- TRIGGER WARNING -
This article contains personal memories about domestic violence and sexual assault, which may be triggering to read for survivors.
"This is what you want right?" he screams. "To see me in pain. That's what you want. You like seeing me in pain!"
He's punching his own face in front of me.
"Me-in-pain", he groans, punching his cheeks with every word he says. "You-don't-love-me! You-don't-love-me! This-is-what-I-would-love-to-do-to-you-right-now."
I don't know where to go. I try to run away, but he runs at me and grabs my throat.
I don't know how to make it stop. Is this the night I can never get back from? Is this how it all ends? His movements are fast. My body feels empty. I can hear him, but it's as if I'm watching the scene from above. I hear him call me a whore. A slut. A cunt. Because I didn't want to. Because I didn't want to. He describes what he wants to do with me. He tells me he wishes I was dead. That he was dead. That we both were dead. He says he will kill himself. He says it will be my fault. He says everything is my fault. He tells me I deserve this. Everything goes fast. The world never stops. Neither does the violence. I just cry. I cry. I cry.
"Kill me," he says. "I want you to kill me!"
There's a knife in front of me now.
I don't understand how we got from me not wanting to have sex because I felt sick, to this. Morally, I don't understand it. Logically, sadly, I do. The man in front of me is deranged. Rejection for him turns into violence. I understand the pattern now. He humiliates me when he feels unloved. He hurts me when he feels unloved. The only problem? Nobody would believe me, if I would tell. I tried to tell his parents, but they refused to believe me. It's as if I'm invisible. Why am I so weak? Why can I not make people believe me, and get help?
He holds te knife in front of me. All I can do is cry. I've seen the knife before and it feels like today is going to be the last time I will ever see it. I'm scared. I feel pathetic. Empty. I don't understand many things in this world anymore. Why am I even here? How did I end up in this situation? Why do those who should care not believe or protect me without evidence? Do I need to die before they do? Is that the sacrifice I have to make?
My brain is is calculating all my options. Can I run? I can't. If I would try to escape now, I would have to face him with my back. He has a knife, I have nothing. Running away isn't an option. What do I do? What the fuck do I do? I've calculated all my options, listened to all my thoughts. There's only one that makes the most sense of them all: I need to survive this.
"I WANT YOU TO KILL ME," he screams while shaking the knife. "Do it!"
I hear the words he calls me: whore, slut, bitch. All because I rejected him.
Because he feels unloved.
Nobody would believe me.
Not without evidence.
I know, because that's what they told me:
"Why didn't you record anything?"
"You don't have evidence, kill yourself."
I need people to believe me to survive this while I don't believe in anything anymore. Is there any point at all? Everything seems pointless now.
The only hope I have left, is a little device hiding behind a cushion.
I pray my phone has recorded everything. That's what they told me to do. I can't get near it now, so all I can do is hope that this time, it captured the evidence. The violence has been going on for hours, but I pray to every god out there, that the phone caught most of it.
Because right now, there's only one thing I can do to stop him from hurting himself, or me.
I feel a darkness enter my body, that mutes out everything I feel.
I feel my eyes are still crying, but those tears are just my body's reaction.
My mind, is far away.
I can hear my voice speak and it sounds like an echo: the defense mechanism that's rooted deep inside me, known to trigger the fight-flight-and-freeze response, has taken over.
Now, I am nothing but the system.
The empty vessel that is surviving on ancient technology, coded deep inside my DNA.
I am not human anymore.
I am the machine.