Written by: BTSADV Survivor
I’ve been contemplating this post for a while now. It’s intimidating to write it all down. Some of you will scroll past thinking that my life is none of your business or maybe it offends your person, and you’d rather not know.
I’ve contemplated who in my family will read this and balk
because I’ve never really talked about it. I’m prepared for this to get back to
ex-boyfriends/girlfriends or ex-acquaintances and for them to laugh at my
pain, have an excuse to talk badly about me, or feel like they have a right to talk to me about it. I’m even prepared for
insensitive questions such as, “Why did you stay?” or other
statements suggesting judgment and
tone.
Where do I begin… when I met him? When I
realized it was happening? Do I skip the story and let you come to your own conclusions? It’s not easy sharing a story
you’ve never really told in a start to finish fashion. Snippets escape to
certain trusted people at relevant times. No one
really wants to talk about the elephant in the room that is present in
my every day. I’m a domestic violence survivor.
It is a shameful feeling to know that you’ve let someone control that much of
your existence – that you allowed it to get that far – before you tried to get
yourself out of it. The first shove – the one that wrapped my towel around my
legs and sent me head first into a door – that’s supposed to be the sign that
snaps you out of your love-sick relationship and gets you to move on.
So why didn’t I report him? Why didn’t I tell anyone? There were no bruises. He
never left a single mark. I’m covered in bruises as it is – like a ripe banana
on any given day of the week. But not one of
them looked anything like he caused it. There were no hospital trips.
There were no images. The broken plates were cleaned up, buckshot in the wall
patched over, the door locks fixed, old cell phone images deleted.
No sign of struggle. What then do I report? The financial
control? The screaming, belittling? Evidence for abuse is harder to prove than
you think. And after attempting to file
reports against him and coming up with nothing – you lose faith in a broken
system.
So then why didn’t I leave? Another insensitive and highly personal question. I
had no money. I was living with an addict who had over $600 a month habit. I didn’t get to decide how my earned
income was spent. There was no money to
leave. Of course, the arsenal I slept next to at night was a pretty good
motivator to stay, too.
On our bedroom wall – not locked in a safe – hung on nails, were a dozen weapons. All loaded. All the time. He open-carried daily. There were times I looked down the barrel of one of those weapons and was told that no one would miss me. I wore his ring; we had talked about marriage. And I looked at him over the top of a pistol. Another time, he “accidentally discharged” his shotgun in my direction while he was cleaning the weapon. The buck spray was within feet of my head and torso. He had no remorse. He never apologized. This is the question I answer the most… Why didn’t I leave? Because I couldn’t.
Because fear kept me coming back. Coming back when I knew he was sleeping around and lying to me. Coming back when I wasn’t allowed to have my own things. Coming back when he destroyed part of my military history collection. Coming back when he broke down a door because I tried to lock myself away from him. Coming back after I watched him taze his dog for stealing food (because he was starving it and I couldn’t feed it first). Coming back after he stole money from my friends. Coming back after he destroyed my relationships with friends and family. Coming back after he tried to kill my cat and managed to kill my lizard. Coming back after he ruined one good job after another for me by showing up, causing scenes, or threatening suicide.
Why didn’t I leave? I was scared. The worst time for someone
escaping their relationship is immediately following that exit. This is not a rational person. Revenge is a
driving force. Why didn’t I leave? Because he is an army vet with combat
experience. Because he’s a sharpshooter. Because he’s a sniper. Because he’s handy with
a range of weapons and I can only run so fast. Because
he has PTSD and anger issues. Because he
doesn’t think like a rational person.
I’ve only scratched the surface of living with this person for two years. No one knew what I was going through.
I didn’t speak about it because it’s painful. Not so much to talk about, but in
every nuance of my life. Bringing it up makes everything in my subconscious
bubble over. The dreams come, the anxiety over him *still* knowing every detail
of my life (6 years later), the fear that one day, he’s going to finish what he
started.
I am aware that he knows where I live. Someone in my life shares with him what
I’m doing, where I’ve been, and who I’m with.
He knows about my husband and daughter. I’ve never been able to find that leak
even though I’ve gone through my friends list
repeatedly with a fine-toothed comb. I’ve blocked him from accessing me
at every social media outlet I can find. I still get messages and emails. He
finds carrier pigeons in my social circles to deliver messages to me.
The fear doesn’t stop at the end of the relationship. It
continues because I chose to leave and took away his control. So, he still tries to regain control. That he could show
up on my front porch, at an event I’m
attending, or while I take my daughter to the library is always on my mind. I’m
not with him, but I hardly feel free some days. I have the classic anxiety and
possibly depression that go along with having been through a domestic violence
situation. Panic attacks, chest pain, low confidence, inability to trust
others, nightmares, you name it.
I carry it all pretty quietly. No one really wants to delve into this when they ask you how you’re doing. So, if you’ve made
it this far, thank you. The cat is finally out
of the bag.
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