Educate Yourself: Domestic Violence

**Disclaimer: This could hold some triggers for anyone who has previously been through traumatic abuse so please advise before reading. Also, please know that there is some detail (I tried to keep it PG-13-ish) so please be advised of this as well. Thank you**

Domestic violence, as defined by justice.gov, is a pattern of abusive behavior in any relationship that is used by one partner to gain or maintain power and control over another intimate partner. This can be physical, sexual, emotional, economic, or psychological actions or threats of actions that influence another person. This includes any behaviors that intimidate, manipulate, humiliate, isolate, frighten, terrorize, coerce, threaten, blame, hurt, injure, or wound someone.

• Physical Abuse: Hitting, slapping, shoving, grabbing, pinching, biting, hair pulling, etc are types of physical abuse. This type of abuse also includes denying a partner medical care or forcing alcohol and/or drug use upon him or her.

• Sexual Abuse: Coercing or attempting to coerce any sexual contact or behavior without consent. Sexual abuse includes, but is certainly not limited to, marital rape, attacks on sexual parts of the body, forcing sex after physical violence has occurred, or treating on in a sexually demeaning manner.

• Emotional Abuse: Undermining an individual’s sense of self-worth and/or self-esteem is abusive. This may include, but is not limited to constant criticism, diminishing one’s abilities, name-calling, or damaging one’s relationship with his/her children.

• Economic Abuse: Is defined as making or attempting to make an individual financially dependent by maintaining total control over financial resources, withholding one’s access to money, or forbidding one’s attendance at school or employment.

• Psychological Abuse: Elements of psychological abuse include, but are not limited to, causing fear by intimidation; threatening physical harm to self, partner, children, or partner’s family or friends; destruction of pets and property; and forcing isolation from family, friends, or school and/or work.

More different types of abuse than you thought, huh? Did you ever think that they could all happen at once? No…? Well, neither did I, until it happened to me. This “Educate Yourself” post hits home for myself, and many people around me. Mostly because they either watched me suffer through it, not knowing what to do. Helped me fight through it the best they could. Or now get to deal with the backlash, still, after three years (the backlash is now small, but still there). So this is where I start to talk about this topic based on my own experience. If you are a survivor of abuse, please feel free to share your experience, but either way, this is mine… You are not alone.

“So often survivors have had their experiences denied, trivialized, or distorted. Writing is an important avenue for healing because it gives you an opportunity to define your own reality. You can say: This did happen to me. It was that bad. It was the fault and responsibility of an adult. I was— and am— innocent.” - Ellen Bass.

Allow me to start out my story by saying that most people around me didn’t like my boyfriend at the time… He was rough around the edges, rode a crotch-rocket, smoked cigarettes, and had a dirty mouth. Everything I thought I needed, everything I thought I wanted, and at the time, I was right. Now, I realize that he was completely wrong for me, in every single way… But hindsight is always 20/20 right? So all of you who said he wasn’t right for me. You were right, you can say it now, “I told ya so.”

Three years later I have finally come to terms with the fact that this happened to me, along with other things (that I am not ultra comfortable talking about yet). This “man” (I put quotes because I use the term man loosely, but feel weird using the term “boy”) that I dated abused me for nine months. Although it wasn’t obvious right away, it was there, in the background. I just never saw it until it got to be too late. It started out with just little gestures that I was unsure of what they meant. But being in, what I thought was, a loving relationship, I assumed that he did these things because he loved me. And so I don’t bore you, here is a list of things that he did within the first few months that should have been warning signs to me, but I refused to see them as such:

• He read too far into a simple conversation with a guy (the conversation being about which level of my school’s library I should sit on to have the quietest experience; the conversation was open on Facebook might I add, on a status, NOT in a message) and assumed that I was cheating on him. He then called me, angry, saying I cheated on him and that I needed to admit to it and everything would be okay. I did (he made me think it was my idea) and we were “okay.” [In the end, I found out he was cheating on me his entire time at school... Go figure.]

