留下來，難相愛

This year’s assault by 1）Ray Rice of his thenfiancée， now-wife， sends the same shivers through my body as the police photograph of Rihanna’s battered face five years ago.

Rice and 2）Chris Brown have made domestic violence famous. It doesn’t feel like a dirty little secret from low-income， struggling communities any more. It happens in all walks of life.

Yet， there is such a stigma clinging to domestic violence that it continues to make me feel embarrassed， humiliated and shocked when I think of my own assault.

On 3）Canada Day in 2010， I locked myself in my bedroom and crawled into a ball to hide from the prying eyes of the outside world. I spent the day knitting together a web of lies to present to my family， friends and colleagues to explain the mass of bruising and swelling on my face. The cuts and grazes on my body could be hidden by carefully placed clothing.

The horrors of the early hours of that day still make my palms clammy and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I had kept the intimate details locked away in the darkest part of my memory until I saw the security footage of Rice punching his partner unconscious. The moment his fist hits her face， painful 4）flashbacks hit me like a bolt of lightning.

I， too， was dragged from room to room， but my memory was not protected by an unconscious state. There were two smashed mirrors， a bathroom door kicked open， a TV screen 5）crumpled.

I was finally pinned down on the bed we shared， his strong legs securing my 6）flailing arms， leaving his fists free to connect with my face. I can’t remember the exact number of punches， but I do remember thinking I didn’t want to die.

Thankfully， a neighbour rescued me. He knocked on my door and the punches stopped. That neighbour probably saved my life. He took me to his apartment， which was directly above mine， and his frightened girlfriend helped wash the blood from my face.

“I’ll call the police，” she said， but as soon as I heard the word police my body stiffened with fear. What would my mother say？ What would my brother do？ I didn’t want to be the cause of any more trouble.

So I thanked my brave neighbours through tears and headed back downstairs to start weaving my web of lies.

Why did I feel shame？ Why did I feel embarrassed？ I was the victim！ I had been attacked by an ex-soldier with overwhelming strength. Why did I have to lie to those closest to me？

All these questions came flooding back recently， spurred on by the highly publicized domestic violence cases in the celebrity world.

It was the thought of my intimate relationship being judged that drove me to hide my injuries. I 7）concocted a story about getting mixed up in a bar 8）brawl. “A 9）wayward elbow caught my face.”Did I come to believe it？ I don’t think I did. But I had to tell the story so many times that it began to feel real. And that’s when I started to block out the attack.

Maybe it didn’t happen， I thought. Maybe it was all just a bad dream， and I do have a happy life and a loving relationship.

I was saving face. I didn’t want to admit that I’d made a bad judgment of character. I didn’t want to admit defeat against the expectations of society； perfect partner， perfect relationship， perfect job.

And so I convinced myself it was a “10）blip”in the relationship. Maybe I’d provoked him. Maybe I deserved it. Nobody is perfect.

“We’ll go to counselling and talk about it，” I decided. “Everything will be okay. Everything will be perfect again.”

I was still spinning the lies when I ventured outside， and those lies became my reality. On July 2， I carried on with my life and my relationship.

11）Behind closed doors， we were both apologetic， both 12）racked with guilt： He， because he had to stare at my bruised face and see the reality that his hands had inflicted those injuries， and I， because I stayed， because I wanted that perfect life to continue.

We stayed together， living the lies， for two more months.

I am not sure if the assault will have an effect on my future relationships. I’ve tried not to let it define me. I’ve spent four years trying to become a stronger， more independent woman.

It’s okay to be on your own， I’ve learned. It’s okay if you don’t have a perfect relationship. Don’t be trapped in a relationship where you are a victim， male or female.

Society needs to shed the stigma of domestic violence. Reach out to victims， knock on your neighbour’s door and tell them that it’s okay to admit defeat.

今年球星雷·萊斯毆打其當(dāng)時的未婚妻（如今已成為其妻子）的事件就跟我五年前看到警察曝光蕾哈娜被打得鼻青臉腫的照片時一樣，讓我渾身打起寒顫。

萊斯和克里斯·布朗讓家庭暴力一夜成名。感覺它已不再是煎熬困苦的低收入人群之間那骯臟的小秘密，而是發(fā)生在各個階層人士之中。

然而，家庭暴力始終縈繞著一種恥辱感，久久籠罩著我，讓我每次想起自己被毆打的經(jīng)歷時都不禁感到尷尬、羞辱和震驚。

2010年加拿大日那天，我把自己鎖在房間里，蜷縮成一團，妄圖躲開外界窺探的眼睛。我花了一整天在編造謊言，好向我的家人、朋友和同事們解釋我鼻青臉腫的緣由。只要仔細穿戴好衣服，我身上的割傷和擦傷是可以被遮蓋起來的。

那天早些時候的驚恐，至今仍讓我手心冒汗，毛骨悚然。

在看到萊斯將他的妻子暴打至昏迷的監(jiān)控視頻之前，我一直將自己的那些私密細節(jié)封鎖在我記憶中最陰暗的位置。看到他的拳頭打在她臉上的那一刻，痛苦的記憶像閃電一樣擊向我。

我，也曾被人從一個房間拖到另一個房間，然而我的記憶并沒有得到失去意識的“呵護”。我記得兩面鏡子被打爛了，浴室的門被踢開了，一個電視屏幕也被打褶了。

最終，我被按在了我們的大床上，他強有力的雙腿穩(wěn)住我胡亂揮動反抗著的雙臂，這讓他的拳頭可以隨意地打在我的臉上。我已記不清自己被拳打了多少下，但是我清晰地記得我不想就這樣死去。……