The Bathroom.....

It usually started with hours of emotional and mental torture. He would follow me around the house calling me names, degrading me, shaking his head at me while giving me looks of disappointment. As if I had betrayed him or done something wrong, as if I had done something to deserve it. I could usually tell when the situation was going to turn volatile. I could see the craziness in his eyes, I would try and prepare myself for what was coming. I was afraid, I feared him. He would always wait until the right moment when I went to the bathroom, then he would trap me. He always trapped me in the bathroom. It was located in the back of the house at the end of the hallway; where there was no escape. He would pin me against the wall holding me by the hair, screaming in my face. His voice was so loud and so close that I could feel his breathe, I could feel him spitting on me. I would stand there with my eyes closed as the tears ran down my face, trying to block it out, trying to keep the vicious words from causing me further hurt and humiliation. He would tell me things like: "He knew what kind of a girl I really was." "I was nothing but a whore." "I should be thankful that he wanted me." He would break me down inside entirely, he would make me hate myself even. The more I tried to block out what was happening the more he would shake me and scream, "Are you paying attention to me, are you listening?" And if I did not respond he would hurt me even more. He would force me to look him in the eyes as he threatened, hit, and devalued me. Sometimes he would grab me by both sides of my face, and squeeze and shake me so violently that my teeth would cut into the inside of my jaws. I could taste the blood in my mouth, but the more I screamed, cried, and begged for him to stop the more he would continue to hurt me. He would squeeze so hard that the next day I would have bruises on the sides of my face and ears, it would hurt to even lay on my pillow. When he would get his fill of torturing and beating me he would lock me in the bathroom and tell me, "You need to think about what a good wife should be."

The first few times he tried to lock me in I fought to get out, only to quickly learn that it was not worth the extra abuse I had to suffer for trying to escape. Sometimes he would turn the hot water and shower on full blast before he left making it so hot, steamy, and hard for me to breathe; on top of my already being hysterical. It seemed like it would take forever for the hot water to run out, so the air would clear enough that I could breathe normally. If I tried to turn off the water or turn on the fan to get some fresh air he would come in the bathroom and hit me some more. He would threaten, "I am going to drown you in the bathtub and make it look like an accident, make it look like you slipped and hit your my head." I spent hours of my life, sometimes even all night being tortured, beaten, and locked in the bathroom. I would spend my lock down time wondering how I had managed to get myself into such a hellish situation. I was constantly trying to brainstorm and figure out all the different possibilities for escaping, but nothing seemed possible. There were times that I truly thought my nightmare was never going to end. To this day I am not very fond of bathrooms, as you can imagine. I don't mind public bathrooms with more than one stall, but single bathrooms that have the potential to become prison cells still slightly freak me out. My head becomes flooded with flashbacks of the abuse and I become mildly uncomfortable; claustrophobic in a sense.