One of Those Nights

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One of those nights. You don't ask for them. You don't plan for them. You don't even want them but they show up out of nowhere and take your breath away yet again. I had a friend text me this evening asking for advice in her relationship. It brought up a dream that now has me typing this. 

People ask me why I sometimes talk about it and the only answer I have is this. Because I get it. I have sit and watched someone I adored and loved turn into a monster I couldn't recognize. Because if there is one person who reads this and has the courage to leave it was worth anyone else scrolling by, laughing, rolling their eyes, or thinking I'm crazy. People always ask why you don't leave. "Did you not see signs" Well. Because it doesn't start that way does it? It starts with a very charismatic, love able, life of the party, and trustworthy type of guy. It starts with being showered with praise and they are smart. They gain your trust and put you on a pedestal. You don't even know they are slowly chipping away at the bottom of it. You don't realize it's happening until the day it crashes down. You are left the victim of not just his abuse and yes that includes mental, physical, emotional, and sexual, but the victim of society around you. Most abusers are extremely well liked and loved in public eye. Most will look at you and think you are lying. Because they know that person and there's no way they did these things. Yes, most the time abuse looks like a perfect family. A happy one. Because you plaster on a smile and drag thru your days. 

Yep. I've been there. I also wore hoodies in August to cover my arms. I have been the girl who laid in the fetal position while listening to his voice standing over me. Breathe so hot in your face it scorches down to your soul. I have stood up by a wall listening to him rant and rave and mentally trying to figure out how to dissolve the situation. I have been there under his hot nasty drunk filled breath and felt the weight of his hands. Just praying for a break in his rage. I have waited until he was snoring and silently crawled out of bed into a warm shower where I can cry without being punished. I have looked in the barrel of a gun and found whatever strength I could muster to look from the barrel to his cold dead almost demonic eyes and say enough. That was my breaking point. 

So don't think for a second you are alone. You aren't crazy. And all the times you are called a whore, cunt, a "mother fucking worthless use of space", "you can't make it without me", stupid, crazy, useless, nasty, well eventually you will find a strength. Somewhere down in that pit of hell you will find a simple thread of strength. You hold onto it. You're gonna need it more than you know. It will be what helps you claw your way up from those pits of hell. Because the scars you carry from this will follow you. There will be nights you have dreams and can feel that breath again. Hold onto that steal thread you find. Hold it tightly. Eventually it becomes a rod. I promise you it is so much better bearing the scars than gaining new ones. It isn't easy. But it is so worth it. And to whoever is reading this. Yes. He will end up hitting you. Yes, it gets worse. Yes, you can get out. And if you don't you stand a high chance of not surviving at all. 

October is domestic violence awareness month. If you know someone. Help them. Even if they go back. Keep helping. They mentally are broken. They aren't disregarding you. You see their abuser has made them believe that's what they deserve. So keep listening. Keep helping. Eventually they will find the strength to leave.

-Christina Snider

Domestic Violence

When I met my ex-husband, I was at a really lonely time in my life. He knew just what to say to really turn my head. I have found out since that it was almost a textbook start to an abusive relationship. I let him move in almost immediately. I found out later the reason he was pressuring me for this to happen was because he needed a place to register for his sex offender registration. He spent the next few months sometimes being extremely attentive and sometimes being very distant. I have since learned that this is an abuser’s way of keeping their victim off balance and constantly guessing.

A few months after he moved in with me, I found out I was pregnant. At first things were great. He was so excited that he was going to have a child that he stayed away from drugs and alcohol for the first few months of my pregnancy, but he couldn’t stay away from either one, or the friends he partied with. Toward the end of my pregnancy, he moved his father and grandmother in with us.

After I had my son, I had to go back to work 3 weeks after a C-section, because he refused to get a job, and neither his father nor grandmother were helping with the bills. Even though he insisted I get a job, he did everything possible to make me lose that job. During this time was the first time he ever put his hands on me in an argument. I had come home on my lunch break, because he needed the car. I was in a hurry to get back, and he did everything to not help. He knew it bothered me to be late, so he made me late all the time on purpose. Trying to get him to get around to take me back to work quickly made him angry, and I ended up against the wall with his hands around my throat. Of course, this was my fault, as I had made him mad in the first place. When it was something he wanted to do, we were always early. It was only when I needed to be somewhere that he would make us late. Any fights were always my fault. Six days after we got married, we had a fight and he left the house and went and cheated on me. His reason was that I had made him angry, so he went and found someone to sleep with. He also told me every time he cheated on me supposedly was so I could forgive him and “wipe the slate clean.”

We got evicted, because I wasn’t able to keep up with payments by myself. We lived in a hotel for 3 weeks. We finally found a house to move into. He went out one night and got drunk and brought someone home, and then he proceeded to pass out in the bathroom. The next morning, I woke up to my money, computer, driver’s license, and Social Security card stolen. I’m still recovering from my losses from this.

He would dump water on me while I was sleeping if I didn’t stay up with him. He would break my phone to keep me from calling people. He ripped our bedroom door off its hinges one night when he started a fight with me. He crawled into bed one night and pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “You know, if I put this pillow over your head and killed you right now, no one would know what happened.” I tried to get up and get away from him, because he terrified me. He held me down so I couldn’t get away from him and laughed at me because I was scared.

After we had been at that house for a while, we did start going to church, and for a while things got quite a bit better.

