And now, on with the show!
I've known quite a few women in my day who were beaten and battered by their spouses. I can think of three good examples off the top of my head that I'd like to share with you. The first was a good friend of my mom's when I was a teenager. Her name was Ruth. Ruth was a fairly attractive woman in her early late 20s or early 30s at the time I was about 16 or 17. She had a husband, Mark, who was a truck driver, and three kids whose names I can't recall. It was well known that Mark made it a habit of beating the shit out of Ruth. Not the kids, I don't think, but does that really win him any Father of the Year awards? I think not.
Anyway, here in the lovely South, many people still take the same attitude towards spousal abuse that was common in the 19th century. Specifically, that it's nobody's business and you shouldn't get involved. Yeah, I know, we could all quote things like "All that's needed for evil to flourish..." for hours on end, but fucking rednecks don't have that much brain capacity so the message would fall flat. This attitude being pretty much the norm, do you think Ruth could expect any help for her situation? Any neighbors calling the cops when his angry yells and her screams could be heard in the neighborhood. Well, of course not, silly! This is Georgia, where we "mind our own business" and just ignore little things like human suffering! So the idea of any one of the dozens of people who knew about Ruth's abuse actually HELPING her was pretty much out of the question.
That is, until the situation is shoved in someone's face so hard that they couldn't turn a blind eye to it without inconveniencing themselves by feeling guilt. That someone was my mother. It was a fateful evening, my younger brother and sister already in bed and me about to retire to my basement room (yes, I had a room in the basement when I was a teenager; this should surprise no one), when the truck pulled into the driveway. My mom opens the door and in pours Ruth and her two young daughters (both ~5 or younger, iirc). All three of them crying and screaming, in complete hysterics. Ruth, looking beaten to hell and back, had come to the door of my mother - apparently the only friend she felt she could turn to - begging for help.
So we took Ruth and her daughters in. I can't recall what was up with the oldest kid, a boy. He was like 12 or 13 at the time and I don't recall him being there, but he was a quiet kid so maybe he was. I dunno. Anyway, my mother couldn't turn her back on Ruth, so she and another friend of theirs helped Ruth. They took her to the Sheriff's Office to file a complaint, get a restraining order, etc. They helped her change the locks on her house. I clearly remember Ruth cupping her hands for me to stand on so I could reach a high ledge inside the house to make sure the window was locked.
We all helped a little. We did a lot for her. I found out later in life that my parents almost divorced over it (my dad being staunchly against helping people at the expense of his own comfort and convenience, apparently). I had even grown rather attached to the two girls and even to Ruth. I was really happy to've played even a small part in helping to get her out of her bad situation and really proud of my mom for stepping up like that (and, sadly, I have rarely been more disappointed in my father for being a complete fucking selfish dick).
And then Ruth took him back....
I have no idea what's become of her or her children. I know they all moved away a few years later. But the thing is, once you've left your husband and then gone back to him, there's an unwritten rule that you don't get to have anymore contact with the friends who helped you during that crisis. Apparently, they're part of the problem with your marriage. Not the fist across your face.
Our second story this evening is about a woman named Amy. Amy was 28 years old when I knew her at age 21. She was legally seperated from her husband, with a 4 year old daughter in tow. She had left him because he used to get high huffing spray paint and then beat her fucking senseless, even in front of their kid. Charming man, to be sure. Amy and I dated for a while. Not long at all, yet I found myself falling for her and even for her kid. I was starting to love her very deeply and despite my own fears about becoming a dad to a 4yo in my early 20s, I also found myself deeply loving that little girl too and actually wanting to be her dad. I had just started to really feel like this was perhaps the path my future was going to take - and *should* take - when Amy stopped calling and stopped being home when I called and started seeming very distant and distracted when I did manage to talk to her. It was the summer of 2000 and I was getting ready to leave for 2 months to work my 2nd summer a camp counselor at a camp for blind and visually impaired kids. I hadn't seen Amy in almost a month and had barely spoken to her in that time. I didn't get to see her before I left for camp, but did manage to get her the address and phone number where I could be reached. She never wrote, she never called, she was too busy to talk or "not home" anytime I called. I had been ready to pursue a long-term relationship with her and be a father to her child; a good father, something that kid had never fucking known. But ok, maybe I just wasn't good enough or she just didn't have those strong feeling for me or maybe she was afraid of committment or whatever. Being dumped I can accept. Being dumped (apparently) for her husband who beat the shit out of her, now THAT hurt. I say apparently because I was never told anything. I "broke up with her" by e-mailing a mutual friend that I knew would see her on a daily basis. To this day, I have never spoken to her again since a five minute conversation we had before I left for camp in May of 2000. No calls, no letters, no nothing. I assume I was dumped for the husband because I later found out that she'd had another kid. A kid whose birth I had to sit down and do the math on to figure out if it was MY baby or not! I figured out that the kid was conceived a few months after the one and only time we'd had sex (which was indeed unprotected, hoo-rah) so was not mine. But since it wasn't mine, then who WAS the father? You guessed it, dickhead paint-huffer man. If she was back with him so soon after I had left, that tells me I was left because she wanted to go back to him.
