Living in the midst of Domestic Violence is like always walking on egg shells. You learn trigger words but those trigger words seem to change all the time. You learn how to read moods but those seem to change just as quickly. There is not one set of rules. For every situation there is another set of rules. This sounds like a dog chasing its tail and believe me it can be. What worked yesterday will not necessarily work today and so on. Talk about quick thinking and when the answer is wrong, guess what? Eruption.
I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to get some kind of handle on this epidemic. Domestic Violence does not discriminate. If it has touched you in some shape or form you can probably relate to this subject and if you haven’t you don’t know how lucky you are. What many people do not realize is that once it happens to you, you are unlikely to ever forget it. Domestic Violence will leave its mark.
So, your boyfriend has pushed, slapped, or smacked you. Did he also tell you that it was your fault that he did it? Did he tell you how you pushed for a beating? Or maybe he apologized and said how he’d never do it again. All forms of Domestic Violence. It usually starts small. It begins with a push or a shove. Maybe some name calling, (Verbal Abuse) added to the mix. It begins gradually which is how many women get caught in its clutches. You can try to rationalize every move you make but you will never make any sense out of it.
What to do? Get out while you still can. For Immediate Assistance:
National Domestic Violence Hotline:
1-800-733-SAFE (7233) or
1-800-787-3224 (TTY)
National Center for Victims of Crime:
1-800-394-2255
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
It only takes a moment...
It only takes a moment… A single heart stopping moment and tragedy can strike. I have always heard that, have always known that, and last night I lived that. But to think that it had all been avoidable makes it even harder to digest. The price of going on automatic pilot can quite literally cause tragedy to strike.
It began as an ordinary day. I got up, took care of the pups, showered and went to work. Another ordinary day at work. But there was a difference; around noon my blood sugar must have nosedived as I got the shakes big time. I ate lunch and grabbed some candy to stop the shakiness. I went home, took out the pups in the yard, and played a game of baby (ball) with Chase and Chelsea. I don’t know how Chase had injured his back paw but he had been limping a little but other than that I just thought he needed to walk it off. I go back to work, come home, and start dinner. Chelsea was underfoot but whenever there is food Chelsea is underfoot. I checked on Chase quickly and spotted him in his bed right under the computer. There was nothing unusual about that. I go about preparing dinner happy in the fact that Tom and I can have some alone time as the kids are working.
I have everything almost ready when Tom gets in. I freeze when I hear, “What is wrong with Chase, he can’t stand up.” He could not put his weight on his back foot. You know me with my hotline numbers. I know we will be going to the vet tonight. I get on the phone with the vet and we have an appointment in an hour. You know those are usually the longest hours of your life.
By this time we wolf down dinner and I carry Chase out to the car. Anyone who knows us knows how Chase dislikes the vet with a passion and almost always works himself into a tailspin when we go.
The doctor sees him and thank God it’s nothing serious. Chase will be put on an anti-inflammatory pill and needs to stay off the foot. I take care of the bill while Tom takes Chase outside and then we head for home.
Once at home and that’s where things go awry. By awry I mean a tragedy almost happened. Jackie had already prepared Chase’s meal and I wanted to get the pill into him ASAP. Rushing around I grab the pill bottle from my bag and head to the kitchen where I get a piece of bologna from the fridge and toss in the pill as well as Chase’s ¼ pill (Cosequin) which is glucosamine for dogs.
Chase has finished dinner and while I am getting ready to head out the door for my three mile walk I reach for my handbag. Usually I just toss it into my gym bag but instead I reach inside and pull out a bottle of pills. I look at the green bottle in a state of shock as I race for the kitchen where Chase’s meds are kept in a Mukasa candy dish on the table and my heart hit the floor. In with his meds is one of my bottles of pills. If you could understand for the briefest of seconds how my heart felt as though it had stopped. I had given Chase one of my Ibuprofen pills. To say I freaked out would be an understatement for the way I reacted. I got the vet’s office on the phone and was told by one of the girls that all the doctors were gone for the evening. Not what I wanted to hear. I knew what needed to be done. Chase needed to throw up that pill but I needed to know how to make him do that. The young girl gave me the number of the emergency vet which was a couple of towns away. I was afraid there wouldn’t be time. This woman who answered the phone was the sweetest woman I have spoken to in a long time. She knew how distraught I was. She knew the guilt I felt without me saying it aloud though I did, more than once. I didn’t have time to feel devastated by what I had done. I had to make it right.
