I try to regain my senses as I huddle in a dark corner of the bedroom. I reach up to touch my aching face and am suddenly thrown by a wave of nausea. My skin is covered in blood. I know the wound is bad.
The flip-flop of my stomach passes quickly as I stumble toward the bathroom to look in the mirror. I am shocked by the person I see looking back. I hardly recognize myself. There is a large sanguineous gash running the length of my cheek, and extensive bruises are fighting to develop. I try to stop the flow with a clean hand towel, but it just keeps coming. Cursing quietly to myself, I fumble through my purse for the car keys and start off to the emergency room.
I know the doctors & nurses will ask what happened; I’ve been here too many times to count. I’ll have to tell them I fell down the stairs again. I know this is a foolish excuse but it is far better than the truth. The truth is, like the other 1.3 million women and 835,000 men in America, I am a victim of domestic abuse. ~ Anonymous