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Guys style up your act; sisters DON'T TRY THIS AT
HOME! authored by Stu Pid on 10. March 2008 at 16:58
Hi guys, I personally don't agree with any form of
spousal abuse but just thought I'd share the story
below:
I am a husband beater! I am proud of that honestly.
My husband and I are both Zimbabwean. We were
childhood friends. We were not the type that spent
time together, of course. We went to the same school
and did Computer Science at the University together.
Obviously, we grew close and we just ended up in a
relationship. We got married and six months later,
decided to pack our bags and run away from crumbling
Zimbabwe. We couldn't see ourselves having children
and affording them.
We came to America together. We lived in Indiana. We
got jobs as assembly workers, which was a terrible
blow to our self esteem. At least I was only a
computer programmer, while my husband had been a
manager.
After a few months, I was convinced by fellow
Zimbabweans to ditch the assembly line for a certified
nurses' aide job. I went to school and within a few
weeks, I was working in a nursing home, cleaning old
people's filth.
It was a tough job and I couldn't get used to it. But,
it paid the bills handsomely, especially since I took
many shifts. Our daughter was born that year. There is
no maternity leave in America. I had complications and
had to stop working. My husband worked 80 hour shifts
to cover the bills until I gave birth. Our daughter
was barely two weeks old before I was back on that
floor, working my heart out. I couldn't take it. The
smell! I had been away for too long.
My husband encouraged me to do nursing. He said I
would earn more and I wouldn't have to clean up old
people. I didn't want to do nursing, but it seemed
like a good idea. He said we would progress as a
couple if I did nursing. He made a lot of sense at the
time. So, I sacrificed my dreams for the family. I
decided to go back to school, which meant that my
husband had to work more hours while I took a Licensed
Practical nursing course. I felt like we were both
contributing and I was so proud of my husband and I.
It was about 18 months and during those months, I got
pregnant again, and had another baby, a boy. My
husband worked hard those months.
As soon as I had my diploma, I was back on the floor
of the old people full time. I had been working part
time while going to school and increasing my family. I
began to make up for it by doing doubles almost every
day, including weekends. Very slowly, my husband
stopped working! He cut his hours from 60 at the time,
to 40, which was okay, because he deserved the break,
and I picked up more hours. Then he cut them to 32,
and then 30 and then 24.
I said to him that since he was now home most of the
time while I worked and paid the bills, could he
please pick up our children from the baby sitter and
watch them until I came home. He refused, so I had to
work more hours to compensate for him not working and
the huge baby sitter bill.
I started doing two shifts a day, from seven to three,
and then from three to eleven. We needed the money! I
would come home, exhausted, feet swollen and there is
my husband, drinking Heineken and smoking weed with
his new black American friends. I started getting
depressed and bitter! I wondered why I had to pick up
the children so late at night when he was home. I
hated coming home to a smoke filled house and
strangers sitting about my living room. We started
fighting. He would call me the "B" word often and I
would cry from sheer exhaustion and the verbal abuse.
He was verbally abusive indeed. I needed him to
respect our house and to get a job! Nothing I said got
through to him and our children suffered.
A fellow nurse suggested to me a few months later that
I was getting too fat because I was depressed. She was
also from Zimbabwe. She suggested I join a gym or
something, so that I could have some free time to
myself. I started taking kick boxing classes. It was
good for me. It was the one thing I could do for
myself.
Well one Saturday, I came home from buying new
blankets for us. I had woken up early so that I could
spend the day with my children before leaving for a
three to eleven shift, which was probably going to
turn into a double shift. I was at the mall for about
four hours, which was longer than I had thought. I had
left the children with him and as usual, he had locked
himself up in the bedroom, watching BET television.
He left our children in the living room all by
themselves. The children were still in their diapers
from the previous night. In fact, the diapers were
hanging about their ankles because they were soaked
with urine. They hadn't eaten or drank anything. They
looked like orphans, while the father had prepared
himself some bacon, eggs and toast and had swallowed
it down with orange juice. I had worked for that food!
I worked for my children, not him.
He had let his own children go without food or drink.
What sort of a man was he? He didn't even realize what
he had done!
I fed and bathed my children, and then got ready for
work. I took them to the baby sitter's house and drove
to work. I was fuming! I had married a useless man, I
finally realized.
I came home that night, not in a good mood and the
apartment was filled with people and smoke. I took my
children and went straight to bed. He came after me
and asked me why I had been rude to his friends. I
said I was tired, but he started again. "You B. you
are ugly and should be thankful that I married you. My
mother told me not to marry you because you were a B.
But I didn't listen to her, now look."
Hearing the commotion, his friends left. Then I turned
on him. Honestly, I think I was possessed by my
grandfather's spirit or something. I used him like a
punching bag, as if I was in a kick boxing class. I
broke his jaw with my kick and then proceeded to
ground him to nothingness, in a matter of minutes! I
don't know what came over me. I felt invincible. I
felt I was doing justice to my babies.
He was too ashamed to tell the police I had hit him
and so I got away with it. His jaw got wired and he
ate out of a straw for a very long time. He said to me
he hadn't realized that I was so strong. Neither had
I. But, let me tell you, he changed from that day on.
There were no more friends of his in my apartment
while I worked. I realized that beating him got me
results quickly, so I continued. I went to more kick
boxing classes and added some judo and any other
classes I could lay my hands on.
I beat him all the way into a new job. After a few
black eyes and hunger, he went looking for a job! I
beat him into being a better father! I would tell him
that if I came home and my babies were not home in
their bed, we would have a very close conversation. I
would come home and my babies are fast asleep,
smelling of soap and in fresh clothes. I made him
nervous, and the bedroom thing just went out of the
window, but I didn't miss it at all. I know he thinks
I am crazy and I let him think that because it gives
me the life I want. Every opportunity I get, I beat
him! There has been peace in my home since! I am
happy. That is my secret to a happy marriage.
Happy International Women's Month guys!!!!!
gwe kili kitya ewuwooooooooooooo!!!!
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