10 years ago on a beautiful, sunny morning much like today, I was beaten and bloody. My life had been the type of nightmare you only dream about waking up from. It felt like there was no other escape.
He had spent hours threatening me and almost strangled me to death just hours before.
As the lights grew fuzzy and I could feel myself fading, my vision became clear for the very first time in over a year.
His hatred and violence had exhausted him and as he slipped into dreamland I knew that this might be my only opportunity to get out alive. We had shared this space for 2 years and we had talked about spending forever together.
Our studio was small, but at that point tip toeing on already broken eggshells had become a way of life for me.
I gathered my important legal documents (and thanked the Lord that I didn’t marry him.) I spent the next hour silently organizing my thoughts and packing up the two years of life that I wanted to take with me.
I slipped the phone out from under his pillow with the precision of a surgeon. My hiking boots and bags fully packed just 4 feet away from the bed ready to go by the front door.
Once the phone was in my pocket I tip toed to the door. The darn thing squeaked so loudly and woke him up, but his drunkenness bought me just enough time to close the door and sprint down the stairs as quickly as my legs would carry me.
My heart sank as I heard the door swing open. I could hear him chasing me and yelling and I prayed that my legs would carry me to safety.
I had lost most of my identity, but I still felt a sliver of hope that I hid deep within myself.
And that is how I made my escape…