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Each morning when you wake up and can see the sunlight or feel the warmth of the sun or the chill from a frost tells you there is life in any situation. Even during my bout of 20 years of domestic violence, I felt I had a life. No, it was not the one that I had planned or ever dreamed of having, but it was "life". I was not rich and married to the most handsome, loving and caring husband. I was married to a physically and verbally abuse man that took every ounce of my soul and tried to crush it. I like to think of it as a test of my faith and the foundation for a relationship with someone that I can truly appreciate.

You see, I always thought the tough guy image was what I wanted. When I met my ex-husband, I felt privileged to be with him. He was one of the guys in school that everyone liked. He was mischievious and fun. He was the tough guy. I walked around so happy to be with him and bragged to my parents and friends about him.

Not long into the relationship the physical abuse started. Bruises on the legs, shoulders, and face. Sores in the mouth, a smashed finger, choking, dragging from furniture, having a gun held to my head. I certainly was not going to tell my father and mother. I was anxious to be on my own at 18, that I had moved 150 miles to take a full-time job away from my parents. They certainly would have told me, "I told you so". My friends would never want him to be around them and he was certainly going to change. He was so sorry each time and he loved me so much. Several occassions, I even saw tears.

His father had left when he was 8 and his mother really did not want to raise him. She sent him away every summer and besides she had already raised 4 other children and was ready to date again. I felt so sorry for him and knew that he would get over this and things would be better. Years passed, and it was now my lifestyle. Hiding the physical abuse and avoiding being alone in the same room with him to get a break from the verbal abuse. Agreeing was so much easier.

My abuse had become a habit. Just like smoking, or drinking, it had become a normal part of my life. As my children grew, and there was more time for me and more time that I had to spend with him. I realized that I was sick. I had been to counseling, Al-anon meetings for support as there were no domestic violence support groups around and became tired of my "life" as I had known it. I questioned why I would ever deserve this and even yelled at God for putting me through this. Nothing

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