Community

A SURVIVING VICTIM’S STORY - Name I was four years old when upon hearing my parents’ raised voices, I peered around our living room corner, a silent spectator to my dad’s hand connecting with my mom’s face, propelling her into the air and onto our Danish Modern coffee table. Upon impact, the table and my petite mother broke into pieces. That night, my fix-it father repaired the table. I didn’t know it then, but my mother was forever broken. Although my older brother didn’t witness this one-sided match-up, he certainly heard them arguing, followed by the hit, my mom’s screams and the crash. My dad left her atop the tabletop bits, crying, as black mascara streamed down her face. Not knowing what to do and afraid to say a word, I ran to my room. Minutes later, she appeared in my doorway, her watery, reddened eyes framed by expertly reapplied Maybelline lashes and her mouth gleamed in my dad’s favorite color, the deep red of Fire and Ice lipstick. As I reached for my teddy bear for comfort, she said, “Your dad’s a good man and he loves you very much. I’ll go make supper now.” That night, as always, the four of us ate at our kitchen table, the usual banter going around our Formica table as if nothing had happened which left me further confused about my mom and especially, my dad. Although I never saw my dad hit her again, when I noticed bruises dotting her pale arms, I felt compelled to ask, “What’s that?” “Nothing,” she’d say while pulling her sleeves down to cover the black and blue marks, “Your father is a good man and he loves you very much.” My dad ruled our roost, a charcoal gray, Cape Cod style suburban house while my mom stayed home, cooking, cleaning and raising us while he worked fulltime. At the reins of our home and finances, my dad had everything he forbid my mom to have- a job, credit cards, a car, access to bank accounts and friends. The world was his and his was ours. He brought home the groceries, my mom cooked whatever he chose and we ate it. Having graduated from high school, I left home to attend college, happy to leave behind what I’d once witnessed that Sunday afternoon and my high school classmates bullying taunts of “Ugly Dog!” Despite starting my life anew, my insecurities about my looks followed me halfway across the country. As one of 25,000 students, I embraced my classes, and the firsts of a part-time job and bank account as well as a tall, blonde, muscular, blue-eyed student I’d met in my freshman year. Although he said I was pretty, I didn’t believe him since I’d discovered my high school classmates’ derogatory taunts about my looks had accompanied me to university, echoing in my head. We began dating and I felt fortunately honored that someone so handsome would deign to be with someone unattractive but apparently, opposites do attract. And there was a bonus- this brawny farm boy was the physical light to the dark features of my dad and, my dad liked him. Our dates were filled with flirting, making out and his physicality which I first felt in a campus town bar. During happy hour, accompanied by my brother and my roommate who sat across from us, we listened to music, laughed and chatted about nothing in particular. Suddenly, I felt his outstretched hand on my face. The intensity of his powerful palm sent me off my barstool and onto the sticky, beer-soaked floor. Pulling myself by the bar edge, I wobbled to the ladies’ room and wiped away my tear-soaked, dripping makeup before returning to him and our silent witnesses, an undaunted trio deep in collegiate chitchat. Although I continue feeling the force of his hand on my face long after graduation, I had long since begun to believe that my golden-haired boy loved me, just as he said. I’d been in love with him since first sight so I accepted his marriage proposal. My dad, still his biggest fan, was our happiest wedding guest who, despite his frugality had footed the bill for it all, including the white taffeta, crinoline princess wedding dress I’d always dreamed of. Returning home from our City honeymoon, his unpredictable physical outbursts continued. In time, he added something new, sexual assault, ignoring my begging and screaming to stop. Although his physical actions always occurred randomly, he began giving me a warning- the cracking of his knuckles. I was unprepared the first time but I was ready for the next time when I heard the snap. Although I braced myself for the hit, he caught me off guard by wrapping his hands around my neck, choking me before lifting me up with ease, slamming my head into the wall or whatever structure was nearest before releasing his grip, my body sliding down until I landed on the floor. As with his slaps to my face, his hands around my throat left no visible bruises and so, I kept quiet, returning to the reliable comforts of cooking dinner, watching television, playing board games, dog walking and sex. Each Sunday afternoon, I placed a call to my parents. My dad always answered the phone first, ready to update me with the latest goings on before the hand-off to my mom. Our chats were brief, mostly about a buffet they went to or how my job was going yet each one included an unprompted passage from her well-worn script, with one tweak, “Your husband’s a good man and he loves you very much.” On a weekday off from work, I was cleaning our apartment as a daytime tv talk show played in the background. When I heard domestic violence survivors detailing their experiences which echoed mine, I put my dust rag down and approached the screen. Tears rolled down their faces as these victims of abuse admitted fearing for their lives and those of their children. For the first time, I saw before me, myself and my mom. When the show’s end credits froze on a DV hotline number, I grabbed a pencil, scribbled the number on a notepad, tore out that page and stuffed it down deep into my datebook. While I’d felt compelled to write it down, I also wanted to keep it out of my own view, which I did. But, I could not unsee the images of those frightened women, one of whom was my mom’s doppelgänger. Transported back to that memorable Sunday afternoon of my childhood, I heard my mom’s screams, followed by the table breaking apart. Many months after that show aired, during a quiet evening at home, I heard the cracking of knuckles, followed by my husband’s hands around my throat. But this time, he held it tighter than ever before. When he finally let go, I fell to the floor, choking and sputtering as I grasped for air. He stood over me shouting, “Go ahead, call the police, they won’t do anything to me! They’ll know as I do that, you’re crazy and haul your lying ass out of here! Go ahead, do it!” He threw the phone at me; it bounced off my shoulder and onto the floor where it and I remained until he turned and headed to bed. At work the next day, I reached into my handbag, pulled out my datebook, unfolded the scrap of paper. Squinting to read the now faded and barely legible phone number, I dialed. I didn’t know it then but those ten digits would save my life. The hotline referred me to a local battered women’s shelter where I could obtain help. As soon as I sat down in the counselor’s office, the floodgates opened. I detailed my husband’s hobby while simultaneously defending his actions since unlike my dad’s maneuvers, my husband’s handiwork left no telltale signs, save for two occasions, one when he hit me in the face with a wooden hanger and another when he pushed me down onto the floor and my face connected with the rug, leaving burn marks. “And,” I proudly added, “He’s definitely not like my dad. My husband is not controlling, jealous or possessive and, I’m nothing like my mom. I’m independent, I have my own car, college degree, career and, I come and go as I please. Plus, I handle all of our finances.” Upon hearing my words, I heard my truth. Within a few sessions, I understood that abuse is never permissible. Whether it leaves visible bruises, broken bones, or furniture, it’s abuse. Similarly, even if you’re married, sexual assault is a violent, abusive act. I also learned that domestic violence does not always follow a formula. It doesn’t have to be preceded by a tension building phase nor followed by an apology be it flowers, candy or my husband’s blame-filled, singular expression of regret after viciously pulling hair from my head, “I’m sorry you made me do that.” With each counseling session, as I grew confident, I also became guilt-ridden as I was better off than the shelter residents with children who didn’t have the resources afforded me. My husband wasn’t jealous or controlling so I had freedom, finances and more. I felt I was stealing help that others needed much more than I. It was then my therapist reminded me of the many abuses I’d endured, the very ones which led to me calling the hotline. She explained that not all abusers look and act alike, nor do their victims. In domestic violence and sexual assault, one size does not fit all. The only thing it has in common is that it’s wrong. With my counselor’s encouragement, I confided my truth to a kind coworker who responded with acceptance, a comforting hug and the words I’d longed for, “I’m here for you.” As I thanked him between sobs, he added, “You need to leave him. What are you waiting for?” With a slight smile, I replied, “I’m waiting for the flowers and candy.” At work the next day, he handed me a chocolate rose. “Here’s your goddamn flowers and candy. Now leave the bastard! Go far away from him, from here. You’ll start over, you’ll be fine, you’ll be so much better.” With his support, I heeded his advice and applied for jobs 1,000 miles away. After scheduling and attending interviews, I accepted an offer for a fabulous opportunity in the state of my childhood, which I half-jokingly referred to as ‘the scene of the original crime.’ Although my husband expressed his unhappiness with my decision to leave, during a fleeting moment of truth, he said that while I was trying out my wings, he would attend counseling so that we could start anew, peacefully. He was so accommodating, even offering to split the long drive with me and not yet one-hundred percent confident I could go it alone, I accepted. Our trip was surprisingly calm until he set down the first box in my attic apartment and gave me a verbal housewarming gift, “I can’t believe you’re leaving me for this dump.” That night, I breathed a sigh of relief when I dropped him at the airport. Starting over in a house of strangers was difficult so, I returned, partially, to the familiar, speaking with my husband each night. In almost every call, he slammed me, “You might as well come back now, we all know you will and you know I love you.” The more he said that, the more he reinforced that I’d made the right decision. With my job going well, I decided to celebrate my thirtieth birthday in Country with a college friend. Upon my return, a gift awaited me, divorce papers, sans gift receipt, wrapping paper, ribbon or sufficient postage. Accepting my fate, I paid forty-one cents for the package. The return on my investment was indeed enriching as I reveled in knowing that I would be forever free from his abuse. With the finalization of our divorce, I returned to school, landed a position as a designer, purchased a condo and volunteered at a local battered women’s shelter. I was safe and happy but something was missing. To find that puzzle piece, I signed up for online dating which led me to a charming, talented man who, like me, was creative, wore his heart on his sleeve and had witnessed violence in his childhood home. He too was divorced and tearfully told of his marriage ending in infidelity, a vow-breaking act we agreed we’d never engage in. The cherry on top was his empathetic response to my past for prior to our meeting, he’d served on the board of directors for his local battered women’s shelter. For the first time, I had a mutually supportive, loving relationship. On a long City 2weekend, he proposed and joyfully, I said yes! Returning to City 3, we renovated a condo and began planning our wedding. Combining our two households, we didn’t need wedding gifts so, instead, we included donation slips to the National Domestic Violence Hotline with each invite. With only four months until our New Year’s Eve wedding and knee-deep in preparations, I noticed my vision decreasing. I booked an appointment with my ophthalmologist who did some tests, followed by a few whispers to his assistant who then handed me orders for tests. Two days later, with my fiancé by my side, I was diagnosed with a massive, facially disfiguring brain tumor which had already robbed me of the vision in one eye. So busy with renovations and planning our future, we hadn’t noticed the tumor pushing my eye forward. I underwent eleven hours of life-saving, emergency brain and reconstructive facial surgery. My fiancé stayed with me throughout my ten-day hospital stay and accompanied me to all post-op appointments and tests. Since the tumor had compromised my sight, I was had severe balance impairment but, I had my future husband’s physical support, helping me each step of the way as, for the first time, I was reliant upon a cane. We had survived a tumor and its surgery which could’ve left me totally blind, paralyzed or dead. Gratefully optimistic, we continued with our wedding plans. The light at the end of our tunnel darkened again when a routine medical appointment for his type 1 diabetes resulted in a leukemia diagnosis. Fortunately, he didn’t yet require treatment so once more, we maintained our scheduled plans. Our wedding was a joyous celebration of love and survival. As I was still recovering from surgery, we chose a quiet, beach honeymoon in Country 2after which we returned to our newly renovated City 4 loft. We enjoyed our creative, professional endeavors, free time together roaming the city, surprising each other with gifts of trips and jewelry while still making time for visiting friends and families. Additionally, we continued volunteering, with him serving on the board of directors for a children’s charity while I had the honor of speaking on behalf of the NDVH. Soon after, I underwent extensive training and earned my advocacy certificate which enabled me to volunteer in twoState hospital ED’s, providing support and resources to female victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. Ours was a mutually gratifying and rewarding marriage, one which our friends routinely admitted envying. We had everything anyone could wish for as well as something no one wanted. A routine MRI revealed residual brain tumor growth. After weeks of radiation, I suffered from relentless side effects of memory loss, fatigue and insomnia, all of which negatively affected my ability to work and volunteer. Instinctively, my husband knew that as a self-supporting individual, my new reality was difficult to accept but he also knew what needed to be said. “You work two days and you’re dead for five. It’s not healthy. You need to quit.” Cushioning the blow, he added, “We’ll be fine, you’ll be better, healthier and, we have more than enough money. As I always say, ‘worry is waste,’ so please, no worries. Most importantly, we have each other.” Reluctantly, I admitted that he was right and together we admitted that I was, unfortunately, permanently disabled. After leaving my job, I stayed home, writing personal essays and working out when able. I detested admitting that I was disabled but I did suggest I file for benefits. He responded by hugging me and saying once more, “No need, we have more than enough money.” The next day, on his way to work, he phoned. “Jot this realtor’s number down. It’s a gorgeous house in East Hampton!” That weekend, we drove to City 5 and began house-hunting. Within six months, we purchased a gleaming glass ranch with pool and tennis. We alternated our time between City 4 and City 5. With that property purchase and my not having lived in my condo for more than two years, we sold it and used the profits for the downpayment on, as he suggested we buy a home for my parents, as he’d done for his former mother-in-law during his first marriage. My mom and dad adored their new, State 2 townhouse. While planning a romantic anniversary trip, my personal essay chronicling my journey from brain tumor diagnosis to idyllic wedding was published. We flew to the Island as planned, where we lazed in the sun and splashed in the sea. But our return home was not what we’d planned as he began experiencing rapid onset fatigue. While he’d already scheduled a party to celebrate my writing achievement, given his declining health, I requested he cancel the event but he refused. The celebration was wonderful and guests called the next day with thanks, followed by questions about his health. We had yet to tell anyone about his leukemia since we didn’t want family and friends to worry as they’d already done so during my surgery and radiation. And, perhaps we didn’t want to worry ourselves either. When a visit to his hematologist revealed our latest reality, we scheduled chemotherapy. As we’d done with my tumor and its regrowth, we handled his treatments with mutual optimism, support and encouragement until, the unexpected occurred. Overnight, he morphed into someone I didn’t recognize. He began making rash, unilateral decisions which included selling our loft, recently purchased house and, him having placed an offer on a coop in City 4 toniest neighborhood. Despite his inconsistency, what remained the same were his morning love notes. However, his afternoon phone calls just to hear my voice became vitriol-filled rants about nothing in particular. Each night he’d return home from work, greeting me as he’d always done, with a kiss and a hug. But each time I brought up his ever-changing behavior, he refused to talk about it, claiming that everything was fine. Seeing me suffer emotionally, he booked a marriage counseling session. Making progress in therapy, we returned to our walks in Park, movies, travel, board games and lovemaking. We marked the end of his treatments with a celebratory trip to City 6where he surprised me with a Tiffany necklace. Our nights were spent enjoying romantic dinners, playful flirting at clubs as we listened live music and making passionate love. We spent our days sightseeing, shopping and taking long beach walks. Although we were close, we were simultaneously miles apart, even when in the same hotel room. As we’d both agreed to follow our marriage counselor’s advice to address such situations immediately, I brought up that he seemed to be distancing himself from me but I was cut off with, “I promised to never do that again and I won’t.” The remainder of our getaway was hot and cold as he launched into angry outbursts followed by declarations of love for me. Confused and unsteady, physically and emotionally, I thought he was gaslighting me but the man who stood by me before, during and after my brain tumor diagnosis, disfigurement, surgery and radiation, who intimately knew the depths of my memory loss, who had long advocated for DV victims, would never engage in such cruelty. While packing for our return flight, I flashed back to my ex-husband’s singular apology. Maybe I was making ‘him’ do this. Our flight home was pleasantly uneventful until his severe emotional turbulence resulted in a bumpy landing which continued long after we deplaned. He abruptly quit the job he loved, formed a new corporation and sent a scathing rage-filled, accusatory letter to his amicably divorced ex-wife, assassinating her character with worded weapons of war. He proudly requested I read the letter only to ignore my opinion about its contents and advising he not mail it. At our next counseling session, I planned to discuss his most recent, hasty decisions but he took the lead, pointing at me while yelling, “You’re a fucking evil bitch!” His face was contorted with hate as he stood up and stormed out of the room. Before I could apologize to our therapist, he returned for an encore, reprising his offensive script and slamming the door on his way out. As I slunk down in my seat embarrassed, our therapist said, “Did you see my hand on the phone?” “No. I was so humiliated that I didn’t notice anything other than his stomps of shame out your door, although it’s doubtful he feels shame or anything anymore. I’m just so embarrassed.” She responded, “You did nothing wrong. He did. In fact, I was so afraid of him that I was going to call 911.” I trembled throughout the taxi ride home, alone. He met me at the door, apologizing and begging for my forgiveness. Wanting to keep at least a semblance of peace, I forgave him. The next day, I awoke to a love note followed by his loving phone calls throughout the day. Later that afternoon, he emailed me my boarding pass for his upcoming business trip which we’d excitedly planned. Moments later, he messaged that I will not be accompanying him to City 6. He needed time alone and requested that we have no calls, texts or emails during his absence. I was crushed. Since our first date, we’d never gone a day without contact. Not wanting the remaining