Around this time, two years ago, I received one of the most painful injuries from my then husband.
I don’t remember much, but I do remember he was drunk as a skunk. Wait, never-mind.
I remember now.
He said, he was going to stop drinking (for who knows, the 10th millionth time maybe). I was working the day shift and he was planning this huge nice dinner for me, which I was looking forward to. I remember coming home and opening the front door. and I immediately knew, he was drunk as a skunk.
He walked up to the door to greet me. I looked right in his eyes and asked if he had been drinking, he says yeah very casually.
I immediately proceeded to walk in and unload my duty gear and get undressed when he asked, are you mad? I told him no, just disappointed. He proceeded to go about his way and I showered and everything and proceeded to go to the bedroom.
He tells me dinner is ready and to come eat, but I tell him I lost my appetite. No longer hungry. I don’t want to eat.
You know that expression of going 0 to 100? Yeah, well that shit is true.
He literately went from 0 to 100 in a matter of seconds. His rage took over and he starts calling me names and arguing with me about being ungrateful and who knows what else at this point, but I do remember him trying to drag me off the bed to force me to come eat. I returned to bed right after.
He would return to the bedroom just to annoy me, but I wasn’t giving him anything. No words. No expression. No anger. Nothing for him to have to purposely be an ASSHOLE.
Well that would only piss him off even more. Eventually, I got up and proceeded to try to just put the food away, but that pissed him off too so I left it as is and think even a tuba-ware shattered as well.
After maybe 30 minutes or so of this back and forth nonsense. I grabbed Dash the Dachshund and brought him to bed with me.
We were literally cuddle up facing away from the bedroom door when I hear him walk in and get on the bed.
He begins to annoyingly tap all over my body and shake me to get my attention. I eventually start to get annoyed and pissed off. I repeatedly tell him to leave me alone. I’m not doing anything to him. He begins to try and pull me but this time I fight back and start to push him away with my legs. I proceeded to lay back down with Dash facing away from him.
Next thing I know, he punches me so hard against my left ribs. All I remember is Dash jumping on top of the night stand to get away and me slightly turning towards him to catch my breath which I had none. I felt the involuntary tears drop as I see him on all fours hovering on top of me like he was gloating about what he just did.
I literately couldn’t talk. I could barely move. I could barely get Dash to come back to bed after he leaves the room. I literately laid in bed crying until I fell asleep.
I had to work the next day and saw the bruise right on my left ribs. They were bruised all right and I felt it for the whole 13-14 hours, I had to wear my bullet vest, which of course is nice and tight.
I couldn’t tell anyone at work. I couldn’t complain or go to the doctors, because then they would know and I would have to report it.
I remember showing him the bruise a day or two after the incident he acted like the good guy. No memory of the incident. He was sorry. He wouldn’t do it again. You know, the usual shit I heard so many times.
That hit though, was a defining one.
I told him I wanted a divorce for real, he finally said let’s do counseling (even though I had wanted that back in January, literally days after getting married). Let’s just say, that didn’t work.
About two months later, I had my head shaved. Two months after that I traded in my dream vehicle to cut my payments in half. Two months later, my attorney filed for divorce. Right after he put his hands on me for the third and last time. Protection order was issued and finally forced him to leave the house.
Sometimes, I forget all the things Dash has actually witnessed and how he’s trauma affected him, but he has improved a lot. Still protective of me especially in our own apartment, but he has become my all around support system. He knows when I’ve had a bad dream or am emotionally unstable.
This morning, he knew I was upset and literately looked up and looked right at me, asking me if I was okay and got closer to me.
Emotional support animals are a real thing. They can also be traumatized but they are an amazing help with your own healing and theirs.