4am my favourite time of the day, the sun about to wake as the moon begins to leave the night sky.
So peaceful as the birds begin to wake up, the air crisp fresh yet not cold and icy, this is the time of the day that is my time.
As I sit here and just breathe, looking out the window as I type, (touch typing comes in handy at times).
Knowing the with the crisp freshness the morning-glory brings with it will come the heat as the morning goes on, summer hits us in Australia almost out of nowhere, one minute you’re wearing long pants and a huge jumper to keep warm the next literally its shorts and singlet tops as you find the on button for every fan in the house and scramble to find the air-conditioning on switch.
Yesterday I found a trigger, yes I do know that I went from heat and how the summer hits to a completely off the page subject.
However yesterday I found myself looking at the reflection of me as I watched this bruised young girl walking into the police station (mind you my cop shop resembles that of an old house, and very rarely has any officers there) country towns for you I guess, (one of many bonus’s that country life has to offer).
I digress, after facing the mirror image of me and hearing the girl speak to the local officer, (nice guy which I never would have thought I would say about any police officer yet somehow out of 1 million arseholes who live on a power trip I met 1 nice police officer, not bad odd’s considering a million to one).
The officer who I can’t and won’t name, was attempting to get this girl all of 20 if that to press charges against her boyfriend for the events that occurred the night before, this girl, small in build, and obviously intimidated embarrassed and scared by the whole police thing and why she had been required to attend the station, was standing in jeans, (fucking heat yesterday for the record was a killer) yet this girl stood in jeans covering the bruises and marks on her legs, and wore a long-sleeved shirt as I remembered how it was that when hiding bruises one wears clothes to cover where one can, make up to lighten the others, and sunglasses most of if not all of the time.
This girl was adamant she did not want to pursue criminal charges for the boyfriends drunken actions the night before, where he had literally driven his car into the driver’s side of hers to prevent her leaving the property.
The officer had explained that he would be being charged with driving under the influence and in some form of reassuring tone in his voice his futile attempts to gain her trust much less get her to charge this guy for the obvious yet silent marks that domestic violence had begun to embed upon her soul was just not about to happen.
The cop could have promised this girl the moon, but she had it in her mind-set that the answer to charging him was no.
This would be my trigger.
This was my mirror image.
I felt her every breath, her heart pounding alongside that massive headache she had from stress, and the lack of sleep from the night before, the argument that would have gone long into the hours after the police left the property and the head fuck this kid had going a million miles per hour through her mind.
Police telling her one thing, scared of the law and what it meant when the police used terms like warrant for her partners arrest due to his drunk and disorderly fashion, words like arrest, watch house, custody and bail all spinning in this poor kids head as she tried to make heads and tails of the whole thing.
Part of me wanted to jump in and help this girl, the professional side of me was screaming at me to do something to assist her, yet the I have been you side of me had me frozen in my tracks.
What gives us the strength to finally say enough when we have finally taken the last hit worn that last bruise, and smelt that stench of beer on his disgusting breath?
When do we finally decide that we are leaving? No more? And actually get out of a situation that outsiders seem to think is so simple?
Those who don’t live it will say ‘if that was me I would be long gone’ or ‘why would you put up with that?’ judging as their eyes cast looks glares, and you find people staring at you in the most unusual manners.
No matter where you live or how huge the city you live in may be, or how small the town you’re in is, everybody around knows what goes on behind your closed doors, they know the screams through the night the banging slamming and smashing sounds that are radiating from within your 4 walls yet they do nothing often they may say in passing if they even bother to talk to you ‘loud party last night?’ as you know that they know those bangs they heard was your body being smashed from wall to wall and that music blasting was no party that music was music he had put on and turned up the volume to mask your screams.
On the odd and I mean odd occasion a neighbour may get fucked off at the noise from the music and call the police, who arrive again at the house warning of the complaint, stating to turn it down, officers only too aware of the situation asking if you’re ok as you reply ‘yes thanks, sorry for the noise we will ensure not to have the music so loud’ as you feel trapped helpless and isolated watching them leave.
Tomorrow you will cover your face with foundation, put on those sun glasses and go about what your routine is, maybe a neighbour will say ‘big night?’ you may mange a half-smile and nod, yet you won’t stop to speak, you put your head down and go about what you have to get done.
He is sorry, so very sorry, he loves you, as he reassure’s you it wont happen again.
His remorse so real, his tears so genuine, as his hand reaches out to your bruised face, you pull away almost like a timid puppy as his hand touches your bruised cheek, swollen jaw, he looks into your eyes and his heartfelt apology is one you know is not real, you wish with all of your heart that his promise of it won’t happen again was a promise he could keep.
Until the next time it happens again.
The yelling will start, the accusations will fly, his temper will boil and you will learn how to block the first punch always somehow missing that second one you don’t see coming, and there you are, back in the cycle of where it all began.
So this was my trigger, as I woke up with my ex’s hands choking me, heart racing as I jumped out of my bed, half awake, trying to remind myself I was home, I was safe, he isn’t here, he can’t hurt me or my babies anymore.
Still wondering what gave me that strength I needed way back then to leave, and not go back, what made me say no more, what gave me the courage to finally charge him?
A question I am guessing I will never know the answering too, it was what it was, as I look back at it to this day those scars still show only now on the inside, the ones on the outside have finally began to heal after 8 years, but there still there, I still see them, the one that is where I had to have my jaw wired because it had been broken has faded into a thin silvery line but I see it every time I put on foundation, the one on my forehead where I wore a glass bottle is still there, yet faded, again I see it, and the pain in my shoulder still reminds me of the night he tore my rotator cuff after holding a gun to my head, and pulling the trigger will always stay with me as the weather changes and the pain sets back in.
A constant reminder of how close I was to leaving, but in a body bag.
We all find strength somewhere within ourselves to finally say no more, sadly many leave it until it’s too late, some will leave situation’s like mine and like this girl who was me 10 years ago, and others will live this life until the vows state ‘death do us part’.