Fall From Grace

As I opened my eyes and tried to pull my awareness to the moment, my focus on the ceiling light went in and out, as if I was moving through a haze, being pulled, and then pushed. Quickly my attention went from trying to focus on the ceiling, to the realization that something was steadily trickling down both sides of my face. My first thought was, ‘Don’t move, just breathe, you’re alive’. As I tried to take in a deep breath it was quickly interrupted by me choking on the liquid that had accumulated at the back of my throat. Without thought, I rolled over from my back to my side in order to try to clear my airway so I could take a breath. I coughed a couple of times as I felt the liquid that was being expelled from my mouth and nose. After what seemed like forever, I was finally able to take in a couple of deep breaths. The pain I felt in my face was like nothing I had ever felt before. As I continued to lay there on the vinyl tile floor of my kitchen, feeling the liquid draining from my face, breathing through the pain, I prayed that it was over, that he was no longer there, and that it was okay to move.

It only took me a couple of breaths to realize that the entire upper half of my body was lying in a puddle of blood, my blood. I reached up to touch my face, feeling if it was still there, and the blood gushing from my face instantly covered my hand. At that moment I thought ‘How long have I been lying here?’ Something from inside me demanded, ‘Get up! Get up NOW your kids need you! Get up and call for help!’. Somehow, I found the strength deep down inside me to push myself to stand up and go find my phone. I don’t particularly have any memory of where my phone was, but somehow, I managed to find it and dial 911. I remember the blood dripping from my face and running down over my top lip as I blew it away so it wouldn’t drip into the phone, as I waited on the line for the 911 dispatcher. In what seemed like an eternity, the phone clicked and I thought that I was finally connected. I said, “I need help, I had an argument with my boyfriend. I don’t remember anything after seeing his fist coming towards my face, and I woke up in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor.” As I paced the floor between the kitchen and the living room, blood was everywhere. I realized that the pool of blood I had been lying in, on my kitchen floor, was like what you see in the movies, where a murder crime scene happens.

In that instance, I realized that no one was on the line. I said “Hello, hello” and quickly realized that my call was never connected. I hung up and called back. This time carefully dialing each number, 9, -1, -1. From the time I hit the last number until the time I heard the welcome sound of the dispatcher kindly say “911 what’s your emergency?”, I had decided that I was so embarrassed by what had just happened to me, at the same time scared for my life if I told them what my boyfriend had done, that I couldn’t possibly tell them the truth. I regretted even making the call but knew I needed help. Calmly as if nothing happened, I said, “Is this 911?” “Yes”, she said “How can I help you?” “Um Yes, Ma’am, I fell and hit my face on the back doorknob, and I woke up on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. I need an ambulance, please.” She repeated back to me exactly what I had said as if she wasn’t sure if that was the truth. As I tried to remain as calm as I could, I answered, “Yes, correct Mama. I have lost a lot of blood and I don’t feel steady enough to drive myself to the hospital.” She asked if anyone was in the house with me. Assuming he had left, since his car was not in the driveway, and in keeping with my lie I proceeded to tell her that I was alone the whole time, that my boyfriend, who had been staying in my apartment with me, had left earlier that morning for work. “The ambulance is on its way. Please stay on the line with me until they arrive’” She instructed. While I held the phone to my ear in silence, afraid to say anymore, I found a kitchen towel and started to wipe the blood off my hands, arms, and face. I held the towel to my face not knowing where the blood was coming from exactly, hoping to catch some of the blood still streaming down from my face.

When the ambulance arrived, I opened the front door to let in the EMTs. We didn’t go into the kitchen, and I was thankful, as I didn’t want them to see how much blood was everywhere, and that the huge puddle on the floor was nowhere near the back door. I was afraid they would question the validity of the doorknob story, and pry for the truth. I was afraid if I told them the truth my boyfriend would be arrested and look for revenge on me upon his release from jail. They asked me a couple of questions, helped me into the ambulance, and transported me to the hospital. At the hospital, they got the bleeding to stop, gave me an IV bag of fluids, and took multiple X-rays and images of my face. In telling them what had happened, I continued with the same fabricated story. As my adrenaline began to come down, a rush of emotions came over me and tears started to run down my face. I thought, ‘What had I done?’ I was inundated with a flood of emotions. All at the same time I was so ashamed, so scared, so thankful to be alive, so grateful my children were at their dad’s for the weekend, so fearful that the next time I’d see my boyfriend he’d likely want to kill me. As the tears streamed down my face, my nurse asked, “Are you okay? Are you sure that is what happened?” “Yes”, I muttered “I’m sure, just sad that this happened” I reassured her, as my body started to shake all over.

The x-rays and images came back from radiology. In preparing to deliver the bad news to me, the ER doctor explained that I was lucky to be alive and that he had never seen anything like my films before. He let me know that I had sustained eleven shattered bones, and at least twenty-seven additional fractures to my frontal skull between my septum, nose, and eye sockets. He said that they don’t usually recommend emergency surgery for face trauma, however in my case, with the severity of my injuries, they were preparing me for emergency reconstructive surgery the next morning. I cried as I made the call to let my parents know what happened, and to see if they would pick up my kids upon their return from their dad’s later that evening. I told them the same story, that I had fallen into the doorknob. They were able to help me with getting the kids for the night, and I didn’t have to have them see me this way and question what had happened. The next morning the local ENT surgeon performed an emergency Rhinoplasty and Septoplasty, where he removed all the shattered bones, and most of the cartilage from the injured areas of my face and replaced them with strips of plastic to reconstruct my features as best as he could. After the surgery to rebuild my face and restore my ability to breathe through my nose, I was left with permanent nerve damage on the left side of my face, called Trigeminal Neuralgia, also known as “the suicide disease”.

