Domestic Violence

I am ugly. I am disfigured. I have multiple scars of all kinds. Late at night when I strip myself of clothes and look in the mirror, I see all sorts of scars. I have multiple cuts on my legs, a big bruise on my thigh, various burned marks on my upper arms, a few lashes on my back and countless cuts all over. I have a broken rib too that no one knows about. It funny how whenever I examine myself I find a new scar. There had been so many incidents... I can’t remember which one caused which scar. Sometimes I look at one and try to remember if it was the blade, or the belt. I don’t remember if it was a cigarette burn or an iron. The memories are blurred but the pain remains.

I cover myself, as much as I can. So that people don’t see these scars—the scars that don’t seem to fade away. Because when they see, they ask about them and I have to make up stories to tell them. And after a while I even forget which story I made up to go with what scar.

You wonder why I always keep my hair down? I am hiding the bit marks on my neck. That night, I remember he almost pulled my hair out of my head and the next morning he woke up and said, “I don’t remember what happened.”

I remember those nights when I’d run. I would run and hide under the closets, under beds, even under the house. I'd cover my ears while silently screaming my prayers. Sometimes I would get lucky and he would forget all about me. Other times he would find me then I’d be in more trouble. So it was an all or nothing sort of a risk I would take.

The problem is, I can hide some scars, but some, I just can’t. Every time I look at the mirror I see the cut mark on my forehead. I still don’t know what it was that he hit me with that night. I blacked out before I could find out.
And then I see those burnt marks on my hands. I still don’t understand why he put his cigarette on my hand. I was so young back then, what could I have possibly done to be punished like that.

I wanted to run away... I wanted to run away.. but I couldn’t. I was too small, and he was too big. He could scare anyone. I was too ashamed and too scared.

But I am ok now. I left eventually. He would have killed me if i had not have left. I am all better now. But I don’t really know how to get rid of these scars. They stay. Usually I ignore them and go on. That’s how it is. I cover them up. I ignore them. And when I need to know just how human I am, I touch them. I look at them. I remember. And if I remember enough, I cry. Then I ignore them again and go on trying to be happy.


note:
i just tried to pen down the emotions of faceless woman who gets beaten up almost everyday..

-omi