As I sit looking out my dining room window. Watching the snow falling fast, covering the ground with a white fluffy blanket. A vivid picture comes to my mind, of a bright eyed, blonde haired, little girl sitting on my bed. Listening to my Daddy read me the story of Cinderella. I got so excited when Cinderella and her prince lived happy ever after. I believed in fairy tales, with princes in shiny armor and happy ever after.

At 18 years of age, I married a man that I loved and believed in with all my heart. Like a prince in the fairy tales, this man couldn’t possibly do anything wrong in our marriage. My prince in shiny armor out of a fairy tale became a monster in rusted armor from my worst nightmare.

I was always an independent girl, who made her own decisions and did anything I wanted as long as I believed that I could. Once he came into my life I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere or do anything unless he was there, to watch over me, like an eagle watches over its prey. He began to tell me how to dress, act and what to do; if I was caught doing different I was “Punished”, as he would call it. I became a tortured hostage, and his obedient slave.

One evening I stood and watched everything I worked my life to achieve or held of personal value go up in flames. All my gymnastic medals, track and softball trophies, all my paintings and art supplies; were there burning before my eyes. Tears started to run down my face, but after awhile I was able to hold them back. This vicious man was not going to see the hurt show on the outside ever again. I began to build a brick wall. Everything that said “Who” or “What” I was is now a pile of ash.

I was like a high-spirited horse that has been “Broke”. I was always a high-spirited girl, who did the opposite I was told. All the confidence and self- esteem that I was taught to have while I was growing up was slowly beaten out of me. I became the passive person who took commands. I hated that person I had become, because I couldn’t do what I wanted.

I was never one to run from my problems. Giving up was not my style. But for the first time in my life I wanted to run, I needed to give up. And every time I ran he would find me. And when he did, he would first grab but my daughter Megan, who was a 5 month old angel who never did anything wrong to anyone, and he used her as a pawn in his selfish game of control. I had no choice but to go back, I wouldn’t see Megan again if I didn’t. And I would rather have died than to of lost my precious baby. She was my every existence.

From a strong willed, strong-minded girl in high school, I became emotionally off balance. How emotionally off balance would you be if you walked on egg shells, 24 hours a day and every time you broke one you got knocked across the floor? I became frightened for my daughter’s, my unborn child’s, and my own life, and believe it or not even his life. It was as if I could feel the breaking point coming.

I had to escape, and I knew it would probably cost me my life, but what choice did I have left? A lot of obstacles stood in my way; the doors padlocked, when he retired to bed, the windows were nailed shut, the phone and a loaded shot gun was kept by his side of the bed, just incase I tried anything. So I knew it couldn’t be planned out. It would have to be a spur of the moment, leap for freedom. But doubt began to set in my mind. Could I make it?

I found the opportunity after he’d returned home from partying all night with friends, he’d pass out on the bed. I waited for what seemed like the longest hour of my life. I then went into the room, my hand shaking and my stomach turning flips. I shook him as hard as I could, to see if he would wake up. When he didn’t waken I picked up the phone and called my father. My parents and I cleaned house that night; we only left the bed he was sleeping on. I was finally Free!

As I was growing up nothing scared me, not even snakes and bugs. Now I‘ve become a paranoid person, afraid of her own shadow. I had to keep looking over my shoulders, fearing for my life. I knew at any second he could appear out of nowhere. This caused my children and myself to stay in hiding for 5 years. The bruises and broken bones are healed, but my emotional state of mind has stayed the same. I am still a defensive, mistrusting person. And am afraid of the next man who would hurt me!

It’s been 8 years now, and I’ve gotten most of my life straighten back around again. I can’t call myself a survivor, because I’m still surviving. As I sit with my daughters; Megan (9), Charity (8), laughing, giggling, while I read a fairy tale. I see their bright cheerful eyes full of dreams, and hopes of their future. I for a moment I drifted off, thinking to myself. I can only hope, like any other parent, that all their dreams of princes and happy endings, come true.

Fireeyes24 1990