apples to spill out of what was left in our marital cart, I acquiesced. The day after his departure, I phoned JetBlue to obtain the credit for my unused ticket and the agent was most accommodating. He told me that since my ticket had been reassigned to someone else, he couldn’t provide a credit. Next, he voluntarily provided the name of my husband’s seatmate, unwanted information which led to me reviewing our credit card statements and phone bills. Before me were pages upon pages of his activities- hotel charges, phone calls and texts, many of which occurred before, during and after our City 5 getaway. Facebook confirmed their friendship. She was married, with children. Per his wishes, I didn’t contact him during his trip but I did phone when, long after his flight landed, he hadn’t returned home. “Where are you?” “I’m at the office, catching up on what I missed while away. I’ll stay here tonight and get it all done.” Desperate to talk with him and hopefully discuss my inadvertent discoveries in person, I pressed him to have dinner with me at a local restaurant. Eventually, he agreed. Over dessert, I casually said her name. He rapidly responded, “I have no idea who she is.” It was then that I pulled out my confidence-building handbag of truth and set the proof on the table. With a reddened face, he said, “I don’t know her; I’ve never spoken with her. It’s all a mistake. JetBlue, The Hudson Hotel, AmEx, AT&T and Facebook are wrong. I’ll call them all tomorrow and straighten it all out.” I wished it was so but there was no denying what I knew to be true. The man who declared his unconditional love for me daily, my first-ever advocate I’d trusted with the life and death decisions of brain tumors, the man who in turn, trusted me with his cancer, both of us living in sickness and in health before marriage, and him, a longtime supporter of battered women and the NDVH, was lying. I was woozy on the short walk back home together. Once inside our apartment he shouted, “I’m not staying here with you. I’ll be in touch.” As he opened the door to leave, he saw my cane in the corner and said, “Sure, try to get sympathy with that thing. It won’t work.” After my tumor treatments, I worked hard at walking without assistance but sometimes, such as after coming home from an intense workout, he would see me wobble a bit and remind me to use my cane. When JetBlue derailed me with reality, I lost trust as well as my appetite and within days, I’d lost so much weight that I again relied on my cane for support. While I stood at the door sobbing, he again shouted his unfounded defense, “They’re all wrong! They’re wrong! I’ll fix it all! They’re wrong!” Thirty minutes after he slammed our door, I received an email, “I had a nice time at dinner.” Fifteen minutes later, another, “If I were going to fuck around 1) I’d be exceptionally discreet and 2) I wouldn’t. I am not permanently pissed, but this is a black mark for me, let’s see what we can do with it…” Then, another email in which he declared his forever love and deep regret. Anxious to see him the next afternoon at counseling to discuss this recent development, at least recent to me, I arrived early for our appointment. In the waiting room, I stared at the door for his arrival which didn’t come. Our therapist called my name, I went into her office and sat down without a word. While staring at the floor, she said, “He called. He’s not returning to therapy.” With this abrupt decision and his unusual choice of messenger, as soon as I was home, I called him to request a medical release form so that I could meet with his hematologist and discuss that perhaps his transformation might have resulted from his cancer or chemotherapy. He immediately faxed the signed form to his doctor, called me with an appointment date and a promise that he’d meet me there. That same week, I sat in another waiting room, staring at the door. Again, he didn’t show up. I walked back to the doctor’s office and after polite hello’s, I explained what had been going on. “Whatever it is, it’s temporary. You’re the happiest couple I know. Deeply in love, so supportive of each other, always together. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out.” I was further conflicted and yet comforted. I returned home to another email. “The money is safe. I am not taking it anywhere. Out of the country no. Hiding it away no. Please do not pressure me to do what will be done.” As I’d not mentioned money, I didn’t know what he was referring to. Logging into our joint bank account, I noted that for the first time since we were wed, he had not deposited his paycheck. He was gone and yet, not as he continually requested that I meet him at area restaurants, with his mail. Our get-togethers were cold but ever optimistic, I continued seeing him. He followed each meeting with emails such as, “I love you baby, xoxo me,” and, “You looked beautiful last night, as always.” I’d longed for those words which had been commonplace but were now rare and typically, followed by insults. And yet, each message gave me hope that he was right and what I knew to be true was wrong. After days of such ‘I love you’ emails, he began calling, wanting to discuss a formal separation agreement, informing me that we’re no longer married, that this is a business deal, that it took all his strength to walk out of our apartment and, he’d been unhappy since the day we met. His next email threatened that if I didn’t go along with what he termed, a mutual, determined separation agreement, it would negatively affect my future well-being and he’d file a summons for cruel and inhumane treatment. My days and nights were filled with more of his appetite suppressant messages. Nearly emaciated, I was too weak to exercise and stopped attending the dance classes I’d loved, the ones that he often enjoyed with me. Unable to hide my protruding bones with clothing, I was at a routine physical, when my doctor said, “You’ve lost all of your muscle! You have to start working out again.” I returned to the dance classes I’d loved. Within minutes, I was surrounded by my teacher and students who were greeting me with hugs and smiles before informing me that my husband began attending class with a woman he’d introduced as his girlfriend. The, they began showing up several times a week at what had been my regularly scheduled classes. My decision to attend other classes led to his increased calls and threats, followed by his notifying me that he moved uptown to get away from me. He had and yet he hadn’t for although he was in a different neighborhood, he continued parking across the street from our condo. After two months of uncomfortably bumping into him outside our building, I retained counsel. My husband, a board member for a battered women’s shelter long before we met, didn’t hide his detest for my ex having physically abused me. He also believed that my brain tumors resulted from my ex grabbing me by the throat, lifting me up and slamming my head into walls and his truck. And yet, he took a page from ex’s gift-giving registry although his package was delivered with no postage at all. I was running errands on my birthday when I heard a man calling my name. As I looked to see him, he glanced down at a stack of papers, the first of which I could see was a photo of me taken in happier times. Shoving bound papers at me, he said, “You’ve been served.” I wasn’t about to reach out and accept them so he dropped them on the ground. Laying before me on bustling Street sidewalk in the November wind lay twenty-three charges of cruel and inhumane treatment, lies which my husband later admitted to having invented. As we were childless, there would be no custody battle so I knew ours would be a quick divorce. About to leave for the first court date, my lawyer called to say that court was rescheduled since my husband was out of town. He was lazing in the Island 2 sun again but unlike our honeymoon, he had an entourage- his girlfriend, her two children, their grandmother and our money. His delay tactics became as routine as his continual, vindictive violations of the judge’s temporary support orders. Friends and colleagues who’d envied our marriage were shocked about the way he’d been treating me and his divorce filing since he’d always told them how much he loved me and how happy he was. And, reassuring me, his ex-wife said that what I’d witnessed for years was indeed true, he had dutifully paid her court ordered support without interruption or complaint so she knew he’d do the same with me when our divorce was finalized. Even his closest friends said as he had, he’d always take care of me. Post-trial, while awaiting the judge’s decision, I attended medical appointments and underwent routine tests, the last of which revealed another brain tumor, this one threatening my remaining vision. After another emergency brain surgery, I awoke in Neuro ICU but this time, temporarily blind, disfigured and alone. Not only had he long since abandoned me, the friends and family who’d been present and supportive after my first brain surgery followed his lead when I needed them most. I attempted to recover in peace but my valiant efforts were interrupted and delayed by realtors showing prospective buyers our apartment. This was the only court order he followed, the listing of our City 7 condo and City 5 house. The issue of our State 2 property was settled when I received my parents’ birthday package. Addressed in my dad’s controlled, cursive handwriting, I excitedly opened the box to find a unique gift, the garage door opener without card, wrap or ribbons. As with my friends who abandoned me when my husband had, my parents did the same while also abandoning the Florida townhouse. One phone call to the realtor who sold us the property revealed that they walked out the door, leaving it empty and me, hollow. With my husband aware of my recent brain surgery, his get-well gift came in the form of violating temporary court orders for my medical expenses. Struggling to see, undergoing two more surgeries to correct disfigurement, and rife with emotional and physical pain, my doctors wrote critically necessary prescriptions for physical therapy, a host of medications and home healthcare aides. But without receiving his court ordered support, I couldn’t afford all of my requisite care which led to my incurring further physical damage. Based on the voluminous medical evidence provided to the court, the judge accepted the fact of my disability. Immediately, I followed her order and applied for SSDI. Recognizing that I could not survive with SSDI benefits as my sole source of income, in her final judgment, my ex-husband was court ordered to pay spousal support, healthcare overage and maintain me as the sole beneficiary of his pension and life insurance policies. I began anew again but my second beginning started and stopped simultaneously with his continued court order violations. Necessarily, I returned to court with a lawyer and a contempt motion. Back in our trial judge’s courtroom, this hearing took only thirty minutes during which time she reviewed my evidence of accrued spousal support arrears and his cancellation of my health insurance. Again, the judge instructed him to follow all court orders and again, he said he would and again, he didn’t. Retaining another attorney, I filed a second contempt motion which was assigned to a different judge. At our first hearing, the judge informed him that continued violations could result in jail time. I didn’t want him locked up but as our original trial judge found, I couldn’t survive without him following all court orders. Rather than believe the judge’s not-so-veiled threat, his violations continued but with a new twist, of the pen. On the subject lines of his shorted and late support checks, he began writing emotionally abusive messages such as, ‘Blood Money,’ and his most-oft used favorite, ‘Fucking Evil Bitch.’ Then, he crumpled the checks into trash-like balls which he stuffed into envelopes. His heinous, illegal acts continued for four more years, enough time that the judge forgot the court order enforcement actions afforded her. With my finances rapidly dwindling, I could no longer afford legal representation and so, I became a fool, representing myself. This would be a bad choice for anyone, but especially for someone whose only legal education to that point had been the prior years in divorce court. Adding in my permanent neurological impairments which had long ago rendered me unable to work and support myself. Among them, brain inflammation, memory loss and nerve pain, all of which intensified. While struggling to file motions, organize legal documents and attend court, I endured cataclysmic catastrophes resulting in damage as massive as his intentionally cruel court order violations and those of a judge who repeatedly admitted not reviewing the case before her. A massive flood resulted in the loss of my belongings and my apartment, I received multiple diagnoses including- a third brain tumor, glaucoma, a chronic retina bleed in my only usable eye, cataracts requiring immediate surgery, an ovarian cyst and prior surgical scar tissue resulting in intractable pain, all while I struggled to continue representing myself in court. Meanwhile, in order to pay for critical medical treatment, tests, medications, surgeries and the necessity of shelter, I accrued credit card debt for the first time in my life. Although my renter’s insurance policy paid flood reimbursement monies, they were quickly dissipated on survival necessities of food, shelter, transportation to and from court, health insurance and more. When I thought I’d reached rock bottom, I began receiving harassing and often profane messages from inventive email addresses, including one from Email Address informing me that the happy couple had wed and were raising her children in what had been our City 8home. That message was followed with my next birthday gift, a dead plant with a florist’s gift tag on which he wrote, “I love you.” I consistently reported his damaging, harassing and abusive actions to the judge who responded while looking at him, “Stop doing that.” He responded to her affirmatively but instead, increased his vicious email attacks while also adding childish crank phone calls. Throughout our five years before this judge, she chose to ignore my factually, documented evidence of his non-stop court order violations which included a running total of his accumulated spousal support arrears just as she disregarded her long-ago promise of holding him accountable for his violations. Despite his courtroom confession with evidentiary backup that he violated the original court order by replacing me with his girlfriend as the beneficiary of his pension and life insurance policies, the judge turned a blind eye, tantamount to approving of this violation. Finally, the judge rendered her decision, one which disregarded my years of factual evidence proving his years ten years of continually violating court orders and substantiating that he was, far from his baseless claims of being flat out broke but rather, flush with more than enough to pay the full amount of support arrears which surpassed one quarter of a million dollars. Explaining her rationale for ignoring the rule of law, she said, “Given the Plaintiff’s comorbidities, she has less time left than he, so she won’t be needing the accumulated spousal support monies or any other benefits stipulated in the previously entered judgment of divorce. I sat there shocked that a State State Supreme Court judge had based a legal decision on her non-medical prediction of my imminent death. I walked away from the legal system, further battered and bruised with scars as invisible as those caused by my first husband’s sexual, emotional, physical and verbal abuse. Those painful wounds remain as unseen as my irreparable vision loss, ongoing brain tumor growths, radiation treatments, the abandonment of friends and family and those left behind by my second husband- financial and psychological abuse which combined, equal physical abuse for they left me further impaired as I’ve been unable to obtain and maintain shelter, medical treatment, medications and other survival necessities. Alone, in pain and in need, I embarrassingly became dependent upon the kindness of strangers, one who generously provided me with temporary shelter and food, keeping me alive when someone else died- my ex-husband. Apparently, our judge’s crystal ball was as cracked as the rule of law she chose to break. One year and five months after she rendered her decision and amended the original divorce judgment, he was gone. But I wasn’t. My health has steadily declined since I made my Love Connection with my second husband, after which he treated me to The Dating Game followed by The Newlywed Game. I believed I’d won the prize of his undying love, affection and support. But when he began playing his favorite boardgame, Malevolent Monopoly, I lost and continued losing since he declared himself the banker and real estate mogul, owning all of the properties and utilities. Throughout his illegal, unending game, he never went to jail directly or indirectly and I never collected $200.00 for passing go or the $250,000.00+ in accumulated spousal support. Left with not much more than questions as to the how and why this all happened, I played a game of my own- connect the dots. A single line connected each dot, forming a family tree with rotted roots and ancestrally infected branches. As a child, my mother witnessed her mom be physically, financially and emotionally abused by her husband which led to her marrying my dad for the safety and security she’d always desired, only to relive what her mother had and likewise, my mom did her best to ignore and hide her husband’s abuse. My brother chose to ignore the truth of my mom’s screams on that long-ago Sunday afternoon. Similarly, he chose to ignore the physical abuse he saw me endure at that campus town bar and my increasing impairments and substantial losses resulting from my second husband’s financial and psychological abuse. My dad was a good man and also, not. He loved me, my brother and my mom very much but ultimately, he loved her to death. As for my in-laws, after I paid forty-one cents to accept their son’s postage due divorce-papers, I learned that my first husband’s father had physically abused his mother, leading to her suffering two nervous breakdowns. When I told her how her son physically and emotionally abused me, she advised that I should’ve done as she had with husband and stop doing what bothered him. Upon meeting the man who would be my second husband, he volunteered his truth of being betrayed by his spouse during their marriage. A year later, he detailed the domestic violence perpetrated by his mother. During his childhood, his mom prepared his brother a sandwich with a unique condiment, broken glass. Additionally, she often engaged in psychologically abusing him and her husband with her favorite weapon, gaslighting, which only ended when she was institutionalized. I am living proof that as with disability and destitution, domestic violence doesn’t have to be visible to exist yet few believe my truth of living those traumas. Rather than hear an empathetic word, most often I’m told, “You don’t look disabled, abused, or homeless.” Over time, I’ve learned that there exists a pervasive, preconceived image of what a disabled, impoverished victim turned survivor of domestic violence looks like and unfortunately, that image is typically wrong. Not all tragedies are visible. Not all living below poverty level live on the streets, not all disabled are nonsensical and mangled and, not all victims of domestic violence have broken bones, black eyes or bruises. Anyone can experience what I have as well as additional challenges, be they rich, middle class or poor. Domestic violence can happen anywhere, on a Midwest farm, a State 2 beach, a bustling city or the peaceful quiet of the City 8, just as it did with me. Likewise, abusers, victims and survivors of domestic violence come from everywhere and anywhere, as in my case, the East Coast, New England and the Midwest. Abusers look like everyone, in packages of various sizes and shapes, in gift bags or boxes, decorated in ribbons and bows or with no finery whatsoever. Specifically, seen or unseen, happening to anyone, anywhere and at any time, domestic violence is always wrong and all too often, it’s dead wrong. However, what is right remains the same- victims of domestic violence and sexual assault need to be heard, supported and believed rather than silenced, ignored and doubted. Being believed provides life-saving healing, validation, encouragement, comfort and hope. Rather than continuing to prove who I am to those disbelieving my truth, I am content in knowing who I am and with that, I validate, encourage, support and comfort myself as well as others for judging a book by its cover leads only to tattered pages, broken bindings and torn, broken people. Fortunately, I have found permanent glue and hope but tragically, too many do not.

