Domestic Violence: It’s Always Going To Be Personal

I don’t talk about my personal life on this platform much. You’d really have to know me and be able to read between the lines to pick up on subtle nuances. However, there’s an issue that’s been bothering me and I have decided to open up here and confront it. This might trigger some people, so please read the title carefully and if that is too much for you, it’s okay to ignore this.

Originally I planned on writing this on another blog a year ago. I got side-tracked with other commitments at the time and whatever I had planned fell to the wayside. Not this time. This is the right place to publish it. I no longer feel safe on the other blog and quite frankly, what I have to say isn’t something to be judged by hundreds, least of all those who deem themselves superior. This is not a place for competition, it is a place for sharing, openness, and honesty.

It starts with a very simple comment, one that I’ve said many times before. I am a product of domestic violence. I’m not shy or quiet about it. If asked, I always tell the truth. I knew very early on as a child that there was something “really not normal” about my family life. I vividly remember the fighting, the words, trying not to be home, hating being home, and how things escalated to physical violence. It is one of the reasons I am a writer, it allowed me to “escape” and be fully in control, where no one else could touch me.

I wasn’t even 10 at the time, but I’d had enough. I was the protector. I would put my mother and brother behind me and say “Go ahead, hit me. But you’re NOT going to hit them.” I never knew if my father would reach a point where he’d lay a hand on my mother, but I wasn’t EVER going to find out.

There’s a very fine line between disciplining your children and abusing them. Not all abuse is physical or sexual in context. Some of it is emotional and verbal, and leaves the same type of permanent scarring. It follows you through life.

I would NEVER take anything away from someone who has been in a worse situation, I have no right to do so. All I can say is that I didn’t live their experience, I only lived mine. And yet, I understand, I relate, and I will not speak against your pain, I will only do what I can to support you.

What a lot of people don’t know about me is that I am still living with a form of domestic violence. No, I am not married to that person (I would NEVER tolerate abuse from someone that claimed to love me, and the person I am in a relationship with knows that. He’s known me since we were kids, so he also knows I’d knock his fucking teeth out if he so much as spoke to me out of turn. He also knows that’s not me being abusive or being a bitch, it’s simply a reaction. He knows not to sneak up on me, to announce his presence if I don’t sense him, and not to do anything that might make me react in a poor manner. He’s always known these things and he is incredibly respectful of “the boundaries”.), it is not coming from someone who claims to love me, but it IS coming from a family member who shall remain nameless.

Over the last few years, I have had guns and knives pulled on me regularly, a sword was recently held to my throat, and I am often covered in gruesome bruises. There’s a huge difference between bruises where I truly am being a klutz (I walk into the side of my bed or the foot of my bed OFTEN, but that’s ME, and it’s different.) and bruises where someone is intentionally harming me and later denying they ever laid a hand on me. I’m here to say that they have and they are.

This person has been abusive for a good 20 years or so. They are a product of their environment, and no, I am NOT defending that. I think it’s sick and warrants therapy and medication, all of which I have encouraged. I was later accused of “trying to be controlling” by suggesting medication and therapy. Seriously? That’s a fucked up response, but it also explains the mentality behind this person.

Whenever something happens, I am often asked “Why didn’t you call the police?” For one, I know my state laws. Unless I’m beaten bloody, the cops aren’t going to give a shit. You have to show them a history. Unless I go to the ER with broken bones, etc., the cops aren’t going to give a shit or even take a statement. Yes, this person DID fracture my wrist many years ago. The person that took me to the ER that day pleaded with me NOT to say anything to the nurse, doctor, or to press charges. I did not agree with them, but when the time came to speak, I don’t even remember what I said I’d done or what happened to cause the injury. Yes, I am VERY angry at myself for not putting a stop to it right then and there. Maybe things would be different today if I hadn’t had that voice in my head trying to control me.

Moreover, the person harming me can turn on a dime. One of his best friends is a cop, so one phone call and he’d be out of lock-up pretty fucking fast. Is that my only stance on it? No.

What will it take for me to call the police? More evidence. Bruises don’t mean shit to the police. I’d have to be calling them constantly on domestic disputes before they’d do anything, and I have yet to meet a police officer in my current state of residence that is willing to take me seriously. There’s something disturbing to me about a 5.3 ½” woman being harmed by someone twice her size and a hell of a lot taller and no one giving a shit about it, or having them think it’s a fucking joke. In fact, they’ve laughed and not believed me.

I’m not weak. Far from it. I will shoot this person if I have to, and when I fought back over a week ago, I ended up breaking a short sword. Fighting back prevented me from being harmed far worse than I was. This person didn’t care that they’d hurt me, they cared that the sword was damaged! That is the kind of sickness I am dealing with.

I don’t condone violence, but I have to be honest here, because this is serious. I sleep with knives close by. Knives that are bigger than my forearms. I sleep with a 500,000 volt Stun Gun. I keep the Glock locked up, only because it’s all too easy to shoot someone once they’ve pushed you to the point of no return. There’s no way in hell I’d only shoot once. I know myself, and I know that I’d empty a mag, reload, and keep going. That probably sounds awful, but it’s the truth. I know myself well enough to know that certain things will escalate. A gun can protect you, and it should, but I know that if I have to pull, that’s the end of it. My life is not worth that because to everyone else, this person is “normal”. Their ability to turn it on and off is terrifying to witness. Everyone likes or loves them, and that is sociopath 101.

With practically everyone else on the planet, this person is absolutely lovely. Genuine, funny, shirt-off-your back real, and the list goes on and on. The fact that they’ve threatened me in public and said things to me in public that no one has done anything about is quite disturbing. I get nothing, but violence and vitriol. I sought therapy for it, thinking it was me. Repeatedly I was told it was not me, that this person is the one that needs help and medication. And yet, there is no way to help them because they do not believe there is anything wrong with them. They believe I am the problem. I have medical professionals to back up the fact that, that simply isn’t true.

October is National Domestic Violence Month. It is now November 2nd and here I am to say, we shouldn’t just have one month a year where we openly discuss domestic violence. We should discuss it the second it happens, to whoever will listen and take us seriously, with whoever we trust. Don’t stop speaking until you are heard.

I don’t consider myself a victim because I do know how to protect myself. I consider myself a survivor. Unfortunately as women, we are almost always the physically smaller sex. We know this, so we teach ourselves and are taught to fight dirtier. I have some training to protect myself, but as I stated, this person is twice my size, and because they have martial arts training, they think nothing of throwing me down on the floor. In fact, they think it’s funny. I was recently thrown down onto a flight of stairs and dragged by my legs. Again, nothing, but laughter. There’s nothing funny about it.

I have decided to use photos to document proof, in case I ever need it. I am not posting any of them here because that’s not going to be helpful. I’m not even sure I’d legally be allowed to keep this post up if something happened, but I’d much rather someone hear it from me than see me on the 10:00 PM news and think “Wow, I never knew this was going on.” Don’t pity me. That’s not why I wrote this. I wrote it because I am empowered to put an end to all of this.

It is time to break the chain.

copyright © 2014 by Lisa Marino & Blackbird Serenity LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED