J. Calamity's Story
Three Bags And One Carry On, The Sum Of My Life
Three mismatched duffels, one red, one camouflage that used to carry my parents camping equipment, and one blue that was actually supposed to be a laundry bag. My carry on is a Makita tool bag that I rescued from the back of the closet because it was sturdy and fairly clean and would hopefully keep my meager electronics safe and useable. They were nothing remarkable, much like what they contained, the sum contents of my 41 years of life on this earth, my clothes, my boots, some documents proving achievement of a college degree at a second rate college, pictures of my children and family, memorabilia of my glory days, and a few books and my electronic lifeline and leashes. The rest of what most people consider their identity, had been signed over to my ex-husband just a few hours earlier as part of a deal we had hashed out that was to allow me and my eldest son and youngest daughter to escape the hell that had been life in Flagstaff over the last 10 years.
The arguments had been epic, loud and close to bloody and ashamedly, I tried to incite him to violence because I needed to prove to myself that the monster I knew lurked in him was either dead or hiding in fear of going back to prison. Much to my surprise he hadn’t risen to the bait, though I had seen the familiar signs of his desire to inflict on me the lessons in pain that he had previously taught me for such disobediences. Prison and time had worn him down, and my jibes and challenges to his abilities to manage the demands of running a household, went unanswered. He claims he could do it, and hopefully he can, but doubts remain, he has never, “manned up” in the past, and the thought of my younger sons being left to their own devices while he either naps of stares at personal ads on Craigslist, leaves me sick with fear, but I have to go, and he has, “Rights”.
My oldest son is weary of the entire situation. He has been shuffled between grandparents, aunt, home and now we are moving to Portland in the hope of establishing a foothold in a new land and building a new life while he is still young enough to enjoy it, but all he wants is some stability, a room to himself, some good acne medication, reliable internet and driving lessons, for me to finally get over the anger and the rage. He is a very easy going kid for a former punching bag. He has forgiven him, and hell, he even jokes with him and shares music and jokes with him about girls, but that’s something I cannot do. That day is forever imprinted in my mind and when I look at him, I see that day when he was being beaten and punched in front of me and I did nothing. Though no, “Long Term” physical damage was done, and my ex was arrested and supposedly , “did his time”, there is time still being served, right here, in my mind, and until my sentence is up, and my son has the life he deserves, the sentence will continue to run.
The decision to leave was made a long time ago, but the ability to enact the plan always met one snag or another; lack of funds, no place to go, lack of understanding of the rights that were afforded by the child custody decree, fear of inciting him to violence beyond what he had been capable of before when he realized that it was being considered. As a former law enforcement officer and with a degree in Criminal Justice, I knew the stats and the risks that came with making the final break, so when the time came, it had to be decisive and sudden, so that he would not have time to contemplate all the implications, there would be no going back, no changing of the mind, no hesitation, it had to be something that was done with finality and with no room for negotiation, but as we all know, the best laid plans of mice and men.
I should have never been one of the statistics. I was never seen as the stereotypical ‘battered woman”. My father may have been a Veteran with a case of PTSD so bad that it made the stuff seen on tv look like Saturday morning cartoon fare, but he was mostly just a drunk that thrived on emotionally abusing me, he never laid a hand on me or my mom. My mom was a manic depressive that seemed stuck forever in the “Depressive” end of things, so we lived in squalor and it was a relief to finally escape when I turned 18 and left for college.
My life was always an adventure with bad men, and I seemed to gravitate towards the ones that thrived on inflicting pain, perhaps it was that was the masochist in me or some deeply repressed death wish, but who the hell knew, but by the time I met my final ex, I had scars of many sorts and I should have known my now ex-husband was trouble walking. He was everything that women are warned about, a biker, never been in a long relationship, no stability, and he had a record. But I was a cop and I guess I thought I could “fix him”? I was cocky, arrogant and figured that I had achieved everything else I had set out to do with my career and education, fixing a problem man should be no big deal.
He started off by throwing a plate against a wall one night when dinner wasn’t to his liking. Then it escalated to shoves, punching walls, insults, and emotional blackmail. I should add that by this time we had a child in common, a little boy that was born with a genetic disability that created a huge amount of stress upon me and that had also impacted my health a significant amount. I almost died having him, and it took months to recover, months that I didn’t have because I was expected to be providing for the family as well as keeping house. He became angrier and more stressed and the amount of tension in the house grew. The son I had from a previous relationship learned how to live like he was a shadow, trying to never make noise or get in his way. My ex lived in his recliner in the living room, watching tv and yelling at anyone who disturbed him. He was forceful and cruel and in spite of everything we ended up pregnant again. I told him I wanted to leave and he took a .357 magnum pistol and first put it to his head and said, “I am just going to shoot myself if you leave me! Will you do that to our kids?” I was so terrified because my sons were right there, and then he pointed the gun at us and he said, “Maybe I should just shoot all of us?” I begged him to stop and he slammed the butt of the pistol into the wall and walked down the hall and left. I didn’t call the cops I didn’t call until the time he took a straight razor to me. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me into a dresser and held me with my toes barely touching the floor as he told me how he wanted to slit my throat, and take a picture of it and send it to all my friends after he dumped my body down a well on the Rez. When my kids started crying he let me go and I escaped. I called the police and he was arrested. He was given probation, but while he was in jail I divorced him even though we had 3 kids in common by this point as well as my son by a previous relationship.
When he was released he came back. We lived 10 miles from town in the country where it took the sheriffs department 19 minutes to respond when I called. I endured the next few years, living in the hell thinking that I had no hope. His drug habit had increased to the point that we were always broke financially and I began baiting him in the hope he would leave to just chase his drug habit. It backfired on me and He just got more mean and angry at me, and my eldest son decided to step in and try to divert some of the abuse and my ex, who was a 6ft tall, 290lb biker beat my then 12 year old son, who barely stood 5ft tall and weighed maybe 130, in the front yard like he was a dog. It was then that I decided I was going to kill my exhusband.
I knew I could. I am an ex cop and criminalist and I knew I could probably even get away with it, but after being let down by the legal system in Arizona so many times, I just didn’t give a damn anymore. He was hurting my kids and I was done. I made my plans, wrote up a will and contacted a friend in Portland telling her that I was going to be giving her guardianship of my kids, so she was going to be getting a packet of papers with all their info as well as my financial records and such, but she should expect to have to come and get them pretty soon. Lucky for me , my friend is a pretty damn nosy and persistent person. She asked what was going on. She called me, emailed me and harassed me until I told her. The she gathered up everything and spent a few hours tracking down my exhusbands probation officer and she told him, “Unless you want to be short a probationer, you better get him quick, I know her and she is not messing around.” By 0900 on October 1st of 2007 my exhusband was back in jail and I was talking to investigators.
It was terrifying. I thought I was going to jail or that I was going to lose my kids, but for once the system sort of worked and he actually had to sort of answer for what he did. He got 20months in prison. I used that time to get my act together and to try and figure out what to hell to do with our lives. We couldn’t stay where we were, I wasn’t going to end up back in the same situation because I knew this time someone would die. I was worn out physically and mentally and I just didn’t know where to turn.. A black depression ate me up for quite a while and my kids and I struggled to even have enough to eat, and to get though my bout of H1N1 and a winter with 12 feet of snow. As time approached for him to get out, we realized we had to make a decision, and it was my small daughters love of a funky little rock band that finally gave us the strength to go.
I tell folks that we were drug to Portland by a pack of ragtag monkeys, but the truth of the matter is, I had promised my daughter we would see the 100 Monkeys in concert some day because they had been our sunshine in the dark times. Our happy when all was sad, and they meant a lot to us. So we saved up our nickels and dimes, sold anything we had of value, and raised enough money to buy tickets to a show they were putting on in Portland, OR and then Amtrak tickets. We knew it was going to be a rough departure for us, the judge in our case had said that even though he had been in prison for ,’Aggravated Assault with a Deadly Weapon per Domestic x’2 and Aggravated Battery on a child as well as Unlawful Imprisonment with intent to injure” , and a wide variety of other things, he still had “Rights” to his children.
I had to make a deal with the devil to be able to leave to save our lives. I signed away my rights to the house, my van, all possessions in the house and I gave him temporary custody of our two sons because the judge said if I took them out of state without his permission he would , “Throw my ass in jail”. I was hoping that once we got settled in out of state and got established, I would be able to seek full custody of the boys and get them out of there, but I was able to get him to agree to let me take my daughter without any problems because she was so young.
He was released the end of June, we left the state July 5th, and though its always a delicate dance to appease him long distance, I have managed to at least be able to speak to my sons from time to time and they tell me how they are doing. It breaks my heart daily, to be away from them, and I often consider caving in and going back, but then my ex will get on the phone and I am given a reminder of just what a deadly decision that would be to make. My sons are well, I have friends who see them who also work in the schools with them so I know that at least he has not transferred his hate of me onto them, and once I can afford to fight him, he never will.
Life is not easy. We never have enough money, we have no car or many of the other things that people take for granted, and this was the saddest Christmas we have ever known, because we were apart from my two boys, but we are hopeful that the New Year will bring better things for us, we are healing and the weird little band that brought us sunshine in the darkness, still is lighting up our days and making us smile when the pain wants to pull us under.
Miracle1901's Story
I watched my mother get beaten within an inch of her life by my step father. The same man who told me he would kill her if i told anyone what he was doing to me...i was seven years old. I believed him for 3 years he did things to me that i wont go into detail about. I finally told her what was happening. She left him and after a week of hiding in a hotel from him he was caught and sent to jail. He killed himself before he had to go to trial.
I told myself I would never let a man hit me. I would would be able to see it coming because I knew what to look for. I always told myself that as I much as I love my mother I would never put myself in a situation like that.
When I turned 18 I met a boy, he was attractive, and came off so suave. He swept me off my feet with his accent and flattery. When my mom met him she immediatly told me he was bad news. I didnt listen to her, told her that he loved me and was a good person. When she told me I couldn't see him anymore I ran away and moved in with him. After a little time went by I started noticing that I was asking questions like "Is this alright?" or "What did I do?"
That turned into him telling me I was stupid, I couldnt do anything right, or that I was a waste of time.
That turned into him telling me I was stupid, I couldnt do anything right, or that I was a waste of time.
Before I met him if someone would have said those things to me I would have laughed in their face. Somehow, and I'm still not really sure how he did it, he got inside my head and had me believeing everything he said. Name calling turned into him blaming me for everything that went wrong or that wasn't right in his eyes.
The first time he put his hands on me he shoved me against a wall and held me there by my throat. When I was able to get away from him I ran for the door. He bagged and pleaded and cried for me to stay. He said he was stupid and that it would never happen again. He lied to me and a year and a half into the relationship I found myself only being able to breathe when he wasn't home. My days were spent with making sure everything was clean and hopefully up to his standards. If they weren't then I would be punished. The abuse got worse both physically and mentally. Sometimes I would pray that he would just hit me because his words would weave their way into my head and stay there.