At 19 years old and away from home for the first time…I thought I was in love. I married someone I barely knew. I met him at Military Training, and we got stationed in the same city. I wanted a wedding, but he did not so we ended up at the Justice of the Peace. This was one of the first of many things I did to compromise. Shortly after we were married, his true colors started showing. Slowly, I was isolated, moved away from all my friends and family. I could not do anything right. Everything was my fault. No matter how hard I tried it was never good enough. He forced me to watch pornography and forced me to do things sexually that I had not consented to. Yes, a spouse can rape their spouse. I was called all sorts of names, mocked, belittled, insulted, and worse. It was mostly behind closed doors; however, some was done in public. We would only hang out with my friends and family when he wanted to put on a show. At one point he moved his “friend” in with us because she had nowhere to go. After being diagnosed with an STD, I learned she was one of many women that he cheated on me with. She was his mistress in every sense of the word. At some point I lost who I was and began to think I was exactly who he said I was…worthless, ugly, and nothing. I was living in a fog. I could not make sense of my feelings or thoughts. I had no idea what to do to make him happy because no matter how much I tried to do what I thought he said he wanted it was never right. I attempted suicide which surprised my family, friends, and co-workers because I had never said a word. I had been able to put on a smile and always help others during the workday. No one knew the verbal, emotional or sexual abuse I endured at home. After my suicide attempt my family, and the few friends that still stood by me tried to get me to leave. I refused to leave. I was insistent that could make my marriage work. If I only tried harder. If I were only the person, he wanted me to be. Then, out of the blue, he was arrested, court-martialed, and sent to military prison (on matters unrelated to the marriage). I still tried to make things work. I would go visit him in jail, take care of our home, pay the bills, and try to be a “good wife”. One day he called asking for things he wanted. When I told him that I had not bought the requested items because I was looking for a part-time job to pay the bills (we had mounds of debt thanks to him), he called me “undependable”. It was in that moment I finally realized I deserved more. I yelled into the phone “You’re right; I’m undependable!” and hung up the phone. I then took off my engagement and wedding rings and proceeded to throw them across the living room into the kitchen where they came to rest under the washer and dryer. The next day I contacted a lawyer and within a few weeks we were divorced. We had been married for one year and four months and had known each other for one year and nine months. In less than two years this man had broken me to the point that I no longer knew who I was and kept me from making new friends at my duty assignment. The only friends I had at this point were some old friends from high school that I did not see often but they refused to be pushed away. His actions caused me to spiral into a pit of depression so severe that I thought the only answer (or way out) was to take my own life. Throughout my first marriage, I had a friend who told my first ex-husband to back off and that he was going to stay my friend no matter what. He kept his word and continued to always be there for me during my marriage. When I told him, I was getting divorced, he took leave and came to stay with me for a week so he could be in the courtroom with me during the divorce hearing. 2 years and 7 months later this friend and I were married. Like my first husband, I also met him at military training. Our whole relationship had been long distance except for the few months at military training and that one week during my divorce. We spent the first year of marriage apart waiting for the military to station us together. We got pregnant the first weekend we were finally living together. Once we were living together, his true personality quickly emerged. He was always on the computer due to video games and/or pornography. He could not be bothered to help if he was on the computer. He would yell when he was not happy. I called to say I was in premature labor with our child and he did not come to the hospital. Once the baby arrived, I would ask for help, but he could not be bothered because he was busy. As time went on, the yelling, silent treatment, name calling, not helping around the house, and just ignoring me only seemed to get worse. Then he got deployed. I discovered he was having at minimum one online affair and saying all sorts of hateful and nasty things about me. I confronted him, and he acted like it was not a big deal. I felt differently. It was a big deal to me, so I left. I filed for a divorce. He spent months sweet talking me until I foolishly took him back. At this point we were now both out of the military. We bought a house, and he went to school. I worked full-time, tried to go school, and took care of the house and our child. He still seldom helped with anything. I had to pay for childcare because our child bothered him while he was doing his schoolwork. The name calling, silent treatments and ignoring only got worse. I noticed he was punishing our child in ways that were not appropriate for a toddler and expecting things beyond a toddler’s capability. I started having panic attacks when I pulled into the garage after work because I did not know which personality I was going to meet when I walked in the house: Mr. Happy or Mr. Angry. His behavior after we moved in together did not match the behavior of the friend who was there for me during my first marriage; he had changed – or had he? He stopped telling me how much he loved me and how much he needed me and proceeded to tear me down or not talk to me at all. I had reached that all too familiar point where I was again in a fog and not sure what to do because everything, I did was wrong…unless he wanted something. I felt like I was walking on eggshells at home all the time. I remember he said something to me at a store one day and a woman made eye contact with me…her look said, “Honey, just say the word and I will help you escape”. I just quickly looked away. The final straw was coming home from work one day and finding my usually very active child sitting very still on the couch. When I asked what was wrong, my child said, “Daddy slapped across both cheeks for playing in some mud with the dog.” I confronted him and told him he had three choices: get help, leave or I was calling the police. He chose to leave and blame me for making him “poor and homeless”. Seven months after we separated, we were divorced. We had been married for eight years and ten months. We had known each other for ten years and seven months. He had gone from being one of my best friends to a total stranger who left me feeling even more empty and broken than my first husband had. It is hard to put into words the slow way both individuals managed to tear me down to nothing, to the point that I felt like I had nothing left to live for. Unlike my first marriage, the second time it was not just me. I had to protect my child. Both used verbal and emotional abuse to slowly control me and make me feel like nothing, make me question my sanity, and make me believe I was a complete idiot and loser. One of them used sex as a weapon for his pleasure and another withheld touch of any kind knowing that it is one of my Love Languages. Both could be kind when it suited them to make them look good or to get what they wanted. Thanks to both of these individuals I now know gaslighting, love bombing, flying monkeys, triangulation, projection, threats (both threatened to kill me), trauma-bonding and more are all part of a Narcissist’s play book. It was not me who was crazy or not worthy. They used these tools to get what they wanted and then tossed me to the side when I was no longer needed. Now that I know what these actions and terms mean I have been able to educate myself on how to recognize the signs, heal from the trauma and reach a point where I am able to share my story of survival. I had no idea who I was, what I liked, how to live a happy life or how to be strong. I could put on a good show for the outside world, or so I thought. I have since learned that my family and close friends could tell things were wrong. They were praying for me and standing close for when I finally reached out for help. When I look back over both marriages, I see God’s hand in them, and I know that it is because of Him that I am still here to tell my story. My first ex-husband walked in on me with the pills in hand and a razor blade at my wrist. For all the bad he did God used him to save my life by having him walk-in at that exact moment. He reported me to the military thinking it would get me in trouble but instead it saved my career and my life. His going to jail allowed me to get away. During my second marriage I can honestly say that the only reason I was able to get away is truly a miracle. I believe the prayers of my loved ones were answered by giving me a strength that came only from God, allowing me to stand up to him and give him those three choices after he slapped our child. How did I escape and repair my spirit? How did I find me again and become happy, strong, out-going, courageous, stand my ground, and know my own worth? I did it through the mercy, forgiveness, and love of God. I have spent hours in prayer and bible study. I have gone to Christian based counseling. I have shared my story with others. It has been a long road to recovery, but I know now I am a child of God and I am worth more than what those two individuals did to me. I will never settle again. Never settle for less than you are worth. You are worth more than all the rubies and diamonds in the world. You are His child. You are loved. You are beautiful. You are strong. You can. You will Survive.

