I can't exactly remember what age I was when I started planning my escape. I mean it's not like at age 10 I could write out an escape route. But somewhere in my mind I was waiting for an opportunity to get out of that house. My mother is dead, she died when I was fifteen and at the time I couldn't think of a better place for her. My mother suffered through years of physical abuse. She use to be a Christian, till my father tried to beat it out of her, then one day she just gave up. The beatings always seemed to happen late at night and usually in the kitchen. I guess this is as far as my mother could run from the bedroom before he'd catch her. He'd always catch her. I could hear it all from my bedroom.

Who could sleep through slaps across the face so loud it sounded like symbols clanging together? Who could sleep through furniture being knocked over, the sound bouncing off the wall like thunder? Who could sleep through piercing screams? As I'd lay there in my bed waiting for the time to come for me to go in the kitchen, pick my mother up off the floor and wipe the blood from her face, I'd always wonder if she'd still be breathing when I got there. Quiet. Did he stab her this time? Did he shoot her? Quiet. Is he still there? I can't hear them fighting anymore. I have to wait for the sound of him slamming the door. Pow! There it is.

Now I rush out of bed and run to my mother's side. If I go too soon and get in the way he'll just beat me too. It's dark in here. SSShhh. Where is she? Oh God I'm scared. What if she's dead? Will he kill us too? Wait, I see her...Oh my God...she looks like a rag doll, like a crumpled rag doll, laying on the floor in the fetal position.

My thirty plus year old mother looks like a dead baby. I see blood. God I'm scared. Wait. I hear a faint whimper. Thank you God, he didn't kill her this time. I slowly

My mother cries because she has been beaten yet again, because she is damaged and hurt. Me, I cried then also but what I did not know is that I wasn't only crying for my present, I was crying tears for my future as well. I was crying for all the damage that all of these episodes had done to my spirit. Damage done to the spirit of a ten-year-old that would soon grow into a woman, a very damaged woman.

You see, as I sat there time and time again, cleaning up the blood from my mother's face, or trying to convince him not to beat my mother, or me, or my baby sister, I guess I took a silent oath. Not out loud but in my spirit. I never understood why my mother endured so much grief, so much pain, but I know this, no man was going to do that to me! No man would hurt me like that! No man would control my life, my happiness, and my peace of mind! When I grow up, I'll do whatever it takes to survive. I'll do whatever it takes to make it. No, not me! I will not live an unhappy life. My mother lived unhappy and she died unhappy. When she could no longer take the beatings she began to drink to ease the pain. The drinking never eased her pain. Alcohol could not erase the pain that she felt, for a broken spirit who can bear? So she drank until her body ceased to breathe, until her heart ceased to pump...

TK Jordan - Author "Woman at the Well" www.tkjordan.net / tkjordan@tkjordan.net

About the Author

Married 5 times by the age of 34! TK Jordan tells her TRUE STORY in "Woman at the Well." She boldly encourages others to not allow anyone to "Love Me To Death!" physically, emotionally or spiritually, and inspiring others to be healed and delivered from the bondage of "Pain" that has paralyzed many from moving forward towards their Purpose, and held them captive from reaching their Destiny!