I was once a strong indepentant person that knew what I wanted. He turned me into a quivering mess that flinched at the slightest sound. I pushed myself away from my family and friends because he said they didnt really want to be around me. One day I was so exhausted from just living that I just laid in bed and thought about how much better everyone would be if I wasnt around. I didnt get the chance to follow through because he came home and because nothing was done beat me so badly that I was left with a broken jaw and ribs from the stairs he threw me down. The memories are sketchy but I know that once I hit the bottom he just kept kicking me and punching me.
When I woke up in the hospital, my mom was crying and blaming herself for my situation. She told me that if she hadnt been in an abusive situation then maybe I wouldnt have been in one. I left him after that day but he kept coming around threatening me. I was home alone one day finally making some progress with feeling like I was worth something. There was a knock at the door then the door was kicked in. I don't remember what happened because I was knocked out but I do know I was raped.
he went to jail and to this day I dont know what came of him. I had so much anger and rage built up inside of me that I didnt know what to do with it. I felt like I wasnt enough and that I had it coming. I got so lost in my rage that I spent two years of my life in a fog of narcotics.
I finally got to a point where it was jail or dead if I didnt get myself together. I went to my mom's house and never looked back. That was seven years ago and with a lot of theropy and love from my family I am here.
At the age of 30 I look back on what happened and I have to say as horrible as it was, I wouldn't change it. It made me into who I am today, strong and sure. When I think back I remember never feeling like I was enough. Well, I am enough, I didn't deserve what happened and it wasnt my fault.
Those are the things I tell myself everyday. Those are the words that every woman should tell themselves. If a man is hurting you verbally or physically then you tell yourself you are enough...you do NOT deserve this. I didn't share my story because I wanted people to know what happened to me and feel sorry for me. I shared it because even if one person reads this and says...I am enough...then its worth reliving it.
I was one of those people who said I would never let a man put their hands on me. I was one of those people who never understood why woman let it happen to them or why they put up with it. I am here to say that until you are in that situation you cant say for sure. An abuser can creep their way into your head without you even knowing it. Its what they do. They manipulate and break you down piece by piece until they can do what they want.
So now that you know what I went through I hope that if you know someone going through this that you will instead of questioning them, tell them that they are enough. Tell them that they don't deserve it and do everything in your power to get them out of this situation.
Mrowemoon's Story
My story is not one of being a victim of domestic violence in the physical sense but I am an emotional victim. My father physically and mentally abused my mother for many years. They were married for just shy of 10 years when my mother finally found the courage to divorce my father. He actually made it pretty easy as he found another woman to victimize. I was exactly 10 years old when they split (apparently I was born just before they were married). My father was an alcoholic. When he drank, the beast came out. When he was sober, he was playful, loving and attentive father. My father's anger was alway directed at my mother. Thankfully he never laid a hand on me nor my younger brother. I feel selfish saying that but my mother would rather take the hits than put us in harms way. My mother was hospitalized many times. It was not bad enough that the beatings occurred but they also took place in the presence of my brother and I. My brother was too young to remember (he is 5 years younger than me). I unfortunately remember it all with clear pictures haunting me. There were times I would have to call 911 for an ambulance. Other times, my mother was able to lay there beaten until my father left and we would then run to the closest family member or friend for help. I can still see my mother lying in a bath tub being cleaned off by her friend after one of these occurences. By the grace of god, one day mom found the courage to leave as before she always feared for her life and for us kids. Never knowing what my dad would do. Luckly as I mentioned, my dad's attentions turned elsewhere and he left for another woman. We saw my dad on weekends after the divorce. He had entered AA for a while and remained sober for a few years. My dad and his new wife moved away , he started drinking again, and you can guess what happened. My mother and father came to an agreement that it was better for my brother and I that he stay out of our lives. My father loved us enough to know that his problems would only hurt us more if we were continually exposed. It is weird to say that I actually agreed with this decision. My father loved me and I know that but he was a very sick man. I found out in my teens about his parents (who I never met) were also alcoholics, physically abused each other and their kids, as well as my father was sexually abused. Therefore, my father's decision to take himself out of my brother and my life was probably the smartest thing he ever did. He wanted to break the cycle.
My father has since passed away. I got a call about 7 years ago. He and his second wife divorced and I was next of kin apparently. I am 37 years old now and married with kids. I am in a healthy relationship w/ normal marriage issues but life is good. My brother is single and in a good place.
After School Special
About two decades ago, usually on a Thursday at four o’clock there would be an After
School Special. It was an hour show on anything from drugs to pregnancy. I guess you
could say it was a PSA for latch-key kids. My dad was usually home by that time and
would often watch them with my sisters and I. Anytime one of the shows was about a boy
beating or verbally abusing his girlfriend, sister, friend, whatever, he would look at the
three of us and say, “You see that? That is not right. You do not ever let that happen to
you.”
We would all agree because he’s our dad and he knows everything. Besides it didn’t look
like fun. So we swore that would never be us. I grew up with three sets of grandparents
and to me this was normal, I didn’t really get that it was different. As I got older I found
out why my dad was so vehemently against domestic violence. His mom, after she
was divorced from his dad, had been in several abusive relationships. I never asked
for details or anything like that from my father. He rarely doled out information about
his upbringing so any piece of information was just taken and analyzed. My grandma
didn’t really want me is the thing. So he lived with relatives or in foster homes a lot. This
doesn’t mean that she deserved what had happened but I see the impact it had on my
father. He wasn’t just trying to just arm his daughters with the knowledge that it is wrong
to hit women. He was trying to save another child from possibly having to go through
what he did.
