Friday, October 4, 2013

Keep Your Hands Off of Her

You beat her up, tore her down. With words, you shamed her, manipulated her, broke her into pieces. With words, you told her she was worthless, helpless, ugly, weak, and damaged. With words, you told her that she was unfit to be a mother, that she could not raise her daughter. With words, you sent the heart she had given you into a frozen wasteland. You demeaned her, stole her vitality, broke her spirit.

How do you feel? Does it make you feel that much more of a man to know you can tear a woman down like that? Does it make you feel strong to know that with words alone you can make her feel as if she has no worth at all? Do you take pride when she says it was her fault?

You are sick.

You beat her up, tore her down. With your hands, you bruised her arms. With your hands, you left your mark on her back and shoulders. With your hands, you gave her a concussion that put her into the hospital. With your hands, you choked her until you almost killed her. With your hands, you sent her to hell. You wounded her physically, damaged the woman she used to be.

How do you feel? Do you feel powerful in your ability to demonstrate your physical superiority over a woman? Do you get a rush in hearing her scream. gasp for breath? Does it give you a twisted value of worth in your ability to physically trap her? Do you like the fact that you give her nightmares? Do you feel a sense of sick satisfaction when the woman you have damaged so badly defends you from those that wish to protect her from you?

You are a steaming, stinking pile of offal.

What about your daughter? Will you be satisfied with just hitting and demeaning her mother, the woman who struggles to stay silent while you hurt her so her daughter does not have to know? What happens when, one day, your little girl tells you to stop hurting her mother? Will you hit your daughter then? Will you use your words to tear your baby down, destroy her spirit?

You do not deserve to live a life of freedom, you unrepentant, filthy piece of rubbish.

She is beautiful. Quiet, but spunky. Loyal to friends and family, willing to fight for others. Stronger than she believes. Intelligent, but somehow still a bit naive. She is a devoted and loving mother. She believes the best of her family and friends, even when they let her down again and again. Sometimes she is too trusting. She is worth more than you, deserves better than you.

You should rot in a hell of your own making, tormented by the very horrors you inflicted on someone who trusted and loved you.

Know this, and know it well. I have always distrusted you, even before I met you. I always thought she was better than you. You have proven it over and over again that you are not worth her slightest attention. You lay another hand on her, and you will regret it. I will track you down. I will spread the word that you are a small, petty man that abuses women. I will let everyone know that you are a murderer just waiting to take that extra inch. I will make this town a miserable place for you to live. You better hope that I do not see you first. You keep your filthy, unworthy hands off of her. You made the wrong person angry.