My Husband, My Collateral

I’m pacing outside the psych ward.
Back and forth. Chewing on my nails.

One thought lingers on my mind.
Should I walk in or go back home?

Home? I don’t have a home anymore
That’s why I’m here. To admit myself to a mental institution.

I wouldn’t call myself crazy, but last night was the last straw for me.
I didn’t mean to crack his head open with the bat. I snapped.

The name calling, a gentle form of abuse
Suddenly just became too much.
Why I never left before? I can’t answer that.

I didn’t stay for my children, or because I didn’t have somewhere to go.
I stayed, because I almost believed that we’d get better

That the remaining carcass of our marriage could be salvaged.

I recited that lie to myself so much,
It became my truth. At least when I needed something to keep me going.

Then last night, sanity lost it’s hold of me,
When for the first time since we said I do, things got physical.

I spoke back. I stood up for me. I defended me.
I fought for me. I survived for me. I chose freedom, for me.

Kick for a kick. Punch for a punch. Slap for a slap.
I reached for the bat and started hitting him, and couldn’t stop.

I took a life, to save a life. Mine and my unborn.

Sadly, I walked away with trophies. The broken rib, the black eye,
The slight limp, and the broken bottle of glass in my left side.

All will leave permanent scars, as a reminder
THAT WE WERE AT WAR, AND I WAS LUCKY TO WALK OUT ALIVE .
To be continued…