I'm standing in the mirror flat-ironing my hair and as I'm staring at myself, I recall a point in time when I couldn't stand looking at myself in the mirror. I go back to the summer of 2006. The first time a man hit me. I never thought I would be a victim of domestic violence because my mother went through it and I just knew I wouldn't go through that. Well...I did.
He came to my place with a Ziploc bag full of money and a 40 oz. can of beer in a brown bag. He wasn't working and he didn't "hustle" so I asked him where he got the money from.
"My daughter's piggy bank."
"You STOLE from your daughter's piggy bank??"
"No."
Being sarcastic: "So she let you have all her money?"
"NO."
"Then why do you have all of her money?"
"Stop asking me questions."
"But how are you going to steal from your own daughter?"
"I didn't steal it. You better stop saying that."
"Saying what....that you STOLE from your daughter?"
"Constance..."
"What, thief?"
"I didn't steal anything. I'm telling you, you better stop saying that."
"What...that you stole from your daughter?"
"Say that shit one more time."
"Oh...that you STOLE FROM YOUR DAUGHTER?"
*POW*
He punched me in my face. Like in the cartoons, I literally saw stars. No birds, just stars. I landed on the carpet on my steps and I was in complete and utter shock. I couldn't believe this man that I loved actually hit me. Blood landed on my shirt and my hand immediately went to my lip. He busted my lip and my teeth tore the flesh inside my mouth. Tears blinded me as I looked up at him with so much pain and betrayal. He knelt down next to me and began apologizing profusely.
"I am so sorry, Constance. Constance, please, I am so, so sorry."
I just stared at him with my lip that was on fire, blood dripping on my shirt. At that moment, I hated him. With a passion. The man that I loved ended up being the man that I began to despise at that very moment in time. I told him to get the f*** out of my house. He just ignored me and kept apologizing. I allowed him to lift me up off the floor and as soon as I got my bearings, I pushed him away from me and screamed for him to get out my house.
"Constance! Look, man, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it but you kept pushing me...I told you to stop saying that and you just kept on..."
Yes, I did. One, I don't like for a man to tell me what to do when he is in the wrong. I am very sarcastic and when I think you're morally wrong, I tend to come at you in a way that pisses you off. Is that right? Eh, probably not. But somehow, I can't stop myself. However, he was completely wrong for acting the way he did. He was one to never be able to control his temper.
I was slightly disoriented and never thought to call the police. In retrospect, I should have, but being so young and never experiencing that in my life, I was just flabbergasted. My mind shut off.
After a couple of hours of yelling at him to leave, I realized that he wouldn't. He noticed my instant silence and went into my bedroom to grab something. I was frozen from the shock of it all. He comes to me with one of my lingerie outfits.
"Baby, put this on. I'm sorry. I'm gonna make it better. Just put this on and it'll be okay."
I'm so Honey Boo Boo Dumb at this point in my life, that I rationalized that okay, if I did this and give him what he wanted, then he'll leave. Yes, stupid stupid stupid. VERY much so. But that was my thought process at the time. Abruptly, I said, "I'm not putting this on but if you are trying to have sex, c'mon so we can get this over with." And that's what happened.
What happened next was the lowest point I had ever experienced in my life at that time. I laid on the bed like a corpse while I let him have his way with me. I looked at the calendar hanging on my bathroom door. Oh, I looked at the ceiling. Discovered a small crack in the paint. Looked at the corners of the wall. Had to remember to sweep the cobwebs. Looked at the time. Only a couple of minutes passed but I swore the clock was inching along in mockery. He was on top of me grunting and enjoying himself while I looked at everything but him, feeling cheap and used. I felt like I was being raped. I didn't know how he was pleasuring himself because nothing was happening to me down there. No moisture, no anything, just dry. After he was finished, he wiped himself off, put on his clothes and I did the same. He walked to my front door, looked back at me, and said, "I love you. I'll see you later?" Not looking at his eyes, just down at the floor, I closed the door behind him, double locked it, and turned off all the lights. I took a shower and laid in my bed, staring into the darkness. I began to cry. I asked the Lord how did this happen? Where did I go wrong? I cried myself to sleep.
It's so interesting how you can go about your day and something as small as looking into the mirror triggers a memory so vivid, it's like it just happened. The brain works in very interesting ways. It makes for great inspiration, though.
The T-shirt worn during this incident and the dried blood stain that wouldn't come off.
He came to my place with a Ziploc bag full of money and a 40 oz. can of beer in a brown bag. He wasn't working and he didn't "hustle" so I asked him where he got the money from.
"My daughter's piggy bank."
"You STOLE from your daughter's piggy bank??"
"No."
Being sarcastic: "So she let you have all her money?"
"NO."
"Then why do you have all of her money?"
"Stop asking me questions."
"But how are you going to steal from your own daughter?"
"I didn't steal it. You better stop saying that."
"Saying what....that you STOLE from your daughter?"
"Constance..."
"What, thief?"
"I didn't steal anything. I'm telling you, you better stop saying that."
"What...that you stole from your daughter?"
"Say that shit one more time."
"Oh...that you STOLE FROM YOUR DAUGHTER?"
*POW*
He punched me in my face. Like in the cartoons, I literally saw stars. No birds, just stars. I landed on the carpet on my steps and I was in complete and utter shock. I couldn't believe this man that I loved actually hit me. Blood landed on my shirt and my hand immediately went to my lip. He busted my lip and my teeth tore the flesh inside my mouth. Tears blinded me as I looked up at him with so much pain and betrayal. He knelt down next to me and began apologizing profusely.
