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This piece was the first time I had ever admitted to the pain and abuse I had been through. It helped me heal. Ever since I wrote this piece, I have spoken at battered women's shelters, I have taught self-defense classes, and I have been a teen advocate against domestive abuse. Sharing my story was what brought me to find the rest of my family. And it's all because I wrote this piece. I found myself, I found my family, and I found my voice all because Ms. Walton made us do a simple autobiography. That simple autobiography project became an extended autobiographical piece that is now well over 200 pages. I never knew that writing could be so thereputic. Thank you, Ms. Walton.
The first time it happened, I was scared, shocked. His fist swung out and landed square on my cheekbone. His eyes were scary; there is no other word for the anger that filled them. But I didn’t take it. He couldn’t punch me. I retaliated, punching him like he had punched me. But his response was even more forceful than his first. It connected with my stomach, an area I had left open when I covered my face. I staggered back, looking at the guy who claimed he loved me. He pulled my close, his eyes sad, kissing my forehead, asking for my forgiveness. I gave it to him. For five months, I gave him forgiveness each time. Each time he landed a new punch, I forgave him. Each time he created a new bruise, I forgave him. But then I finally stood up. After five months of being beat down, pushed down, shoved down, I stood up. And then he left. I was alone. I missed the attention that he had given me, as cruel as it had been. So I sought it out. I dated boy after boy, getting that same violent painful attention. And nobody noticed. Nobody could see the bruises when I wore my long sleeves, or my turtleneck. And I was a clumsy girl, and there was the perfect excuse. Until one person did – a boy that I had known for all of two weeks. Shane. He noticed the purple hand shaped mark on my arm and started asking. I didn't understand. His concern shocked me so much that I simply told him. He barely knew me, why did he care? What did he hope to gain with his false sympathy? Couldn't he see that I deserved this? I did deserve this, right? Why would Luke have done what he did? Why would the countless faceless others followed his suit if I didn't? Why? As we became friends, Shane helped me realize what relationships should be. Kind. Respectful. Loving. I was confused. I had never experienced these aspects of a relationship. And then he showed me...
