How women can allow themselves to be abused - in whichever way, be it verbal, emotional, mental or physical. The sad thing is that I can't say that these women are stupid. They are intelligent and they are living their seemingly normal lives amongst you and me.
Before you tell me to get off my high horse – fuck off because I have been through some of it. It may not an extreme case as some but enough. And it stopped only because I said so.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been terrified of father’s anger. When I was a child, they used to fight all the time. I was too young to understand what it was about and even though he never hit mother, he used to storm out of the house, bags packed. I remember being afraid that he would go but not sure if I cried. Maybe I was in two minds – peace and no more terror but that I would miss him because he’s father.
He reared birds and kept them in cages. My joy as a child was when he would close all the windows and let them fly free around the house. In a fit of anger during one of these temper tantrums, he let all the birds free – I remember I was heartbroken.
We were a young family starting out and my guess is that the pressure of themselves being young and having a child, of course, puts extra pressure on them to be and to give the best of themselves. Father used to also fly into a jealous rage if he caught other men speaking to mother. She is attractive. Fair skinned with white pearls. He took a parang to the coffeeshop and hunted down the guy who spoke to mother once. I must have only been about 4 or so.
I was sickly as a child. Every other week was a trip down to the doctor and/or specialist. I was draining them of their resources. Mother used to slap me whenever I threw up the medication or when I was being difficult. My lip would split from the force, trickling anger down my chin – to be soothed later with cold butter. I never saw when the next slap would come flying at me. I was a child. I was supposed to have been in trusted company.
I learnt to be mute around the house. No noise as far as it’s not necessary. He didn’t want to hear it. Even the sound of mother nagging is torture to him and I would bear the brunt of it. I was living in fear that he would either hit mother or me. I would rather him hit me – if it was mother he hit, what would I do?
I started hanging around “bad” company. Not that I was doing anything wrong. I was a teenager and wanted to be part of the inner circle. I literally only hung out with them – I didn’t get into fights or stole or even smoked (even though they did it all and more)!
I was reminiscing the other day when mother told me to buy a loaf of bread on the way home. The loaf was so nice and squishy, yielding to your grasp, making itself comfortable and moulding itself to suit the pressure. But given the force that the loaf was travelling at when it greeted my face one fateful day…I was the nail and the loaf, a hammer.
When my ex-boyfriend and I made a mutual decision to break up, it hurt for 2 years and I wasn’t even in an abusive relationship, just a difficult one. It has been…hmm…about 4/5 years now, I won’t be surprised if it’s more, and it still does hurt at times. I wanted to recreate the same, safe, known relationship that I had with him with different men after but I realised that there can never be another one quite like it. It wasn’t fair to the men who came after so I stopped doing it and just let things flow freely.
What more if you are breaking up with your spouse or your father – even though he’s been abusive, in your eyes, he’s been the “best” there is for you and no matter how you rationalise it and how someone else points it out to you, “he” will always be the best. In the case of a father, it will be an undoing of self. Your whole being is in jeopardy.
It will be (extremely) painful and picking up shreds’ easier said than done (yada yada yada…) but the pain goes away with each footstep forward or at least given a chance for the pain to go away. At times it is for love that you break up. Love for yourself and for the other person.
What will it take for a woman to stand up to a man? All she has to do is to decide that she’s had enough and walk away. Will it be at the cost of a life or worst, someone else’s (a child’s) life? Why does it have to escalate till too late? Why can’t these women love themselves? It is a joy to be alive, why choose to die?
Before you tell me to get off my high horse – fuck off because I have been through some of it. It may not an extreme case as some but enough. And it stopped only because I said so.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been terrified of father’s anger. When I was a child, they used to fight all the time. I was too young to understand what it was about and even though he never hit mother, he used to storm out of the house, bags packed. I remember being afraid that he would go but not sure if I cried. Maybe I was in two minds – peace and no more terror but that I would miss him because he’s father.
He reared birds and kept them in cages. My joy as a child was when he would close all the windows and let them fly free around the house. In a fit of anger during one of these temper tantrums, he let all the birds free – I remember I was heartbroken.
We were a young family starting out and my guess is that the pressure of themselves being young and having a child, of course, puts extra pressure on them to be and to give the best of themselves. Father used to also fly into a jealous rage if he caught other men speaking to mother. She is attractive. Fair skinned with white pearls. He took a parang to the coffeeshop and hunted down the guy who spoke to mother once. I must have only been about 4 or so.
I was sickly as a child. Every other week was a trip down to the doctor and/or specialist. I was draining them of their resources. Mother used to slap me whenever I threw up the medication or when I was being difficult. My lip would split from the force, trickling anger down my chin – to be soothed later with cold butter. I never saw when the next slap would come flying at me. I was a child. I was supposed to have been in trusted company.
I learnt to be mute around the house. No noise as far as it’s not necessary. He didn’t want to hear it. Even the sound of mother nagging is torture to him and I would bear the brunt of it. I was living in fear that he would either hit mother or me. I would rather him hit me – if it was mother he hit, what would I do?
I started hanging around “bad” company. Not that I was doing anything wrong. I was a teenager and wanted to be part of the inner circle. I literally only hung out with them – I didn’t get into fights or stole or even smoked (even though they did it all and more)!
I was reminiscing the other day when mother told me to buy a loaf of bread on the way home. The loaf was so nice and squishy, yielding to your grasp, making itself comfortable and moulding itself to suit the pressure. But given the force that the loaf was travelling at when it greeted my face one fateful day…I was the nail and the loaf, a hammer.
When my ex-boyfriend and I made a mutual decision to break up, it hurt for 2 years and I wasn’t even in an abusive relationship, just a difficult one. It has been…hmm…about 4/5 years now, I won’t be surprised if it’s more, and it still does hurt at times. I wanted to recreate the same, safe, known relationship that I had with him with different men after but I realised that there can never be another one quite like it. It wasn’t fair to the men who came after so I stopped doing it and just let things flow freely.
What more if you are breaking up with your spouse or your father – even though he’s been abusive, in your eyes, he’s been the “best” there is for you and no matter how you rationalise it and how someone else points it out to you, “he” will always be the best. In the case of a father, it will be an undoing of self. Your whole being is in jeopardy.
It will be (extremely) painful and picking up shreds’ easier said than done (yada yada yada…) but the pain goes away with each footstep forward or at least given a chance for the pain to go away. At times it is for love that you break up. Love for yourself and for the other person.
What will it take for a woman to stand up to a man? All she has to do is to decide that she’s had enough and walk away. Will it be at the cost of a life or worst, someone else’s (a child’s) life? Why does it have to escalate till too late? Why can’t these women love themselves? It is a joy to be alive, why choose to die?
I’ve been told that I will never understand but I understand this much: I love and respect myself. I would NEVER allow ANYONE to tear that down. Not even father.
What more do you want from me?
Is it not enough?
the fantastic sights you’ve been privileged to peek?
Would you like a magnifying glass
to bring you closer?
Or perhaps a microscope to bring you into the deep black
depths of the crevices
It never existed, those fantastic sights,
only fantastic sighs. We were never princesses,
always slaves – not quite the wonderful fairy tale
It only all exists in your head.
There never was a psychedelic rainbow splash, darling babe.
All there ever was -
icky wet earth and bits of charcoal lumped with ashen grey
Petal P. Rose
*cartoon courtesy of: http://onthepatio.typepad.com
1 comment:
this is a personal story deserving to be heard. Domestic violence sucks.
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