Diary of An Abused Woman Part 3

The diary entry that follows is purely fictional. None of the situations expressed are linked to actual persons living or dead. Although some things may resemble actual events, the intent is not to relay a true diary but a fictional character that can express many different stories of women who have been abused. The intent is merely to bring awareness from the inside out since we mostly see abused women from the outside looking in.

Trigger warning – The content below contains wording which may be triggering to domestic abuse survivors.

DVAM-with-Purple-Ribbon

Diary Thursday October 22, 2015

I can’t do this anymore. Why couldn’t I just stay with that sweet woman who was so kind to me? I just didn’t feel like I belonged there. She was so good to me. It is so cold and rainy tonight but I am thankful for the church shelter. The cot is uncomfortable but it’s better than sleeping in the rain on the cold ground. My thoughts are all over the place tonight. I keep thinking about that woman, she really wanted to help me. She gave me a brand new outfit and I had the best shower at her house. Her guest room was so beautiful and she was willing to let me stay as long as I wanted but I didn’t want to be a blemish in her beautiful home. I don’t deserve such kindness, I don’t deserve to have anyone care about me. She understood me though, she had her own story but I couldn’t grasp the idea that she had really been through what I have been through. She was too happy. She just oozed with an inexplicable joy. I can’t relate to that.

Are you kidding me? These people in here are ridiculous. Don’t people understand rules? Two people just got escorted out by the police because they started fighting. I hate to see people fight, it brings back so many awful memories. I’m not going to be able to sleep now. I just want my life back. I just want to be able to function without going back to those memories. Will they haunt me forever? I can’t even see to write anymore because the tears won’t stop. I can’t stand it that every little thing triggers the pain and memories. Oh God if you can hear me, would you please help me sleep tonight?

Diary Tuesday October 27, 2015

I am so discouraged today. I feel like my life is going down the toilet. God seems very distant and I feel like I have been dropped into a ditch somewhere and left to rot. Who am I to think that I should get special treatment from anyone or think that anyone should care or want to sympathize with the fact that I am struggling today, I am at the end of my proverbial rope and I cannot see any hands reaching out to help me. I don’t know what to do, what to think, what to feel, how to respond. I just know that I am a walking zombie right now. I am going through the motions of life only because I am familiar with the day-to-day schedule. Everything I do is only achieved because I have been doing it for so long that it is a habit. I wake up, I survive, I cry, I sleep and I wake up to do it all over again.

I have prayed but probably not enough. I’m just not getting to the place where I can let go and just be. My mind is constantly moving and I’m always thinking and going over things in my mind. The abuse I sustained, the abuse my daughter sustained, my daughter’s death, the verbal abuse all around, other people, the whole scenario. I am nowhere near being stable in my emotions and I am horribly aware of that to the point where I am terrorized in my dreams even. I have no friends to share my pain with and I have no one who would even care to listen to me at that.

I don’t know. I just feel like my guts have been ripped out of my body and strewn all over the place and I can’t put it all back together. I feel hopeless and miserable. Hello! Can someone hear me? Can anyone hear my pain? Can anyone help me? I doubt it sincerely. The only hope I used to have was God. He is so distant right now. Or at least that’s how I feel. But it could be my fault too because maybe I’m not listening for Him as closely as I should and maybe I can’t be still long enough to know that He even exists. Maybe this is a time in my life where I just have to learn to be lonely.

Diary Thursday October 29, 2015

My mind just races with all these thoughts and I can’t make them stop. Maybe that is why I can’t hear the voice of God when He speaks. But how do I stop the voice in my head. I mean it’s me, it’s my thoughts, it’s my concerns, it’s my pain, my memories, my logic trying to make sense of it all. It’s me and how do I stop me? How can I flip the switch on my thought processes to make them work differently. I can be talking about one thing and thinking about a totally different thing. It’s ridiculous. Then of course when I talk about anything in my life, here comes the flood of tears. Who wants to hear me talk? Who cares that I cry all the time? No one cares. I used to have friends, not many but a few that I could actually call friends but they have all disappeared. Why is everyone so afraid to ask me what is wrong? Why is it that I can ask someone about their problems but no one can ask me?  No one wants to really ask me, How are you? and actually expects a truthful answer.

I can’t take this anymore. This life of running to and from shelters while battling these tormenting thoughts in my head. All these people around me have their own stories. They all have their pain, their bruises, their wounds and yet no one really cares about any of us. Just give us a cot and some slop to eat and maybe a warm blanket. Why did I leave from the one place where I felt safe if only for just one night? Why couldn’t I receive the love that she was so desperately trying to show me? Why can’t I hear God anymore? I used to be so close to God, once upon a time. I cannot even raise my eyes to look up to see if God is waiting for me to come back to Him. No, no, no I am not worth His time. I am not worth anyone’s time. The one good thing about me being suicidal is that my fear of death outweighs my wish to die.

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Diary of An Abused Woman Part 2

The diary entry that follows is purely fictional. None of the situations expressed are linked to actual persons living or dead. Although some things may resemble actual events, the intent is not to relay a true diary but a fictional character that can express many different stories of women who have been abused. The intent is merely to bring awareness from the inside out since we mostly see abused women from the outside looking in.

