I believe in not always forgiving. I was in an extremely abusive relationship for quite awhile. He physically, mentally, and emotionally abused me on a daily basis. I was being tortured and I was in hell. The fear and emotional devastation that I went through is unbelievable to me, even now. I moved to Iowa with him on false pretenses that everything would be different. That he would love all of me and the abuse would stop. I soon realized that he had fooled me into moving 2,000 miles away to isolate me from friends and family. So that I’d have nowhere to run.
On one particular night it had escalated to the point of him almost killing me. We were driving down the highway going home from the grocery store. We were arguing and all of a sudden he punched me in the mouth grabbed me by the head and started slamming it into the passenger window. He was slamming it so hard, I was sure the glass would break. I remember reaching for the door handle and pulling, praying to god that when I jumped someone would see me and would stop to help. But the door wouldn’t open. He kept slamming my head and punching me screaming how horrible I was and how I needed to keep quiet.
When we got home he finally stopped. I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror the person I saw wasn’t me. My face and head were swollen, my lip was swollen, mascara running down my face. At that moment, I promised myself this was the last time. It would never happen again. A few days later I called my mom and told her I needed to come home. I left later that day and went to Tennessee to stay with my aunt and uncle until I got things figured out.
It took a lot for me to leave that September day, but it took a lot more trying to heal. My aunt and uncle took me to church three times a week and I started to pray again. Having faith in something helped me to regain faith in myself. At the end of my hiatus members of the church wished me luck and commented on how much I had changed in the short period of time. I was no longer that scared, insecure, meek girl I was that first Sunday. I was the person I was before meeting him. Funny, outgoing, dynamic. I realized once again that I’m worth something, that I am somebody and I do matter. Maybe not to him, but to a lot of others.
I can and never will forgive him for what he did to me. For the abuse and torture that he put me through. At one point after I had gotten to Tennessee I tried so hard to forgive, tried to make myself believe that I had. But now I realize, that in my eyes this is one of those things that is unforgivable. It’s not a burden not being able to forgive because I now know that I’m ok.