If we compare the progress of an intimate relationship to writing a story there we find the three components that shapes a story; beginning, middle and ending. The beginning many times is the effect caused by an end making the end, often, a new beginning. There in the middle we find the climax of the story. In the middle of intimate relationships is where we can find conflict.
Every relationship will experience conflict in some form or fashion. Conflict appears after all the niceties’ of getting to know one another. Conflict appears when the veil of intimate diplomacy drops exposing the true person with all their qualities, as well as their faults and flaws. No matter the degree of content within the conflict, it comes and must be addressed then resolved.j
Always remember; where there is love, there is a resolution. The content of conflict appears heated, mellow dramatic, even destructive but where there is love there is a resolution.
Within the mental framework of all human beings there is a nondescript pattern of thought referred to as the voice of reason. Some psychologists attribute it to the super-ego (that which makes up the conscious self) and others to the id (that which is instinctual, part of the unconscious self). The psychological portion of it, for this purpose, has no relevancy except to state that it exists.
The voice of reason appears much like the voice a writer hears when developing characters. Although it is a gentle voice it resonates throughout the mind as the effect a trumpet blast would have close to the ear. It speaks a statement, it sometimes ask a question
or it gives an instruction. The voice of reason is there to coerce humans to redirect some action; ironically, as it resounds within the mind seldom is it heard. This may be due to its gentle nature; metaphorically a mother’s whisper to her sleepy child. Often you hear someone remark, “…something told me to…” or “…I should have listened to my first thought…” It's a voice because it speaks, directs, and instructs almost as if it is from outside of self. This is the voice that aids in any conflict if we listen.
Vernetta Davis is a woman who shared with this author her discovery of this voice. Vernetta has given her permission to recount the story of that discovery here. This author expresses great appreciation to her for sharing this story with us.
Vernetta’s Story
I was an abused wife and my husband used me as a punching bag whenever he thought bills needed to be paid. He preferred to gamble with his money, he preferred to show his girlfriends a goodtime and since we both worked he felt I could pay the household bills. because I earned more money than he did. For the last five years of our marriage we screamed, yelled, and cursed as a form of communication. I was so tired and worn out I could not smile anymore.
The proverbial straw that broke the camels back came when he got angry with me because I wanted to leave. He slammed me against the wall as he choked me, took his pistol, and pried it under one of my nostrils telling me if I try to leave him he would kill me. After nasty threats on my life he promised that if I managed to get away, he would kill my parents and my two daughters. I was so accustomed to his threats on me that I didn’t care but now he’s threatening my family. I knew him to be capable of and unstable enough to carry out such a threat A cool chill started at the base of my neck working its way down my spine and I remember the area around my kneecap weakening.
He finally released me after I promised never to leave. As I walked away he said, “I love you but I’ll kill you.” I went to the bathroom feeling hopelessly trapped. I reached under the sink for a cleaning solution to clean blood I spat into the sink from my bleeding lips. During our scuffle I must have busted my lip. Holding the cleaning fluid in my hand, I read the bottle cautioning if it got in the eyes to flush with water. At that moment I was no longer in thought. I do not recall any thoughts as I took a small cup from the counter and filled it with the cleaning solution.
I walked in my bedroom where he was now getting dressed up to go out. We were both silent. Holding onto the cup I went to my closet where we kept one of his old bats from when he played ball a few years back. This was the bat that won their championship and later it would be the bat that won my freedom. I reached inside, took out the bat with one hand and with all the force I could manage, I whacked his elbow. As he swung around I splashed the cleaning fluid in his face.
He was screaming while feeling his way to the bedroom door. I whacked his back just as he got into the hallway. He was turning, trying to see me, and kicking in my direction. I whacked the shins of both legs. As I whacked I was screaming don’t hurt my children, don’t hurt my daddy. He was pleading, “Please don’t hit me, please, please Vernetta.” I whacked again and again. He turned to the side and I whacked and whacked then I discovered a sensation of arousal this confused me, surprised me, but my attention drew back to him trying to get up.
I knew if he got up and cleared his eyes I would never see another sunrise. I raised the bat over my head and literally felt my body building force. My teeth clenched; there was tension in the sides of my neck, my heart was pumping blood at a speed that I never felt before and just as I took a deep breathe to bring the bat down across his head, I heard, “don’t kill this man.” I froze and even looked around as if it was someone outside of myself, at the same time I knew it was from within me.
I dropped the bat, went to the phone, and called the police and an ambulance. For the next few days I thought of nothing but this nightmare and the voice that saved his life and mine. He stayed in the hospital four days. I visited him on the third day with my clothes packed in my car to tell him goodbye. He pleaded with me to stay and let’s start over. As I walked out of hospital room I could hear him crying, calling my name.
I’ve had three conversation with him since then; each time he says “I really loved you.”
Again, thank you Vernetta.