We met at a campus Christian fellowship meeting during my first week of college. We were introduced by a friend of his and he walked me back to my dorm. I assumed he would be a safe person since we met through a Christian entity. Up to this point, I had very little dating experience. It went from nothing to intense real quick. We never had the conversation about what we were and all of the sudden we were serious. It went from seeing him weekly at fellowship meetings to all the time, in no time at all. We were THE couple on campus. If we weren't at an event, folks were banging on my door asking where we were. Everyone wanted to be like us. There was never any “are you sure?” or “this doesn’t seem right” conversations from anyone. There was an expectation to see us at events around campus. The abuse was gradual – boundary testing and love bombing. Although I didn’t recognize it as abuse at the time. As far as the smaller signs of abuse, I remember I told him I thought hickeys were trashy and almost immediately he gave me an intense hickey and responses, “you mean just like that?” I thought it was just a dude thing to do but in reality he crossed a boundary I set on the spot. There were so many little things like that that didn’t originally feel like a red flag. If I knew what I knew now, that would have been an immediate no. He and I broke up after graduation. It felt like he dropped off the face of the earth. However, he literally showed up years later at my parent’s doorstep when I moved there to take care of my mother who was dying of cancer. Cue the love bombing again... I was already in a vulnerable place because of my mom. Once my mom passed on his birthday, he dropped everything to be with me. Looking back, he brought his baby sister and she made several comments about how I need to be “cheerful and smiling” because that is what my mom would want. It made me question why he brought her in the first place, because it wasn’t helpful. But, I still was in shock at how he dropped everything for me. We got engaged and married shortly after. The abuse continued. One day when I was heading to the grave site, I was sexually assaulted in the car and I tried to justify it by him not being used to me being dressed up and that I was being hyper emotional. These little escalations over time grew. The gaps between escalation got shorter and shorter and the escalation got more and more. He knew so much about my insecurities that he used it against me, by saying things like “who else will give you attention,” “I am the only man who has come back to you,” “you are hypersensitive just like your mom said.” He would also manipulate me and use intimidation knowing that the local DV shelter was not wheelchair accessible at the time, leaving me without a quick escape. It took me a long time to figure out how to navigate this and move forward. He enjoyed making me fear for my life, but then making me get my emotions together before seeing any of our friends. He enjoyed humiliating, degrading and making me fear for my life. One time he refused to help me accessibility wise (couldn’t get into a bathroom) and I had an accident – he enjoyed the ability to control things. More than a year before I left, I had a disassociation episode and lost hours of time. By the end of that day, I tried to leave and went to my church group for help, and they didn’t support me. So, I figured if they didn’t believe me or think that he is a good man being with a disabled woman, I thought I deserved to stay and I will likely just end up being killed. In fact, I am a strangulation survivor. He would put his hands on my throat and say things like, “you know how easily I can kill you” and once I replied, “just f*cking do it then and get it over with” – I was at that point where I didn’t care if I lived or died. Eight years later it was my birthday eve, we went to dinner – he had to work on my actual birthday – and we began to argue over him wanting to go to a friend’s house that night. Prior to this night, he would leave for three hours or more and I never knew what he was doing or if he was dead somewhere. So, I wasn’t fond of him going back to his friend’s house on my birthday eve and I muttered the statement “well happy f*cking birthday to me” and he replied with “you have only been ruining my birthday for the last eight f*cking years.” And immediately after he said that I unloaded on him. The last thing I said was – I know how long you spend at your friend’s house, and I will be gone before you get back. For context, in the past I tried leaving three times. I had been pulling away for a little bit to try and process what has been going on. Once after staying with a friend for an extended period of time I would question why I would go back but it felt like I was telling myself that it would get better. One time he and I had a nasty fight when he got home very late, and I said “are we going to talk about this or do what we normally do and sweep it under the rug.” His response made me fearful. I immediately dissociated as he banged his fists on the wall and was screaming over me. I curled up and time disappeared. His voice became just noise. Then something switched and he was back to normal. I knew I needed to do what he expected me to do in order to de- escalate. So we changed for bed and I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day I tried to get him out of the house and to church but it wasn’t happening so I just left. I dissociated and don’t remember driving into town. I made it to church and it was clear that I was unwell. That is when I finally made a full disclosure and it was horrible. My pastor said it was too busy and had me sit with his mother in law. After sharing my experiences with her, she said “Are you sure you understand what abuse really is? You just need to go home and be a better wife and appreciate how much he takes care of you.” as she gestured to my wheelchair. I knew I needed to get out of there immediately. I then found a friend and disclosed it to her. She had a similar reaction. This set me off. I got in my car and had self harming thoughts. But I made it home. He told me I might as well just stay. I thought I would just die here. There was more escalation and sleep deprivation - everything got worse. He told me if I went to stay with someone else that I would be a burden to them, and no one would help me due to my disability. Two days after I left, I went home for an already planned trip for Thanksgiving and folks knew something was wrong immediately. That part of the family was and always has been supportive of my divorce. They are two hours away so help is limited. The community I lived in and am back living in, so many people want to minimize abuse towards people with disabilities. They don’t want to see the severity of it. Other folks outside of my family were not that supportive. Many questioned my ability to know what domestic violence truly is. Most tried to justify his actions and tell me it couldn't have been that bad...after all, why would he be with someone like me if he wasn't a good man?!?! As if he must be a Saint to be with someone with a disability and “maybe he was just tired of taking care of me” – utter nonsense. I have had to make my circle small. I have learned which people get it and validate me vs those who made comments or don’t support me. The biggest thing for me was finding validating books and literature. Coming into Speak Your Truth Today and seeing similarities in stories and having that validation of not being over dramatic, over sensitive, and this is a reality I am healing from was a huge thing for me. I really hope to make it known what happened to me and make sure that even if you have the slightest inclination that you are not being taken seriously, find support elsewhere. You deserve help. Not all folks with disabilities need a caregiver. And not all partners are caregivers. This is a common stereotype/assumption that people can have. Validation was rare outside my family until I found SYTT. But know this – there is NEVER an excuse for abuse. Your disability didn't cause it, there's NOTHING you do to deserve abuse. Educate yourself on healthy relationships and know that you are deserving of a peaceful, loving, committed, happy relationship. Educate yourself on the nuances of abuse towards those with disabilities. Abusers use a completely different set of tactics. We have different barriers, complex needs and shame/ ableist mentalities are deeply influenced by our abusers.

