From hearts to hits: Domestic violence stories of current GMC students
BY AMBERLEE MILLER
It may be a slap in the face, a derogatory comment, or someone else controlling your life. You may get used to this treatment, you may break free. You may be the person that said, “this will never happen to me.” When it does, you feel embarrassed, ashamed, but you still have love for the person that gives you so much pain. It may leave you feeling helpless, alone, and unworthy. It may leave you feeling hurt.
Domestic violence may affect the child watching the mother get slapped around. Or it may be a wife making derogatory comments towards her husband, making him feel worthless. Or it may be a girlfriend constantly being hit and told she is stupid.
October is domestic violence prevention month. If you have not been affected by domestic violence, there is a chance that someone in your community has. Here are three anonymous stories of how domestic violence has affected members of the GMC community.
First Story
It would always start with a small argument. Then it would escalate. Screaming in each others faces, I would shove, and get shoved back. Clenching my fists, I would swing – the face, chest, wherever it would hurt. When I would get tired, I would get pushed, with such force I would fall to the ground. I would get back up, clenching my fists, and begin swinging again. With much stronger force, I would be pushed to the ground again, defeated, unable to fight anymore. I would lay there crying, not wanting to get up, not understanding what made me so angry, not knowing how it got to this point. I would cry not wanting to be alone.
The morning after the fight random things would be broken—a cell phone, a picture frame, glasses. Bruises would decorate my body; my fingers would be swollen from punching with all my might. In the evening, we would let go of all the anger, hurt, and frustration, make up, and wait hopelessly for the next fight to occur, and the cycle continued.
Second Story
When I was younger my parents used to fight a lot. My dad would corner my mom and scream in her face. I had never seen him hit her, but when I began to do things wrong he started yelling at me. He would call me stupid and put me down. He moved on from the yelling to physical violence. If I misbehaved at dinner, I didn’t eat. If I talked back, I got hit in the leg or arm. He would never hit me in the face. As I got older, I began to fight back. When he would swing at me, I could defend myself. If I did get hit, I could hit him back.
Third Story
The first time he hit me we were both drunk and I wasn’t sure how to react. I don’t remember what brought on these actions, but I do remember the pain. Not the physical pain, but the emotional pain. Why did he hit me? Did I do something wrong? Will he do it again? Should I tell people?
Of course, he did hit me again and again. The worst abuse was one night when he got back after drinking. He swung at my face and body. My nose was bleeding and so was my lip. I fell to the ground and he kicked me in the stomach. After this, I wanted to leave him, but I loved him.
Short URL: http://www.themountaineer.org/?p=943
Posted by Amberlee Miller
on Nov 2, 2009 Filed under Health & Well-Being.
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