There are so many fractions of life
that need support and a voice. Of late a lot of violent stories have been
released and it gives others a glimpse into the rampant lives of abuse in our
society especially between couples who supposedly love each other.
He grabbed my hands and bent them
backward, breaking one of my fingers. I was in shock. I was stunned. I was in
serious pains.
A few hours after the incident, He broke into tears and told me
how sorry he was. I loved him so much, so I believed him when he said it
wouldn’t happen again. But life became hell after that. For the next two months
the abuse was nonstop.
He kept me in a constant state of terror.
I’m not a drinker, but he’d toss a bottle of beer in my face and say “drink”.
He’d punch me in the stomach or kick me in the thigh if I didn’t. I started
walking on tiptoes around him, fearful of everything I’d say and do. But it
didn’t matter; the abuse continued. He dislocated my shoulder several times.
He’d lift me up by the ankles and
bang my head against the floor in the living room. A part of me wanted to
leave, but another part of me hesitated.
Somehow I felt I was partially
responsible for the abuse. If I hadn’t made a particular comment or if I had
just sipped the alcohol everything would have been OK. And for the first few
months he was apologetic after the beatings.
He’d say he felt very bad and that
he didn’t mean to hit me so hard. He’d actually cry sometimes and show such
remorse that I’d forget my own pain.
He’d become romantic and sweet, and I’d
fall in love with him all over again. I started to isolate myself from friends
and family. I didn’t want them to know about the violence.
I put on a happy face with my two
kids and tried to act like things were fine. They knew about the violence but
didn’t know the severity.
When my mom wanted to see me, I’d lie, saying I was
busy. I didn’t want her to see my bruises. I was embarrassed. Sadly, the abuse
worsened. The rapes began about two months after we were married.
I was dressing for work when he came
out of the shower and asked me where I was going. He didn’t wait for my answer.
He threw me on the bed, sat on my stomach, pinned my arms up beside my head and
ripped off my clothes.
“If you want s*x, wait until I get home tonight,” I
said. “You’ll do it when I want, and how I want,” was his response. It got
worse after that. He would tie me up and put foreign objects such as necks of
beer bottles into my v*g*na.
Five months into the marriage I
endured beating after beating. While most of the assaults were done when my
children weren’t home, I was worried that they might step in and try to protect
me. If they did, they might get beaten, too.
I began plotting our escape, but
it was difficult. He had begun making threatening comments: “You can never get
far enough away from me. I will always find you. If I can’t have you, no one
will.” I felt trapped.
How I left? He had disappeared for
three days. I didn’t know where he was. I thought he had been in an accident. I
called his phone; he would answer but not say anything.
He arrived home on the
third night at about 1a.m. and immediately started screaming at me that he
didn’t appreciate me trying to track him down.
We were in the sitting room and
he grabbed the land-phone receiver and began to beat me in the face with it.
His eyes were red and flashing like
I’d never seen before,i ran to the bedroom, and he was right behind me.
He
picked me up over his head and threw me across the room twice. I broke my
tailbone in the second fall. My 6-year-old daughter woke up. She must have
heard something and came to see what was happening.
She just stood there, stunned. He
looked at her and got scared for some reason. He went into the bedroom and pack
his things.
I found my phone, fighting the pain from the broken bone, limped to
the living room, I then called my father who took me away from the house. Since
then I have not set my eyes on Dehinde. Please what should I do about this
marriage?
Culled from African Spotlight
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