He spieled the threats
Not skipping a step
Got up in my face
With promises to hit.
Didn’t back down
Acted a clown
He lost his wig
And blew a fuse
A ticking time bomb
His mind is loose
Left me worse than bruised.
Real growth and healing comes from understanding where WE as the individual go wrong in situations. That’s called accountability. I know where I went wrong that night but do you know where you went wrong?
He’ll never hear my responsibilities taken unless he’s willing to take his.
“He rushed me, hoping to punch my glasses into my face hard enough that they would shatter in my eyes. Days before, he’d kept speaking about an incident he experienced where a woman had her glasses shattered in her eyes. I never once thought that he’d carry intentions like that for me.”
“After he punched me straight on, I fell back onto the ground. Stunned, it took me a moment to sit back up. He stood over me waiting to see if I was going to sit back up or stay down.”
“The moment I sat back up. He rushed back in. I screamed for help in this moment and that made him so angry, he grabbed my arms hard, picked me up and threw me onto the bed. He proceeded to punch me. Not once, not twice. Not a handful, More than a dozen, more than multiple…he unloaded.”
Punching, slapping, kneeing , kicking and yes… a bite.
A black belt in Teakwondo, he illegally exerted lethal force on a petite woman.
After the 60th punch to my face and head, I felt my face split open and blood dribbling down. He saw that blood and started hitting harder. Continuing on to split open the top of my head. Blood began gushing.
He dug his legs into my inner thighs and began to choke me. He started slapping and backhanding my face back and forth. He leaned over and started to bite my left arm while still holding his firm grip around my neck and in doing so, caused me to begin losing consciousness, gasping for air. He let go once he realized I was choking but continued punching me all over my body, my ribs, my stomach, and my sides. Finally, I managed to wriggle out from under his knee, dislocating my hip in the process. I kneed him in the crotch twice then grabbed his crotch as hard as possible, hoping to inhibit him enough to make him stop and attempted to punch him back in self defense. You can’t defend yourself against a black belt not with how badly he wanted to hurt me. He stopped for a moment and I turned around and tried to run. He didn’t like that idea so he punch my spine, causing my entire body to cringe in pain. He unleashed more punches, to the back side of my head and body. He then grabbed me and threw me off the bed and back to the floor. At that point, I felt myself slipping. So much that I stated. “I think I’m dying.” He yelled, “Good I hoping you fucking die, I’ll finish you off right now!” In that moment I knew he wanted to kill me and I closed my eyes bunkering. Thinking this is it. Is this where I die? I began to fade out But something struck me back. I opened my eyes again to his steel toe sketcher shoe in motion directed towards kicking my left rib. Just in that moment, a neighbor knocked and yelled through the door, is everything okay?! The cops are on the way.” By the sheer grace of god he froze mid kick and backed off. He walked to the door and stood in front of it.
There is no spot on my head left untouched by his punches.
I disorient-ally sat up, then stood. After a few moments he looked at me, and his face changed. He held up his arms and said, “Cone here!!”
I backed away in fear. “Nope. Uh uh.” I shook my head fearfully. With the instant thought of “So you can finish me off?” He crouched his shoulders, moved away from the door, walked to the bed, leaned over in defeat and put his head down. I ran as fast as I could to that door, stumbling but I made it. As I got outside, the complex manager held me there, and watched him as he fleed.
That night, I was left with a split open face and head, busted eyes and face, split lip, dislocated hip, two broken fingers and a fractured rib with many bruises and welts all over my head, body, legs, back, ribs and a gnarly bite make on my arm.
And an ex fiancée who carries no remorse for what he did. Who doesn’t feel bad for what he did. Through his gaslights, has expressed how happy he is that he he did it.
A man who’d rather face legal issues than clear the air.
He knows what he did to me. He knows he tried to take a life. Until he accepts it, he will be the demon, the monster and the villain of his own story for the rest of his life. Just like all those other girls he abused, used, mistreated, manipulated and played …. The ones he always blamed for the problems in his life. He will continue living a life where everything he gets himself involved in will be everyone else’s fault. Hence, never healing. Never growing. Never learning. Happiness fleeting. That in itself will be the tragedy of his life.
Maybe if he actually cared about someone instead of lying about caring for them, he’d actually clear air and take responsibility for something in his life. Maybe then he’d be able to move forward in productive way.
I’ll never take him back, not after he laid his hands on on me. That’s a death sentence to me.
I’ll definitely move forward in good spirits towards him, having heard that apology and cleared air.
What he doesn’t realize is: I don’t tell my story because I’m still caught up on him or not over it, I tell my story because I went through it, I survived it and I overcame it.
“The moment you are able to tell your story without pain or emotions controlling you, or fear of expressing it, is the moment you know you’ve healed.”
If he doesn’t want me talking about it, he should step up and talk to me about it.