The following is based on a personal experience I had with an abused wife. The names have been changed in an effort to protect everyone involved. The scariest part of this story is that it happens all the time and while we know that abuse occurs, it can happen right in front of us without even knowing it.
Her Name Was Amy
Amy lived three doors down from my family. She was a great lady and someone I would consider a very good friend. She and her husband Ed had been married for more than a decade when I knew them. They seemed to have an idyllic home and a good marriage. One night, that image of them shattered when she knocked on the front door of my apartment door. The frantic pounding sent me lurching out of the chair and looking through the peephole.
When I saw who it was, I flipped the locks to let her in. She was bleeding from the corner of her mouth and as soon as I let her in, she threw the door closed and locked it. She begged me to keep the door locked and not to let Ed in. I tried to reassure Amy that I wouldn’t let him in when suddenly he was pounding on the door.
She backed away from the door and went to hide on the far side of the room. I reached into the closet next to the front door to get the baseball bat and then I went to get the phone. He was yelling outside the door, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Amy was curled into a fetal position in the corner, rocking.
I leaned up against the door, finger on the phone button and said very calmly that I was calling 911 – Ed needed to go home. Now. He kept pounding and I was already dialing. At the time, I was very calm. Though Ed never stopped pounding and shouting until the police pulled up out front and made him go sit down.
I’m Scared to be Alone with Him
When the police came inside to talk to Amy, she wouldn’t say much. She only said that one statement over and over. She felt very cold and the bleeding from her mouth had stopped. I found a blanket to wrap her in and the police officer asked me if I wanted to press charges against Ed for disturbing the peace. It wasn’t much, but when I explained to him Amy’s obvious fear and her fleeing to my apartment to escape him.
They arrested him and then suggested that I take Amy to the hospital. They wanted to call an ambulance, but I told them I would take her. Five hours later, Amy was sleeping in a room at the hospital. She’d seen a counselor and I was sitting in a chair in the corner of her room. I’d promised her that I wouldn’t leave her alone.
Abuse Comes in Many Forms
The abuse Amy endured over the years came from mental cruelty. Apparently, her husband insulted her on a regular basis. In the first year of their marriage, when she insulted him back – he would slap her around. After a while, she learned to keep her opinions to herself and the beatings stopped. The night she showed up at my apartment door – she’d apparently failed to put up the laundry before Ed came home and when he complained about it, she gave him some excuse that sent him flying into a rage.
I’d never heard of such a thing. To this day, that night stands out in stark relief in my memory. When Amy explained in a broken voice that she’d done something wrong – that was why Ed was so out of control – that was why she’d fled to my apartment, scared for her life.
I’d like to say that Amy left him that night – but she didn’t. She left the hospital and went home to Ed. They continued on as though nothing happened. Twice I tried to speak to Amy about it, but she assured me that she’d blown things out of proportion and that everything was fine.
I wanted to help Amy, but I had no idea about what to do. I wish I could even say this story had a happy ending. I know Ed beat her at least twice more in the succeeding year, but each time – she covered for him. She wouldn’t talk to the counselor, she refused intervention from her family and when I persisted, she severed her ties with me.
At last report, she and Ed were still together. Does he still abuse her? I don’t know. Why does she stay with him? I couldn’t answer. When I talked to an abuse counselor about the situation, she told me there was very little anyone could do until the person wanted to be helped. The best thing I could do was continue to be her friend, but I’d already failed on that route because she didn’t want me to talk to her or be around anymore.
If you know someone who is being abused or whom you suspect is being abused – the best thing you can do for him or her is to be a friend, try to help him or her, but don’t try to force him or her. The mistake I made with Amy was that I tried to force her to accept my help. She was already in a situation where she was being forced to suffer.
Knowing what I know now, I would do things differently. If nothing else, I would still be there as a door she could run to and seek shelter behind. Have you ever known anyone who was abused or been abused?
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