As I pulled onto the road and out of the neighborhood, I began sobbing. I felt guilty for leaving and relieved that I got out. I mourned the death of my marriage and rejoiced it was over.
Suddenly, it hit me. Ten years had passed since my first marriage ended, and I had somehow married the same man... How did this happen? How did I end up right where I began?
I thought since I'd forgiven my abusers, I had moved on. I figured it was settled, over, and done... But when I start to scratch beneath the surface, I can feel the storm still raging within me. All the issues I've had over the years stem from the aftermath of abuse.
I should have left then. But I didn’t. He had moved us hundreds of miles away from our family and friends. I didn’t know what to do. And I was scared.
He didn't just physically assault me; that happened sporadically. Every day he demolished my spirit, controlled my mind, dug a grave for my self-esteem, and buried me with his words. I became a prisoner to be ruled, an unworthy subject that was handpicked by the king himself, who allowed me to be a part of his kingdom.