We went to high school together, the prom, etc. My first love. 9 years after HS graduation we reconnected at a wedding and were married less than a year later. I liked our childhood connection, and how he liked to fix things. Everyone said it was “meant to be.” But there were many red flags. He abused me in every way. Mentally, by undermining my dreams and hopes (telling me I would never finish my degree). Financially, by spending money we didn't have, hiding major purchases from me, quitting jobs impulsively if he was ever “disrespected.” Physically, by spitting on me, shaking me, throwing me down on the floor. He lied to me, called me names, called me fat, threw away my cherished items then mocked me for picking through the garbage to find them. He also cheated on me and gave me an std then denied it saying I must have cheated on him when I hadn’t. He undermined my sense of reality. The tipping point was finding my 13 year old daughter's diary and reading about what she had heard and witnessed when I thought she was asleep. I couldn't raise her or her brothers around this anymore. The hardest thing was navigating custody. He had never once cared for our 3 children by himself–not even for an afternoon. He had connections in both police and social service agencies and was a former CPS worker so accusations of abuse never stuck to him. He dated and briefly married a lawyer so he had free and unlimited legal representation. He neglected our children, drank heavily (he is an alcoholic) and scared them many times with his rage and outbursts. Not being able to shield them from him was and remains the hardest part. My family is Catholic and takes marriage very seriously as do I. Right before I filed for divorce my mom was telling me how things weren't that bad. I told her that she could 1) either ask me to stop talking about my reality with her or 2) accept my reality–but that I would no longer accept her denial of my reality. She heard me, apologized, and has been fully supportive ever since. Please do not assume because someone is a social worker, calls himself an advocate, or a feminist, or even works as an advocate that he lives out these values in private. My ex was given an award by the police department for his work with homeless people the same week that he locked me outside of our house during a tornado (I had to ride it out in my car in the driveway). Obviously knowing that I'm not alone, that even though more than a decade has passed and that I'm very happily married to a kind and loving man, that this pain stays with me. On my children's birthdays I always struggle remembering how he abused me while I was in labor and recovering from childbirth. That is something very hard to share. Speak Your Truth allowed me to not be alone with those memories for the first time.