We moved into a new place and things felt really settled. A few months after we moved in, I got a text from him while I was at work stating that he had cheated on me again. From that point on, things went downhill. He started hanging out with his friends again and starting doing drugs and drinking again.

During this time, I was working full-time but couldn’t afford childcare. I tried to get childcare assistance, but because he didn’t have a job, the state considered him the primary caregiver. He was not fit to take care of my son, but I felt I had no other choice. If I spent $100 on household items, he would insist that he was able to spend $100 for himself for drugs, alcohol, or whatever else he wanted to spend the money on. He would tell me it was his payment for babysitting. Any money we had was from my job, because he refused to work. He would always use the excuse that he couldn’t get a job because of his past.

Towards the end of us being together, he started seeing things coming through the walls. He, at one point, ended up in a local psych ward for a 72-hour hold, because he had done bath salts.

On February 25, 2013, when I came home from work, my son was already ready for bed. This was strange because my ex hardly ever did anything more than what was absolutely necessary around the house. I made dinner and put my son to bed. The next morning, I was off work. When my son got up, I got him ready to take a bath. That’s when I saw the bruises that were all down his legs. Shortly after I put my son in the bathtub, my ex woke up and jumped out of bed, immediately screaming at me for putting my son in the bathtub. He was upset because he didn’t want me seeing the bruises. I tried to stay away from him, because he was being violent. I went into the bedroom to try to put some space between us, and he followed me, screaming at me for making him feel guiltier than he already did. I hadn’t said much at this time. He threw our nightstand across the room at one point. After a while, he calmed down, but he never apologized for any of it. Later that day, he got a phone call from a friend, and he left and was gone for about 24 hours. This gave me a lot of time to think about things. His sister came by, and she wanted to take my son home with her, so I felt it was necessary to tell her what had happened. She asked me how long I was going to continue to let him act like this. I really didn’t have an answer for her.

She took my son with her. A little while later, my ex came home. He seemed happy that we were going to have a child-free evening until it dawned on him that his family was going to know what happened. He started screaming again and stormed out of the house and left. I called my mom to come get me and take me to Walmart, because I was going to change the locks on the house so he couldn’t get back in.

He came back home before my mom got there, and I finally told him I had had enough. I couldn’t take any of it anymore. He told me I would regret that decision. When that didn’t seem to faze me, he then told me he was going to the cops before I could. He was constantly blaming me for things, so I asked him what he was trying to blame me for this time. He looked me in the eye and told me he was going to go to the cops and tell them I had done this to my son instead of him, because my son was too young to tell anyone any different. He left then, because he knew my mom was on her way to our house.

When my mom got there, I asked her to take me to the police station instead of to Walmart. I filed a statement with the police, and they asked me to go get my son and meet them at the hospital. That started what was one of the longest nights of my life. My child was tired and hadn’t had a nap, and it was way past his bedtime. I had to help hold him down for the x-rays. He was 2 at the time, so it was impossible for him to understand what was going on.

I went to live with my parents. I filed a restraining order and for divorce. I got my son into counseling. I had to change my phone number, because of the amount of harassing phone calls and texts I received from him.

My son and I are both in a much better place in our lives now. My child has never once asked to see his father. He rarely talks about him at all, but when he does, it’s never in a good connotation. He doesn’t even call him dad most of the time anymore. I have never said anything negative about my ex around my son. My mother came from a broken home, and I have always known how much it meant to her that her mother didn’t talk bad about her father, so I know how important this is. If my son asks about his father, I answer honestly with what I hope is an age-appropriate response.

I have forgiven my ex for what happened for myself. Letting anger and bitterness fester only continues to let the abuser hurt you. Through the help of God and family and friends, I have become a stronger person. Sharing my story has helped me heal and has helped others escape domestic violence.


A Face of Domestic Abuse

Have you ever wondered what a domestic assault "victim" looks like? (BTW, I hate the word victim, but it is what it is.)
Bruises, blood, broken bones, stab wounds, bullet wounds... those are what came to my mind before it happened to me.

I was bruised. I sustained serious injuries. But I don't "look the part" of my own previous prejudice.

Domestic assault doesn't have a look. In fact, with appropriate clothing and keeping my mouth shut, no one would ever have known. But why should I hide it? Why are "we" expected to keep silent? Maybe I over share. Maybe I make you uncomfortable. I know it makes me uncomfortable!

But, if sharing my story gives even ONE other person the strength to speak up about their own abuse, then I don't mind the discomfort. If one life is changed, or one child is saved, or one perpetrator is caught and held accountable for their crime, then I feel like my assault had a purpose.

I need it to have a purpose. Because without purpose, it was just a horrific senseless act of rage. And I can't handle that.

Ladies (And gents!), if you are in a dangerous situation, please know that you CAN get out! You ARE worthy of peace, safety, and happiness! And most importantly, you are not alone. I love you. God loves you. Your friends and family love you. You matter!

So what does domestic abuse look like? A normal person that survived a terrible attack. The bruises have healed. The injuries are being treated and will heal in time. The emotional damage will forever live inside me, but you can't see those. You will never know if the person next to you is being abused, until we make it acceptable for them to reach out for help.

Love each other. Be kind. Be available. And NEVER shush a person that speaks out.

#stoptheshushing #domesticabuseawareness #wematter

Shawna Duby