A Better Life
It was a bright, frigid morning that day in late January. The windows were dripping with condensation, and as the rays pierced through the water drops, little rainbows danced around on the worn out beige carpet. The time and long awaited day has come. My heart is nearly pounding out of my chest with anticipation, happiness, and nerves. “What if he comes back early?” I ask myself. Although I almost simultaneously know the answer as the question crosses my mind because, as I look down, I remind myself quickly of the black and blue bruises running down my arms. I have become accustomed to seeing myself this way and normally feel extremely sad and worthless but today it is different. Today my children and I are starting a new chapter in our lives. “We are free,” I say with excitement looking in the rear view mirror at my three beautiful children. When I pull out of the driveway, I stare at the back door with a malicious anger coming over me. I come back to reality with the sounds of the baby cooing, Kenny Chesney on the radio, and cars speeding down the road. The negative actions of my children's father will continue to affect us, but many positive things will also remain in our hearts. Enduring physical pain and mental torture for years is survival but walking away with respect and lessons learned will forever play a significant role in the woman and mother I intend to be.
Exhaustion is a word I know all too well. After working ten hours assembling doors at Jeld-Wen and six hours at Gold Rush, a skilled games establishment where I do the bookkeeping and wait on customers, it is time to go back to confinement. I call my home a confinement because it no longer feels like a home, but a mere window to the rest of the world that he has created for me. It has been a few days and it is only a matter of time before I can expect another horrific battle. As I begin making lasagna, his favorite dinner and my attempt at a third straight peaceful...