Letter to My Abused Sisters (True Story)
This might be my last post.
I might end up being one of those horror stories that you read about. Woman murdered by her estranged boyfriend.
Author killed by gangster boyfriend. I am fearful for my life. I am scared for that of my family members and friends. He has vowed to kill them all if I don’t give him what is due to him.
I finally understood how women end up being killed by the men they are in relationships with for when he asked me to open the door, I never thought he came there to put a hundred knife wounds to my body as he eloquently promised me. I am six months pregnant with his child.
His mother arrived at the police station, she didn’t wait for me to speak, her head slightly lifted, she peered down at me, I might have over assessed the situation but I saw hatred in her eyes. She spat. “You see wah you cause???”
She didn’t ask me how I was doing. She didn’t ask if my baby was okay. Her son shoved me earlier in my bathroom, locked the door behind him, his breath stank of rum and marijuana and pulled a ratchet aiming it several times at my upper torso.
I was responsible for this. He was always right and I was wrong. If my lifeless body laid in my bathroom in a pool of blood while my four year old slept in the adjoining room, that night, it would have been my fault. She said that I seemed to bring out the worst in Simon.
Simon is a Hyde and Jekyll character. He’s a two face. I often mused that he was a perfect character out of a lifetime movie. The face he had for the public was completely different from the one he reserved for me.
“Man no want you gyal! A just me money me want!”
He meant it. I believed he was most honest when he was angry. He said he wished we women could see “how him heart black”.
Simon had become a muse for the character in my latest novel “The Bunna Man”, I suffered months of emotional and verbal abuse that escalated into physical abuse now bordering violence.
Like so many women when I finally wanted out, it seemed my only way out would be in a coffin. When I woke up, when I realized that this person doesn’t care for me and no amount of kindness, goodwill or support will ever make him love me, when I finally made up my mind, I felt more trapped than I could ever be.
When I ran into my aunt’s house to escape the furor of the man who wanted me dead, he charged at me. I closed the door. He raged outside like a mad man, raking the knife on the window panes, demanding that my relatives let me out so that he could murder me.
Crowds converged on the scene. Older women frantically called the police. I dialed my father’s number, he wasn’t picking up! I called my mother. I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. Her last remark was that I was going to bite my finger one of these days and blood wouldn’t come. She said Simon didn’t love me. He only loved my money. Well mother that time had come.
I wished I had listened to them. I kept thinking everyone could not be wrong about this guy. He always charmingly convinced me that they just didn’t want us to be together. My relationship was a lifetime movie.
My friends have washed their hands clean off my situation. I’ve lost my support group because I kept taking back this scoundrel, chasing him and reasoning with him, trying as always to save some disaffected youth from the streets I grew up in. One friend told me that it was one of these boys whom I kept associating with that would kill me. Her words were prophetic. It’s one of the first things I remembered as he shoved my grandmother who came to my defense and I managed to escape to my aunt’s house for refuge.
He repayed my kindness with disrespect and abuse. He would rather see me dead than show me an iota of affection.
Now people shake their heads at me with pity. I am ashamed to show my face. My neighbors’ muttered,”me lose offa Michelle, make this little bwoy a deal with you like a some ediat gyal!”
He told me some months ago that he was going to start a war with me. He would heap coals of fire upon my head. That he was gonna make it his personal mission to kill me. For he had left several women for me thinking that I would make his life better and I had only made it worst.
He has taken every thing from me. Some may have said I handed it to him. Bystanders of his tirade laugh, they make jokes as I scurried like a scared hapless animal into the police van. I knew my life would never be the same. I am a prisoner in my own home. All because I ignored what my head was saying and followed my treacherous heart.
I am all cried out. When he raged, and my male friends and family members wanted to give him a mob beating. I cried out and begged them to spare his life. My only wish now was that he would extend the same courtesy to me.
Names changed to protect identities
Remember to share this article on Facebook and other Social Media Platforms. To submit your own articles or to advertise with us please send us an EMAIL at: [email protected]
- Out Of Many One People? The Imbalance Of Race In Jamaica - August 1, 2017
- Should Prisoners Be Allowed Conjugal Visits? - July 30, 2017
- Top Ten Reasons Why Jamaica is the Best Place for a Destination Wedding - July 27, 2017
- Jamaica Film Industry Needs Garveyism, Rastafari & Reggae - July 27, 2017
- Can We Legislate Sexual Morality? - July 24, 2017
- Prime Minister Holness – Please Deal With The Crime - July 6, 2017
- Reasons Why People Can’t Stop Visiting Jamaica - July 5, 2017
- Chinese Jamaican Weighs In On Viral Video In Which Pan-Africanist Claims China “Pretty Much Owns Jamaica” - July 3, 2017
- Crime in Jamaica – The Influence of the Politicians and Police - June 21, 2017
- Karl Samuda Crossed the Line - May 10, 2017