Merritt
I was 17 when it started. He was older, 19, tall, dark and handsome. When he was good he was wonderful, but when he was bad, he was a monster. The first time we had sex, he wrapped his hands around my neck and smiled while I tried to squirm away. He whispered that he knew I liked it rough and laughed when I told him he was hurting me. The first time I disagreed with him, he slapped me so hard my lip split. I never knew what would make him so angry, or what would set him off. Once we had seen a friend of his at the movies, and I’d somehow “embarrassed” him. I spent the ride home crouching on the floorboard of his truck, fielding kicks and punches while he told me how disgusting, unworthy and stupid I was. As the cliché goes, he never hit me that he wasn’t sorry afterward.
My parents were clueless. They didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and I certainly didn’t tell them. I stayed with him because they disapproved of him, my friends were jealous of me, and no one was going to tell me what to do. I stayed because I was too proud to ask for help and too proud to admit I’d made a terrible mistake and was in serious trouble. At times I think I honestly loved him, at times I hated him, but a part of me believed that he was right. I was worthless, and I deserved everything I got. I spent the next nine months using makeup to hide bruises, wearing long sleeves and turtlenecks in the summer, and hating the person looking at me in the mirror. I hid until I couldn’t hide anymore.
My parents had gone away for the July 4th weekend. He and I were supposed to go watch fireworks. We were laughing and joking, it’d been a good day. I was looking at a pen he’d won at work. He told me to give it back, I playfully said no, and put it behind my back, playing keep-away. He seemed so happy, I thought everything was ok, but it wasn’t. I can’t remember everything that happened next, most of it was, and still is, a blur. I remember him picking me up by my ears and throwing me against the wall. I remember covering my face when I saw his fists coming at me. I remember him choking me so hard I lost consciousness. When I woke up, hot angry tears were streaming down my face, stinging on their way down. I was humiliated, I was furious, I was completely broken. I came clean to a family friend who told my parents. They never said anything about the bruises when they came home that Sunday afternoon, but their eyes told their story. They were filled with sadness, regret, and pity.
I’ll be 30 in two weeks, and even though the bruises are long gone, I’ll never forget what I felt that night on the kitchen floor. The person I have become is nothing like the girl lying on the floor all that time ago. I am strong, independent, and un-breakable. Even though I wouldn’t recognize that girl anymore, I can’t forget her. For my daughter, I can’t forget her. I have to remember, and I have to tell her story.
***
Merritt blogs at Miss Merrittocracy.
28 Responses to “Merritt”
Leave a Reply
Thank you for telling your story. I am so happy to hear you will not let it happen again. Thank goodness you survived.
It’s scary to think that our own daughters might not tell us if something were going on.. and yet, easy to imagine them doing just that.
I think being open with them about our scars and past experiences is the best thing we can do – so that they know that we’ve been there and we understand.
Good for you for sharing your story.
I’m glad that you finally told someone and got out when you did rather than spending what could’ve been many miserable years in that relationship (although ANY amount of time is too long.) You should be proud of the person you’ve become and I know when the time is right for your children to know what happen they will be proud of you too. Blessings, Love, and Light to you.
Oh my, I am proud of you for sharing this story and being strong. Telling your story is worth it and I know you are helping others.
Thank you for sharing your story.
I am so sorry this happened to you. I take heart though in the valuable lessons you’ve learned from it and in the priceless wisdom you can share with your daughter. I pray that it never happens to her, and that if it should, she will come to you.
Your story will help a lot of people who don’t understand how indiscriminate domestic violence really is: It can happen to anyone. Thank you for sharing it!
Thank you for sharing your story.
I have a daughter as well. I hope she always knows that she can come to me without feeling ashamed – no matter what. Only time will tell.
thank you.
i’m a firm believer in “sheltering” our daughters by blanketing them in our truths. if i can prevent my daughter from ever going through the experiences i’ve gone through, then i’ve done my job.
i’m so glad to hear you’re on the other side now. and speaking about it.
My love- Thank you for telling your story. It is because of people who bravely tell their story that the cycle of violence is closer to ending. Thank you.
You’ve come a long way. And because you have, and because you’re willing to step out in the light with your story, there’s every chance your daughter and many other daughters won’t have to make the same journey. It’s because of you and the people like you who have the guts to come out of hiding that the ones still in hiding can find hope.
I hear the strength in every word your wrote. Feel the power of taking back control of your life. I weep for the girl on the kitchen floor, and marvel at the woman she became.
Break the silence, break the cycle.
Thank you. For all those voiceless ones, I thank you. Someday they will too.
Thank you so much for sharing your story… and your strength. Because of your honesty, it’s likely that your own daughter will be able to learn from you, rather than on her own.
thats is horribel, thank goodness you got out of the situation.
Thank you for telling your story. I think more young girls need to hear stories like this and how it is wrong — no ifs, ands, or buts wrong — for one person to treat another this way.
Thanks for sharing your story.
Merritt, Bless you for sharing. I’m glad you told someone then, and I’m glad you told us now. I thank God for your strength and pray that not just your daughter but women everywhere can learn and benefit from your story.
I’m so very glad you broke the cycle and got away. You’re right – we have a tendency to think bad things happen to people who somehow deserve them, but it really isn’t that way at all. For the sake of your daughter, and every other daughter out there, thank you.
my story is scarily similar to yours I feel like it had to be the same guy. And I’m so sorry it happened to you too.
Thank you for remembering, for sharing…for your daughter and our daughters.
I’m staggered sometimes by our ability to get caught up in things bad for us and how hard it is to decide when enough is enough. I’m glad you found yourself and got out of that horrible relationship.
Your strength now will help so many, especially your daughter. I know you’ve helped many already every time you share your story.
It’s so hard to look back and see how you were that person, I know. Thank you for looking back enough to help others!
Dear M –
You are not the only one – glad to see I am not the only one that grew strong!
the best thing you can do for her is to help her find her voice so she can always tell you. telling your truth is a beautiful way to start.
Good for you, telling someone. Good for you, getting away. I hope your daughter never needs your story, but I’m glad you’ll be able to share it with her.
Even though my kids are still small, it terrifies me to imagine them feeling so alone in this kind of situation, my wife and I being in the dark like this. And yet I can understand your position at the time. I’m just glad you had the courage to pull the plug before it got even worse. Thanks for sharing your story.
on your blog you say “my parenting skills are questionable at best” but i think good parenting is what you teach your children, and i think teaching her the truth so as to hopefully prevent anything as gruesome as this from happening to her is truly remarkable. it takes courage and insightfulness, not to mention the incredible strength to rehash memories that should’ve never happened. you’re a truly remarkable survivor and i thank you for sharing your story with us, with the people who need to hear it.
Thank you for having the courage to share your story.
You and I are the same age, separated by only a few weeks, based on the post date of this entry. I’ve never experienced such a thing from someone I dated, but our closeness in age makes me think about how this sort of thing can happen to anyone. It could have been me, instead of you. Thank you for sharing your story and for reminding us that it can happen to anybody.
Thank you for sharing, I escaped 5 years ago this month and I am forever grateful to ladies like you who helped me to be strong in the end. Thank you!