I'd rather be alone ...

A Kind of Love, Some Say
by Maya Angelou

Is it true the ribs can tell
The kick of a beat from a 
Lover's fist? The bruised
Bones recorded well
the sudden shock, the
Hard impact. Then swollen lids,
Sorry eyes, spoke not
Of lost romance, but hurt.

Hate often is confused. Its
Limits are in zones beyond itself. And
Sadists will  not learn that
Love by nature, exacts a pain
Unequalled on the rack.

I used to be one of those women who wondered why some women stayed in abusive relationships. I used to wonder, why don't they leave. Then I saw these women in new eyes.

My eyes were not battered or bruised, but they were emotionally swollen shut. Closed to ugly words, and manipulations of hide and go seek with his emotions and affections. My lips were not cut, only bruised from my own crying, and every hot tear that rolled down my cheek I dried quickly. I did not want anyone to see... him that way. I did not want them to speak ill of my love. I did not want them to tell me what my heart, muffled and caged, had been singing softly -leave the bastard.

My arms only ached only for the longing to embrace him on nights when his phone rang out in silence, and eventually, the only kind words I heard was his pre-recorded, "You know what to do". I should have known what to do. I should have ... shouldn't I?

I thank God everyday for my support system. I thank God that I finally saw, and stood, and walked away. I can still remember his cries, and the sound of my heart beating so loudly, it muffled the sound of the sirens whirling into the distance, speeding to him. And before rage consumed me, I was filled with fear, loneliness, and grief.

i did not know then, but I can realise now, that as the ambulance sped away, I was not crying just for my loved one, but I was mourning the irreversible loss of my relationship. I felt alone and unsure. I'd grown accustomed to this pattern of emtional manipulation, unanswered phones, and drunken touches, words and threats. And that was not me. And in the death of this relationship, like a phoenix birthing from the ashes, I found me.

I found me, not at once, but eventually. I dusted off those ashes, stuck to my hair, my skin, my lashes. I bathed in a sea of healing and cool forgiving tears. I forgave myself, then him, then myself again. I allowed myself to lean on those around me, on those days and nights I could not walk, nor sleep, nor cry ... and in the still of the night, in that peaceful three-second rush hour pause, in that moment of serene silence, I found ME again ....

I took back my stuff that I thought he'd burnt and drowned with our relationship ... I took back my stuff that I thought he'd taken and hidden from me ... I took back my stuff that I thought he'd pinned and mounted on his wall ... I took ME back ....
As I lay curled up in bed  .... alone ... but happy ....

As these 16 days of activism continue, it is my hope that every woman who feels hopeless will have a strong support system of love and sisterhood surrounding her, and that she will eventually tap into that inner strength that may be hidden, but nonetheless present. 

A poster I photographed and designed for Gender Affairs.


Karen White - I'd Rather Be Alone ...