Glen Hope, PA USA
Why I Write ( A Self Reflection)
I have been asked many times why I write, what inspires me. So, with a bit of self reflection, I have come up with this answer.
I spent 17 years with an abusive husband. Always thinking if I could just do better, be a better wife, that things would change. He refused to give me any of himself and cared not to know me. I spent 17 years with a stranger in all realities.
I would have left years ago had I had a way to support myself and two young kids. I went back to school after they started school. College 9 years our of high school, worked my butt off, graduated with honors and secured a good job.
I thought the time had come when I could actually get things together, leave and have a life for myself and my boys. As always, life threw a money wrench into the system and my husband became very ill and was fired from his job. Mind you, he puts on a very good show in public and people think he is a wonderful man. I never told anyone, not even my family the way he treated me or the kids. As they say, "Pride goeth before the fall," and I learned that lesson well. I couldn't leave him. I would have looked like a wife running away from a "nice" sick husband.
It came to the point where he needed a kidney and pancreas transplant. Pancreases are easy to come by, a dime a dozen if you will, but kidneys on the other hand take 4 years, sometimes more. I knew I could not stay in that relationship for another four years. I was dying inside. Simply existing, going through the motions, but never living. I had given up writing for over 13 years; it was easier to not feel than to feel the hurt. For me to write, I have to bring so many emotions, I couldn't deal with right then, to the surface. That, coupled with the fact that he ridiculed me early in my marriage every time I wrote anything, calling my writing stupid, kept me from writing at all.
When he went to be evaluated for the kidney and pancreas transplant, they asked me if I would be tested for a possible donor and I agreed. I was enough of a match to donate. I donated one of my kidneys to him, nursed him back to health and then packed a bag and left...never looking back.
I wish I could say I did what I did from the goodness of my heart, but I didn't. I did it out of desperation. Gave a part of myself to get my life and myself back. I didn't see any other choice at the time. The physical scars have healed, the emotional ones well on their way, but they take a bit more time.
You ask why I write...to me writing is a symbol of my freedom, a right I have earned, and a reflection of my life serving as a reminder of where I have been and never wish to return.