A Statistic

Seven years ago, I was a statistic. In my sociology notes, I recorded from the lecture that “Aboriginal women under the age 25 years” are considered one of the two groups that is more likely to experience domestic abuse (the other group were women in common law relationships).

It amazes that one ethnic group can outnumber any other group. To me, it raises a lot of questions. The most important question is, however, why?

On Monday February 14, at my school, there will be a presentation that is titled “Remember our Sisters, Stop the Violence.” This presentation, as taken directly from the event page on facebook, asks people to “Join us to commemorate, write letters and demand justice for our indigenous sisters, until the violence stops!” You can visit their facebook event page, HERE.

I planned on going to this event but can’t because of prior commitments. Because I am unable to go to the event, I felt that I needed to do something to remember my past. My past isn’t a part of me but it once was me. I was in an abusive relationship. I thought it was love, but after a year of counseling, I found out that love isn’t hitting or calling someone names. This counseling didn’t completely help me though. I went through a phases. I was confused, lost, depressed, angry, sad….

I went through a year and half of living in this abuse. When I told I tried to tell the police… I was shunned. They turned their backs on me. I was alone in this fight to protect myself.

Today, I am working towards being a better person. A better woman. Feeling like a person. Feeling like a woman again. I don’t want to be a statistic anymore.

I wrote a poem last night. This poem sort of describes my life in the relationship. The poem is kind of repetitive, but that’s how abuse works–it is a cycle that repeats itself.

There are no words to use
That can be used to describe to you
To help you understand
The level of the abuse
That it takes to destroy you
Emotional
Physical
Verbal
Sexual
Take your pick
There are no words to use
That can be used to describe to you
To help you understand
The level of the abuse
That it takes to destroy you
Name calling
Punching
Spitting
Silence
All those hits
There are no words to use
That can be used to describe to you
To help you understand
The level of the abuse
That it takes to destroy you
Because it is the abuse
That keeps you warm
That kisses you
That holds you
That dries your tears
That tells you, “Don’t worry honey,
I can make it all right again.”
Because it is this abuse
That destroys you.

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