"I am so sorry, Constance. Constance, please, I am so, so sorry."
I just stared at him with my lip that was on fire, blood dripping on my shirt. At that moment, I hated him. With a passion. The man that I loved ended up being the man that I began to despise at that very moment in time. I told him to get the f*** out of my house. He just ignored me and kept apologizing. I allowed him to lift me up off the floor and as soon as I got my bearings, I pushed him away from me and screamed for him to get out my house.
"Constance! Look, man, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it but you kept pushing me...I told you to stop saying that and you just kept on..."
Yes, I did. One, I don't like for a man to tell me what to do when he is in the wrong. I am very sarcastic and when I think you're morally wrong, I tend to come at you in a way that pisses you off. Is that right? Eh, probably not. But somehow, I can't stop myself. However, he was completely wrong for acting the way he did. He was one to never be able to control his temper.
I was slightly disoriented and never thought to call the police. In retrospect, I should have, but being so young and never experiencing that in my life, I was just flabbergasted. My mind shut off.
After a couple of hours of yelling at him to leave, I realized that he wouldn't. He noticed my instant silence and went into my bedroom to grab something. I was frozen from the shock of it all. He comes to me with one of my lingerie outfits.
"Baby, put this on. I'm sorry. I'm gonna make it better. Just put this on and it'll be okay."
I'm so Honey Boo Boo Dumb at this point in my life, that I rationalized that okay, if I did this and give him what he wanted, then he'll leave. Yes, stupid stupid stupid. VERY much so. But that was my thought process at the time. Abruptly, I said, "I'm not putting this on but if you are trying to have sex, c'mon so we can get this over with." And that's what happened.
What happened next was the lowest point I had ever experienced in my life at that time. I laid on the bed like a corpse while I let him have his way with me. I looked at the calendar hanging on my bathroom door. Oh, I looked at the ceiling. Discovered a small crack in the paint. Looked at the corners of the wall. Had to remember to sweep the cobwebs. Looked at the time. Only a couple of minutes passed but I swore the clock was inching along in mockery. He was on top of me grunting and enjoying himself while I looked at everything but him, feeling cheap and used. I felt like I was being raped. I didn't know how he was pleasuring himself because nothing was happening to me down there. No moisture, no anything, just dry. After he was finished, he wiped himself off, put on his clothes and I did the same. He walked to my front door, looked back at me, and said, "I love you. I'll see you later?" Not looking at his eyes, just down at the floor, I closed the door behind him, double locked it, and turned off all the lights. I took a shower and laid in my bed, staring into the darkness. I began to cry. I asked the Lord how did this happen? Where did I go wrong? I cried myself to sleep.
It's so interesting how you can go about your day and something as small as looking into the mirror triggers a memory so vivid, it's like it just happened. The brain works in very interesting ways. It makes for great inspiration, though.
The Stain
I look at it, this permanent stain
And am reminded of all of the pain.
This splotch created from reasons inane;
Let me take the time and try to explain.
It was the summer of 2006,
The first time I was hit with his fist.
I caught him thieving and he got pissed,
So his fist and my face began to kiss.
I saw bright stars as I hit the floor.
Punched by the man that I chose to adore.
Betrayal dug deep into my very core,
As my face stung and became very sore.
I looked down to see blood on my shirt,
My ACADEMY tee, large and overt.
At that moment, I felt lower than dirt,
Immobilized and shocked from all of the hurt.
The stain of dried blood that won't come out.
I tried so hard; I even used SHOUT.
Hatred for him slowly came about.
Everything about me I began to doubt.
Why keep evidence of a painful past?
That's a question I'm frequently asked.
Violence was sadly part of my life's cast.
That's why it hasn't yet been trashed.
I look at my stain as a love gone wrong,
A stain that contains a sad love song,
A stain that sets off a mental gong,
But the sound of the noise doesn't stay long.
This stain screams of a time of nonsense
When love superseded all common sense.
I have overcome domestic violence
And I no longer live in the defense.
This dried blood blot does not control me.
It is permanent but the pain's temporary.
So now you understand the painful story
Of the stain blazoned upon my old, white tee.
And am reminded of all of the pain.
This splotch created from reasons inane;
Let me take the time and try to explain.
It was the summer of 2006,
The first time I was hit with his fist.
I caught him thieving and he got pissed,
So his fist and my face began to kiss.
I saw bright stars as I hit the floor.
Punched by the man that I chose to adore.
Betrayal dug deep into my very core,
As my face stung and became very sore.
I looked down to see blood on my shirt,
My ACADEMY tee, large and overt.
At that moment, I felt lower than dirt,
Immobilized and shocked from all of the hurt.
The stain of dried blood that won't come out.
I tried so hard; I even used SHOUT.
Hatred for him slowly came about.
Everything about me I began to doubt.
Why keep evidence of a painful past?
That's a question I'm frequently asked.
Violence was sadly part of my life's cast.
That's why it hasn't yet been trashed.
I look at my stain as a love gone wrong,
A stain that contains a sad love song,
A stain that sets off a mental gong,
But the sound of the noise doesn't stay long.
This stain screams of a time of nonsense
When love superseded all common sense.
I have overcome domestic violence
And I no longer live in the defense.
This dried blood blot does not control me.
It is permanent but the pain's temporary.
So now you understand the painful story
Of the stain blazoned upon my old, white tee.
~Constance G.
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