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The day I ran from my abuser, I felt an intense urge to turn the car around. My sister’s voice kept replaying through my head. “Catherine, keep your eyes on the road. Don’t look at your phone. Don’t stop.” For five years, I had been raped, beaten, brainwashed, stripped of my identity and isolated from my family and friends. I knew if I turned that car around, I wouldn’t survive. At first, I couldn’t do anything for myself. My sister had to remind me to brush my teeth, bathe and eat. My abuser had controlled everything, and I mean everything. From what and how much I ate to what I wore, how I spoke, and who I spoke to. I didn’t know how to live outside of him and his needs. For years, I had been operating in survival mode. Everything had centered around him, what he expected from me and what would set him off. I was constantly walking on eggshells. The day I escaped, he told me I was pregnant. The only birth control allowed was the pull-out method. Rape is a hard word for me, because I think of it as being physically held down. But he had psychological control over me. I had no agency or choice. I was to abide by his rules or there would be repercussions. Although pregnancy may have been physically impossible because my weight was around 90 pounds, I was still terrified. I was in the South. If I were pregnant, there would be little to no abortion access. Luckily, I was able to get the Plan B pill within 72 hours. In my mid-20s, I was diagnosed with HPV. My abuser had prohibited me from getting health insurance and health care. The domestic violence hotline gave me resources for health care in my sister’s area, a small town in Georgia. None of these resources would take me because I didn’t have health insurance. The only one who agreed to see me was the health department; they only tested for certain STDs and did not perform gynecological exams. Like many women who have been in my situation, I felt lost. I knew I would be going back home to New Orleans for the holidays. Fortunately, I was able to schedule an exam with Planned Parenthood. They were sensitive to my situation and provided me with information and options. Most importantly, the staff treated me like a person. Since I left, my life has gotten much better, but I’m still on edge. Daily, I have traumatic flashbacks and second-guess and dissect most things.. With holistic therapeutic modalities, I’m healing. The only time the police were called was for me to escape. I had told my abuser I was leaving. He held me hostage in a hotel room for a couple of hours to keep me from leaving. I was able to get out once the police arrived. A year and half after my escape, I called to look into pressing charges. The police had never written a report. There was only documentation of the phone call and the time they arrived and left. They told me to file my own report, which at the time of the incident I didn't know about. So, I filed my report. When I spoke to an investigator, he questioned me on why I was looking at filing charges over a year later. I told him that I had dealt with intense trauma where I couldn't even eat and bathe without being told to do so. He said that it was too late, I. didn't have enough evidence, and it would go no where. And when I called back to at least get the report I filed, the woman was dismissive. And they had NO REPORT. Why would I go through a system that enables, ridicules, and disempowers victims? I am still healing and getting back on my feet, and because of this treatment from the very department that is suppose to have my back, I have decided to put it to bed. For now, my focus is on speaking up and helping other survivors.

After spending a year being single on purpose, I had decided that I was finally ready to invest myself in a relationship. The very next morning, I opened my phone to see a message from someone on Facebook asking me out on a date. Apparently they were following my photography page on Instagram and we had a mutual Facebook friend, and they decided they would shoot their shot. From the very beginning they were extremely funny, our sense of humor seemed to mesh really well, and they were easy to chat with. We met at a pub, and it seemed to go pretty well for a first date. It ended up getting crashed by their coworkers, so it turned into some drinks and karaoke. My cheeks hurt from laughing, they seemed really outgoing which I appreciated and their coworkers said really great things about them. On the second date we talked for hours - I felt like I had known them my entire life. No nervousness, I felt seen and accepted right away for who I was, and it was comfortable. It was a dream come true, which is how it felt for the first few months of the relationship. They appeared to check all of my boxes: self aware, empathetic, honest, open-minded. We fell in love quite quickly. The early signs of psychological and emotional abuse started within the first 6 months, but I didn't recognize it as abuse at the time. They were extremely jealous and would often say very hurtful and derogatory things about me. I'd catch them in lies and then they would break up with me stating indifferences in morals, but then would return the next day with heartfelt apologies and promises to work on their insecurities. I believed them. Of course I did, because I excused this behavior as a result of their trauma, the stress they were enduring at work, they were drunk, etc. I thought I could love them through it, so we