Any boyfriend I had would get the speech before things even got serious.
“Just to let you know if you ever raise a hand to me, you’re done.”
I know one word to my dad, brother, any uncle or cousin would result in this boy never
even being able to raise his hand in class let alone to hit someone. For years this is how I
operated. Until I met him. He was beautiful. He was broken and damn it, I was going to
be the one to fix him.
The first few months were great. He was attentive, always paid for things and couldn’t
seem to get enough of me. He came from a broken home. My love was going to heal him.
I was so blind. It started out small, first he wouldn’t have money so I’d lend him some.
Then I got to hear how fat I was getting. That was fun. Sometimes I was a bitch, or a
whore. I wasn’t allowed to drink anymore or go out with my friends. I missed my baby
sister’s 21st birthday. The intimidation was next, getting in my face but always knowing
the boundaries. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what my father would do. He was so good at
the game. He knew exactly the right to get into my head and basically mind fuck me. I
was isolated from my friends and eventually my family. How he managed to turn me into
a shell of my former self still astounds me.
This went on for about a year. We looked at engagement rings, I was so excited.
I know exactly what you thinking and probably even saying. How could she let that
happen? Make no mistake, I did let it happen. You’re also telling yourself you would
never do that. You’re strong, I’m weak. You have self-esteem, I don’t. You’re smart, I’m
dumb. This is why I’m opening up to you and letting you in. I am not weak or dumb.
It can’t happen to me. Yes it can. It can also happen to your sister, cousin, mother, aunt,
friend, grandmother.
My mother’s mom gets sick. She means so much to me, I’m crushed. It doesn’t stop him
from the campaign he is on. I imagine its something like Operation Destroy Alicia. I’m
distraught over the death of my Grammy and fall into a deep depression. Now I’m lazy.
And fat.
We go out to dinner with friends of his (see that?) and I have a glass of wine. When we
get back to his place he blows his lid. He starts yelling at me and I really don’t even know
what it’s about. But he gets this look in his eye. It’s the one that’s been building for two
years now. I swear his pupils are so dilated that his eyes look black and he looks crazy.
This is it. He’s gonna do it. Like a caged animal his stalking around the room, I being the
lazy, fat, dumb ass that I am have managed to back myself up against a wall.
I decide to go for it. If I do this I have an excuse to end things. It’s a legitimate one too.
“You wanna hit me, don’t you?” I taunt.
He says nothing.
“C’mon, do it. You know you want to.”
He comes at me, grabs both shoulders and throws me against the wall. Thank you.
“Thank you,” I said, rubbing my head from where it met the wall.
“For what?”
“For making leaving easy,” I told him as I walk out of his apartment.
I am so proud of myself. I did it. What my family has wanted for months. I left him.
I am brave and smart. Unfortunately I am not thin, all that verbal abuse I took led to
comforting myself in food. Oh well, I can always diet. I am a Goddess, a Warrior, an
Amazon. I saved myself.
Two days later I’m back with him.
He proposes, inside I’m yelling NO! but I say yes. My parents, who incidentally have told
him they do not in fact give their blessing, take the news like I just told them I bought
new boots. My sisters act excited. My family congratulates me. I try on wedding dresses
and find one. His step-mom wants to pay for it and this makes me so happy. Someone is
happy for us.
Two months later, the depression worsens and I’m ready to commit suicide. My mother
drives from Pennsylvania to New Jersey to be with me. My father hunts my youngest
sister down and tells her she needs to get home immediately. My oldest sister calls and
stays on the phone with me until someone gets there. My mother sleeps in the same bed
as me to make sure I make it through the night.
He’s the consummate actor in front of my family. Concerned, attentive, loving. I am so
lucky, I think to have someone love me like he does.
We move in together. I’m suspicious, something is off but I can’t put my finger on it.
Now I am ignored. He goes away on the weekends, is out late at night with friends. I’m
alone. I wish for the times when he would yell at me, grab my wrist, or even push me
against another wall. I’ve been on Prozac now for about four months. It’s not helping so
much. My sister invites me to visit her for a weekend at the shore, our cousins are down
too and I haven’t seen them since I got engaged.
“If you go, don’t bother coning home,” he told me.
During my lunch hour, I go home and pack a bag, this way I can avoid him by having to
stop home after work. I get down the shore, I’m not wearing my engagement ring. My
cousins asks to see it. I pick it out from the bottom of my purse and put it on. She “ooh’s”
and “ahh’s.” I chuck it back into my purse. It makes a deafening plunking noise.
By the next day, my sister has saved me. She has an extra room. She tells me that I’m
coming to live with her and I will get a new job. That Sunday, I’m due at my parents for a
barbecue or something so I head up to Pennsylvania from my sisters.
I want to throw up. I cry on the way up. I dry heave. I give myself pep talks. I’m about to
do the hardest thing that I have ever had to do in my entire life. Tell my father the truth.
“Daddy, I have something to tell you?”
“I’m so sorry Daddy. I let you down. I let him do things to me that I promised you I never
would.”
My father begins to cry. This doesn’t surprise me, he has never hid his feelings like some
men might.
“I’m leaving him and moving in with Heather.”
“You could always live here if you want. But jobs pay better in Jersey.”
My father is also a realist.
He turns to my brother. “Gary, I’m going to be calling you in a week or so and when I do,
you drop whatever you have going on and come.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“We have to help your sister move.”
“Cool,” he says.
This is my family.
