Teela Hart

Surviving Domestic Violence


51 Comments

The Bat Cave Is Calling


Returning home from a much needed vacation literally hurt. I didn’t want to come home to more bullshit. It was a challenge to pull into the driveway and walk into my home knowing that I would be met with a barrage of phone calls and drop by’s from *John*. I didn’t expect the kind of reception that would cause alarm. I did expect the wearing down to be continuous and irritating.

***

I’d gone shopping for some much-needed groceries and such and returned to *John* standing in the driveway. My daughter, sitting on the tailgate of his worn down, dirty ass truck with her back to him crying her eyes out sent my heart and mind into immediate overdrive, my breathing stopped for a bit and every lick of spit dried up instantaneously. My hands, shaking like a leaf in the wind, ripped the keys from the ignition and my rubbery legs propelled me from my Jeep like nobody’s business. My mind had a little trouble catching up to my actions but I just went with it and approached the situation with wide-eyed apprehension. I can’t recall what I had in my hand but I directed my daughter, I will call her *Mary*, to take it inside effectively freeing her from his onslaught and placing myself in his crosshairs. I noticed her friend sitting in her car parked at the curb as I watched my daughter go safely inside the house.

***

What is happening here? What is he doing? What did I do with my mace? I need to get it and the knife NOW! His words seemed muffled and almost incomprehensible. I caught phrases like “I can’t believe you are doing this to me” and “all the times I took care of you”. The thing that really got me going was the look that I saw in his eyes. That ‘taken over by a demon’ look and he was charging toward me like a bull. Me dying in the driveway, in front God and everybody played in my mind and ‘fight or flight’ made it’s natural progression only this time ‘fight’ reared its head instead of flight. I made one or two steps back, held up the mace and told him in no uncertain terms that he’d better step back or I would put him down and then stomp the shit out of him. He wisely took my advice. God only knows what would have happened if he hadn’t. I’m just glad he did.

At some point in all the ruckus I thought to myself that if he did kill me it would be in front of God and everybody and he would at least go to jail for it. Not the best thinkin’ in the world I know, but my thoughts nonetheless.

***

Every day since that one has been a challenge and I’m sharing this because I need to. I’ve been in touch with the shelter. I’m getting all my ducks in a row. The kids and I have once again revisited safety precautions and emergency guidelines in the event of another surprise attack.

What have I learned?

My children and I cannot afford to drop our guard.

What do I want?

I want to answer the call of the bat cave and retreat to tangible safety.

Thanks for listening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


29 Comments

Blackest of Black


black hole

 

The blackest of black

The darkest of hell

It seemed to me

I would never prevail

Smoke from his nares

Breath of his soul

Bit just another

Blood gushing hole

The stairway to heaven

Far removed

’til I tripped over the devil

And landed at his stool

Winds rushed forth

As I looked to the sky

A shimmering hope

I’m not gonna die.


46 Comments

I Moved On


My bare skin pressed into the unyielding, cold steel of an uncertain world. Nothing to cover the nakedness but a thin veil of shame, my eyes rejected the evil that so desperately coveted the death of my soul. I could smell the color of his vile presence, the stench of green vapor hypnotized and paralyzed.

green vapor

green vapor

The scent of a vulgar haze of hatred streamed from his nostrils. His eyes smelled black, soulless, and empty. His lips held the odor of a parched desert as waterfalls of perdition flowed unhindered. Moments before he fled to the abyss, his viscous carcass further depressed me into the resistant steel of this world I had come to know.

His presence retreated, however, his color persisted and my eyes remained unmoved.

A faint sound in the distance permeated the air, a sweet sound of people talking, laughing, and living. I had to find them in the world unknown to me. My overwhelming desire to find them, to beg them for help, to plead for mercy would override the evil that lurked. Covered with the thin veil of shame I made my way toward the sound in the world beyond my own. I turned the knob opened the door and screamed for help, however, my pleas went unanswered.

Therefore, I moved on.


40 Comments

Hell Is Too Good For You!!!!!!!!


