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As I licked the blood from my lip, something clicked. I had to get away from him. I knew it this time. Even though we had only been together for a short amount of time, I couldn’t deny that his promises to “never get that angry again” were empty. I thought about all the excitement we were enjoying just a few short months ago; the laughs we shared, the love we felt and the plans we had for the future. I was sad. I was lonely even though we were still together. I felt misunderstood. I felt confused. I felt crazy. Sometimes I thought maybe I made him do these terrible things to me. But most of all I felt afraid. Afraid that if I did nothing things would always be this way. I was afraid that Robbie, my four-year old son from a previous marriage, would see and feel Tom’s anger and never be the same. I was afraid that I would be alone. Afraid that Tom would think I didn’t love him and be even angrier. I was afraid that I would have to give up my apartment, my friends, and my job just so he would know I was serious and I wasn’t going to take it anymore.
Now I was getting angry. He can’t control me. Who does he think he is? Why does he do this? Doesn’t he know I love him? Doesn’t he know I’m a strong woman and I’m not going to let him hurt me anymore? Why doesn’t he take me seriously? I wished just once he could get in my head and feel all the pain he was causing. I thought if he really loved me he would stop.
I knew that even if I told him I needed a break from him to think and told him not to come over today, he would still come. I picked up the phone book and looked for local services. I just wanted to call and find out what I could do. My hands shook as I dialed the phone. A woman on the other end was calm and I cried. It’s a wonder she could even understand me! She was the first person I told everything. She listened to me then told me I had two options. I could stay or I could go. I didn’t like either option. She told me if I was ready to leave she would help. She asked that I stay by the phone while she located a local shelter for me. A shelter? A shelter sounded so cold; so alone; so dirty.
My mind was in overdrive. The phone rang again and I almost didn’t answer it, but I did. She gave me directions to where someone would meet me. She told me what to bring and when to be there. This was it. The ball was rolling and I couldn’t turn it around. I had to get out fast before he knew I was gone. I called my mother to tell her I was leaving. She didn’t understand because she knew very little of what had happened over the last few months. Then I called my job and explained that I had a family emergency and didn’t know when I would be back. Next I called Robbie’s daycare to tell them I was coming to pick him up early. I grabbed as many personal belongings as I could fit into a bag, some toys for Robbie and all the important papers I could find.
I drove two hours to a town I had never been to and pulled up to a police station where I was met by a woman. She didn’t hug me, something I really needed, but somehow I felt I was going to be okay. I followed her in my own car to an old house on the outskirts of town. I wanted to cry but adrenaline was choking back my tears. “This is my only choice!” I told myself over and over again. When Robbie looked up at me with his big brown eyes I started to falter. What was this going to mean for him? Or for all his friends, Grammy and Grampy, his dad? What did I do? What a mess. I didn’t even know what I needed or what I was doing there. All I knew was that I was all alone and in one day my whole world had been flipped upside down. I had no money, no friends, no apartment, and no job.
The adrenaline rush started to fade as the woman behind the desk began to ask me a barrage of questions. The first was, “What happened that made me come here?” What happened? That seemed like a crazy question to me. The answer would take all night and they wanted me to sum it up in a sentence or two. I tried to answer while she stared at me with no expression. I started to feel like she had heard much worse and I was just another sad story. I didn’t even know who she was. Was she a counselor, an intake worker, a secretary? I wanted to go home. If I knew how to get back I might have left right then.
An hour later I finished filling out the questionnaire. I also signed an agreement stating that I read and understood all the rules of the shelter. The one rule that stood out in my mind was the one that said I could have no contact with my abuser while living at the shelter. My abuser? Tom now had a label and somehow it didn’t seem to fit. He was my boyfriend, my pal and my joy just a short time ago. They didn’t know him, or us, or what we had gone through. I found myself hating this woman yet all she was trying to do was help.
She led us up the stairs and down the hall to a room that would be ours while we remained at the shelter: A cold room with two cots. I knew I had to be strong for Robbie. I looked at him and smiled and assured him we wouldn’t be there for too long and we would find a great new place to live and start all over. It sounded good but I had no idea how I was going to make it happen. We pushed our cots together, snuggled up close and spent our first restless night in the shelter.
In the shelter the women attended support groups but we had to keep our children with us at all times. That meant there was no time to cry or be angry. We were fed three meals a day but were offered little to fill our emotional needs, our need for hope or our need to stay positive. We went to workshops to teach us how to relax but we were given little reassurance that we had done the right thing by leaving. We had rules to tell us to stay away from our abusers but no shoulder to cry on, no one to encourage us to stay when we felt like giving up and going back. We had a place to rest our heads but were given no tools to rebuild our lives.
After several weeks I realized that I didn’t have the strength to live so far away from family and friends. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I didn’t want to look into my son’s eyes and tell him I didn’t know when he could see Grammy again. The terrible things that Tom had done to drive us away didn’t seem so awful anymore. After listening to other women’s stories I convinced myself mine wasn’t that bad. Maybe one more try would fix all our problems. I could no longer deal with my loneliness, so I went back.
Things with Tom seemed fine at first. But after a short time the abuse became worse then before I left. Over the next few months, he really earned the label of abuser at my expense. I almost died at his hands and my son’s life was put at risk. After several incidences I finally pressed charges. Eleven years later, my abuser is still in prison.
Today Robbie and I are alive and doing well. I thank God we had a shelter to run to in our hour of need. I do wish I had stayed at the shelter longer. I wish I had found the emotional support I needed while I was there and been offered the opportunity to learn the skills necessary to rebuild my life.
- Monique Houde
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