I cooked the pork loin too dry one day, so he wrapped his hand around my neck, moved it up the back of my head, and forced it toward the loin. He wanted me to eat it like a dog would eat from a dish. I burned my chin and cheek on the pyrex dish. When I refused to eat, he crushed my hand in a kitchen drawer. I still dont have any feeling in the side of my right index finger. He pulled out patches of hair from my head, and I begged to be left alone. He added locks on the doors to the kind that have to be unlocked from the inside, and did not give me a key. Then he left. I sat and stared all evening at a block of kitchen knives, mascara running, tears involuntarily chafing my face and neck, amid piles of my own precious mane that was violently ripped from my head. That was years ago, and my story ends happily, but I probably wont stop talking about this any time soon. Why? Because the system was of absolutely no help to me. I am hoping this dialogue is going to create something useful to help women safely get out. #whyistayed
Posted on: Fri, 19 Sep 2014 15:23:17 +0000