Trigger warning – The content below contains wording which may be triggering to domestic abuse survivors.

DVAM-with-Purple-Ribbon

Diary Sunday October 18, 2015

Today was a good day. I was walking along the road this morning when I met a woman who invited me to come to her church. She said they would be serving lunch after the service and I was welcome to come. She offered me a ride to the church and while I was nervous about taking the ride, something in her eyes told me that I could trust her.

Trust. A concept that I didn’t think I would be able to have for anyone again. I sat through the service with tears streaming down my face as they sang beautiful songs of praise to God. The sermon was about the good Samaritan. Was that a coincidence since this woman was surely a good Samaritan to me today? With tears streaming down my face I drifted off into a memory of when my husband and I were first dating. We would go to church whenever the doors were open. He proclaimed his love for Jesus and we talked of becoming missionaries one day. It was a dream that I shared.

There was a beautiful woman dancing during the praise and worship time, she had a beautiful flowing dress that followed her twirls delightfully. She danced with a long multicolored scarf that flowed up in the air and back down to the sounds of the worship music. I wanted to be her. I loved to dance and yet I have not danced in many years. How could I dance when my precious ballerina was no longer on this earth? How could I dance when my life no longer had meaning? I felt an overwhelming desire to run in that moment as the memories came flooding into my mind shutting out everything around me. I looked over at the woman who brought me to church and she smiled at me. Her smile was so warm and inviting. Somehow she eased my anxiety and I was able to stay for the entire service.

Lunch was amazing. There was so much food and desserts to choose from I could not believe my eyes. Breakfast casseroles, tacos, barbecue beef, chili, homemade bread, hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken and dumplings, fried chicken, every kind of fruit you could imagine, cakes, cookies, pies and my favorite homemade bread pudding. I filled my plate with just a little bit of everything I could fit on it since this was the best meal I have had in a long time. So many people came up and introduced themselves and seemed interested in knowing me. I still can’t make sense of it all. Why would they want to know me? I’m sure I look like an old dirty rag and probably smell like one too. Every person who spoke to me seemed to look beyond my shabby looks and I felt like they all were looking deep into my soul. It made me nervous and I would begin to shake. My new friend would put her hand on my shoulder and silently pray for me. It was if she knew the rage that was going on inside my head. The swirling thoughts of unworthiness to be at this table with beautiful, happy people. It was truly overwhelming.

A sudden crash caused me to lunge underneath the table, my heart was beating wildly and I thought I was being attacked. I could do nothing but sit under that table and rock myself holding my knees close to my chest. No it can’t be happening again. No, please make it stop. I could hear voices around me praying to God to help me. I heard one say it’s ok, it’s ok, it was just a punch bowl that crashed to the floor and shattered. I had tears streaming down my face as the memories of being taunted and beaten with a baseball bat flooded my mind and would not stop. I could hear myself crying out “please stop, please stop”. As the prayers continued around the table, I looked up and my new friend was on her knees in front of me praying and crying. I began to fix my eyes on her and slowly the anxiety and panic began to subside. I didn’t even realize that she was holding my hands. Suddenly the realization of what was happening overwhelmed me and shame entered into my consciousness. How could I ever come back to this place? How embarrassing?

I was helped up off the floor by my new friend. I expected people to look at me like something was wrong with me or call the police or kick me out of this place but they didn’t. An older woman across the table asked me if I had been abused. I hung my head low and said yes. She came over and put her arms around me and began to share her own story of abuse. What? Wait, where am I? I am sitting in a church. People don’t talk about abuse in church. It was why I left the church years ago. I listened to her story in astonishment. She understood me. She could relate to my terror and agony. I couldn’t believe it. Every day people pass me by and act as though I am invisible and yet two women made me feel like a human being today. I am not sure I know how to process this in my mind. It’s new to me.

The older woman invited me to come and stay with her family for the night. The softness in her voice made me feel that I could go with her. I felt like I made two friends today. Friends. All my friends had abandoned me long ago. They couldn’t relate to my struggle. They couldn’t understand my never-ending sorrow and pain. I’m not sure if this is all a dream but I hope that if it is I don’t wake up from it. I am sitting in a beautiful guest room in my new friend’s home. The bed is so inviting and I must rest. I have not slept in an actual bed for weeks. I have a strange feeling of safety here. I hope this day never ends.

Diary of An Abused Woman

It is now the middle of October and I have been neglecting to write and bring awareness to Domestic Violence Awareness Month. As I thought about what to write tonight, I thought about the many stories I have heard over the years. I have always been one to keep a diary, a journal and random notes everywhere. I write on paper, electronic notes, napkins, emails, blogs, letters, etc. The idea to write from the perspective of an abused woman actually started from a journal entry regarding a woman I met several months ago. It’s a little different style of writing than I typically write here because I am usually telling my own story but today I just want to let my imagination run wild and see where it takes me.