• He would go into a panic/rage if I didn’t text him back immediately. This included when I was driving or when I was sleeping. It didn’t matter what time of day… I was essentially “on-call.”

• He would be pissed when I would go on Facebook before texting him in the morning, although half the time I was up far before him and didn’t want to wake him (this was after they put the feature on Facebook that you could see to the right of your screen, in the chat bar, that someone had been on 3 hours ago via mobile, or is on right now, etc).

I never really thought of any of these things as anything other than him loving me… I wanted to think that he was a good person, that he was the perfect person for me. I looked at everything in a much rosier view than it was actually being played out in…

• The nights when he would pour me drink after drink and make me go shot for shot with him until I threw up.

• Those same nights when we would have unprotected sex that there was no way I could consent to (some of those nights even being when his friends were around and they did nothing to stop it).

• When he would tell me that he loved me while yelling in my face and gripping my arms way too hard to keep me from walking away when he was talking to me.

• Or he would threaten me any time he would hit me not to tell anyone (including in my own house).

At about 2 1/2 months in we got matching tattoos. They were his idea, although he always said they were my idea. We went to get them while his mom sat in the car. He paid for them with money his grandparents had given him for college cause he was going out of state, and that’s what he decided to spend it on. I got mine first since he forgot his I.D., which he then sent his mom to go get. We got them against the advice of old wives tales of failed relationship and even from the one tattoo artist who told us of how she had recently burned her exes name off her finger. We were reluctant young teenagers and it was my birthday weekend, so we did it. And I knew from that moment on, things had changed. Later on that day, he was being unreasonable with his mother, to which I sided with her because she was right. He walked up behind me and whispered in my ear, “I can get this tattoo removed just as fast as I got it tattooed on today.” [I have since gotten this tattoo covered; and I've heard through the grapevine he still has his, and uses it against any and all his girlfriend after me, saying I loved him most...]

I never realized how bad these things were until they started to get worse… We eventually didn’t go a week without him claiming that I cheated on him. He would call me angry if I didn’t get his assignments to him on time, even if he never told me about them.. He came home every weekend and summoned me to his house where I would stay all weekend, which my family hated cause they knew I wasn’t safe there…

Until recently, I had screenshots of text messages where he threatened to break my jaw… Every time I did something wrong he would threaten me with another injury… Everything that he didn’t like that I did, another threat was thrown my way. I kept all the ones that I could in case anything ever happened to me. I even went as far as to write a letter that I left in my side table drawer in case anything did happen, so my parents would know right where to find the threats (the letter has since been burned).Then one day, it happened…

We had just gotten back to his house after a nice dinner with his family. There was something that had recently happened in the friend group that his best friends (at the time) was texting me about. This made my boyfriend very unhappy. He told me I shouldn’t be texting him, I shouldn’t even have his number (although he’d given it to me), and that what was going on was none of his friend’s business… Despite this, I texted him back an answer anyway. Being the kindhearted person I am, I thought he deserved an answer. Little did I know that this would hurt me more than it would help him…