I get home that night and tell him that I’ll be moving out but I’m not sure when. He gives
me the thumbs up sign. I give my two weeks, set up interviews for a new job. Somehow
we manage to ignore each other for a week or so. I make sure when I am not home that
all my valuables are with me. I do not put anything past him. Two weeks after I tell him
I’m moving out, I breakdown. Meltdown may be more appropriate. I call my younger
sister who is in the middle of making dinner but speeds the thirty minutes to my place to
come and get me. I never go back. A week after another sister saves me, I call him.
“I’m getting my stuff this weekend. It would be best for you if you weren’t around.”
I still think my father and brother had wished he had showed up. He still calls me. Tells
me I gave up to quickly. I didn’t put enough into the relationship. When this doesn’t
work. I’m back to the lazy, fat ass whore. For some reason, this I can handle better than
the other. For a month I live out of a suitcase between my little sister’s and a friends.
Finally, I move permanently. I’m a mess. My sister later tells me she feared for my life a
few times. For months when I wake up, I don’t know where I am. I find a therapist, I take
new medication. I begin to mend. My mom gives me a Dr. Phil book and I am able to
laugh at it.
My family rallies around me. My sisters assure them that they never would’ve let me
get as far as walking down the aisle. It takes maybe another year for me to be at peace.
Lacey Petersen disappears during this time and I cry. I cry for her, for her baby. I cry
because she never saw it coming. I cry because I did but I stayed. I cry because I left. I
cry because I know that could’ve have so easily been me.
Isabelle's Story
Here is my story...
I met my ex I was 23. Everything went great for a few years but I should have seen the signs. Now, I know I saw them but chose to ignore them.
My ex is an alcoholic and a drug user. At first, it was a couple of beers and a joint every day but hey, we were young and I didn't see a problem with it. Of course, I should have noticed something was wrong when we moved in together and that he had a column in his budget for beer and weed. Again, I guess I chose to ignore it.
I got pregnant a few years into our relationship and that's when the problems started.
I remember being 5 months pregnant and him pushing me off the bed. I'll always remember that but the next day, he said he was sorry and that he was drunk when he did it. It shouldn't have excused what he did but I forgave him. Next, came the insults. I was fat because I was pregnant and he started to squeeze my arms when dinner was not done to his satisfaction or if I complained because he wanted to go out and I didn't feel like it. Of course, I loved him so I'd just shut up and let him go out and get drunk. Then, he'd come back home (if he did) and would shake the bed until I'd wake up because his libido was on full alert. I won't go into details but let's just say that what happened wasn't pleasant.
The insults, arm squeezes and sexual intimidation continued after I was pregnant. When I gave in to the sex, he was like a kitten but if I was too tired, there was hell to pay. The fat comments turned into slut, bitch etc and now, I would get kicked when something wasn't going his way. All along, his alcohol and drug problems escalated and like any woman in that kind of relationship, I thought it was my fault. So, I'd make sure the house was clean, food was hot and always his favorites and gave him sex whenever he wanted thinking that it would smooth things out but it never did.
When my mother died, instead of supporting me, he started accusing me of cheating on him. He apparently had names, places and witnesses. I was grieving my mother and he was accusing me. I even had the people he thought I was cheating on call or meet him to tell him it wasn't true but that never worked. The day we buried my mother, he was drunk and as high as a kite. That's when the worse started.
We moved in the suburbs and since I didn't know anyone and it was his hometown, I was isolated which now I see was his plan all along. I was allowed to go out for work but I needed to wait for him for groceries and anything else where I needed to be publicly. Of course, he was allowed to go out whenever he wanted and spend his whole paycheck on booze and drugs in one night but I had to pay for everything. I was only allowed to wear loose clothing and perform sexually for him every night or else I'd get reprimanded. I was now called a whore every day and getting my hair pulled on top of the kicks.
Sure, he tried to sober up. 5 therapies in 8 years but it never worked. He went into therapy thinking that in 90 days, he'd have a drink and get high. Still, I supported him and when I'd go visit him, he'd accuse me of flirting with the people he met there and somehow manage to assume his control before I came back home. Of course, he'd call every night to make sure I was at home and if he heard a noise in the house, he'd immediately ask who was there, that I was just a selfish whore and that he'd kill me if he found out I had a man at our place.
Yes, death threats started. Now, while he was sobering up (so to speak), I had a chance to think and told him he wasn't welcome anymore when he got out. Of course, that didn't work since he started coming to my work place to threaten me and I gave in and let him move back in. What a huge mistake!!!
When my father died, I was alone when I got the news. He had gone out and spent the night at a 'friend'. I tried calling him but said friend wouldn't answer the phone. I spent the few days following the event in a haze which lead to a depression. I spent nearly 6 months in the hospital where they tried telling me that it was the situation I was in that made me feel the way I did and not the fact that I had lost my parents. That's when I started to open up about what I was living. They tried to convince me to leave him but I loved him. As much as it was painful, I loved him. For me, I just had to learn to be a better wife and the abuse would stop, right? Wrong!
I still remember that night. He went out for a few drinks and when he came back home, he was pissed because our 4 year-old son was sleeping with me. He lied down next to us and started pulling my hair, saying I was a bitch and that I deserved the fact that my parents had died. I tried to stay calm and suffer in silence since our son was with us but when he started pinching me, I started to cry ad it woke our son up. My ex told him to go back to sleep and that I was having a nightmare explaining to our son why I was crying. I didn't want to leave my son with him while I went to use the bathroom so took my son with me. I was holding on tight to him when my ex barged in the bathroom, telling me to stop whining. I told him to stop and wait until our son was asleep to call me names and it happened. He punched me. Worse, he punched me while I had our son in my arms. For the first time, I really reacted and called my in-laws. The knew what was happening at home and had tried to help me but I wouldn't listen. Well, they came to get me and my son and convinced me to press charges. I did and he spent 2 months in jail since it was his first offense.