The diary entry that follows is purely fictional. None of the situations expressed are linked to actual persons living or dead. Although some things may resemble actual events, the intent is not to relay a true diary but a fictional character that can express many different stories of women who have been abused. The intent is merely to bring awareness from the inside out since we mostly see abused women from the outside looking in.

Trigger warning – The content below contains wording which may be triggering to domestic abuse survivors.

DVAM-with-Purple-Ribbon

Diary – Thursday October 15

Today I walked many miles asking for change whenever I saw a friendly face. Most of the people who walk by don’t even look at me. I am invisible. Don’t they see my pain, don’t they see that I too am a human being with hopes and dreams. Well my dreams died long ago. I have no family, I have nothing. No one will hire me for a job because I cannot stop shaking and crying when I see beautiful women pass me by with children at their side. It’s been eight years since I saw my precious daughter. She was so beautiful. I knew that she was going to be a ballerina one day. She loved to dance and she would just twirl and twirl and say mommy look at me. I can’t believe she’s gone. She would be 18 now and I know she would have had lots of boyfriend beating the door down to try to date her. Her soft blond hair would drape so beautifully around her face.

No more memories! No, no, no! I cannot take the pain, Lord. Why oh why did she have to die Lord? Why couldn’t it have been me. It was supposed to be me. She just got in the way. She wanted to protect me but her tiny body was just no match for her daddy’s strength. He didn’t even see her. It was me he was going after. Oh how can I bear to live with this guilt. When will it end? Why am I here? Why can’t I just go to sleep and never wake up again.

I remember when I was young, I had so many dreams for my life. I wanted to be an actress, a singer, a dancer. Secretly my greatest ambition was to win a Tony award. I could visualize myself dancing across the stage singing loudly in a re-production of The Sound of Music. I would get lost in my dreams sometimes and my father would tell me that I daydreamed too much. I just knew one day I would make it. I would make him proud of me.

The weather is changing and soon I will be able to sleep in the shelter. I can’t wait until they open up. It’s so hard to walk the streets and sleep on benches. I hardly get any sleep anyway because no sooner than I fall asleep some officer will come and tell me to “move it along lady, you can’t be here.” Don’t they know that I am human and I need sleep too. I’m sorry, Mr. Officer that I don’t have a home to live in anymore. I’m sorry that my family disowned me and cut me off from their lives because I was such a shame to them. How was I supposed to know that I had fallen in love with a narcissistic sociopath? It wasn’t like he had a sign on his forehead.

It wasn’t always bad. It was actually so romantic at first. Oh how I remember our very first dates. He always brought me flowers and chocolate. He knew how to win over my heart. We would talk for hours and hours on the phone and never wanted to hang up. He would walk along the beach holding hands by the moonlight. He told me everything I could ever want to hear from a man. He raved about my eyes, he said they were the most gorgeous green eyes he had ever seen. He said he could see right into my soul and it was beautiful to him. I would just blush and giggle. I should have seen the signs. I should have known it was more than just jealousy and concern for me when he began to cut me off from my friends and family. It was such a smooth process, He was so smooth. No one could ever imagine that he was a raging monster underneath his smooth, corporate executive exterior.

He took everything from me. He shattered my dreams into a million pieces after the wedding. He would not have his wife work outside of the home. He was the breadwinner and I would need to stay home and care for the children. He wanted six children. I only wanted two. I had no idea how hard it would be just to have one. He always blamed me and accused me of taking birth control behind his back. Didn’t he know I longed to have children too. It was always my fault when things didn’t work out the way he wanted.

I can’t think anymore, I can’t continue to remember all these things. How many times will I try to make sense of it all? How many times will I go over the events of the last 26 years? Does it even matter? Now I have a headache and I can’t even find a place to lay my head for the night. Perhaps I will walk to the emergency room tonight. They can’t turn me away if I tell them I have a severe headache and chest pains. Yes, that’s exactly what I will do. Gosh even if they don’t keep me in the hospital I can get a little sleep waiting to be seen. I can get warmed up enough to gather energy to make it through another day.

To be continued……

Where Does The Time Go? 1st Year Anniversary and a Contest

celebrateCan you believe it? I started this blog on October 1, 2014 and it is now over 1 year old by a of couple days! I cannot believe it! Where does the time go?

I have been so blessed by YOU. Know that I am here for YOU! When I write my blogs I am thinking and praying for you and asking the Lord to give me the topics that are relevant to you. I hope and pray that I have accomplished this.

I would love to get your input so to celebrate the past year I think it is time for a contest and giveaway! In order to gain an entry into this giveaway all you need to do is leave a comment and let me know what topic you would like to see here. That’s all there is to it!

Each comment will receive 1 entry per day. You may enter once per day as many days as you have a topic to share.through October 31, 2015.

I will hold the drawing at 8pm CST on October 31st and the winner will receive a $25.00 Amazon Gift Card via email. Remember, your comment or comments will only award you 1 entry per day. I want to make this fair for everyone. You may comment every day as long as you share a topic that you want to see here on this blog. I look forward to hearing from YOU! God bless you!

Official start time Midnight October 3, 2015. Drawing to be held on October 31, 2015 at 6PM. No purchase necessary.

contest btmc