The day he threw me on the rocks, I remember how I had carried each one of the damned things to the side of that driveway. The first hit didn’t hurt as bad as I had thought it would. The second-- that one hurt worse. As his fingers left welts and bruises around my throat, I remember thinking “This isn’t supposed to happen to me…” He yelled a lot and screamed but he had to love me because he bought me that ring.  

The day he threw me on the rocks, I understood that he was not the prince I thought he was. He was no longer the knight who had saved me from all the bad things that haunted me. I realized on the day that he threw me on those rocks by my throat--so many damn times--that he would replace the old bad things that haunted me and caused the insomnia.

The day he threw me on the rocks, I sobbed as I lay in the road asking what I did wrong. I could only comprehend that I deserved the beating and the shame that followed in the days of wearing scarves or hiding in my sweatshirts--collars all the way up.

The day he threw me on the rocks, I had to pick myself up. Nobody came running to help me as I lay battered and broken on the ground. With gritted teeth and a limp, I was able to walk back to my car. Alone, I drove home and hid from the world.

The day he threw me on the rocks, I understood something. I was better than this. I didn’t deserve the rage and violence. No person deserves to be thrown by the throat onto rocks. No person should be able to drag another by the throat to a creek and threaten to break their bones or drown them. No human should be thrown on the rocks.

The day he threw me on the rocks, I grew from child to woman. The day he threw me on the rocks, I understood. The day he threw me on the rocks, I changed. The damn day he threw me on the rocks will never happen again.