I lived with a woman once who would hit me when she got drunk or mad. I would have bruises a lot and people would ask me what happened and I would tell them I fell down the stairs. I was very ashamed of what was going on and terrified people would find out, but I loved her and knew she only beat me because she loved me, too.

But once the news got out the embarrassment sent me into a rage. I ordered pizza for dinner again because I was short on time, and when she came home from her job at the shipyard she yelled "Pizza for dinner again?" and chased me under the bed, dragged me out and beat me with a piece of broken wood that was once a chair until she hit me with it.

We were busted by my parents, who saw my bruises and then pointed out that my one-story apartment had no stairs. That night I went home and she was drunk and started hitting me so I kicked her in the nuts, had the police come arrest her and got her Harley towed the next day.