The first time I was hit by a man, was two years earlier. It was my husband, from my first marriage.
In my mail box, were questionable pictures of another woman. She addressed the package to my husband. I opened the package, with my mother in the car. We were blindsided.
I confronted my husband that night, and he punched me in the eye. He punched me so hard I blacked out for a good five minutes. When I came to, I kicked him out. He left willingly.
The next three days were spent in hiding. I had a pretty ugly black eye. If my family saw me, they would kill him. I also felt I would have been such a huge disappointment to them, by allowing this to happen. It was as if I was a guest on my own Jerry Springer show. The shame and humiliation I felt back then, is a feeling I would never forget.
On day three, my mother came over without calling. There was no more hideing. She took one look at me and broke down. I was determined right then and there to never hurt my family like that again.
Two years later, when I found myself in the same prediciment, it was as if I was reliving the past. How could this happen again? What was it about me that attracted these type of men into my life? Surely someone does not get hit twice, by two different people without it not being their fault.
“I promise you, I will never hit you again.”
“I thought you were looking at a guy.”
“I do not know what came over me, please do not leave me.”
And that is all it took. I fell for it. He needed me, and I needed to be needed.
When things started to go bad for both Christin and I at the same time, it was easier for me to want to save her, and not myself.
In my eyes, I was not worthy, yet, she was.