made plans to move in with each other. That was when the insults, gaslighting, stonewalling worsened - and new aspects developed. Now I was being criticized daily, punished if I didn't tell them where I was going before leaving the house, threatened to send emails to my boss or intimate photos to my family, and my things would be written on with permanent marker or urinated on. That was when the violence started. I didn't feel safe in my own home because my things would get smashed and broken regularly. Police came to the house twice and told me if they came a 3rd time, they would make an arrest, so I ensured they never got called again. However, if I tried to call someone else for support I would get chased, held down, grabbed so I couldn't make the call. I locked myself in the bathroom once and the door was kicked down. I didn't see that as abuse at the time though, because they never hit me. I was so lost in this disillusionment of "love" that I thought they just needed my support, I needed to be more compassionate, I needed to love them better, that's what they told me anyways. This was my fault and I had to fix it. All areas of my life had been threatened: my home, my job, my relationships with my family, my pets, my safety, my health. I became extremely depressed and lost in a state of dissociation. My family became aware of some things (I kept most of it secret until near the end of the relationship, but there was much I wasn't able to hide), and they told me they feared for my life. I didn't respond, as that thought had crossed my mind already many times before and it no longer evoked a reaction in me. I was completely dissociated by this time and I had accepted the possibility. One night while I was driving, they grabbed the steering wheel and steered us into the ditch. That was when the fears became a reality for me. I started safety planning with the hopes that we could still make the relationship work. The trauma bond was strong. One night they started drinking and things were escalating, so I left the house and went to my sister's. In the past I would stay to ensure the things I loved most didn't get destroyed, or I would leave and sleep in my car - but this time I chose to see my family. I started getting text after text all hours throughout the night with horrible things being said. They hinted that my new kitten had "escaped" from the house, and my family had me back at the house, kitten and bags packed, and out the door in 20 minutes. At this point my family had seen everything and there was no turning back. Ending the relationship was confusing, because I didn't feel like I consciously made the choice myself. My family drafted my messages to kick them out of the house. I accepted it, because I just felt so drained and defeated by that point, I had absolutely nothing left to give. We continued to talk for a few months and both discussed how we missed each other and wished things could work, but I knew I could never go back to that, I didn't have the strength. My heart hurt and I definitely grieved - on the floor sobbing - for months on end because I truly felt as though this was my person, this was someone who I thought knew me and saw me for who I truly was. But the truth was, they didn't know me. They didn't even know the color of my eyes after 2 years together. I eventually realized I was grieving a version of them that didn't exist. I was grieving the life I thought we could have, the future family, the relationship that I thought we could work towards. I also realized I was grieving myself. My self esteem was diminished, I felt a huge loss of identity, I couldn't make a decision to save my life, I was exhausted and irritable and angry. I didn't recognize myself for a very, very long time. I felt betrayed and manipulated, and there was a lot of shame towards myself as I felt it was my fault for not seeing the signs or for somehow finding a way to make it work, or for staying as long as I did. I felt like I couldn't trust my judgment anymore. It's been two years now, and I am finally feeling closer to my old self. I struggled for a year and a half with my grief and learning that what I had gone through was abuse. I experienced survivor's guilt, hypervigilance, nightmares, depression, and panic attacks for months. I would start to feel better with the support of my therapist and the domestic violence specialist that I was working with, and a new trigger would happen or another development in my story would occur and I would be back at square one. I felt like I had no hope in finding myself again. I missed the person I used to be and it seemed impossible to ever shake these feelings. But even when I felt the most stuck, I still pressed forward. Even if that meant just making it to work that day, then staying in bed for the rest of the weekend. Or eating a piece of toast before bed if nothing else. Or attending the therapy appointment even if I didn't have the words. There would be weeks of darkness, but then I would have one day where I would cry and felt a little bit lighter. I would visit my family and a genuine laugh would escape my lips. It took very, very small steps, but I do believe I am finally at a place where I am surrounded by the light. I know there is still so much more work to be done, but once I started allowing myself to feel the anger, feel the hurt, feel the pain without shaming myself for it, things started getting better. Keep going - after everything you have survived, I know you can survive this.