I want to share my experiences, as I have many times but never in print or where I can leave it for other survivors to read. I want you to know that you ARE better than the abuse you might be receiving. You ARE amazing. You ARE resilient and can absolutely do whatever you set your mind to. I was in an abusive relationship for 8 years. Of course the abuse started slowly, so slowly I could write it off as my fault or an accident. I lived with a friend at 21 and met the man who would eventually become my children's father. I remember telling my friend that he had shoved me on the bed, directly on my cat so I might hurt her too. I remember that friend telling me "He reminds me of my ex-husband, the one who broke my jaw for catching him cheating on me" and of course I didn't listen. Slowly the abuse got worse physically, mentally, emotionally. Eventually I started to fight back, not physically but would try to talk him down or just defend myself and he would rape me, as a point to show me who was still in control. I had out of body experiences- got knocked out by force- to wake up locked away in a hotel room with my keys gone and phone taken so I couldn't call for help. I loved him and couldn't bear to call the police on him- by this time I knew he was here illegally. I knew most of his family were here illegally. They would sit around the living room hearing me getting my ass handed to me and in the beginning I wondered why they wouldn't interfere- I later learned that if anyone interfered then my beating got worse because "you're cheating on me with HIM" or something similar. A couple years go by and most of my friends have moved on or were disgusted that I stayed with him- I was pretty good at hiding what was really going on because he loved hitting me where most people wouldn't see a bruise. I truly believed that I could help him, or fix him, because his childhood was rough growing up in the mountainous countryside of location and his father was abusive. Plus I knew that for the most part their women are brought up submissive, so it was all acceptable for a long time. I made excuses for him and he would cry to me and say "I know it's wrong but I can't help it, I watched it my whole life- watched my mother die because of my father." Plus he crossed the border when he was about 16 and was traumatized from that also. He just knew how to manipulate me and my emotions and for years I had no idea. I was attending college while pregnant at 25 and my classmates knew and tried to help me but I wasn't ready yet. Not until he hit me and split my eyebrow open with his fist when I was 6 months pregnant. My mom dragged me to the police station and wouldn't let me leave until I pressed charges against him. That was when she learned about my years of abuse- my family suspected but I was good at hiding it. It took me having my little girl - my saving grace, my reason for waking up back then- to learn I was better than the abuse I was getting. I realized that I didn't want her growing up in that kind of environment, never wanted her to think that any sort of abuse is okay or even remotely acceptable. That was when I started thinking about leaving him. That's when God shows up glaringly obvious to me then- he gets arrested. Finally I have one foot out the door. Then 2. Then I lose that apartment we were living in because I had been on HUD and he wasn't supposed to be there. I go back to my parents house with my 1 year old daughter. A year later I get pregnant once more by him. By this time I am self-medicating for depression/anxiety/PTSD and trying to fill that void left behind by him. He had introduced me to drugs and snorting pills during our relationship. I was struggling with answering/not answering the phone when he called and jumping when he asked for things. By all rights, my 2nd child should have been born with withdrawals and once again God showed up for me and my child. A month prior to her birth I went to church and without even knowing me that pastor spoke to my soul and him and his congregation healed my unborn child. Today my girls are age 1 &age 2years old and thriving. My little savior and miracle child. Their father was deported a few years ago and he stopped calling/checking in on our girls. They know what kind of person he was and how he treated me and they don't really want anything to do with him though they have attempted to reach him via FB because they want answers. They want to know why he doesn't try to call them anymore, why he hurt me. I have never wanted to be that parent who keeps their kids from the other parent. My mom struggles with that concept but honors it for them. I want my kids to decide whether they want him in their life or not though he seems to have made that choice for them. He has always been selfish. 18 years later I still struggle with my self worth, have struggled to stay clean. I am strong, I am resilient, I am a great mom. I love myself Most days. Most days I know my worth, though I have been in a relationship with someone I thought was perfect for me but now I struggle with whether or not this relationship is healthy.

