and I wanted to be there to support him. If he said he wanted to sell sea monkeys from the trunk of the car, I would have been there to help.

In the early years, he was a good and loving father. He loved the kids and the kids loved him back. He was a proud, family man. But his vices became more important than his family. As our children grew up, we grew apart --- far apart.

My husband found comfort in his vodka and I dreamed of finding comfort in the arms of another man. With each drink he swallowed and white line he sniffed, I became the target of his violence. It started out with name calling and quickly escalated to a push and then a shove and before long he’d punch me, kick me and pull out handfuls of my hair.

I grinned and beared it for the sake of my family. I put up a brave front. I’m sure my neighbors heard the thumping and bumping coming from my house, but they never said a word. The first time he slapped me I should have left. I couldn’t afford to and I wanted my children to grow up with their dad --- especially since I didn’t.

The violence never stopped. It got worse. My children have seen things that kids should never witness, not even on TV. The police have been called in, child services investigated us and the tension in the house was often unbearable. I still didn’t leave, I started to fight back. When my husband realized I wouldn’t back down, he went after my kids.

He slapped my daughter in the face and pushed her down the stairs. My teenage son became my protector, afraid to leave the house because he didn’t want his dad to beat on me. I am so sorry he had to deal with that. My children love their father, but they don’t respect him and neither do I.

I finally had enough. I woke up about a month ago and decided NO MORE! I begged him to leave. At first he resisted and then he gave in. We’re separated now and I’m getting my life back on track. I found a good job. When I look in the mirror, I still see marks from the beatings, but I thank God my heart is not scarred. I’m thankful for my children, their love and their faith in me. I am a survivor.

Signed,

No Longer Broken