When he came out, I told him I had changed the locks and that he wasn't welcome anymore but that didn't help. He'd break in, come to my workplace and throw my underwear in my face then leave saying I should sleep with one eye open since he'd come by my place while I was sleeping to kill me. I went back to the hospital after I had spent a week not sleeping, too afraid to close my eyes. They kept me a week and when I came back home, nothing had changed. He still broke in and with the threat of taking my son away hanging over my head, I kept silent and continued as if nothing was wrong.
One night, my mother-in-law decided to spend the night at my place and when the knocking on windows and rattling of doors started, she called the cops. They suggested I go to a shelter for a few days until they got a hold of him and could arrest him. That's when I saw I didn't want to be a victim anymore. I decided I wanted my life back and I wanted him gone. I met with the officers that came to my house that night and told them everything. I let them listen to some voicemails he had left me saying he was going to slash my throat then rape me while I bled to death. Let's just say the judge listened to just one and sent him to jail for 9 months.
During that time, I went to a lawyer (with my mother-in-law) and sent him divorce papers. I changed my phone number, got the locks changed, changed jobs and took the time to get my life back together. Honestly, it's been 5 years and I'm still getting my life back together. Thankfully, I'm off the meds but my therapist told me my healing time equaled the years I spent with my ex which means I still have about 3 years to go.
To this day, I've just been on a couple of dates since I'm afraid but some things have changed. I now see myself as a human being and not a reject like I've been told I was. I wear tighter clothes and now have my own style. I've started traveling a bit and I just try to live my life. I no longer see myself as a victim but as a survivor of domestic abuse. I'm entirely devoted to my now 14 year-old son and just living.
I just hope this helps someone out there. If you can take a piece of advice from this, it would be to talk about it, seek help. Don't be afraid, life gets better.
Isabelle :)
Christag_banners' story
Fall of 1990
I met the man of my dreams. Or so I thought. He started out sweet and kind. Don't they all? He was older than I. I was just a junior in high school and he had graduated the year before.
Things were fine for a few months. We dated like everyone else. I honestly don't remember the exact day or even why he hit me the first time. I do remember being hit in the eye. And panicking on how I would hide it from my mother later on. From then on it was a regular occurrence and he learnt how to hit me and hurt me where no one would see the evidence.
I remember being frightened to leave. When I would tell him I was leaving him, breaking up with him, he would hit me more. When I finally got used to being hit I started to fight back. That is when he started with the threats that if I were to tell anyone about his abuse or if I were to leave him he would hurt my family.
One day in the early spring of 1992 I was leaving work. I had just got in my car to drive home and he showed up (as usual) to make me come to his house. I was still in my car and for some reason I felt like I had nerves of steal that night and I told him NO, that I wouldn't be coming to his house. That things were going to stop here and now. His response to that was to reverse his truck (we had been talking through our vehicle windows) and he rammed his truck into my passenger side of the car. He did this a few times. Back then I didn't have a cell phone. I couldn't call for help. A stranger driving by happened to see this happen and he stopped and yelled at my abuser. He did stop, that time. But, the next time I was alone with him he made sure I knew that he didn't appreciate the interference.
As time went on my family didn't see the actual abuse but they saw I was withdrawn and that we weren't getting along. I think my younger brother did notice things, but couldn't do anything at the time.
As the end of the school year came an ex-boyfriend that had been away for basic training came home to visit with me and saw some of my bruises as well as saw how I flinched when he tried to hug me hello. He knew of my boyfriend/abuser as they had gone to school together. He confronted my abuser and things ended that night. I wasn't there. I don't know what happened and I don't want to know. All I know is that I was finally free.
Now we are twenty years later (wow) and I am happily married with two children. I was actually talking with a person about this just last week. He couldn't see why I didn't just leave when the abuse started.
The one thing I would like everyone to know it this...it is NOT easy to just leave. You need help and lots of support. I didn't have that until my ex-boyfriend came home. And that is why I support the Fandom Against Domestic Violence, we need awareness that this IS going on. And people (no, it is not just women that are victims of domestic violence) need our help. It could be your friend, your neighbor...whatever the case may be, I hope I can help.
Christine
LuLu1709's Story
When I was 16 years old I met who I believed was the love of my life. I was young, a junior in high school, and I had been single for almost two years. I know that 16 is far too young to be in a serious relationship. I know this now, but at that age I wanted to be committed and have that high school sweetheart relationship. I put up with arguing and fighting for the next two years. I never thought that I would find myself stuck in a toxic relationship that would ultimately change my entire life. That it would change ME.
I lost all interest in things I loved. I quit dance classes, I quit painting, I quit playing piano and guitar...I just gave up. I focused all of my time and energy on trying to fix this relationship. I tried everything, because this boy (I can't call him a man.) thoroughly convinced me that it was all my fault. He broke me down, and made me believe that I was worth nothing. I believed him.
Two years turned into three years, and the physical violence started. A push here, and shove there; yelling became scary. One day that yelling and pushing turned into a broken nose, two black eyes, and a bruised rib. Yet I stayed in this because I was trained to make excuses for him. I took up for him, and made it all into my fault.
I got pregnant at 19, and eventually married him. The cheating never stopped. I was still verbally/emotionally abused.