When I was 11 yrs old i was raped by three boys. We had just moved to the place i live now. I never told anyone until i was in high school. I lived with guilt and self harm for yrs over the incident until in therapy i learned that it wasnotmy fault and those boys had no right to do that. I try and help people by sharing my story. We should speak out about it

Children are impressionable. Seeing your sibling mimic the aggressive behavior their parents do to each other and to us can make it seem okay for adults to act like this. Being the punching bag in the family is exhausting. If the parent doesn’t speak to the child that this isn’t okay behavior how will the child ever learn to not behave in this manner? South Asian culture has normalized domestic abuse and violence for so long it’s actually insane when you go to look at tv shows or movies. I can’t wait to move out and leave this toxic environment that I grew up in. Once I establish my career in nursing, I’m packing my bags.

After seeing 'It Ends With Us', I felt I wanted to share my story. I saw this movie alone for the first watch, brought my Atlas to the second, and my bestfriend to the third. Watching it left me feeling empowered to anonymously share my story of abuse and violence. The film and the book brought back so many raw emotions, ones that I still struggle with today. My story started when I was 16 years old and I was with my first 'love', everything was OK in the beginning - but suddenly everything changed. I was constantly told how worthless I was, I got pushed down his stairs - but I wouldn't leave - and I didn't know why. He was controlling and did not like other people talking to me, going to extreme lengths to stop this from happening, and making sure my friends did not see me - people who he saw as a threat. I ended up in the hospital because of him, where he broke my hand. He got that mad at me once, we were in his car and just before I could shut the door and put on my seat belt, he started driving recklessly to scare me. What scared me more was when I was sleeping and I felt his hands around my throat - with no explanation. There were many times that I would say stop and he would carry on because he told me he was in control. I had cigarettes put out on me -multiple times, and was told that I was disgusting and looked like a sl*t, even telling me I was 'fat' - which led to further health issues. When I ended up with a bruise, my friend who is now my Atlas noticed - we worked together. I confined in him, and he was the first person to properly listen to me, and let me share my experiences. Throughout all this, it brought me overwhelming anxiety and depression and even the lengths of having to have therapy because to me it was a nightmare even when it was over, and reported multiple times. My parents never understood, asking me why I didn't just leave, telling me I must've wanted it to carry on. I didn't. I'm nearly 10 years later now, with my Atlas of 5 years, feeling happier and in a better place physically and mentally - I'm still healing. This movie brought me to tears and I related so much to Lily Bloom - some of it felt like my experiences - but the film also brought me a type of feeling of freedom and happiness. Thank you for letting me share my story. ❤️

This is not easy and I am now sure more than ever that others felt the same way. While you can feel you are in it alone there are so many many many stories that are the same. I was at such a tender age. Innocent and blameless. I never knew that i was being taken for granted by the very person who said they love me. They were my family member. Little did I know i would continue to move forward in my life in a manner that only God could heal. Now I sit hear as a full grown adult after going through emotional, physical, psychological abuse by so many that claims to love me. I continued to protect them all because I never told my side of the story. It all ends today. No one else gets to take advantage of my weakness. I was in a long time relationship that started as your typical relationship just beautiful. All of the nice things occurred flowers, candy, gifts. As time went on and things were more settled the take over begun. The insecurities continued to grow and grow. Around year 2 is when the physical abuse started. He had me right where he wanted me. My family tried to intervene but I thought I was in LOVE. Yea I said that 4 letter word that can cause so much pain. Yes I stayed and that was the end to most of my relationships with my family. The relationship with he and I would span another 10 years before the END was the END. I tell you it was not easy at all. One thing I did learn is that most people that should be for you will call you all kind of names stupid, dumb, etc. so much so until you start to believe it. Never give up on yourself.

No more feeling shame. The shame is my abuser's to bear. I was in an abusive relationship 7 years. She would Yell and throw items around the room. Tell me who I can and can't see, and where I could go. She would degrade me by playing on any insecurity I had. If I questioned her motives I was gas lighted to change my way of thinking. She would smack my chest and call it play fighting. She would convince me "I'm the only one who is looking out for you" she monitored where I was and how long I was there. I would hid in the bathroom, because I was terrified of her. She would convince me to cut people out of my life. She would manipulate me emotionally and physically. Everything was on her terms, she loved that I feared her. No more feeling afraid of speaking my truth. #yournotalone

I just fled from domestic violence 3 months ago & still struggling to move forward. I forgave him so much & often blamed myself for all the physical abuse I endured. I always had an excuse for him, even felt like I deserved it at times. It went from punching the wall above my head to full on punching me in the face in a matter of weeks. He moved me 24 hours away from my family where things just became worse. He ended up pistol whipping me and putting his gun to my head telling me he’d kill me multiple different times, put knives to my chest & overall just beat the shit out of me. I was so scared I thought I’d be safer staying with him. Thankfully someone witnessed him dragging me in the house by my hair & called the police and he was arrested. I originally was panicking & figuring out how to get him out. But the day after he arrested everything in me told me to pack up as much as I could of my son & I’s things and GO. Crisis funded my gas/food back across the country. I left terrified, hurt & not knowing where my son and I would live. I went to a domestic violence shelter & eventually got my own place again. He was sentenced to only 1 year in jail (3 felonies were dropped he was facing 30 years) & I’ve been in a constant battle between feeling bad and missing him & knowing I deserve more and so does my son. Breaking the cycle has been so mentally draining but I can’t wait to see what life holds for me in the future as hard and unknown as it might be.

I'm 71 years old and allowed myself to be abuised for over 20years out of a 36 year marriage. I lost my daughters and grandchildren because of my actions. I've got no one I'm totally alone. I found out that my husband was a drug addict to prescriptions and was a thief and a liar who manipulated everyone around him he was a good guy. I was to busy working raising a family and continued to let this man use me because I loved him. I just realized love shouldn't hurt. He's left our home for years at a time, I've never gone with any one else. I've been raped strangled beaten bruised bloodied ,used money and antiques stolen etc. . I allowed myself to be used over and over why I don't know still don't I thought I loved him because we had a special bond . I was kidding myself and it hurts more than you know. I tried to end my life to get rid of the pain of abuise and failed years ago. Couldn't live with the pain of losing my family. . I'm so alone sitting in a house wasting away waiting to die someday someone will notice by my mail or my dog. What a shame I was a beautiful strong loving wife and mother grandmother to be left this way to die alone and broken because I was abuised I blame , my children for not protecting me,, the courts most of all I blame myself for loving a man and not loving myself more. I need help and I still do.

back in the summer of date i was 12 years old mom, dad, and myself went to city for a week o see my grandparents because i was summer break from school and we were having a cookout when relavives from my grandmothers side of the family came down to see her, they stayed at the ramada inn down the the road from my grandparents house, when it happened, after dinner i excused myself from the table so i could stretch my legs and i started going into the woods to go see the deer that were not far from my grandparents house, when lee came following behind me and took me by the arm further into the woods so nobody would be able to see what was about to happen, he made me strip naked and touched my naked body including my penis and my genitals and said to me this is how people have sex then he pulled his pants and boxers down and made me feel his penis and made me try to swollow it and threatened me by say dont you tell your parents or grandparents about this or i will say that you are lying about it so i never say a thing about it, then the next day he found me behind the house looking down the hill at the 18 wheelers going by on the interstate and took me into the basement forced me to take off my clothes and then forced me to masturbate well its a was good thing that i kept myself from ejaculating sperm because the basement floor was dirt and had my grandmother asked me about why the floor was wet i would have had to tell her because i could never lie to my grandmother because of our special bond between grandma and grandson, so once i got dressed again i walked around spread dirt all over where my bare feet were this way she had no idea about what had happened, to this day i wish i had told them because then that bastard would have died in prison but he has since passed away a very painful death so i dont ever have to worry about him ever again.

