I realized this afternoon that I was dying. You called, angry at some little worthless thing, and I have spent the last two hours sick with fear. My heart is racing, my palms sweating, my stomach rolling from the fear. I feel like a death row inmate and you are the warden with the keys to my existence. You will blow in soon and I will bear your wrath. Maybe you will only scream and rant. Maybe you will only slap me. Maybe this is the day you are angry enough to kill me. So many maybe’s.
I am dying and my body is beginning to show the physical signs of your abuse. The ulcers, the chest pains, the babies buried too soon. I am on medication for my nerves. I get hives when you are around. I walk through my home like a ghost, with you ever present to attack my next move. Floating within my soul is the girl I once was, in a flowing white gown, eyes full of stars. How could I have known that someday I would write this letter, jumping at the sound of each passing car? How could I have known I would exist within my own mind, unable to share my fears and dreams with the one who should welcome them? You who claim to love me, know nothing of me. You swing between moments of kindness and rage. I try to pacify, never thinking of my own needs.
I see no joy in you. So much anger and pain that blinds you to the tenderness you have been given. You say you don’t want to lose me. I cant blame you. Will you be able to find another victim like me?
From this moment forward, I will strengthen myself. I will learn to stand in the midst of your storms and not fall. I will build my physical strength so that when the day comes to defend myself I can do so. I will strengthen my soul so that I may walk away whole, able to handle your insults.
You said once in a rage,” Why don’t you just curl up and die? You are pathetic. “No I will not die. I will not curl up. I will live this day forward, looking for and planning my escape from the prison you have created.
~~~ MB Jan.1999