A short time later, just before I planned to leave, we went outside to watch the rain and smoke a cigarette, I left my phone outside while I went inside to pee and came back to him fuming. “Why did you answer his text when I told you not to?!” He walked up and got into my face, holding my phone, unlocked and open to the text messages from earlier. After he knew I saw my phone in his hands, he threw it across his driveway. I ran to it, knowing that if anything happened to it I would have no way of explaining it to my parents…Well, the screen was smashed, the lock button held on by a thread, and to top it all off, it was laying it a puddle in the pouring rain outside his garage.. He walked up behind me and yanked my hair so hard I’m surprised I didn’t end up with a chunk of my hair missing. Pulling me back into the garage he made me look into his face as he, once again, demanded an answer. “H-h-he deserved an answer, just like you would in a situation like this.” I stuttered, but of course, not what he wanted to hear. Pretty much anything I said at this point would be wrong. So I just stood there and let the rest come; He slapped me across the face and sent my glasses flying. As I bent over to pick them up and assess the damage, in his steel-toed boots, he kicked me in the thigh as hard as he possibly could, so hard I actually ended up falling to the floor of his garage. I sat there with my hands over my face, crying, hoping maybe he would stop long enough for me to get away. That was the only luck that I had that night. As I looked through my hands, he was standing there, across the garage, where I had originally been standing, just staring at me. I slowly made my way to my feet and backed out of the garage and toward my car. On my way there I grabbed my phone from the puddle in the driveway, grabbed my keys from in my pocket, and got in my car where I then locked myself in. I frantically pressed my home button hoping that the screen would light up, which it did. And in the haze of my tears, I heard a huge bang on my window… It was him, pressed up against the window, yelling at me to get out of the car. Telling me that if I left, it was over. He even went as far as to stand behind my car. But I just sat there, in my car, hands locked to the steering wheel, until he got tired of standing in the rain. Then I drove off. All I could think of was my mom, sitting at home, who I told I would be home in a half hour. Yet here I was, just leaving an hour and a half later. So I immediately called her, still crying but trying to hold it back so she wouldn’t think anything was wrong. All I said was that I was okay, and I was on my way home. Home… somewhere I’d be safe. [When I got home and I received the texts from him, he kept asking me why I hadn’t called the cops and how he was grateful I hadn’t, I still don’t know why I didn’t. And to this day I wish I did…]

“Those who abuse: the sin is yours, the crime is yours, and the shame is yours. To those who protect the perpetrators: blaming the victims only masks the evil within, making you as guilty as those who abuse. Stand up for the innocent or go down with the rest.” —Flora Jessop

On that long drive home, I kept my hands locked to the steering wheel the entire time. Despite his efforts to call me and ensure that I wasn’t calling the police. I kept wondering how his mom didn’t hear me and him fighting, or me crying in his garage, at all… She was just in the living room right above the garage, and someone could sneeze in that garage and ordinarily you’d be able to hear it in the living room… Then again, her son beating his girlfriend may not have been ordinary enough for her... I still don’t understand that to this day, but in the rest of our story, she wasn’t very helpful either. So that really isn’t saying much that she didn’t save me from her own son. Once I got home I ran straight up to my room claiming that I was tired, which worked until my parents came up to bed and my mom came to check on me. Which is when she saw my phone and I made up my bogus story that my phone fell out of my pocket, bounced, and smashed itself… This was when my family started to really realize that they needed to step in, or I was going to get hurt. Or worse, one day, never come home at all…

My parents didn’t like my boyfriend from the start, so their reluctance to let me see him once and a while, I just chalked up to that. They put in the effort to invite him over for dinner and take him out places with us when we would go out, which he obliged happily. But they never liked him, my dad especially, who was always a fantastic judge of character.

“The guarantee of safety in a battering relationship can never be based upon a promise from the perpetrator, no matter how heartfelt. Rather, it must be based upon the self-protective capability of the victim. Until the victim has developed a detailed and realistic contingency plan and has demonstrated her ability to carry out, she remains in danger of repeat abuse.” — Judith Lewis Herman

At one point, I actually got so fed up that, via text message, I broke up with him (or so I tried). I ran down to my parents crying and they read the text messages with the horrible language and way in which he had talked to me, calling me a “useless cunt” and “bitch” and any other name that you should never call a woman. My parents told me that I needed to just break it off and leave it at that, but unfortunately I didn’t listen. I allowed him to suck me back in, and that was the night I realized that he was turning me against my family… We got into a screaming fight that night around 11:45pm and they took my cell phone, my laptop, my tablet, everything so I had no contact with him. I was pissed, and didn’t talk to my parents or come out of my room for days, except to sneak onto my brother’s computer and tell my boyfriend what had happened. If you can’t tell by now, I was in deep… We all eventually came to a consensus that we couldn’t have this tug of war going on anymore. My parents wanted me happy and if it was with him, then they would support it the best they could. My dad asked that I go to my boyfriend’s mother for help to maybe find out how I could get through to him better. And maybe talk to him in her presence so that I didn’t feel so afraid. So I went to her for help, talked to her privately, and planned to talk to him, with her in the room, that night when I went over to the house. Well, he caught onto my plan and refused to talk to me unless we were alone. He took me for a drive when he went to drop his sister off at a friend’s and I have to say, I’ve never been more scared in my life. I had shifted all the way over to the right side of the passenger seat, bracing myself against the window. My eyes out the passenger window the entire time trying to find landmarks or names of restaurants in case I had to call for help (cause I was unfamiliar with this part of town). But we ended up back at his house, just sitting in the driveway, where we talked for a few hours, until his friends came, and we just summed it up real short with, “none of this will ever happen again, I promise.” Something I had heard so many times before, but I wanted to believe it, and I did. He had me, hook, line, and sinker…

