The four walls are pasty white. Decorative paintings are sporadically placed upon them. The monitors are constantly beeping, keeping the nurses alert of my progress. The sounds of the voices in the halls along with the television accompany me as I sat alone crying a dry-rain in the darkness.
Moist and flowing, my tears rain down from my heart. I was sitting in a room at the hospital, handcuffed to the bed. The loneliness inside of me turned into darkness. Even though I am pregnant I will be confined to this room, under the supervision of a police officer, until I deliver my baby. As the shock settles within me, I return back to reality and realize that I know little or nothing about what my consequences will be. I can’t believe what I have done.
Murder is both a sin and a crime, and I have committed both of them. This is not the first time this issue has surfaced within our relationship, but this time it was too much to handle. He and I were arguing about the responsibility of taking care of our seven children. He stated that he didn’t think that it was as much his responsibility as it was mine, and then I blacked out.
Buried emotions exploded from my soul like a volcanic eruption, and just as the lava flows from a volcano, I sought to destroy whatever was in my path. When I came to, I was covered in blood and I didn’t know what had just happened? It was just then that I realized that I was holding the knife and he was silent. What lead to this? How could I have committed such a heinous crime? There are a lot of questions running through my head and deep down inside of me I know the answers. I grew up in a single-parent household.
My mother did what she could for us, while my father did what he wanted for himself. He came by the house every now and again, when he decided to be a father. That always left me wanting more from him. While I started to wonder if my father even loved me at all, I developed an evil kindness towards men. Throughout my adolescence, I continually dealt with questions about the expectations of men and love. Afraid to deal with the answers to those questions, I created my own.
My answers made me bitter, resentful, and very unpleasant towards the men in my relationships. Yet I continued to have relationships with men without ever confronting my issues with them. How do I learn to love a man? How could I even trust them? I felt that to be with a man, I neither had to trust or love him, using him was good enough to me. The truth of the matter is that I was really the one being used. Giving myself continually to someone who didn’t love me, nor did I love myself. People say that you marry your father.
In saying that, they mean that you marry the man that resembles an image of what your father is to you. When your father is a negative role model or an absentee altogether in your life, it has a strong impact on the decisions you make in regards to finding people to share relationships with. I have had a message of anger, disappointment, and pain to convey to my father all of my life, except when it was time for me to deliver it to him, someone else was there to receive it.
