How does one measure abuse?В Which is worse, mental or physical abuse?В Is a little abuse to be overlooked vs.daily abuse that should be punished?В These questions keep running through my mind as to what people think about it.
Abuse of any kind is wrong, isn’t it?В Mental abuse equals torture and physical abuse equals pain.В Any way you slice it, it is wrong!В There were times that I have said, «I’d rather be hit any day rather than mentally abused.В Bruises heal in a couple of weeks or so but mental abuse leaves long-lasting scars that sometimes never do heal!»В But I’m not so sure that is true anymore.В Physical abuse will leave mental scars too.
Sometimes when we are sleeping, I will have to move Mark’s arm that is around me further down on my ribs because there is an area that is tender from when they were broken.В I was thinking about it this morning.В That spot will never go away, is susceptibleВ to re-breakage and forever a reminder of my abuse suffered at the hands of someone who declared to love me.
I don’t think people who can beat you enough to break bones could possibly know what love is.В Here is my remembrance of this particular time.
We had moved from an apartment into a house.В I had made an agreement with the rental manager to clean the house and have it taken off of my deposit.В It was a monumental task.В I was not getting it done as quickly as it was thought that I should.В I was told one morning that I had better have it done when he got home from work or there would be «hell to pay».В I panicked and went to town to try and enlist some help.В He got home before I did.В I called to say what I had been doing and was on my way.
When I arrived, he was hiding behind the door.В As soon as I entered the house, he hit me and knocked me to the ground.В As I lay there holding my face, he began accusing me of all sorts of vile activities while he was gone and proceeded to repeatedly kick me in the legs and ribs.В I screamed in pain with each blow from his work boot.В I cried and pleaded with him to stop.В In his fit of rage he kicked me some more, hit me again and then stormed out the back door.
I pulled myself up from the floor.В My terror and shock overcame the pain for long enough to run out the front door, jump in the truck and speed away.В I heard the tires of the SUV squealing in the gravel behind me but I had the advantage of knowing the area better than he did and got away.
To this day I wonder why I didn’t go straight to the police station that day or any of the other times that I should have.В Why did I allow him to do this to me for 10+ years?В I don’t know.В
Now I see my daughter in my place.В She finally found the courage to tell me and the police what is happening to her and nobody believes her but me, Mark, and the rest of her family on my side and his ex’s.В God help us!
I hope and pray that the man from Protective Services will come to this site and read some of my past articles.В Maybe he will see truth when he reads it.В
Always remember that Jesus died for us because He loves us!
Seeking His solace,
Teresa Marie
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