Everything was "dandy (I still got punched/kicked regularly; one of his friends even called me out on being afraid of him)" until it came to New Years Eve. We had a small get together at his house where, the morning after him and his friends got up earlier than all the girls and “decided it would be better if everyone was single.” [Or that’s how he put it in a side conversation after the fact.] After that, I heard from him less and less. And when I did hear from him, it was late at night (yes, basically a booty call), him summoning me to come hang out with him and his friends. Which turned into, not-so-wanted-on-my-end sexual encounters with him, then being sent home (yes, I snuck out, sorry mom and dad). In between these nights (I think there were 5 all together) I was ignored. Not even a text to see how I was (I had gotten very sick at one point in our relationship, to which he didn’t really care…). Until one day he just ended it, and he blamed it on my father, who at some point (which I knew about) reached out to his mother to try and help us as a couple. Which his mother told him, out of context, what my father had said, which sent him off his rocker… And that was that. We were done.. It was over, and I was free. But I felt anything but…

“But even when I stop crying, even when we fall asleep and I’m nestled in his arms, this will leave another scar. No one will see it. No one will know. But it will be there. And eventually all of the scars will have scars, and that’s all I’ll be — one big scar of a love gone wrong.” —Amanda Grace

For the next few months I did nothing but sporadically cry and try and keep my life going the way I knew it, and improve it to more than what it had been when I was dating him… He didn’t allow me to see any of my friends, even when he wasn’t there, everything had to be run by him before I could do anything. And if I did anything outside that, the threats started coming. I had to realize that it wasn’t going to happen ever again. That he was gone, and onto whoever he was going to get to put up with him next. But no matter how many times I told myself I would be okay, I still didn’t feel it.

“Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different.” —Oprah

Until about 6 months after the break up, all I wanted was to get hit by an 18-wheeler and survive and be in pain forever, because anything would have been better than getting myself to stop loving him… Killing myself never seemed like an option to me. But hurting myself did… That was a pain I could control, and although I never did. I still can advocate that those thoughts are no fun. He still had this hold on me that I felt like I couldn’t stop. Until one day I got so mad that I just looked in the mirror and told myself that I couldn’t let this get to me.. Yes, he happened, and he happened to me. All of this happened, and it happened to me. And there was no way of changing that. But I could keep him from controlling me for the rest of my life. I think the best advice I ever got during this period was from my dad, and it went something like, “Your brain is like a room. All rooms have certain capacities. He is just a single person in that room. As soon as you start to make more memories with more people, he will get kicked out of that room and you will never have to see him again.” I kept telling myself that, and as I started to believe it, it actually started to happen. I started to be able to go out without feeling guilty. I regained friends that I thought I would never get back (and some I did not, unfortunately). I started dating again and finally being happy again. I astounded even myself with my progress.

“I don’t want you to have to handle it. That’s the horror of my past. But you… you’re the reality of my present. You're the proof that I survived. The prize in the cereal box.” — J. Kenner

Even three years later, I find myself still flinching, from time to time, when new people come in for a hug. I find my heart incredibly fast paced as I write this…I still shake at the sound of his name. And sometimes when I’m laying in bed beside my current, wonderful boyfriend, soulmate, and partner (pictured to the right), I find myself crying because I can’t believe I made it this far. That I could find someone to love me, my baggage and all. Someone who knows everything, and still chooses me day after day, no exceptions, no conditions, just love. I did it... I made it, and I feel blessed everyday to be able to say that I made it through this… That my pain and moments of weakness were finally worth it.

