My husband didn’t hit me because I fed him pasta, despite what his aunties said. My husband didn’t beat me almost to death because I didn’t clean the house well enough. He didn’t beat me because I refused to sleep with him – that wasn’t an issue, he just raped me anyway. My husband didn’t hit me because I wasn’t submissive enough: I went from the bubbly energetic woman he married, full of life and vigor and hope, to a shadow of myself, my head barely raised, my voice hardly used, I flinched at my own physicality, I was told to walk behind him, not next to him. I stopped complaining, I stopped being the loud western woman. He still beat me, in fact he beat me harder than before, spurred on by my quietude, enjoying the fruits of his labor of his life’s work of destroying me, piece by piece.
My husband didn’t hit me because I was a bad mother, I was devoted, attentive and doting. My husband sometimes hit me because he wanted the attention I poured into HIS children. My husband didn’t hit me because I was a bad cook. I learnt how to make his favorite dishes, things alien to me, and he ate first, he ate everything he wanted, while I starved. The children were secondary to him. Want formula to top up the baby’s milk? Give him a blow job, or forget it, baby can starve. Want diapers for your two week old baby, open your legs Anata, and give me your Manko, or I’ll take it anyway, doesn’t matter if you are bleeding and hurt, I don’t care. Just had a baby? Nothing to do with me. Give me or I’ll take and I won’t be kind.
Why my husband hit me? It wasn’t because I cheated: I never left the house. He would accuse me of flirting with his friends, and when I became cool and distant, I was accused of not being nice enough to them. Why my husband hit me! If I was silent, I was a bitch, if I spoke, I was a nag, a harridan. I learnt the Japanese words for witch, bitch, nag, and wild and free like a horse. I was Wagamama, and it was not a good thing.
So why did my husband hit me? Because he could. He hit me because he could and no one would do anything to stop him. He hit me because he hated his life, because he was stressed at work, and I was stress relief. He hit me because he had a strain of evil running through him. He used to tell me someone was sitting on his shoulders, whipping him. It was a ploy to excuse himself, not some ghost from the graveyard at Obon. It was his better Angel that he chose to ignore.
Why did my husband hit me? Because he hated his mother, who was mentally ill and was not a good mother to him. He hit me because he liked the feeling of his fist against my flesh, he smashed my head in to exorcise some rage that didn’t belong to me. All the reasons he hit me, were all things to do with him. Not one of them were to do with me.
I read today some PRICK of an actor voiced an opinion that women were to blame for men’s violence against them. It made my gorge rise in my throat. I felt personally attacked. I felt hurt, I felt panicked. What man might decide next that I’ve done something to make them hit me? Would one of you men tell me what I can do to stop being hit again? I am old, and I hurt, I have so many old injuries which were too bad to heal well, that were too extreme not to be permanent. I don’t see so good on the left side. I can’t hear on that side either. My left leg is a disaster, my left shoulder pops out of it’s joint. I’ve arthritis in broken fingers and wrists. I’m scarred like a soldier from knives. I’m missing hair where it was torn out of my scalp.
Why did my husband hit me? Because Patriarchy. Because Him. Because NOT ME.