Three years turned into five. The cheating and yelling became even more frequent. One night about 4 months ago he forced himself on me. I do not want to go into detail about it, but I'm sure you get the picture.
I finally left him. And before you call me stupid, or and idiot, or say things like "Why would you put up with that?" hear me out.
An abusive relationship is that. Abusive. The guy will do anything to convince you to stay. He will sweet talk you and cuddle you, and make everything seem better. He paints this huge illusion of a perfect relationship. And you will have those happy moments that will remind you how you could even stay in something like this. He tells you it will never happen again. He tells you he didn't mean it. He tells you anything you need to hear.
I am a smart person. I KNOW better. But when it happens to you, it's almost like you are in a state of shock. You don't want to believe its really happening to you. And then something like a pregnancy in my case happens, and then I really can't leave. It's like you're almost brainwashed.
It took almost 6 years from my life. I am only 22 years old and i have a toddler, and I'm a single mom now. I am in extensive therapy because of what has happened to me. And it hurt like hell to get out. It still hurts, but I am a better person. I am stronger.
My only wish is that no one judges anyone who is in a relationship like that. You never know what they are going through or why they can stay and deal with the crap. You can say all you want that if a guy ever put a hand on you, that you would leave him instantly, but you never know what you will do until you are in that position.
I am so glad that this fundraiser was started. Domestic violence is something that happens so often, and its sad. Some women need help to get out. I was lucky that I had a supportive family that helped me, and supportive friends who talked me through the tough parts. A lot of my twitter girls kept me going when I almost gave up. This fandom is a powerful thing, and I'm glad that so many people are reaching out to help. Thank you to everyone who signs up or donates.
Ms. Maroon's Story
I used to be the kind of girl that had a twinkle in her eye. Not because I had rosey cheeks, but because my outlook on life was rosey. I trusted a person from the get-go and always thought of you as friend upon our “meet-cute”. There was always a smile on my face, and pep in my step. I was happy because that was just the way that I was. It wasn’t even something that I had to think about.
I’m not that way anymore.
I’m not as trusting as I used to be. At one time in my life, my joy was replaced with anger and resentment. I didn’t get to be this way on my own; mainly because... I guess you could say... my joy was taken from me.
March 12, 2005
Don’t ask me why I remember the date. Don’t ask me why I remember every single detail about that night. The truth is that I don’t know why I remember.
It’s funny how, looking back, all the little insignificant details about everyday, ordinary things are overlooked simply because they are just that...ordinary. Some how those simple flashes of details become big things right before all hell breaks loose.
I remember what I was wearing. I remember what my mom was wearing. I even remember the red numerals lit up on the clock that is on the counter in the kitchen. It read as 8:08. Mostly what I’ll never forget is the look on his face.
They say that a person’s eyes are the window to their soul. They always say that to describe a good moment though. The first time I learned how true that statement happened to be was not a good moment. I could say that it was the worst moment of my life, but that would be a lie. The worst moment of my life came after I saw the malice and harmful intentions in the look of his eyes.
I’m not here to say that I’m a victim or a survivor. That’s not what I feel like I am. I’m here to say that I have been abused.
That night in 2005, my father beat me until I passed out. I was choked, thrashed around, and punched. I don’t remember most of that part, but my bruises told me the story of how it happened. The next time... that one I remember. I also remember his words, “It’s all your fault”.
I’m also here to say that I did not ask for what happened to me. I didn’t ask to be swept under the ocean of emotions that I lived every day of my life. I didn’t ask to not feel safe in my own home. I didn’t ask to have to go beyond having to “take things one day at a time” and have to take them “one minute at a time” instead.
You know that part in the movie ‘Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix’ when Harry is talking to Sirius in the tapestry room? He says to him, “I just feel so angry. All the time.” Well, I can relate to that.
My happiness was replaced by anger. A depth of anger that I didn’t even know that I could descend to. I was angry at him for what he did to me. I was angry at the notion that he even felt that what he did was excusable. I was angry at him for saying that I brought it upon myself. I was also angry at myself for not calling to have him arrested.
Looking back on it now I would do just that, but at the time I didn’t think that it was an option.
See, my father also happens to be a seasoned, veteran police officer. I didn’t think that anyone in the police force would believe me because my father is so beloved there. That’s another thing that I was always angry about; out of all the people that should have known better than to do what he did, it should be a cop.
Over time I was able to step away from the anger. I learned to move beyond it. I learned to keep it in the past and to not let it affect my future. It took me a really, really long time to get there, and subsequently to where I am at right now.
If you had even asked me years, maybe even months, ago to put my name below and step up and say, “This happened to me” I would have probably said, “No”. Not that I’m scared to talk about it or worried that it will dredge up old feelings, but just that I wanted what happened to stay put in the past.
I’ve finally decided that letting it stay in the past won’t let me help those in the present. For a long time I’ve stayed so guarded about this, my most personal of stories. I can’t do that anymore. It’s time to open up and let you see why I am the way I am. It’s just a small way to help those who need help now.
Women, girls, and children like me, all around the U.S. and the world, all deal with facing and dealing with consequences for actions that they never did. Like me, they are beaten, told that it’s their fault, and made to feel less than they are.
This is something that should just not happen.
Not only because it’s not right, fair, and cruel, but also because no one should be demeaned enough to have to spiral into a world of meekness and indecency. We as women are innately strong both mentally and spiritually. These women, like me, are stripped of that, and the really sad thing is that most feel they do not have anywhere to turn to. They feel that they have no voice.