Looking back now, I saw a change in myself... I just didn't realize it until now... I look at pictures of myself (or the ones I have left that I didn't delete..) and I can kind of see it... I look tired, physically and mentally exhausted, I look frail, pale, and anything but healthy. I was always so fashionable, or so I thought. I loved making silly faces, and my face was always bright.. I had an interest in make-up although I wasn't very good at it, but even a little bit of lipstick threw the ex off (and I would then be asked to take it off "cause it looked like shit). Anyone who looked at me could probably see there was something I was hiding... And there was... I wanted to hide myself... I wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out. But now, I am relieved I don't have to hide anything anymore. I can be myself, love myself, and wear as much bright lipstick as I'd like without anything less than a raving compliment from anyone I come in contact with.

But this is just my story, not everyone is as lucky as me. I never had an actual near death abuse experience like some may have or have not. All stories are different, and no one's story will be identical to mine (unless they date the same abuser, then there is a chance). But if I can at least try to educate people to what can actually happen in one of these relationships, then I will feel like my pain was worth something more. So below are a few tips that I have, having been someone on the inside of an abusive relationship. Please feel free to add whatever you want/can to the comments, or pass this along to anyone you think it may help…

There are a few things that many people do not understand about being on the receiving end of domestic abuse:

1. Those who have endured abuse are survivors, not victims.

2. Those who endured abuse only did because they believe that they deserved it, felt like there was no way out, or no one will ever believe them. And they will probably feel like this for a while… There’s no stopping this feeling.

3. Survivors sometimes aren’t strong enough to leave on their own. So they may need outside help, such as friends or family, to get away and stay away, even if they don’t ask for it.

4. PTSD in these situations is possible, whether it be 3 days or 3 years after the abuse. So please take care when speaking to someone who has dealt with abuse. It isn't always easy, and small things that seem like no big deal could still cause big emotional issues for said person. PTSD isn't just for the military, rape victims, or those who were in traumatic accidents. PTSD can happen because of abuse as well. [Example: I still am unable to drive down certain streets without flashbacks, also, the flinching from time-to-time when I am hugged, that counts as well.]

I always thought that I was alone… I didn’t realize that my parents were trying to help me. I didn’t realize that there was something better for me out there. So if there is anyone you know that needs help, reach out your hand first, because they may not be able to, or know that they can.

Survivors, you don’t have to forgive, or even forget. But you cannot let your abuser run your life. Only you can choose to lead a happy life. And although it isn’t expected to be an immediate change, you still have to work at it. I hated trying to work back to my happy self… But with the help of my ever-understanding family, I was able to gradually take steps to being myself again. And they still help me, along with my boyfriend to keep me going and help me to realize that I do, in fact, deserve to be happy. And although, I came out on the other side with a sassy and smart-assy attitude, I still came out on top. I did not let him win, and I know you won’t let him/her win either.

“Don’t judge yourself by what others did to you.” —C. Kennedy

To anyone reading this that may be going through a hard time in a relationship or is being abused, seek help. You will not be turned away. Those who love you will understand and will give you the help you need. You are not alone, nor will you ever be alone. If you need help but don’t know where to go, you can call 1-800-799-7233. This is a hotline where they will be able to help you in any way possible. You can do this, and again, you are not alone.

For any other kind of help you may seek, here is a link to The National Domestic Violence Hotline website where you can find many helpful tips and plans to help yourself or someone you may know. But if you fear your computer usage is ever monitored, please call the hotline above as opposed to putting yourself in further danger by going to the website.

Let us learn from our mistakes and move onward and upward, my friends. Fall down seven times, stand up eight, right?

Until next time,

H.

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