Loud

It's Loud

The definition of domestic violence is violent or aggressive behavior within the home, typically involving the violent abuse of a spouse or a partner.

How does it look, what does it sound like, what does it feel like for those who aren't involved?

Let me help you.

In one word, it's LOUD.

It's deafening. And it makes you tremble. But not with fear for yourself. You stopped being worried about what will happen to you a long time ago. You're shaking with the fear of what will happen to them. How far will they go this time?

It's anticipation.

It's knowing deep down in your bones that something is going to happen. And nine times out of 10, you're right. It does happen.

Something gets broken. Just like your family, something gets shattered.

What does it sound like?

WHAT DOES IT SOUND LIKE?!

It sounds just like that.

It is the raising of voices in anger, in hysteria. It's a toxic argument, and you could almost hear the slithering and rattling coils as the demons of rage and disorder wrap themselves around the both of them like a cobra. It sounds like fiddling with something before it's thrown, smashed against the wall, or on the floor over and over. It looks like the banging of fists on doors and walls over the screaming of the word STOP.

IT SOUNDS LIKE THIS. LIKE THERE IS NOISE IN THE HOUSE AND NOISE IN YOUR HEAD. LIKE OH MY GOD, WHEN WILL IT FINISH?! WHEN WILL IT STOP?!

It's the two seconds of calm before the yelling starts again, and everything is repeated. It's the second round, and now you're crying because why is this your life? You're not the one approached, you're not touched, the anger is not against you so why do you feel like an overflowing well of tears, fear, and the longing to flee so far away that you'll be in a country where no one knows your name, and you don't know your family anymore?

After it's done, there's silence.

It's the kind of silence that compresses your chest. It's heavy. It's loud, and it's the kind of silence that SCREAMS you better not say another word. Don't move. Don't breathe. It's not silent enough to hear a pin drop; it's silent enough to listen to the crunch under their feet as they walk in the debris, the aftermath of their anger.

And now everyone plays the waiting game. You wait to see who will make the first move. Who will speak first? Who will clean it all?

Maybe it'll be him. Perhaps it'll be her.

But there's still anger in her. And you know either before the end of the night or tomorrow morning you shall hear the same speech you've listened to since you were little.

Do not marry. It will ruin your life.

You want to run.

It's stifling, having no outlet — no one to turn to, no one to tell.

Who do you talk to, who's going to listen, how do you describe it?

It's a steel knife in your windpipe when you try.