By Markie Doczi | Featured Contributor

I remember the day I first became a statistic. I was nineteen years old, and I had a good head on my shoulders. Not being smart was never my problem; it was extreme naiveté that had gotten me here.

My husband had just slapped me across the face for the first time. I felt the weight of the world suddenly bearing down upon my shoulders, and I could see my plans for the future blurring before my eyes as the thought slowly crept across my mind:

I’m that girl.

Suddenly I was just another in a sea of young women, lured into a ‘bad relationship’— a term which I would come to learn covered all manner of sins. I’d had a plan for my life. I wanted to marry young (as I had), and saw myself having children while I was still young so that when they were grown and gone I’d be able to enjoy my retirement years before old age set in.

Now, as I stood frozen in that horrible moment, all of those dreams seemed to be vanishing. Then came the next inevitable thought:

What am I going to do?

We had only been married for two months. I had never seen myself as the type of woman to tolerate abusive behavior, but I was also not the type of woman who took her vows lightly. I hadn’t gotten married thinking that I’d just leave if it didn’t work out.

Now I was angry, because he knew that about me and had taken advantage of it. How dare he use me in this way! We had been together for over a year, and not one time before this had he ever raised a hand to me.

I felt betrayed. Duped. And trapped.

Over the next year and a half, things gradually worsened. The isolated incidents became more frequent, and the bruises became harder to hide. Along with the physical abuse came the mental abuse: after knocking me down he’d shout things like, “Why do you make me do this to you?!” Eventually it culminated in an incident that is a story of its own: ultimately he was arrested, and it was the first time he’d ever had real consequences for his actions. I breathed a sigh of relief at this…and gave him one more chance after he got out of jail.

It didn’t take long for him to slap me again. Shocked and hurt, I finally left him.

Divorced by the age of twenty-one, I again felt such failure and shame. It took me years to stop seeing myself as a statistic, and start seeing what I really was…

A survivor.

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Author Bio

Markie Doczi is a 33-year-old author and poet from Middleport, Ohio. She aspires to relate to people with her poetry, touching on many real life issues and situations. Markie is the author of Beneath the Old Oak Tree, a collection of original poetry, and she is also currently pursuing professional publication of her historical fiction, Blue Heaven’s Tent.

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