by Tamatha Hetrick

Created on: April 06, 2009

I remember screaming, "Just hit me and get it over with". No, that would be too easy. It was only 7 but I already knew, we would have to be up all night while he would rant and rave. No one would get an ounce of sleep. The boys would be so grumpy tomorrow. Tonight though, they would cry and be scared.

My marriage basically just legalized the sex I was having with my then boyfriend. I was barely 18 the day I got married. The last words I heard before I said "I do" was from my dad. As we started down the aisle he whispered, "You don't have to do this". Oh, how I wish I had listened.

The abuse started way before the wedding. I just never told anyone. He would blame me for the way a passerby would look at me. No matter what I wore it was too "slutty". He would tell me how much he could see that my parents hated me and loved my siblings more. According to him my brother and I were too close. It wasn't healthy he'd say. He would also add that my sister was just a little sex kitten waiting to be 18. How sick!

The early months were mostly emotional, verbal, mental forms of abuse. Those are the days I remember more vividly. He assured me that I should be grateful he even looked at me. I was too ugly for anyone better. I weighed 127 and he considered me a fat pig. Sex was something he took not something we shared.

He drank, oh how he drank. It was nothing for him to go through a case of beer a day. Then he would manipulate family and friends for more money or beer to keep drinking. Looking back, I think he had to drink. His body couldn't function without it. He was given a gene from his dad who had passed it to him from his dad. I prayed it wouldn't get passed on to our boys.

I remember the day he started physically abusing me. He pushed me into a cast iron radiator. He was sorry he didn't mean to push me so hard. There was the time he held a gun to my face, loaded. Oh and the day he held the kettle of boiling water over my head and asked the boys if daddy should throw water on mommy. Then came the days he punched me in the head, that was like a new fad for him. It lasted about a month or so. Lets not forget the time he shot an arrow into the wall less than an inch above my head or when he stabbed me with a knife in the knee and when I fell down he kicked me with steel toed boots on. How about the time he tried to hit me with the large metal belt buckle? He missed and it ended up embedded about 1/4 inch in our formica table. I could go on and on. Maybe I will write a book

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>