I joined the army getting it drilled in my head and cursed at and belittled for months about INTEGRITY ARMY VALUES RESPECT all to just live with trauma and disappointment by leadership who failed me and soldiers who took advantage. From serving with two separate units, both were gut wrenching anytime I had to be present and oh did they make sure that I was. Joining the Army is my biggest disappointment and hardest anger from healing to overcome. Please pray for me.

Where to begin because abuse and shame has always been a part of my being. But at 55 I've come so far and built so much on my own, I cant help but feel proud and somehow I still feel like I didnt make it. I was born to an unwed mother and was taken from her as a baby, in foster care for maybe 2 years maybe more, no one has ever told me the truth about that. My mother did go and get me, and she married my stepfather and he adopted me. My mothers parents despised my existence. I can clearly remember the first time I can recall speaking to my grandmother, I was about 4. I called her name because my mother had asked me to tell her something. I remember standing there petrified to call my grandmothers name. Something a child should never feel. I just knew she hated that I was even in her house, but yet I didnt know yet why I knew this. Being there was like torture for me and I didnt understand why until I was an adult. I just felt like they just were so bothered by me. I never felt comfort there and we visited them quite a bit. Growing up, my mother was no prize either, thank god for my dad and his family or I'd never known any kind of love. I was constantly told she wished she'd never had me, and was beaten up or neglected pretty badly, though she's say you should know what a beating is, which at the time was scary, as an adult it made me feel anger at her and sorry for her at the same time. It seems I was always chasing someone to love me. It was never just given to me aside from my dad's side. My whole life was a battle. I used to go to the neighbors house to get away from her yelling or insults to why was I like this and why couldnt I be more like that. I never felt like I was enough again not understanding it but hating how I felt. At the neighbors Id play with an older girl that molested me for a few years. And sadly I wanted the attention. I felt gross after though. And embarrassed of myself. In school I always felt like a weird kid, even though I had friends I believed they didn't really like me. Oddly I'm still friends with the same girls now, crazy how abuse and self esteem can destroy ones sense of self. I was sexually active by the time I was 14. Met my future husband at 15. He was a horrible boyfriend and on drugs when we met but I was happy to get the one night a week we'd hangout. He was 5 years older than me, had no business being with a 15 year old. But I had a boyfriend and that was all that mattered. My mom left when I was 13 so the abuse and nastiness only occurred when I was forced to visit her which I tried to avoid. But when I was 16 almost 17 she decided she wanted to be a mother again. Now I was taking care of life on my own for awhile. She insisted I break up with my boyfriend. We'd been together a year and a half, I wasnt breaking up with him. The fights got worse, they became physical, I was alot older and stronger now and at 17 I ran away to my boyfriends apartment. And the next month I was pregnant and in high school. More shame more embarrassment. But i married my boyfriend on prom weekend and I thought I was set. We had a beautiful baby boy, then another boy when I found out he was a heroin addict, I wasn't as all set as I thought. I tried to help him get clean and all that. But ultimately he chose drugs and I found out I was having our third son. We separated. 3 babies no dad. My family shook their head at me. My mother told me my grandparents would never accept me as a single mother or if i lived with another man. I couldnt figure out how to do it on my own. When my youngest was a year and a half maybe almost 2 my mother took my kids claiming she was helping me get on my feet, I wasnt allowed to see my kids for 18 months. I was devastated and lost. I took a job at a bar bartending and got caught up in that world of drinking and cocaine. I wasnt a big drinker or drug user but I wanted to belong to something and there I did. I met a guy though that helped me get my kids back and helped me get an apartment and I thought Id found the one. We were together 7 years total, and in that time he reminded me how he should of left me in the bar where he found me and I was damaged goods and what ever other name I could be called. He used to tell me all these guys think you are all that but I get to see how you look with no make up and how gross I was. Who would want that? He'd kick me while we were out in front of people. I always kept trying to be perfect enough but i never was. There was verbal and physical abuse for years but he accepted me and 3 kids and who'd want that? My mother would say I was lucky