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Confusing
Love
©2001 Da'Tanya Washington
I often fought with my boyfriend, but this time I had had enough
when I heard a voice say, "Wake up, Honey! You have been
through a lot in the past several hours." Slowly, I opened
my eyes to focus on the voice that was speaking to me. It was
my doctor. As I looked around the room I realized I was in a
hospital bed, and my body was still aching from the night before,
which forced me to think about the abuse I experienced at the
hands of my boyfriend. I had been immune to his abusive behavior;
however, this time around he had kicked me down the stairs, seven
months pregnant.
Rubbing my swollen stomach I turned towards the doctor and asked,
"How's the baby?" I had put my unborn child through
so much trauma; it's a wonder how he survived.
"The baby is fine, but we have to stop meeting like this.
You are a beautiful girl, but if you continue to let this guy
abuse you, you're going to end up ugly or dead," said my
doctor.
Ugly or Dead! What good would I be to my son dead, I pondered?
I know I couldn't go on living like this. I was too young to
die. I didn't want to die, especially not at the hands of my
boyfriend. I needed help, because I still loved him.
"Ma'am you're right, but I still love him," I said.
Confused, I began to cry.
"I understand you love him, but love don't feel like this,"
she said as she turned and walked away.
As I turned my thoughts to Chris
and our stormy relationship, I smiled. We had been together for
about two years. In the beginning everything was great. We would
go to the movies, almost every weekend. We would go out to eat
at the local hangout for teens. He would hold my books and walk
me to class; we even hung out at some of our high school basketball
games. Then all of a sudden he flipped the script on me and a
new personality emerged. He started accusing me of just about
anything: dating other men, stealing his money, hanging out with
my friends and family too much, or liking a player on the school
basketball team. Another time he tried to hit me with a car-jack.
Once he slapped me so hard I saw stars.
Another time he punched me so hard, my nose broke. Even now,
11 years later, I still have problems with my nose. His jealousy
grew as my body developed into womanhood and older men began
to take notice of me.
My mother often scolded me for allowing Chris to use me as his
"personal punching bag." She would remind me that I
am a fighter. My relationship with Chris put a burden on me and
my mom's close-knit relationship. My mom and I would argue frequently.
I can hear me telling my mother, "Mom you don't understand
I love Chris and Chris loves me. He just hits me because he thinks
I'll leave him; it's his way to express his love."
My mom would reply, "I know more than you think. I been
where you are and I can see one of you coming up seriously hurt.
I know you think you love Chris. You are too young to be going
through this. I love you. Do you think I like seeing "my"
baby with black eyes, or laying up in a hospital bed, or worse,
dead?"
Hearing my mother's voice in
my head brought me back to the current time. My doctor was saying
I could go home, but I needed to stay on bed rest for the next
eight weeks, or something of that nature. All I really cared
about was going home. I jumped out of bed, got dressed as quickly
as possible with my swollen stomach, and rushed into the waiting
room area. Chris sat there with a stupid expression on his face
like always, when he felt bad about doing something.
"I'm sorry baby girl," he said. "Is the baby fine,"
he asked?
"The baby is fine, so let's go," I said.
We left the hospital as fast as we could. The next two months
of my pregnancy went pretty well. We still had our fights, but
they weren't as severe. Most of the time I would not call my
mother because I felt she was disappointed in me. After our son
was born the beatings were frequent again. For two months I put
up with his bullshit, then told him I was leaving him for good,
and if he wanted to see his son, he would need to go through
my mother. Of course this didn't sit well with him.
"Bitch, I'll kill you if you try to take my son away from
me," he screamed.
"Chris, I would never take your son away from you. My mother
is going to be the mediator between us, because I think if I
don't get away from you, I might kill you," I replied. "Chris,
we have been constantly fighting. I am tired. I don't have the
strength to go on trying to love you," I continued.
He attempted to slap me, but pulled his hand back when he realized
my hand held a 357 magnum. "No more will I let you abuse
me. No more will I let you treat me as though I'm worthless,"
I said with the gun pointed at his head. Would I have pulled
the trigger? Probably would have. Would I have regretted it?
I do not believe so. I had put up with his beatings for too long.
As fate would have it, Chris died six months later. He was beaten
to death at Manteca Waterslides. When I first heard the news
I was sad, but relieved. No longer would I be treated like a
"punching bag."
Domestic violence is a serious
issue and teenagers go through it as well. It's not only happening
to adults. Oftentimes we mistake this kind of treatment for love,
but like my doctor said, "Love doesn't feel like this."
Love is not black and blue bruises. Love is kind, patient, and
should not be used in vain. Teenagers must know that there are
people out there who could help them, and that they should not
close out their family and friends, who are the ones who truly
love them. I was lucky that GOD took Chris out my life; however,
I realize that everyone is not as lucky as me. Moreover, "you"
cannot wait for God's intervention; "you" must do something
about it immediately. To this day I believe God took him out
my life in order to save my life; that was my blessing in disguise.
Walking
sideways
©2001 Marion Farwell
Walking sideways
in circles
the yellow ginko leaves
Still on quiet ground
a floating world seems forever
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Spring 2001