By Anonymous Survivor
**The following is written by a survivor of domestic violence, manipulation, and abuse. Names have been changed to protect all involved.**
I never thought I would become a statistic. But then again, I never thought I would be with someone who fantasized about spilling my blood on the floor.
We were only together for seven months. That’s all it took for him to shatter my life. Seven months of lies, manipulation, and violence so calculated that by the time I saw the truth and tried to escape, it was too late.
“He was a masterful liar.”
Not just in the way he deceived me, but in the way he manipulated everyone around him. He crafted an entirely false identity. A PhD, a career as a forensic psychiatrist, an elaborate past that never existed. it was all a manipulation. He played the part so well that no one questioned him.
He could stand in front of a room full of people, tears streaming down his face, weaving a story so convincing that even the most skeptical would believe him. And that was what made him truly terrifying. Not his physical strength, but his ability to control and manipulate reality itself.
He was small in stature, but his criminal mindset and complete lack of remorse made him a giant.
“I wasn’t the first.”
There were others before me, at least five women who had suffered at his hands. Three of them had orders of protection, but none had seen him convicted. Instead of going to the police, they went to his family, hoping to keep the peace.
His family knew. They had always known. And yet, they protected him. They gave him cover, excused his behavior, enabled his violence and manipulation. Paid off his debts to society.
The only reason we all found each other was because each of us remembered the woman who came before us. The one who tried to warn us of the violence we were about to face. We each tried to warn the next in line about the absolute chaos that was about to consume her world.
“For a moment, it felt like justice might finally be served.”
When I finally found the courage to leave and report him, I knew I was signing my own death warrant. He had told me before, in chilling, casual conversations, that he would kill me if I ever left. And I believed him. After all, he had already cut me with knives, strangled me more than once, hit me, and raped me.
But I still walked into that crime victims’ office and told my story. Shaking frantically, throwing up outside the building at one point. I risked everything. My safety, my stability, my daughter’s future, because I couldn’t let him do this again.
I knew I would never be able to live with the guilt of watching him get away with hurting another woman.
At first, it felt like I had power. Charges filed. Four felonies. A potential 55-year sentence. It wasn’t justice, but it was something. And for the first time in months, I felt like I might be safe.
“But then the system did what it always does.”
Even though all of his charges were violent offenses, he was let out of jail after only two months. Released into the same community as me and so many other women he had hurt. He lives just 10 minutes away from me, and every day, I am terrified for my life.
The trial date kept getting pushed. His defense attorney played games. Delaying, twisting reality, hoping I would break under the pressure.
And I almost did.
I sat through hearings where I was belittled and degraded, where my trauma from his manipulation was dissected like it was nothing more than a legal argument to be won. Lies were told about me in front of a judge.
They claimed I had child porn. That I was selling intimate videos online. That because his client was a trans man, “He was born female—he doesn’t even have the equipment to have done this to this girl.”
“Every court date felt like a fresh round of abuse.”
It didn’t take me long to realize that the name of the game was to break the victim. Torture them by any means necessary. Make up lies, put them in fear, intimidate them through the legal system to try and get them to back out of pressing charges. And boy oh boy, is it a sick game they play on victims.
Then, the plea deal.
They didn’t ask me if I wanted one. I had been told from the beginning that no deal would be offered unless I agreed. But suddenly, my opinion didn’t matter. The state wanted certainty. A guaranteed conviction, even if it meant reducing his charges to nearly nothing.
Four felonies became four misdemeanors. Fifty-five years became no prison time at all.
The Manipulation In and Out of Court
I screamed inside, begging for someone to listen. All in all, I had done everything right. I had risked my life to tell the truth. And in the end, none of it mattered. The choice wasn’t mine. Someone else, sitting in an office far removed from the terror I had endured, would decide my fate.
I was left with that very familiar feeling of being voiceless once again. Before, my voice had been taken from me with his hands over my mouth, telling me to keep quiet. Now, the justice system was doing the same thing—silencing me, removing my ability to fight for myself.
“If he walks free, I lose everything.”
I will have to leave my home, the place I have built my life. My child’s medical team, the care she needs, the years of effort I spent creating stability for her—it will all be ripped away. Because if he isn’t behind bars, I won’t be safe. I will never be safe.
The trauma I sustained through the justice system—the system that was supposed to protect me—was, in every way, worse than the original trauma I survived at the hands of my abuser. Because of the continued abuse I endured, both through him and the legal system, my entire life is now gone from me.
My family won’t talk to me because it took every ounce of strength I had just to survive. I didn’t have anything left to reach out to them. I lost most of my friends.
Trauma and Loneliness
My short-term memory is completely shot due to excessive trauma. Making it highly unlikely I will ever be able to work as a nurse again. I live every day in fear of what he will do to retaliate against me for telling the truth.
And I am not the only one. The other women who came forward, the ones who finally spoke their truth once he was behind bars—they are afraid too. If he is released, we all become targets.
This is what justice looks like for survivors. A system that tells us our voices matter, then silences us when it counts. A courtroom where our abusers are protected, where their rights outweigh our safety. A process designed to exhaust us, to make us question whether reporting was worth it at all. And in my case, I don’t believe it was.
Fifty years of experience between my lawyer, my investigator, and my therapist. Not one of them has ever seen a survivor find justice.
“I should be able to rebuild.”
I should be able to take back my life. Instead, I am in limbo. I am waiting for a decision to determine my future. Waiting for people who do not know me, who do not understand the hell I survived, to decide if my safety is worth more than a plea bargain.
I am not speaking out for attention. I am speaking out because people need to see the devastation victims endure after reporting abuse and their abuser’s manipulation. If the system can fail me this profoundly, it can fail anyone. I want to expose these failures and push for change.
I am open to working with journalists and media professionals who want to document this process as it unfolds. While my case remains open, my name and personal information cannot be published until a plea deal is finalized. Or a trial takes place, which is my hope.
However, I am willing to provide evidence. Including text conversations, pictures of the injuries I sustained, text threads where he’s threatening me, as well as court documents from my case.
Still Fighting
I have been in this fight for 15 months now. I have watched as my life has turned into dust as a result of reporting the crimes that happened to me and the trauma I sustained through the justice system.
My hope is that if people see, in real time, the devastation that happens to victims. And the graphic, disturbing ways the justice system fails them. Then maybe we will have a real shot at making the changes that are so desperately needed.
For now, my voice is not mine. It belongs to a system that has failed me.
And I am left voiceless once again. Because of an abuser. Because of his manipulation.
Check These Resources on Abuse and Manipulation:
- Complete Guide to Mindful Meditation, and Emotional Healing.
- The Hidden Impact of Teen Dating Violence
- Find Support with BTSADV