Her name is Cathy, and she talked me through the whole ordeal. Jackie was running for the hydrogen peroxide, which I didn’t know if we had any. I was to give Chase ½ tablespoon and wait five minutes. If he didn’t vomit, I could repeat that process. My hands were shaking so bad that I spilled at least ¼ cup all over the kitchen table. Chase was fighting me tooth and nail. He didn’t want to take the peroxide, not that I blamed him. But this was life or death and I forced it down his throat. Cathy, bless her heart, was on the phone with us the entire time. She said it wasn’t going to be a pretty job but I had to look for that pill carefully when the contents of what was in his belly came up. This was my pup I would have no problem doing what needed to be done to save his life. And not even a minute later, which seemed an eternity, Chase gave up dinner all over the kitchen floor. Tom held him still, while Jackie stood by. I was on the floor and thank God on the bottom of the pile there was that blessed piece of bologna with both pills still wrapped tightly inside and completely intact.
A little while later I sat on the couch with Chase cradled in my arms the gym long forgotten. At that point in time the only thing that mattered to me was the fact that Chase would be all right.
I still couldn’t believe how careless I had been. I was angry with myself so no one had to tell me how I screwed up because I already knew it. All it takes is a split second. Your life can change in a split second because of stupidity. And this had to be stupidity at its finest. Chase has forgiven me; the problem is that I haven’t forgiven myself.
Thinking about it all in retrospect I cringe but what really stands out well beyond the fact that it was a careless thing to do is the fact that usually I toss my handbag into my gym bag and just head out to the gym. What made me reach into my handbag a second time? There wasn’t any reason for me to do so; there was nothing I needed at that moment. I know it was God leading me by the hand to find that bottle of pills otherwise I would have gotten a call from Tom that wouldn’t have been pretty because had we not caught this in time there was no doubt in my mind that Chase would not have made it. So why did I reach into my handbag a second time? Beyond the shadow of a doubt it was God showing me the horrible mistake I had made. Sometimes we have an intuition or a feeling or a vibe and we just shrug it off. Maybe we just need to be still for a moment and let God lead us.
This morning when I gave Chase his pills he wasn’t falling for the bologna bit. He knew there were pills in that bologna and he spit them out along with the bologna. When people say that dogs don’t remember they don’t know what they are talking about. Chase remembers the details clearly so now I think I might have to switch from bologna to chicken and quite honestly I know there won’t be a problem with that choice of meat as Chase loves chicken.
It began as an ordinary day. I got up, took care of the pups, showered and went to work. Another ordinary day at work. But there was a difference; around noon my blood sugar must have nosedived as I got the shakes big time. I ate lunch and grabbed some candy to stop the shakiness. I went home, took out the pups in the yard, and played a game of baby (ball) with Chase and Chelsea. I don’t know how Chase had injured his back paw but he had been limping a little but other than that I just thought he needed to walk it off. I go back to work, come home, and start dinner. Chelsea was underfoot but whenever there is food Chelsea is underfoot. I checked on Chase quickly and spotted him in his bed right under the computer. There was nothing unusual about that. I go about preparing dinner happy in the fact that Tom and I can have some alone time as the kids are working.
I have everything almost ready when Tom gets in. I freeze when I hear, “What is wrong with Chase, he can’t stand up.” He could not put his weight on his back foot. You know me with my hotline numbers. I know we will be going to the vet tonight. I get on the phone with the vet and we have an appointment in an hour. You know those are usually the longest hours of your life.
By this time we wolf down dinner and I carry Chase out to the car. Anyone who knows us knows how Chase dislikes the vet with a passion and almost always works himself into a tailspin when we go.
The doctor sees him and thank God it’s nothing serious. Chase will be put on an anti-inflammatory pill and needs to stay off the foot. I take care of the bill while Tom takes Chase outside and then we head for home.