Faded denim jeans, black T, work boots and an Allman Brother’s cap fit like a glove to his 6′ frame. With a god-like stride, he strutted the halls, the kitchen, and the bedrooms all the while barking orders like a dog strait out of hell. “Git yur shit packed, everythin’, I don’t wana see anything lef’ within viewing distance.”

M, my daughter, inconsolable, gathered her clothes, stuffed animals, and any toys she could manage to carry  Her “I love Daddy” t-shirt stained with spaghetti sauce and matching shorts crumpled and  wet with tears stuck to her little body.  R, trembling, tears tracing the creases in his strained face obeyed, no questions asked. Their hearts ripped from their chests, their trust forever broken they made their way to the living room and awaited further instruction. They cried, begged and pleaded with Jon to let them stay, however, their pleas had no effect on Jon’s stone cold heart.

“Now git out.” Disbelief consumed my oldest son who had been staying with us at the time. He helped the children 11 and 9 years old. Carey glanced over at Jon and Jon gave him a little smirk. My son ignored him and continued to the car that he had finally loaded with everything they owned.  In the matter of a moment he nonchalantly approached the car.

“Get outta that fuckin’ car, unpack yur shit, and let that be a lesson to ya.  Without me you ain’t nothin’ and you ain’t got nothin’.

At the time, I was at the Domestic Violence Center gathering every  little bit and piece of information I could to plan my escape. I had no idea this had taken place until a few days ago.

hell

hell

I am convinced hell wouldn’t even have this sorry excuse for a human. I’m not even sure that son-of-a-bitch is human at all and I am certain hell would be too good for him.


42 Comments

The Next Step


I decided, after three (or more) days of self- loathing, mindless distraction and fear (self-imposed and otherwise), that I would venture out from the confines of my cozy corner.

I discerned a distinct lift in my spirit, listening to Vivaldi’s “Winter” as I began putting away, picking up, rearranging, dusting, sweeping and mopping. Oblivious to anything else, it felt good, right, and free.

A knock at the door, my son running down the hall, and a slightly sinking feeling ended my harmony. Jon was at the door. I suppose, since the restraining order had timed out, he felt he could stop by any time he pleased.

I maintained, I think, as he stood at the door while every thought you can possibly imagine crushed my mind. He had decided to lighten the proverbial load with a menial monetary donation out of the goodness of his heart and look in on the children. (As if)

Refusing to make eye contact, I stared down at my feet and asked him if he had tried to call first. My insides vibrated; I held the doorknob tightly to brace myself just in case the quaking decided to seep into his view. I took in a long, unhurried, breath. I couldn’t give him a glimpse of the storm going on inside my body as well as my mind. The door closed behind him. At first, I thought I’d done pretty well under the circumstances.

Out of nowhere, like a slow winter approaching, my hearing muffled, tunnel vision replaced peripheral, I could feel my body growing cold as the blood literally drained from the top down.

I sat on the bed; huge bullets of liquid terror formed on my face and I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. Shortly after, I regained my composure only to realize the dread growing in my belly.

I should’nt have been so curt. He is going to ‘get me back’ for that little tort. Maybe I should call him back and clarify. Maybe I should apologize. What is he going to do? How will he take it?

Even now, as I type this very post, I’m debating, hoping to stay a controlled, violated and blemished mind. I have somehow landed right back where I started today.  Cautious of every next step, I take it anyway.

Eagle's Wings


20 Comments

Why does she stay?


I’ve heard the statement, “if my husband laid a hand on me I would be out the door,” or some other similar statement.
Full of self confidence and naivety, I’ve made that statement myself.

On gathering the bricks and mortar to build my new foundation, I discovered a question I’d never noticed before.

“How can we possibly leave?”    -Linda A. Osmundson

I hadn’t realized it until today that following one disastrous failure that nearly ended my life; sprawled out on Eagle’s wings I soared.

I have chosen today to thank God for that ability because for 19 years it escaped my grasp by many treacherous miles.   -Me