It's too late.

They say you can’t be stupid enough to get hurt, in the same place, twice. However, I had, multiple times.

Thus, no one could stop me when I decided to go to court that morning. Not mom, not dad. Not our kids. Not his parents. And, definitely, not him. I and James had been married for 15 years, and every single day, I was a battered piece of garbage useless to my community and to myself. Why? Well, when James decided that the punching bag in our exercise room in the basement was not enough for him, I became a replacement. I cried to my parents. I cried to his parents. I reached and begged for help, but none came. However, I had the last straw when I fell into a coma after losing my third child, due to a severe beating I had received from James. From that moment, I had ended everything with him. I would no longer endure it for the community, for culture, or even for our kids. I could no longer care what the community would call me, and I am sure this was the best decision for my kids and culture? Damn culture! The culture that made it right, all things that were wrong. The culture that hyped James as he drew the map of Africa all over me. The culture that had made my mother weep helplessly, and give me stupid bits of advice to carry my cross. Yes, damn the culture. James had many chances to rethink his actions. He had a lot of time to stitch me up. He had a million chances, but he kept dashing them in pieces. Now, I believe I’ve been lenient enough, and I know my children would understand that I tried. I would ensure my daughter grows with the courage to love without having to get hurt, and my son becomes a man who respects women and would never raise his hands against them. James, the culture, community, and our parents never stitched the problem at its bud, and now, it’s full-blown, and my wounds are far too deep, too deep to be stitched. 

Image by Nino Carè from Pixabay