Once at home and that’s where things go awry. By awry I mean a tragedy almost happened. Jackie had already prepared Chase’s meal and I wanted to get the pill into him ASAP. Rushing around I grab the pill bottle from my bag and head to the kitchen where I get a piece of bologna from the fridge and toss in the pill as well as Chase’s ¼ pill (Cosequin) which is glucosamine for dogs.
Chase has finished dinner and while I am getting ready to head out the door for my three mile walk I reach for my handbag. Usually I just toss it into my gym bag but instead I reach inside and pull out a bottle of pills. I look at the green bottle in a state of shock as I race for the kitchen where Chase’s meds are kept in a Mukasa candy dish on the table and my heart hit the floor. In with his meds is one of my bottles of pills. If you could understand for the briefest of seconds how my heart felt as though it had stopped. I had given Chase one of my Ibuprofen pills. To say I freaked out would be an understatement for the way I reacted. I got the vet’s office on the phone and was told by one of the girls that all the doctors were gone for the evening. Not what I wanted to hear. I knew what needed to be done. Chase needed to throw up that pill but I needed to know how to make him do that. The young girl gave me the number of the emergency vet which was a couple of towns away. I was afraid there wouldn’t be time. This woman who answered the phone was the sweetest woman I have spoken to in a long time. She knew how distraught I was. She knew the guilt I felt without me saying it aloud though I did, more than once. I didn’t have time to feel devastated by what I had done. I had to make it right.
Her name is Cathy, and she talked me through the whole ordeal. Jackie was running for the hydrogen peroxide, which I didn’t know if we had any. I was to give Chase ½ tablespoon and wait five minutes. If he didn’t vomit, I could repeat that process. My hands were shaking so bad that I spilled at least ¼ cup all over the kitchen table. Chase was fighting me tooth and nail. He didn’t want to take the peroxide, not that I blamed him. But this was life or death and I forced it down his throat. Cathy, bless her heart, was on the phone with us the entire time. She said it wasn’t going to be a pretty job but I had to look for that pill carefully when the contents of what was in his belly came up. This was my pup I would have no problem doing what needed to be done to save his life. And not even a minute later, which seemed an eternity, Chase gave up dinner all over the kitchen floor. Tom held him still, while Jackie stood by. I was on the floor and thank God on the bottom of the pile there was that blessed piece of bologna with both pills still wrapped tightly inside and completely intact.
A little while later I sat on the couch with Chase cradled in my arms the gym long forgotten. At that point in time the only thing that mattered to me was the fact that Chase would be all right.
I still couldn’t believe how careless I had been. I was angry with myself so no one had to tell me how I screwed up because I already knew it. All it takes is a split second. Your life can change in a split second because of stupidity. And this had to be stupidity at its finest. Chase has forgiven me; the problem is that I haven’t forgiven myself.
Thinking about it all in retrospect I cringe but what really stands out well beyond the fact that it was a careless thing to do is the fact that usually I toss my handbag into my gym bag and just head out to the gym. What made me reach into my handbag a second time? There wasn’t any reason for me to do so; there was nothing I needed at that moment. I know it was God leading me by the hand to find that bottle of pills otherwise I would have gotten a call from Tom that wouldn’t have been pretty because had we not caught this in time there was no doubt in my mind that Chase would not have made it. So why did I reach into my handbag a second time? Beyond the shadow of a doubt it was God showing me the horrible mistake I had made. Sometimes we have an intuition or a feeling or a vibe and we just shrug it off. Maybe we just need to be still for a moment and let God lead us.
This morning when I gave Chase his pills he wasn’t falling for the bologna bit. He knew there were pills in that bologna and he spit them out along with the bologna. When people say that dogs don’t remember they don’t know what they are talking about. Chase remembers the details clearly so now I think I might have to switch from bologna to chicken and quite honestly I know there won’t be a problem with that choice of meat as Chase loves chicken.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
October is Domestic Violence Awareness
Domestic Violence in a nutshell…
Only turtles live in a shell. So do battered women. For years I’ve tried to understand how I had lived in one of those shells. I tried to remember exactly when it had happened, and I couldn’t. I can only say that it didn’t happen overnight. If it had I would have seen it coming.
