An ‘IT’

I couldn’t think of a title as I sit here, night has filled my room, my bed had been empty for 3 weeks now my eyes can no longer focus on the bruises you have left on me, my breaths are shallow from the two broken ribs you gave me for not putting sugar in you tea. No longer will I have to stand and watch as you place my son’s dirty nappies in the fridge, no longer will I have the cold foul smell rubbed into my face as I am made to eat what you have saved for me. No longer will I let me son watch you treat my like a punch bag, or as you call me an ‘IT’. I did not ask to have my teeth punch out. As I sit here I wonder why? was it my fault? did I ask the wrong question? My heart begs to go back to you as I remember the two years we spent together when you would touch me so tenderly, and stroke my hair, but that man has gone. You are now hollow no longer a man or a lover, you are the ‘IT’ the bully, you have no control over me physically, but mentally I still check every lock at night I still sit here and jump every time I hear a thud outside my door ‘Is it you returning from another drunken night?’ no it is just the cat knocking over a milk bottle.

I am a women, not an IT no longer I do not stand afraid of what he may do to me next, instead I focus on my son, I look at him he has his dad’s eyes. Will he turn out like his dad? I can only hope not and try my best to prevent it.

I will not stand here and say its easy, to get up and walk away from your prison, there are speed bumps along every road you just have to take them one by one until your at a place where you can be you and not his !

~~~ 30, UK, “Every road is different lengths.”