Surviving Domestic Violence Pt. 4

Trigger Warning- This post contains explicit descriptions regarding domestic violence, emotional abuse and substance abuse.

If you or someone you know is in a dangerous situation, please don’t wait. Call the National Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-7233

Reflection.

I want to take a break in this series to reiterate the reason why I’m sharing my story.

It’s not to bash my abuser, and it’s not to gain pity from any of you.

I’m sharing my story because my story is too common. All of these things happened to me—but unfortunately, it’s not unique to just me.

My story of domestic violence is like that of so many other women who have gone through toxic relationships. The world sometimes will act as though it’s normal.

But it’s not normal.

It’s traumatic.

It’s life-altering on a molecular level. My entire life has changed because of what I’ve gone through. My brain chemistry is different. I live with anxiety, depression, PTSD, and even ADHD.

Since then, I’m unable to focus, regulate my emotions, or live a normal life on my own. It has taken therapy, medication, diet, exercise—and a whole lot of Jesus-- just to feel normal.

Trauma changes who we are.

I say all of this to say; I am still blessed.

God is still faithful.

God is still good.

I could’ve become one of those hurt people who hurt people because they themselves are hurting. I could have spiraled and become an addict like so many in my family or lost everything.

Technically, I did lose everything. But God gave me back so much more.

This story of domestic violence, although a dark one, does have a happier ending. But it took a long time for me to get to the other side of the tunnel.

I want to share some statistics with you so that you can wrap your head around just how intense and dangerous the situation was. And even though I only lived with my abuser for less than a year, my life was in danger.

And it wasn’t until I mustered up the courage to go to the prosecutor’s office and speak with her that I learned these statistics.

My life had become a statistic.

I had become a statistic.

I didn’t know how dangerous the fire I was playing with really was-- until she shared this information with me.

The Facts

• One in three women in the United States have been physically abused by a romantic partner.

• Statistically speaking, the risk of the victim being killed increases tremendously in the weeks after leaving their abusive partner in comparison to any other time during the relationship.

• Strangulation is the strongest predicter of fatality in a domestic violence situation. The risk of fatality increases roughly 750% compared to victims who have not experienced strangulation.  

• When an abuser has access to a firearm, the risk that the victim will be killed increases by 500%. Some even say there is about a 1,000% higher chance of being killed if the abuser has direct access to a firearm.

•  Most victims experience stalking and harassment from their former partners in the weeks and months after they part ways.

• On average, it can take about seven attempts to leave an abusive partner before the separation “sticks”.

Frank’s signature move was strangulation. It wasn’t often that he hit me. He'd usually bang my head against a wall or floor or pin me down to restrict my airways.

Frank also kept two Glocks with him at all times. One on each side of his hips. I did make him put them up (like physically up in the closet) at home. But they were always with him.

According to this woman’s calculations, I was lucky to be alive in her office that very day.

When I broke up with Frank, the worst of it all had really just begun. Frank robbed my house and harassed me for a YEAR after I officially broke it off with him. He would always-- somehow --find out who I was dating. He would contact them and tell them bad things about me in an effort to get them to leave me alone. I don’t know what he gained from that, but it was very real, and it made life miserable.

For a moment there I thought he may have access to my ring camera, or phone records or social media because I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how he would figure it out.

Even when I broke up with him and tried to move on, he would do things like call my phone 100+ times in a row. He would even call my job if I didn’t answer my cell phone. Or he would call my friends and ask where I was.

The places I used to go, I couldn’t go anymore because I would run into him.

I wish I could say I stayed away from him for good, but this was not the end.

Unfortunately, I gave in to his calls and pleads. I didn’t see it at the time, but this was his attempt

to manipulate me so that I would not testify against him.

If you’ve ever been lied to so much that it distorts your reality, you know that making decisions becomes really difficult.

I decided not to be with him and tried my best to move on.

The Return

About six months after I broke up with him, he called me because he needed someone to bail him out of jail. And I did.

He was crying and telling me how he would pay me back, how his life had been terrible without me, how he couldn’t live without me, and how he just needed me back in his life. And I believed it—like a dummy. There’s just something about a grown man crying to you over the phone from jail that does something to you.

I bailed him out of jail, and he convinced me that we could somehow work through everything we’d been through. That he had learned his lesson. That he wanted to do better. And I partially believed him. Or maybe part of me wanted to believe him, because life without him had actually become more miserable than the life I remembered with him.

Every time I tried to move on, he would find a way to ruin it. I couldn’t keep a job at this point because my mental health was so bad. I eventually stopped looking for work and did contract jobs or gig work to make ends meet. I was making it work, but I wasn’t thriving – I was barely surviving.

I thought, if I can’t beat him, then maybe getting back with him will calm the storm—even if it’s just temporary.

But that was the start of me losing my mind.