The pothole

This is a somewhat spotty memory, but some things I remember. 
Jeff had beaten me two days earlier. He had used his fists and hit me on the side of my head, by my temple. His blow was hard enough to knock me to the ground. I passed out but do not know for how long.. When I awoke, I was sick to my stomach, very dizzy, had trouble with judging distance when walking, and light bothered me. I was also very confused and had difficulty in understanding some of what people were saying. I tried to hide it for the sake of the children.  Although I couldn't remember why I had been beaten, there still was guilt, somehow believing I had done something wrong. (wish my younger son or abuser would tell me, it's a blank spot).
The family got in our current vehicle and went to the town near where we lived. Jeff dropped me and my daughter off to do something elsewhere (I am thinking post office...but not positive) while he and my son went to the grocery store. When he dropped me off, Jeff told me to walk over to the store when I finished (a distance of about 3 blocks). As I was walking to the store, holding my daughters hand, my coordination was not as it should be. I had trouble judging the distance between my feet and the ground, so I was trying to walk carefully. I didn't see the hole in the pavement, and when I stepped in it, I fell. As I laid on the ground, I couldn't comprehend what I needed to do to stand up again. I knew I needed to get up, but the mechanics of it were beyond my ability at the time. My daughter stood beside me, crying and shouting at me to get up. I heard her and wanted to comfort her, but also didn't understand how to do so. I finally was able to sit up and hug her. When I looked around, I saw my son and Jeff sitting in the car watching me and laughing. It seemed like several minutes with them laughing and my daughter crying, hugging me and trying to get me to stand up, before Jeff finally came over and helped me up. When I was standing, he started laughing again and told me it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. 
I managed to get into the car, while Jeff strapped my daughter into her car seat. We went home, where I went to bed and remember very little for two days. I managed to function, but have only a spotty memory of it. Jeff and my younger son over the years would often bring up the time I tripped over a pothole. I asked them a few times to not mention it, but they continued to do so. I finally laughed with them, while crying inside.

If you feel you are being abused or know someone who is being abused call the National  Domestic Violence hotline. 1-800-799-7233.