The NCADV gives these women and children a place to go, and a solace from the violence. But to me what it really does is gives them the voice that they needed. It gives them a platform to stand on and a boldness in their tone to say, “I’m better than what you did to me,” and “I’m not going to be angry over someone like you anymore.”
I let what happened to me take me from the timid girl I used to be, and turn me into a strong person that knows that everything will be okay because it certainly can’t get as bad as it was. I also have my joy again. Not because that’s who I was and associated myself to be, but because that is who I choose to be.
I choose to be joyful and carefree.
More importantly, by helping the Fandom Against Domestic Violence, you can help someone else get their joy, strength, and peace of mind back. You will help these women and kids be able to take on the world again; simply by them, and you, putting one step in front of the other and walking into a better situation.
One of the greatest things that someone can do is let a situation, no matter how bad, make them a better person instead of bitter one.
You can help these women become better.
So, yes I may have been a victim, but I’m not anymore. These other women don’t have to be one anymore either.
It’s great the things our fandom can do,
Ms Maroon
I’m not that way anymore.
I’m not as trusting as I used to be. At one time in my life, my joy was replaced with anger and resentment. I didn’t get to be this way on my own; mainly because... I guess you could say... my joy was taken from me.
March 12, 2005
Don’t ask me why I remember the date. Don’t ask me why I remember every single detail about that night. The truth is that I don’t know why I remember.
It’s funny how, looking back, all the little insignificant details about everyday, ordinary things are overlooked simply because they are just that...ordinary. Some how those simple flashes of details become big things right before all hell breaks loose.
I remember what I was wearing. I remember what my mom was wearing. I even remember the red numerals lit up on the clock that is on the counter in the kitchen. It read as 8:08. Mostly what I’ll never forget is the look on his face.
They say that a person’s eyes are the window to their soul. They always say that to describe a good moment though. The first time I learned how true that statement happened to be was not a good moment. I could say that it was the worst moment of my life, but that would be a lie. The worst moment of my life came after I saw the malice and harmful intentions in the look of his eyes.
I’m not here to say that I’m a victim or a survivor. That’s not what I feel like I am. I’m here to say that I have been abused.
That night in 2005, my father beat me until I passed out. I was choked, thrashed around, and punched. I don’t remember most of that part, but my bruises told me the story of how it happened. The next time... that one I remember. I also remember his words, “It’s all your fault”.
I’m also here to say that I did not ask for what happened to me. I didn’t ask to be swept under the ocean of emotions that I lived every day of my life. I didn’t ask to not feel safe in my own home. I didn’t ask to have to go beyond having to “take things one day at a time” and have to take them “one minute at a time” instead.
You know that part in the movie ‘Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix’ when Harry is talking to Sirius in the tapestry room? He says to him, “I just feel so angry. All the time.” Well, I can relate to that.
My happiness was replaced by anger. A depth of anger that I didn’t even know that I could descend to. I was angry at him for what he did to me. I was angry at the notion that he even felt that what he did was excusable. I was angry at him for saying that I brought it upon myself. I was also angry at myself for not calling to have him arrested.
Looking back on it now I would do just that, but at the time I didn’t think that it was an option.
See, my father also happens to be a seasoned, veteran police officer. I didn’t think that anyone in the police force would believe me because my father is so beloved there. That’s another thing that I was always angry about; out of all the people that should have known better than to do what he did, it should be a cop.
Over time I was able to step away from the anger. I learned to move beyond it. I learned to keep it in the past and to not let it affect my future. It took me a really, really long time to get there, and subsequently to where I am at right now.
If you had even asked me years, maybe even months, ago to put my name below and step up and say, “This happened to me” I would have probably said, “No”. Not that I’m scared to talk about it or worried that it will dredge up old feelings, but just that I wanted what happened to stay put in the past.
I’ve finally decided that letting it stay in the past won’t let me help those in the present. For a long time I’ve stayed so guarded about this, my most personal of stories. I can’t do that anymore. It’s time to open up and let you see why I am the way I am. It’s just a small way to help those who need help now.
Women, girls, and children like me, all around the U.S. and the world, all deal with facing and dealing with consequences for actions that they never did. Like me, they are beaten, told that it’s their fault, and made to feel less than they are.
This is something that should just not happen.
Not only because it’s not right, fair, and cruel, but also because no one should be demeaned enough to have to spiral into a world of meekness and indecency. We as women are innately strong both mentally and spiritually. These women, like me, are stripped of that, and the really sad thing is that most feel they do not have anywhere to turn to. They feel that they have no voice.
The NCADV gives these women and children a place to go, and a solace from the violence. But to me what it really does is gives them the voice that they needed. It gives them a platform to stand on and a boldness in their tone to say, “I’m better than what you did to me,” and “I’m not going to be angry over someone like you anymore.”
I let what happened to me take me from the timid girl I used to be, and turn me into a strong person that knows that everything will be okay because it certainly can’t get as bad as it was. I also have my joy again. Not because that’s who I was and associated myself to be, but because that is who I choose to be.
I choose to be joyful and carefree.
More importantly, by helping the Fandom Against Domestic Violence, you can help someone else get their joy, strength, and peace of mind back. You will help these women and kids be able to take on the world again; simply by them, and you, putting one step in front of the other and walking into a better situation.
One of the greatest things that someone can do is let a situation, no matter how bad, make them a better person instead of bitter one.
You can help these women become better.
So, yes I may have been a victim, but I’m not anymore. These other women don’t have to be one anymore either.
It’s great the things our fandom can do,
Ms Maroon
