This is me, this is you.
That’s me over there, and that’s you before the ring. We are smiling.
My skin is dark. Really melanin. And make up? None! I am excited to do this one thing! I thought being wedded meant he’d be more than what my Mother and Father are to me.

Now, I wear a wig because my hair won’t grow, I have lightened my skin because he said my colour was “dirty black”. He said my skin did not shine. Now, I wear lots of make-up to cover up my pain and sadness and the heart that bleeds from not being loved back!

He mocks me. He says I look ridiculous. He says my legs look like toothpicks. He said that the maid looks better than me! I shiver when I hear his knock on the door. I wish he will cheat on me so that it can take away his attention from me. He says all women are prostitutes but that some are worse than others. He says I’m the really bad kind. The kind that hides just how bad it is. I cannot argue because when I tried, he said It is because I was guilty. And truly I am always guilty. Guilty of not having the energy to fight back or run away.

He sniffs my underwear when he gets back from work. He talks to me through clenched teeth and wallows in the fear he puts in me! He says I am his curse and the reason for his poverty!

He says I smell like rotten fish down “there”, but he doesn’t let the “there” rest. He rides it so much that the “there” has lost all its juice. It’s usually sore from the riding that is like punishment – a payment for whores, he says. Can’t you move? he says, “old whores don’t move, they just lay there –like you, he says. Tears no longer come from my eyes but from my heart, and from my will and zeal to live. I am a corpse so I can’t move, but I can moan. I moan and moan till it’s over. He says I can’t f*** even if it is to save my life!

His sick definition of love is a putrid ooze that follows me everywhere I go. Even when he is not there, I cringe!

If this is you, run. Get away from him.
Abuse is not love and can never be. Choose live. Choose living.
Do not accept abuse. Abuse is not love!


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I envision Hilda’s Shoulder to be a relationship park-a place you go to learn, vent and share. I have another understanding of the word relationship -I don’t think it is for people dating only. A marriage is a relationship too, and one which needs great rela- tions in the SHIP called home!
Hilda’s Shoulder is a place where we virtually hold hands like - real friends should. If you want to come anonymously...we understand ..still come! Hilda’s shoulder is here for you!


Dear Hilda, is for informational purposes only, does not constitute medical advice, and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician, mental-health professional, or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition.
By submitting a letter, you are agreeing to let Hildas Shoulder use it—in part or in full—and we may edit it for length and/or clarity.

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