“Domestic violence and abuse can happen to anyone, yet the problem is often overlooked, excused, or denied.”

My dear friend whom I lost touch with called me recently and after an hour plus of talk about our lives, she told me she is in an abusive relationship. Since we usually joke around with her, I thought it was a joke (but who would joke about something that serious), until she broke down and all she could do was try to tell me bravely what she has been enduring.

I was so shocked at this girl whom I admired for her outspokenness, outgoing character, charm and even beauty. I did not understand how she could be a victim, and neither could she. She did not know how to tell us (Her friends) that she was part of the statistics. Her shame made her wallow in sadness, desperation, and destitution. My heart broke 10 times, over and over again as she described how he scarred her pretty face, almost broke her jaw and recently almost kill her by putting a pillow over her face.

I asked my parents how to go about this desperate situation, all they could say is that I should not interfere with other peoples’ lives. My heart broke again, then that was when it hit me. We are the problem too. That is how these excuses of men have gotten away with it. We give them the free-pass to hit and kill our sisters, mothers and friends. By staying silent and not standing by our neighbor who keeps yelling night after night, our workmate who wears heavier make-up or bulky weaves to hide the scars of what we have dubbed as “Shame”.

I am stuck in a rut as I try to figure out how to help my friend. She is currently away from that monster, but she might go back like she has in the past. I pray that doesn’t happen. But if she does, I pray to God that he doesn’t kill her.

So if you hear cries behind a door, please break down that door and save our sisters –in-love.

Let us be the change we desire.



He is my addiction


It’s the drug, he is my addiction. Bad for my health but excites my emotions. Bad for my heart but warms it up, keeps it racing and entices it to have a pinch more… Maintaining the addiction is costly, takes all of my time, takes all of my sanity, drains my emotions and leaves me nursing my injured dignity.

I know him, every bit of him. I know he is not mine, but I still stay. I know he would choose her in a heartbeat, but I still hold on to the illusion that is “Number 1”. Like all the love affairs, this is one brewed right out of hell’s kitchen. The ex-factor, where everything is so much better than it was in the relationship. He is kinder, sweeter, listens more, opens up, holds you tighter, makes love to you gentler but he is married.

He loves you, but loves her too. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you, but spends it legally with the wife. He wants to have children with you, regardless of the 3 darlings in his wife’s house. Promises to leave her and as bad of an idea as it is, you toy with it in your mind. The picket fenced house, the son playing by the pool, the twins braiding each other. It’s a perfect picture, only he is not there, maybe with a younger version of me. But I still stay… why?

I have heard it over and over, “Go to rehab!!” but I say “No! No! No!”.

“He doesn’t love you!!”, “But he needs me…” I retort.


With every help volunteered, I ignore it as I keep frying myself, readying myself for the roast.

But what can I do, I’m a girl in love, and he is a man in lust… silly me. I draw my pros and cons, as I evaluate my goals in life. I tell myself I do not need him, I draw up a speech that convinces my reflection as I rehearse it over and over. “I’m leaving, and there is nothing you can do about it. I know you love her, not me, so stop toying with my emotions and let me be!” I’m convinced!

Then it happens, a text message. “I miss you; I can’t stop thinking about you. Can I come over?” I convince myself again, I can do this, I can tell him no, but before I know it my fingers deceive me and write a blatant ‘yes’.

He knocks and before I can use my speech, sweeps me off my feet, whispering sweet promises trapping me like a helpless bee. He kisses me here, touches me there, and as we climax he tells me he loves me. I give in, and I’m stuck in the same old cycle again.

Doing the drug again, harder than before…as it kills me softly.