No one should go through what I went through at the hands of my abuser. I found myself in a difficult situation after getting married to my ex-husband, who was and still is the title of one of the Magistrates Courts of that Country. I had a battered and traumatic experience all the 9 years of our marriage (experiences like having seven stitches done on my torn neck, being battered on a weekly basis with men’s leather belt and a big wooden cane made from tree he kept in his private room just for me; often times asked to go on my knees as an act of discipline or preparation to get beaten, internal bleeding, skin bruising, bleeding from my ears, noses, mouth; blows and punches to my face that spills blood from cuts) but because I loved him, his reputation, against the advice of many. I suffered in silence and lived in fear due to the threat to my life. The police failed me as they called him their boss. Escape! Say No More!!!

I thought he was the most perfect guy in the world. He was romantic, smart, funny, loving, kind, everything I had ever wanted in a guy. When things started to shift, I deeply believed it was my responsibility as his girlfriend to comfort him, take care of him, fix him. But as the breakdowns became more consistent, as he became more violent, as the words grew heavier and more hurtful, I was left feeling drained. My belief that I was supposed to stick by his side no matter what, that love was forgiving and forgetting, destroyed me. He was broken, and it was selfish to leave him. He didn’t mean it, he apologized eventually, he comforted me when he hurt me, so it was okay. But if I could go back in time, I’d scream “leave now, save yourself.” Because these excuses I was making were just that. Excuses. It was not normal. It was not okay. No excuses could be made to make his behavior normal. I just want everyone out there to know that it is not your fault. You are not weak. You are not stupid for not seeing it sooner. You were in love with someone who only showed you a small aspect of themselves, and then revealed the rest when you were already in too deep. One time is enough. It wasn’t an accident the first time, and it won’t be an accident the next. The recovery process is hard. But it’s so worth it. And you are worth so much more than what he declares over you. Please know that you are not alone. I’m rooting for you and I know others are too.

My memory is no longer present. Attempted molestation as a child by a cousin, luckily my grandmother told me how to get out of these situations. Once he began to undress I made up a story and ran out of the room to let her know what had happened. I still had to see him at family events throughout the years because his dad supported him and did not believe me. My grandmother always believed me. At 16, my first time (if you can even call it that) was a sexual assault in my own home. My boyfriend at the time assaulted me, his cousin saw and I locked eyes for help but he just walked away. I had to hold this secret from my mother, afraid she would blame herself. I ended in a relationship with my perpetrator out of fear until I was strong enough to break away with support from friends. A few months later I was assaulted again by a college student on campus. My friend at the time had walked outside and he threw me down. Once she came back in, she was yelling for us and I threw a pen into the next room, which hit something to make a bang, as she came closer, he finally stopped. So much coercion I couldn't even tell you, sometimes it's hard to remember what was real. Now I try to be the person I needed. I support survivors with whatever decision they want to make, but let them know they are never alone. Thank goodness for our local sexual violence resource center to be there to provide healing. I wish I had known about this service when I needed it.

Where to start when it is a life-long journey. A few moments of his pleasure has been a lifetime of recovery and healing for me. It has taken a lot of work, a lot of working through to live a life where I can more freely give and receive love.

I had only been a freshman at my undergrad for 5 days when I was sexually harassed and eventually assaulted, by someone who I thought was a friend. We were walking campus with a large group and the two of us lived in the same building, we were headed back up for the night. He didn’t get off the elevator on his floor, instead he waited and got off on mine. I thought he was being kind and so we walked do the hall, I wished him a good night and turned to unlock my door. All of a sudden he was trying to push open my door. He started kissing and touching me. I finally got him of of me and screamed. It was enough to get him to leave in the moment. After this, he was texting me nonstop. Threatening his life if I wasn’t with him sexually, threatening me, and saying terrible things to and about me. Eventually I told my Resident Assistant and asked for help blocking him. He told his boss and they called me in for a meeting. I shared everything that had happened and she told me that she thought I had a drinking problem and sent me to AA instead of addressing the assault. She blamed me. Sometimes even I still blame me.

I am a victim of domestic violence. 4 out of the 5 relationships I was in through high school til I was about 24, every last one of them was emotional/mental abuse. I would get called names, like dumb ass or stupid. They would look at me in disgust because of what I looked like. I got sent to the hospital one year because I wanted to be skinny by not eating all day. One of my exes would’ve grabbed my stomach and laughed because I had extra weight than he did. Another ex would argue with me over something stupid. He wouldn’t let me hang out with friends. I was single for four years because I didn’t want to feel that pain again. But when I read It Ends with Us, and saw the movie, I was brought to tears because I felt that pain back. There is a happy ending though. My current relationship now, he is the light of my life, he treats me like a queen, he treats me the way someone is supposed to be treated. I never want to go back there again.

Hello, thank you for taking the time to read and consider Name story. First, I don’t blame Police Departmentor the state of State Namefor anything that has happened, the responsibility for this belongs completely to the state of State Name She met Friend Name 7 years ago when they were both homeless and moved to Second State Name to live with him at his mother’s property. This property is in the middle of nowhere inSecond State Name, their closest neighbors were anywhere from 30 to 60 acres away. He did this to isolate her from her social support systems, which is something many abusers do to manipulate and gain control of their victims. She didn’t know the kind of person he was until she got pregnant, after which he continually tried to emotionally manipulate her into an abortion. He had not wanted children, though he made repeated promises of a life and family to gain her trust and lure her to the property. This is a large part of his cycle, he makes these promises and lures women (typically around the age of 22) to his mother’s property where he becomes possessive, controlling, and abusive. His family knows he does this and that he’s abusive, but they do nothing to stop him and instead enable him. He had done this with a woman before her, but she had realized his true nature before becoming pregnant and fled to safety. Additionally, he is currently attempting to manipulate another 22-year-old woman from Third State Name online and is making these same promises and luring her to the property. After the baby was born, he became increasingly verbally and emotionally abusive toward her and even committed these acts in front of the child at least every other day. She was living in a constant state of fear, and he manipulated this to further isolate her and take control of her life. Once she finally got the courage to leave him, he became highly combative and began using their daughter as a weapon against her. He then manipulated a judge into giving him primary residence with joint (called shared there) custody of their daughter, though she was the one who cared for the baby every day. His mother had gotten him an attorney whileName couldn’t afford one, which is another thing common to abusers using the legal system against their victims. Unfortunately, we have yet to create protections for women who are vulnerable to this form of attack. She got her own apartment, and the child lived there over 95% of the time. He did not adhere to his responsibilities, and if she said anything about it, he would take the child and hide her fromName for a week or two as “punishment”. He would not provide for his child or look after her in any way, and this made it hard for name to complete her college coursework or make money at her job as a Grub Hub delivery driver. He would have a family that had their children taken and then given back by DHS (Third State Name's version of DCS) watch her the few times he did take her, even though they are again under DHS investigation and about to lose their children permanently. The amount of abuse and neglect it took for DHS to become involved with this family is staggering, and their four children will deal with the emotional trauma they’ve suffered for the rest of their lives. This eventually caused her to lose the apartment and made her move back in with him on his mother’s property, which was obviously the goal of his behavior because her only other choice would have been to abandon her daughter with the abuser. His aggressive behavior and demands that she cooperate with his plans got so severe that he began to rape her in her sleep if she refused his advances, and she found out later that he was put in a boarding school when he was 12 after being caught molesting a prepubescent boy. The abuse they suffered eventually caused their child to begin trying to shield her mother from it and she developed severe psychological trauma, to the point where this four-year-old would say things like “I hope my dad kills you” to her mother. She finally gained the courage to seek justice for his abuse and filed an emergency restraining order, and the judge told her that the County Sheriff and DHS would investigate the issue. However, both the Sheriff of County and DHS failed to investigate anything, despite the Sheriff being informed that there are hours of recorded abuse. So, she grabbed everything she could and came to State Name where she had a support system, and then placed a new order of protection against him. Five days later Third State Name had her violently arrested in front of the child for a fugitive Criminal Restraint by a Parent (like State Name's Custodial Interference) warrant, and according to the attorney I got in Third State Namethey are refusing to accept the Order of Protection from State Name I recently reached out to the County Sheriff’s office in response to a request for information I received from the Second County Sheriff’s office as the Order of Protection has not been served in over 30 days and was told by them that they did not need help finding Abuser's Name This refusal to follow State Nameorder is against Title 18 or the United States Code and the Interstate Compact, but they will not directly admit that this is what they are doing. I have proof of all of this, including the recordings of the abuse, the restraining order in Third State Name, and the Order of Protection in State Name and am willing to discuss this with you further. Apparently, Third State Namethinks it’s okay to punish victims and protect abusers, probably to keep their abuse case numbers down. This is a grotesque miscarriage of justice, and I am reaching out to anyone I can to bring awareness to these disgusting actions.