At 34, looking back is bittersweet. I can say with confidence that I am a strong and brave woman. The recent allegations against celebrities in the media along with the quiet reflection that the pandemic has brought on has brought to light something very important to me. I have never publicly shared my story. I’m obviously not a celebrity, a CEO or anyone of importance to anyone other than myself, my husband and close friends. Still, I am a human being. A human being who didn’t deserve what happened to me. A human being who never got justice for being physically and emotionally abused. I, along with countless women all over the world, was failed by the justice system. That and the United States Air Force.
My name is Katherine, and this is my story.
When I was 18, I was young, dumb, thought I was in love and wasn’t very happy with my home life. That being said when my boyfriend at the time asked me to marry him I didn’t think I had any other choice but to say yes because well, that’s what you do when a man asks you to marry him. At least that’s what my 18-year-old self-did when presented with a way out of her life, a way out of feeling unloved. What can I say, I thought he was my everything.
We got married at City Hall behind my parents back with only one friend as a witness. I was still in high school at the time and he was serving in the Air Force in Virginia. A few months after that he received notice that he would be stationed in Okinawa for 2 years. It was a shock, but I decided to go with him as well leaving everything and everyone I knew behind. I had to complete my schooling and take care of my mom for a while, so it was around 6 months later when I finally ended up going to Japan.
When I first arrived, he seemed happy that I was there however I could tell there were things about him that were off. He cheated on me constantly for one, admitting it to me when I was still in New Jersey. He told me he cheated on me because it was my fault for not going to Okinawa soon enough. He told me I was ugly. That I had bags under my eyes and dressed poorly. He told me no one would ever love someone like me. He told me not to wear makeup. He told me I was going to have a child with him whether I liked it or not. Then the hitting began.
One day I found him messaging with women on Myspace behind my back. I admit I yelled at him about it. Being a wife who was being cheated on I believe this was a typical response. That was the first time he did it. He lunged at me. Full force with a face full of fury and fists blazing. He began to wail on me repeatedly until I couldn’t get up anymore. After that, he seemed comfortable continuing with the beatings. There were belts he used, scissors he cut me with once, the feet he kicked me with and of course the fists. Always the fists. He emotionally abused me the entire time as well not allowing me to call my family or friends. I was in a small room for 12 hours a day because he wouldn’t allow me to leave.
One day it all came to a head. We were arguing like we normally did when he tried to pour alcohol down my throat. He told me he told the gentleman next door that I was crazy and that we would blame my death as a suicide. I believed him. He gaslight me continuously throughout our marriage. I had no doubt his friend would believe him over me especially since I was not “allowed” to leave my room. The military police ended up being called to his room. I’m not sure why they didn’t investigate but they gave us a warning and left. Essentially, they said we were being too loud and to stop making so much noise.
So, a few days went on. One morning he was ironing his uniform and I was sitting on his desk drinking a glass of water. The water spilled on his uniform accidently. He stood up and that’s when he lunged at me. He grabbed me by the back of my head and repeated to slam by face on the ground. There was blood, there was screaming, hitting and tears. After all was said and done, he left me on the floor crying and went to work for the day. A few hours after I was debating on what to do, I called a cab and went to the hospital. I was concerned for my broken nose. This was many years ago, so the details are a bit fuzzy however I know that it was a military hospital. I know I was 19 and I know I was scared and alone.
They proceeded to ask me how I got my injuries and I had no choice other than to tell them the truth. A few minutes or perhaps an hour later the military police entered my hospital room asking their own questions. When asked if I hit him back, I answered a truthful “yes”. There was no doubt in my mind that I was the victim here. I was the one who had the black eye, the broken nose, the scars on my body. My answer was one that led to me being placed in handcuffs. Shocked and confused I was “arrested”. I put this in quotes because I later learned that wasn’t even an actual arrest it was a “military arrest” or so I was told by member of the United States Air Force.
Cuffed, I was taken to an interrogation room and held there for hours. Several members of the military police came in to ask me questions. They took the cuffs off once my now ex-husband was also brought into the room. Interestingly enough, he was not in handcuffs. I asked him after the fact if they ever handcuffed him. They didn’t. Once be was brought in, they informed us both that we were to be separated for a period of one week and be placed in mandatory marriage counseling.
We lasted one session before the next fight occurred. It was again in his dorm room. He handed me that bottle of alcohol, told me to kill myself with it and hit me. His next-door neighbor called the police and the military police once again came in. I was assigned a woman to be with me for a week as I suppose some sort of escort. When I told her my situation, she said to me “you have to understand he’s married to the country first and you second”. My retort was “so that makes it okay what he does to me?” In which she responded with a shrug.
We went to court for the incident. It was a military court. I was happy because I thought it would finally be my chance to seek justice. I knew I didn’t want to be with him anymore and I knew I wanted him to pay for what he did to me. That however, never occurred. In court, the judge descried the incident of domestic violence, said we were both free to go and asked us each if we were satisfied with the results. My ex-husband, who faced no consequences said “yes”, I however said “um, aren’t you even going to take a stripe away or something//” referring to his Air Force uniform. The entire crowd of military professionals gasped. I assume they were thinking “how dare a woman say such a thing to a member of the Airphone!” Of course, my plea for justice was ignored. He continued with his career. Later that week, a high ranked official informed me that I was being sent off the island of Okinawa due to too many domestic violence incidents with my ex-husband. He was not. He never got in trouble, never got ounce of retribution for the torture he put me through.
Once I got home the emotional torture did not end. Being that we were legally married, in order to start college, I needed his tax returns. His answer to my inquiry was to go fuck myself. He was thrilled I would not be able to attend college and was satisfied he was the cause. I didn’t have money at the time, so I had to wait for him to get a lawyer to complete the divorce. I was 21 by the time the divorce was final. In his sick way, he kept me hostage for 2 years.
15 years later and the memories of Japan still haunt me. Several beatings, a broken nose, a fractured soul and countless tears later, Roberto never did get that justice he deserves. Neither did I. I will get forget the abuse. The slamming of my face into the ground. I am still in that dorm room every time I hear about another domestic violence abuse victim. I realized that my abuser was never named. No one ever called him out on his violence and for all I know he went on to live a normal life. Neither of us had money so the divorce was clean. All I wanted was my last name back. A name that was taken from me by an emotionally abusive liar. One that I haven’t changed to this day even now that I am remarried. I guess I never understood the significance of my not changing my last name until now. Perhaps it’s due to the tedious years of trying to get rid of my old one that still haunt my memories.
I hope one day another 18-year-old in the same situation that I’m in can look at stories like this and realize she has a way out. I didn’t think I did at the time. I believed him when he called me ugly and unlovable. From the bottom of my heart I truly did not think I could leave the situation. People judge women who won’t leave. Let them judge. All I can say is there’s millions of us for a reason. So, go ahead and judge the majority. I just want to share my story.