to have found him. The final straw was he was verbally abusing my oldest. He was awful to him and he was worth getting away from him. Years later I found the abuse so much more than I couldve imagined and I didnt get my kids out soon enough. I then dated a guy who was on the run from the cops, I found out. It didnt last long but long enough to have my face bashed in and end up in the hospital. And my oldest son went to live with my sister. Because I wasnt good enough to raise him. It was all good though. He was safe. From there it was on to baby dad number 2, a ladies man married and in the process of a divorce. He thought he was the shit. And I found out I was pregnant about a year into "dating" . I had that baby on my own. He denied it was his child. I was a slut to him, even though I wasnt. We worked together so I had to act like it wasnt his and the whole job questioned it. My 2 other sons had issues with school and getting in trouble so it was us and the baby and trying to keep them in line. I never felt more defeated. The new baby was about 6 months old and dad wanted to play daddy. By the time my youngest was 9 months old we'd moved in together after his begging to let him be a dad, as if I'd ever stopped him. We moved in together and within a month I caught him cheating with multiple women. WTF was I going to do now. I gave up my house and moved all the younger kids in. So I stayed. The 2 boys from my first marriage were in and out of juvie. The babys father held it over my head and threatened me with it. So I kept trying to make it work. And he kept cheating. But at his insistence, we tried for another baby, he said he'd stop cheating. We got pregnant with my daughter, and he kept cheating. I mean like he was on dating websites. It was insane. He was a narcissist. He cheated on me while I was having our daughter in the hospital. He was all day telling me if I were more like this or that he'd stop or he'd take my babies because of the trouble my boys were in. I was 2 months post partum and he said if i wasnt so fat he wouldnt cheat. Who says that? Couldnt I ever just have a normal family? Maybe I was damaged good as Id heard all those years ago. After back and forth moving across the country to try and fix this, moving back after the housing market crashed, right before my daughters first birthday I threw him out. Out of his own house. Go be with the girl and he did. And cheated on her. Years go by constant berating and belittling because now I'm the ex with the kids and suing him for support. Years of it, Didn't matter that I had court orders and full custody, he was going to tear me apart, sooo many texts. Saying the most vile things that could be said. For years. So in the meantime he'd lived with about 7-9 different women I lived alone with the kids. But wait there's more... I had a good life and my shit together, when along came the worst of the worst, a loud, mean, life of the party type guy that everyone outside loved and anyone that knew him closely despised. And now he's my boyfriend. And in the beginning he was the sweetest. He wined and dined me and was sweeping off of my feet. I deserved it! After all the years I found my guy. Secretly, and slowly he showed who he was. We were together 4 years. Lived together 18 months. I hated him when we lived together 6 months. He hated my daughter with a vengeance. He was outwardly verbally abusive to her once we lived together. And I was having no part of it and asked him to leave, he did not. Mind you there were 2 and a half years of abuse, more vile than my kids father said to me and once again I keep effing trying. So desperate for normal. So badly wanting a family and happiness. So I moved in with him. And I said he was torturous. And god forbid Id make him stop abusing me, it was when it was my child yet again I got out. But this one not so easy, I asked him to go and he didnt and I couldnt get him out because the landlord insisted on having his name on the lease. So he wouldnt leave. And verbally, mentally emotionally and financially put me through it. One year to the day I asked him to get out, he left. After a final year of literal torture, verbally abusing my daughter and eventually my autistic son, he left. And went on to say he left me. Haha. 2 years later I moved to a small beach town with my kids, I bought a home. Reconnecting with all those I lost in the years with him. Havent heard a word from him since. Finding my way. Learning to trust myself and others. Im a full on work in progress. But I can say the strength is within and if you choose to use it , life can be a beautiful.

It ends with us opened my eyes to my teenage relationship. After finding out he was cheating on me and being dragged to his car where he beat me endlessly and then r*ped me for being so mad I caught him. I forgave him because I didn’t want to lose him to her. I finally had the courage to leave after other incidents. Thank you to the movie crew who helped display this in the perfect way. It describes all the emotions you feel perfectly