
Some parents DID raise us to accept abuse from men

This piece was difficult to make. It is a real memory from my life. A moment that repeated itself over and over again throughout my relationship with an abusive man. I loved that man. Or I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me. But at times, he told me he wanted to kill me. During a few seconds while physically abusing me. he even tried to kill me:
Most of the times he is just threatening my life in various ways. Sometimes with his hands. Sometimes he has a knife. Or boiling water. I am on the floor. He is on top of me. I have his spit in my face. His hungry saliva all over me. His hands around my neck. We are both sweaty. I am screaming. He is yelling, calling me things, telling me that I am a sinner, I am the devil, a prostitute. Worthless. I am fighting for my life but at the same time – I am not here. I disappear. I dissociate. At times I am shielding my body with a painting of birch trees that hangs on our wall. When he is trying to strangle me, I pretend to get unconscious to make him stop. My strategy is successful. The grip of his hands around my neck relaxes, he whispers: “Mia? Mia?….Mia?” Since I am holding my breath, I suddenly grasp for air and he starts to cry: “I am such a monster… I’m sorry. I’m sorry”. My job now is to make him feel better. “No, you are wonderful, I love you so much, you are not a monster” I tell him and start to comfort him with my body. Nobody knows what he is doing to me. Nobody is comforting me, not even myself.
Have you ever wondered about all the upside-down crosses in my art? Well here is the answer, it might surprise you ❤ #miamakilastories (Instagram series)