Barely Alive

My Personal story…

Belinda Castendyk
Nov 6 · 4 min read

It sits in my belly coiled like a serpent, ready to strike. The fear, always the fear, twisting and turning until it has devoured me whole. Like a snake squeezing the life from me until there is nothing left but a lost soul.

I hate to be afraid, but the scars left long ago are always able to produce fresh blood. Like the severing of an artery, it splatters to cover everything in it’s path. I wince as the drops hit me, sliding trails of rich red, they make their way down my body until a pool lies at my feet. I try and try to wash away the traces, but still the scars remain, waiting for the chance to bleed again.

I was a whole person once, with hopes and dreams, and the consuming feeling that nothing could stand in the way of what I wanted. Knock me down and I would get right back up again. Until his fists made purple and black marks upon my body. Until my ribs cracked under the onslaught of his kicks. Until blood flowed freely from my nose and lips. Until the inferno called life turned to ashes. Time went by slowly and with it brought the fear…for I never knew what mood he would take…. Love or Hate. But the hate always turned to love ….. didn’t he say he was sorry, that it wouldn’t happen again?

I believed because I wanted to believe.

It was up to me to make it right. I knew it was my always my fault because he told me so. Wasn’t he older , therefore wiser?

I was but a child who needed direction. There was always the tiny flicker of a flame called hope, locked inside a small box within me. I sometimes took the key to that box and opened it a crack. The flame would leap greedily, trying to wend it’s way out, searching for a dry piece of kindling to spread it’s tongue of hope around. But then he would come and throw away the key and it would take days, weeks, months, to find it.

My bruised and battered body and soul searching blindly for that key. I would often transport myself to another time and place, the grunting, sweaty body plunging itself into me would disappear. The ropes that bound my wrists until they bled, would become soft bracelets . I would fly among the Angels in a world of white. No splatters of red would touch my gown. No hot drops of sweat would coat my body. Bruised flesh would become soft and pink again. No more pain would I feel. I would remember how to smile. My Angels in white would surround me with their love. My dream would only last until he spilled his seed within me.

Reality would stun me like a slap on the face of a child who has only known kindness and love.

I slide as far away from him as possible after the sound of steady breathing assures me he is asleep. The fetal position has become my only friend. It helps protect me from his blows and comforts me in my pain, for I can curl up so far into myself that I don’t even have to think. I stare blankly into the darkness and for a while everything is alright with the world, because I am not in it.

I knew for months that something was different, but by then I was adept at turning a blind eye to reality. The gut wrenching nausea, the frequent trips to the bathroom, the gentle swell of my belly. I was going to bear a child…. His child…. My moods swung between hope and despair. I hoped that our child would bring us closer together, surely it would stop the beatings, but despair would consume me as I realized the world I was bringing our child into.

Locked in my prison with no bars, all hope disintegrated as I watched in terror the razor sharp blade coming towards me. He loved to watch the fear leap into my eyes, it fed his hatred until he could barely control his lust for torment. I was again, to be the whipping boy for the King who would never accept blame for his actions. Slowly and deliberately he told me how he would cut my belly open and pull our baby from my womb, drive the blade through it’s heart and make me watch while I slowly bled to death. Terror enveloped me, at the dawning that there was nothing I could do to protect my child, spread through my consciousness. I tried to block it out but my Angels never came.

Abandoned in my desperate hour of need, my mind groped wildly for a way out. The doors slammed shut long before I got there and panic set in like the full fury of a spewing volcano. I had to face the fact, the reality, the finality, of my life …. Suddenly he turned away at a knock on the door. I reached for the pen and and a funny round paper coaster. Mindlessly I scrawled, round and round until the circle was filled. The last words of a desperate soul. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands a useless barrier against the inevitable. I asked for a last request, like a man in front of a firing squad. ”One last cigarette? ”No thanks, I’m trying to quit!”

I asked him to read this, shaking, as I handed him the funny round paper coaster. His eyes changed to the man I once fell in love with. Big salty tears fell as we cried together, each for different reasons.

I cried for the life that had barely lived … and the one that was barely alive….

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