This was so painfully beautiful to read. It is these stories, stories that are the hardest to tell, that have the most impact.
Apparently the easiest way to start blogging again is to say you’re done blogging. Kind of like writing. Kind of like running. Kind of like everything. Last time I said “I’m done with men!” I got married. See how it works? Anyway. Yesterday. The whole Ray Rice video thing. And here I am.
When I was 16, my high school boyfriend backhanded me across the face, with a beer bottle in his hand. We were in his baby blue car, on our way to his house, and his father was the first to look up from watching golf on TV and notice my newly forming bruise, the swelling next to my eye. His father lost it. My boyfriend cowered and slunk down to the basement; his dad, apologetic about his son, drove me home.
It was never mentioned again.
But we dated for another year. Because, of course, I “loved”…
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