What They Said
When we said some words, in front of a minister, before God.
They said
our vows were holy, unbreakable.
I
signed with my life.
When he exploded because I moved furniture in our newlywed
apartment.
They said things
would get better.
I
waited, on eggshells.
When he blamed me for something he had lost and yelled, and
yelled, and yelled
They said I
should not have yelled back.
I
took responsibility for the escalation.
When he soiled everything, did nothing, and my
frustration boiled over
They said I
should respect him.
I could
not, and felt a failure.
When the yelling and fighting and demanding became too much
and I ran away
They said our bond was sacred.
I
went back to him.
When I did not want sex, and he pressured and bullied me
They told me
I needed to love him.
I
drank numbness to satisfy him.
When his abuse became intolerable, and I left the house to
escape
They said
our relationship needed help.
I
kept going through the motions.
When, exhausted, with a newborn, I said no to sex and he
railed all night, relentless
They did not say anything
And
I was too tired to even think of a response.
When I rang the police, to ask if they could stop the
yelling
They said if
he was not hitting me, they could do little.
I
swallowed my pain.
When I ran to my family after yet another argument
They
questioned my communication skills.
I
continued struggling.
When I broke down in Church, begging God for help or
relief
They said I
needed to believe more.
I
prayed harder.
When he worked through our family holiday and we were
without him
We breathed
freely, walked on solid earth
I found
clarity.
When I finally walked away
They questioned
my motives.
I
believed myself.
Kerry Miller