The Anatomy of a Woman ABUSED

CHAPTER 1: FLASHBACKS

Like a blinding flash of light, images of violent acts against my body appear; while I work, when I am driving, anytime my memory chooses to revive them.  At that moment, the vision from my past is clear—as if it just happened. I may react to the scene replayed in my head with a flinch from a slap on the face, or by folding into the fetal position to deflect the vision of a fist connecting with my chest. My vision is of the past; my reaction is in the present. 

I have many flashbacks of the physical abuse I endured for twelve years. Some attribute my visions to paranoia or fear, whatever the source, I need to remember. I don't want to forget because I don’t ever want it to happen again. My name is Geraldine Blevins, and I am a survivor of domestic abuse.

The clock was ticking. You know, my biological clock; the rhythm of life, love, happiness (finding that man, and having some babies.)  By the time I was 25, I was in and out of enough dead-end relationships to make most women give up dating. I wasted over three years, prowling through personal ads and dating men sight unseen. Some were a big disappointment, and some were potentially dangerous. None of them seemed to be looking for anything more than a physical relationship or a "Sugar Mama". 

I was in foster care through the age of 18 months, along with my sister.  My brother Mark was fortunate that his natural father was located before he was taken to foster care.  He took Mark to live with his family in Ohio.  My younger sister Cora and I were in separate foster homes. As fate would have it, we grew up in the same neighborhood, attended the same schools, and ironically became best friends.

We visited each other's homes and even had sleepovers until early in our teens. It was during a sleepover that we overheard a discussion about the neighborhood gossip concerning our "real" parents. I asked my mother about it went I got home. She broke down and cried as she told me the "secret."  She said that Cora and I were actually sisters and that our mother had asked the neighborhood church, to help find good homes for us, then she supposedly left us in their care, and just disappeared.

I was sure there was much more to the "secret", which is probably why from that point on, Cora and I were discouraged from being close.  Even though we continued to live in the same community, I hardly ever saw my sister again socially.  Eventually, when I left the state, we lost contact.