It worked out for the best anyway. At least for me, not for her obviously. That summer at camp was where I met an adorably sweet girl from South Africa who was working there as the horseback riding instructor. That adorably sweet girl and I celebrated 8 years of marriage this past January. So, like I said, worked out well for me. I learned a few months ago from an old friend that Amy has 3 children now (all by that dickhead) and that her husband overdosed on meth or something and died like the stupid shit-stain he was. His name was Ivan and I don't think I've ever been happier to hear of someone's death. It's times like this when I really and truly hope there IS a Hell, just so I can giggle with glee at the thought that he's burning there. I can't imagine what he put Amy and her kids (including that little girl I'd come to regard as almost my own daughter) through. I hope he suffered long and died painfully. I really really do.
And our final story this evening is more of an anecdote really. A few months ago, my wife got a call from a friend of hers. She was kicking her abusive boyfriend out of the house and wanted my wife to come over there. Why the fuck she had to drag my wife into this situation, I don't know, but I would've responded if it'd been my friend and I certainly wouldn't have married anyone who would just say "fuck you bitch, I'm going home, lololololol" (although I would have sex with someone like that). I, however, wanted no part of it. I sat in the car listening to the radio, taking a nap, and considering what weapons I had available to me at the moment should that worthless fuck decide that putting his hands on MY wife was a good idea. Obvously that was not neccesary, or I'd be decorating SnipeMe in prison stripes right now. Anyway, long story short, the fucker beat the hell out of this woman, broke her fucking arm, etc. and a week ago she took him back. Sorry for being so short with this last story, but I'm tired of writing tragic sob stories when they all reach the same conclusion.
Now, from these three stories of mine, it should be obvious that I DO care what happens to battered women and I fucking LOATHE the men who batter them. So why would I ever say something like "they deserve it" when I clearly don't feel that way, right?
Wrong. I very much DO feel that way. They deserve it 100% and not because the men are awesome or because they're women or whatever. No, they deserve it for one simple reason which is pretty much the same reason anybody deserves to be beaten: They're idiots.
After those long ass stories, let me make my actual point short and to the point: Hello, dumb festering cunt, the dude fucking beats you and controls your life, DON'T KEEP GOING BACK TO HIM YOU FUCKING MORON!!!
Over and over and over and over again, he beats the fucking hell out of you and you go running back to him like he's the best thing since pulsating dildos. You put yourself in that situation, KNOWING FULL WELL what will happen to you! THAT is why I say you deserve it and you DO! You deserve every single hit because you ARE "asking for it."
"Bullshit, Galen! She has Battered Spouse Syndrome! She can't help it!"
Battered Spouse Syndrome: A well-known cop-out phrase which is basically a synonym for "I'm a fucking dumb cunt who keeps going right back into a situation where I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'll be physically, mentally, and emotionally tortured." BSS appears to be caused by the husband being smart enough to beat all the good sense out of his wife the very first time he puts his hands on her.
See Also: Sticking your hand into a running blender
Actually, that "see also" is a little inaccurate. It's more like sticking your hand into a running blender for the 10th time and honestly expecting that this time it won't chop off a finger!
And that's why your stupid ass deserves to get the shit beaten out of you. Hell, I'd beat you myself if I could track all of you dumb bitches down.
"But Galen, he said it'll be different this time! He's gonna go to counseling and we're going to work on fixing our problems and things are going to be different! YAY!"
Oh it'll be different. He'll be a good sweet husband and he'll try really hard. Just long enough to disconnect you from all of your friends and outside support systems, because he thinks you guys should really concentrate on "each other." And once you don't have any friends left to run to because they're all bitter and hate you for being the fucking stupid shithead that you are, he'll start wailing on you again. Every single time you come back to him, it's harder to leave again.
"But I can't leave him now! I couldn't support myself without him! I couldn't support my kids without the money he makes!"
And you think that's an accident? You think he really objected to you going back to college for whatever reason he gave? Fuck no, he objected because he WANTS YOU dependant on him so you CAN'T leave!
1. Divorce him.
2. Take everything he has.
3. The house? It's yours.
4. The car? It's yours too.
5. The kids? LOL, don't even joke, he stands ZERO chance.
6. Live off his assets while you go to college and better yourself.
Nothing - and I mean NOTHING - excuses staying with him after the 2nd time he's hit you. The first time, ok, everybody makes mistakes. Maybe he really DIDN'T mean to do it, maybe it really WAS just the alchohol, maybe all his crying and begging for forgiveness really meant something. The first time. Everybody should get a second chance, even when the fuck up is HUGE. But the second time he does it, he has just made it plainly obvious to even a fucking retard that he will continue to do it no matter what he says!
And, oh you who have been abused for so long, let me sum all of this up into one simple little rule that your tiny brain can easily remember: If you don't leave him or kill him, you are an idiot who deserves to be beaten by him. You ARE "asking for it" when you go right back to him. You KNOW what he'll do! Going back is asking for it to happen, just as surely as sticking your hand in a blender is asking to lose a finger!
Leave him, kill him, or continue to be the same old fucking idiot who deserves exactly what she's getting. Those are your choices and they are the only ones you have. I'm sure we all know which choice you'll make.
Predictable, and fucking pathetic.