Someone recently asked me about my story. I guess I'd never really thought about telling it before. Mostly because what I'm about to write will seem like fiction or a ploy for sympathy. I promise, however, that every word to follow will be weighted with truth and devoid of any embellishment.

In some fit of irony I was born in a town called Eclectic. I lived in Kowaliga (a region named after an old Native American, the same as referred to by Hank Williams in the song Kowaliga. The cabin where it was written was just up the road from my first house) on Castaway Island. Kowaliga was just one of the many regions surrounding Lake Martin, which, when it was built, was the largest man made body of water in the world.

My dad left when I was young. The divorce happened when I was four and for the year that followed my father contacted us less and less, until finally around age six we just never heard from him again.

Nothing of any measure happened to me until I was fifteen. Starting my sophomore year of high school I met the first guy I would fall in love with. He was best friends with my best friend's brother so it wasn't long before we were sharing a bed at their house (the parents were never home, it was a common party area). The months after that were spent in the hallways of our high school, or with me watching him skate for hours and hours after school and on weekends (this was where I first realize my passion for photography), or in bed together. And I loved him deeply and truly for a long, long time.

Until, like all relationships, we became to comfortable with each other for our own good. Fights were more often, but we took the good with the bad and were still what we called "invincible." At the almost year mark, I screwed up. He was out of town and I went to a party without him. There was a guy that slept in the living room with me, and the next day I'm hearing that we had sex in front of everyone at the party (it never happened, I didn't even drink). That was our downfall. After that he started to fly off the handle at random moments. At first he just yelled a lot. Then he got into a pattern of throwing me on his bed or against walls and holding me down by kneeling on my torso and holding my wrists above my head while he yelled at me and called me a whore and told me no one would ever want me. If I yelled he'd either choke me or gag me with a t-shirt.

Then one day I broke free. I ran down the steps from his room, but he caught up with me. He threw me against a wall, put a knife to my throat and told me he'd kill me if I ever tried to get away again. His family watched this happen, and they never said anything about it. They were just feet away from us, but they kept watching TV like they didn't even notice us. Then he picked me up and threw me out of his house and down his front steps onto the sidewalk.

I didn't go back for a long time. He called for weeks begging and apologizing, I told my self he was back to MY love. Mr. Hyde was gone for good.

Dr. Jekyl lasted about a week. On my seventeenth birthday I wanted us to go out with my friends to eat. He didn't want to. I tried going without him, but then he threw me down again. This time I was ready for him. I called my best friend, muted my phone, and set it to speaker. She heard everything, him yelling, me begging him to stop, to get off me.

Then he hit me. Like Pretty Woman, I don't know what it is about a man, but they always know how to hit a girl just so it hurts the most.

I had finger marks on my arms and neck, a busted lip and a black eye for two weeks. The marks were easy enough to hide if I wore long sleeved shirts and wore my hair down. When my mom asked about my eye and lip, I told her a girl was practicing turns at dance and kicked me in the face. I think she knew I was lying, but she let it go, probably not wanting to believe that her own daughter was going through some of the same things she had.

For a year he beat me. Not everyday, but weekly. I prayed every damn day for a way out. He threatened my family, my friends, told me that if I told anyone he'd kill them. After he did it he would hold me while I cried and apologize over and over. He'd force me to have sex with him, beating me if I didn't. I can't count the number of times I laid on his bed, unmoving, trying to drown myself in my own tears.

Then everything changed. In December 2007, I found out that I was pregnant. I didn't tell him for a long time, I just stopped talking to him. Finally I gave in to his pleas and went over. I wanted closure and my stuff. I don't know why I went, I don't know why I still loved him. I walked in the door and he slapped me before he even said, "Hi."

I pushed him back into his house and pulled the door shut. I moved the rocking chair on his porch in front of his door, and sprinted to my car. He chased after me, but tripped over the chair. I barely made it. There was no way this bastard was EVER touching my child.

He found out about the baby. Of course. It's a small town, we had a lot of the same friends.
I managed to avoid him. I didn't answer his calls, emails, text messages. My friends rallied around me. The day after I finally admitted to my pregnancy, a girl I hadn't spoken to in over a year approached me, hugged me, and gave me two books for Bella. My senior year was the best year of my life thanks to the support of my friends and family. I did some freelance photography for local magazines, and threw myself full force into my high school news paper and broadcast media organizations. I graduated 30th in my class (and that's saying something in a class that had four valedictorians), was accepted into Auburn University but I'm attending community college for two years so I can stay at home, save money, and spend time with my girl all day. I spend all day with her, go to class at night, and still go out on the weekends after she goes to bed (she sleeps with my parents until I get home). I'm dating a few people, nothing serious. You'd be surprised how many guys are okay with it, but I'm not ready to get back into a relationship for a while. I have the most amazing group of friends I could ask for. Next summer I plan to enroll in Auburn and move into a house with Bella and my two best friends

It's probably really corny, but looking back on it, this baby was my prayers being answered, my way out. I was finally strong enough to leave and stay gone.

Isabella "Bella" Bain was born on July 9th, 2008 at 12:30 p.m. She has her daddy's hair (a full head of it) and chin, but she has mommy's eyes and fingernails. No, that's not a typo.

Tomorrow (January 12, 2009) is the first court hearing for the custody battle. The bastard has no job, barely graduated high school and isn't going to college. He's a foreign national, thereby a major flight risk. This is going to be the fight of my life. Wish me luck.