Sometimes I find myself deep in thought, going back to another place in time. Many of these memories or flashbacks seem muddled, almost as though seeing them through a hazy fog. They can be surreal but I know that they happened. At first I would minimize the abuse. “Did it really happen that way?” I would question myself. “Did he really have his hands around my throat while squeezing the breath out of me?” The problem with many of these questions is simply this; I wouldn’t do this to someone I hated (strong word) never mind someone I claimed to love. To this day, almost twenty years later, I still have a hard time comprehending this. For the life of me, it eludes me. And that was the bottom line, in order to save my life, I had to leave. I had run out of choices because sooner or later this man was going to kill me.
If, as you are reading this, you cannot comprehend such a thing happening, I would consider you fortunate. The sad reality is that one out of four women can relate to some kind of relationship violence. This epidemic is soaring out of control and seems uncontainable. What happens in your home stays in your home. Not if it can kill you!
After the initial beating he seems genuinely sorry. He may even shed some tears and this is where many women weaken. If he agrees to get help and goes through on the promise to get that help your relationship may be salvageable. I won’t say that people cannot change but they have to want to change. Paying lip service to this change is not good enough. He needs to go through with it. We tend to leave it there until the next time the violence erupts. Next time it may be too late.I thought if people knew about my situation they would look at me differently. Some did and some knew that something was wrong though they didn’t know what it was at the time. And there were other people that knew damned well what was going on. These people can help you but initially you need to step up to the plate and accept that help. It won’t be easy but in order to save your life you’ll need to make the stand. To say once you walk out that door your problems will be history is a lie but the rock on your chest will be lifted. What you need to realize is that once you make the decision to free yourself from this disease you will thrive. You will realize that you are stronger than you ever thought possible. Every day is another step in the direction of becoming independent. One day you will be able to look back and say that although those were some pretty bleak times that you are a survivor and being a survivor and not a statistic has made you the person you are today. Tell your story, because in turn it may save someone’s life.
Only turtles live in a shell. So do battered women. For years I’ve tried to understand how I had lived in one of those shells. I tried to remember exactly when it had happened, and I couldn’t. I can only say that it didn’t happen overnight. If it had I would have seen it coming.
Sometimes I find myself deep in thought, going back to another place in time. Many of these memories or flashbacks seem muddled, almost as though seeing them through a hazy fog. They can be surreal but I know that they happened. At first I would minimize the abuse. “Did it really happen that way?” I would question myself. “Did he really have his hands around my throat while squeezing the breath out of me?” The problem with many of these questions is simply this; I wouldn’t do this to someone I hated (strong word) never mind someone I claimed to love. To this day, almost twenty years later, I still have a hard time comprehending this. For the life of me, it eludes me. And that was the bottom line, in order to save my life, I had to leave. I had run out of choices because sooner or later this man was going to kill me.
If, as you are reading this, you cannot comprehend such a thing happening, I would consider you fortunate. The sad reality is that one out of four women can relate to some kind of relationship violence. This epidemic is soaring out of control and seems uncontainable. What happens in your home stays in your home. Not if it can kill you!
After the initial beating he seems genuinely sorry. He may even shed some tears and this is where many women weaken. If he agrees to get help and goes through on the promise to get that help your relationship may be salvageable. I won’t say that people cannot change but they have to want to change. Paying lip service to this change is not good enough. He needs to go through with it. We tend to leave it there until the next time the violence erupts. Next time it may be too late.I thought if people knew about my situation they would look at me differently. Some did and some knew that something was wrong though they didn’t know what it was at the time. And there were other people that knew damned well what was going on. These people can help you but initially you need to step up to the plate and accept that help. It won’t be easy but in order to save your life you’ll need to make the stand. To say once you walk out that door your problems will be history is a lie but the rock on your chest will be lifted. What you need to realize is that once you make the decision to free yourself from this disease you will thrive. You will realize that you are stronger than you ever thought possible. Every day is another step in the direction of becoming independent. One day you will be able to look back and say that although those were some pretty bleak times that you are a survivor and being a survivor and not a statistic has made you the person you are today. Tell your story, because in turn it may save someone’s life.
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