The thoughts and emotions poured through my mind during my stay at the hospital. I didn’t understand why this was happening to me. What did I do to deserve this? How did things escalate to this point? Why didn’t I see it coming? What if I would have died there on the floor? What would have happened to my kids? How can I continue to hide the truth of what happened? How can I protect my young children from seeing their mother as a victim and thinking that this kind of violence is acceptable? How could I make sure this never happens again? Well, I did what any submissive, illogical, victim, full of fear does… I withdrew from nursing school, took some time off from my two jobs, and forgave him. I believed the manipulation that he orchestrated; I was the one to blame. It was my behavior that provoked his rage. It was my words, and the tone of my voice, that set him off. If I wouldn’t have made him angry then it would have never happened. If I would have had more time to spend with him then he wouldn’t have gone home with that other girl. It was easier to accept these as part of my fabricated truth than it was to face my fears, let my family down, yet again, and have my children be aware of the terrible situation.

Unfortunately, it took me six long years of playing small, taking the blame, being the victim, and feeling like that was what I deserved, before I was able to break free from the abuse and manipulation of this relationship. It took many years after that for me to start to feel as if I was worthy of healing the wounds inflicted on me by other people’s shadows, and negative energy that had run ramped my entire life. Old wounds were brought to the surface, and more questions arose in my mind. How did I let someone have so much power and control over me? How did I get to a place where I never thought I would be, not once but twice? Why was I destined to keep repeating this pattern in my life? Why did this negative pattern keep repeating itself generation after generation, and time after time in my own life? I felt like my life was a scene from the movie Groundhog Day, where the bad day just kept playing out over and over again, continually getting worse, until the lesson was learned. What lesson did I need to learn? How could I break free from a life of abuse, a life of fear, a life of being unseen and unheard so as to not poke the bear? How could I move from being a victim of fear, being afraid of everything, to living a life that I so desperately wanted, free from these negative shadows and limiting beliefs? How could I take back control of my own life, and teach my children how to not make the same mistakes I had?

I remember so clearly when my journey all made sense to me, when I had this moment of clarity, where I knew in my heart what I was here to do. It was shortly after I was able to free myself, and my children, from the clutches of that controlling, abusive relationship, six long years after he left me for dead on the kitchen floor. When it became too much to fear what might happen if I had a differing opinion, made a wrong move, said something that may cause a disagreement, or wondered if my life and the life of my children would be spared on a daily basis. This is when I feel I was guided by that voice within to start asking the right questions; ‘Why do you feel that you are not worthy of being treated with love, and respect, or having space for yourself? What are you really afraid of? How can you let the fears of being alone get in the way of who you are meant to be?’

You know, I think I was more surprised that the answers came just as easily as the questions. Curled into the fetal position, on the floor of my shower, I pictured the water from the shower running down my face and body, washing the pain and sadness down the drain. Here, the answers were crystal clear. My thinking was that I was where I deserved to be, after all, I had been a pretty difficult child, especially in adolescence, and I was responsible for my parents’ divorce, since I was the unwanted child, at least for one of them, somehow I was responsible for the death of my grandparents, and my childhood best friend, and I had been convinced over many decades that I was nothing more than an object to be owned and controlled by men. What was I afraid of? Well, just about everything! What wasn’t I afraid of? As for who I wanted to be, well that seemed to be so far removed from my life it was pointless to even think about it. Or was it?

It was at that moment that I realized that I was not ready to throw in the towel and accept that my life would be forever stuck in these patterns of negativity, abuse, fear, and adversities; That I would once again, be on the floor of my bathtub crying so that my tears would be washed down the drain from the shower and no one would hear me cry. No, I was determined not to allow myself to ever be in this situation again. In order to do this, I had to take a really deep look inside to see what changes were needed to move away from my fears, and towards the life I knew I wanted. The answer was right in front of me. I was going to focus on myself, and my children, and nothing was going to stop me from being free of these old patterns and ending this terrible cycle of abuse once and for all.

Title: [Chapter excerpt] Fall From Grace; Genre: Self-help Memoir; Age range: 18-65; Word count: 2402; Author name; Lyrah Durga; Why your project is a good fit, the hook, synopsis, target audience, bio: Discover the extraordinary resilience and unwavering spirit of Lyrah Durga, an exceptional keynote speaker, and up and coming Author, igniting audiences with inspiration. Her remarkable journey epitomizes human growth, courage, and the unwavering pursuit of happiness. From defying the odds to triumphing over abuse, loss, and adversity, Lyrah's story radiates with resilience. Her transformation from darkness to a life brimming with love, joy, and accomplishments is nothing short of remarkable. With a Bachelor's Degree, successful parenting, a harmonious marriage, and a thriving career, Lyrah embodies dedication and perseverance. As a passionate advocate for personal growth, Lyrah empowers others through her story. With interactive exercises, practical tools, and invaluable advice, she equips audiences to conquer challenges, shatter limitations, and break free from negative patterns. Lyrah's message is simple yet powerful—our choices shape our lives. Her journey inspires profound transformation, transcending fear and embracing freedom, love, and boundless light. Lyrah brings her transformative journey of resilience, courage, and unwavering determination to the page. She will ignite the spark within your audience, empowering them to create lasting positive change.