For two days I was in pain.
Physical pain.
The kind of pain you feel after getting beat up.
Emotional pain.
The kind of pain you feel because it was your husband.
For two days I was sad.
Physical sadness.
The kind you can tell by cuts and bruises.
Emotional sadness.
The kind you feel when your children don't understand.
For two days I was happy.
Physical happiness.
The kind you feel when you're safe.
Emotional happiness.
The kind you feel when you're free to be yourself.
For two days I was in shock.
Physical shock.
The kind that is paralyzing and numbing.
Emotional shock.
The kind that you feel after you realize your marriage is over.
For two days I was ashamed.
Physical shame.
As I hung my head when the police were at my door.
Emotional shame.
The kind of shame you feel when all your neighbors find out your secret.
For two days I was scared.
Physically scared.
The kind where you hide like a hermit or watch over your shoulder.
Emotionally scared.
For my children's broken home, my broken heart; even his well-being.
For the first time, like like in a dream
Two days felt like an eternity and only a passing moment.
For the first time, like I had feared
Two days and he came back with a vengeance.
Those two days were over.
For the first time, like a true-to-life abuser
He sat on the couch. I see the broken glass behind him.
For the first time, like a typical victim
I accepted his return and embraced what goodness I found in him.
For the first time, I saw my life for what it was.
I was living in domestic violence.
For the first time, I felt my life was out of my control.
This wouldn't be only one time I felt this way.
The next time, I was still in anguish.
The same feelings, thoughts, and confusion.
The next time, came before the next time.
Until it surrounded every aspect of my life.
The next time, people would say:
Will be worse than this time.
The next time: it was predicted:
May be the last.
Every time they asked:
Why does she stay?
Every time I said:
When you don't know another way...
Monday, December 29, 2008
A Typical Weedend
I was pregnant with Jacob, about three months along. As usual, we were arguing about the kids. His son had come to visit for the weekend and my daughter and I were always forgotten when he was around. Despite my love for that sweet, young boy and the fact the problem lies within his father; I dreaded his visits. It was the same every time. My daughter and I were stuck alone at the house while they went out to have fun. She would stay crying because she knew she was missing out and she wanted to see her brother. It broke my heart to see her being treated unfairly. Didn't he realize that we wanted to be a part of them? We had become a family but he kept us divided. Usually, I didn't do much other than pout, but this time I wasn't going to allow him to leave without us. I was foolish enough to think that since I had recently become his wife, that I might have gained enough respect to have my voice be heard. I knew the second he got that look on his face and told me to go into the bedroom that I had made a mistake. my heart was beating out of my chest and my legs became wobbly as I began to follow him in. He never argued in front of his son. At first, it seemed he was just really annoyed. He was asking a lot of questions: "why do you always have to complain," "why do you have to ruin the weekend..." I tried to hold my ground by explaining my reasons. I just answered his questions. What else could I do? I was upset and crying, as usual. He kept telling me to lower my voice. As he continued threatening me from inches away from my voice in the devil's whisper I had become accustomed to. This was upsetting me even more. He never lowered his voice when his son wasn't there. Why did that little boy make all the difference? My daughter deserved the same respect. Her sweet soul had to see and hear what happened in that home; she didn't deserve that either!! And so I let him know. LOUDLY!! After all, I'm only human. A person can only take so much before they snap. Although I don't know if you would call my reaction 'snapping' in comparison to his. I yelled, "What's so special about him? My daughter has to hear and see it, let him!" And so he did. He yelled in my face, "I hate you, you fucking bitch!"then he grabbed me by the arm and threw me on the bed; only he missed and I hit the wall before falling to bed. He stormed back out into the living room and announced: "it looks like we aren't going anywhere today." He picked up my daughter, who was standing at the door crying by this time. He sat with her on the couch. I quickly put myself back together and sat myself on the opposite couch and next to his son who, obviously was in shock. My baby girl was crying so much. She was reaching out for me and he wouldn't let her come to me. "No, you don't want to be with Mommy. She just wants to fight," he told her. And another surge of courage hit me. I got up and firmly told him to give me my daughter as I tried to pry her from his arms. He pulled my arm, pulling my pregnant belly into the arm of couch. It immediately started to hurt and cramp. As I was held over the couch, he punched me in the back three times. Our children sat inches away from us. I retreat. After about ten minutes of silence. He got up off the couch, told his son to get his shoes on and began getting my daughter ready to leave. All the while cursing me and explaining that I was to be left alone today. I headed for the doorway telling him that I would not allow him to leave with my daughter. Without saying a word, he back-handed me. Then he calmly said, "I'm sorry [son]." I begged him to take his son and go about their day. "I'm sorry. I should have just let you go. Please just go!," I sobbed. As usual, my apology opened the door for him to verbally bash me even further. "This is all your fault," "you couldn't just let things be..." I was left all alone and feared for my daughter. I spent the next two hours calling him repeatedly and searching the area for them. I let him know that I called the police and they were looking for my daughter. He returned her five minutes later and left again with his son. After two days had passed, I prayed that it was over.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Our Wedding Day
It was about the time of year when I promised him that we could make it through a full year without an 'incident' I would marry him. I had to keep my promise. I don't know why I felt so obligated. I knew deep in my heart that I did not love him. There was a horrible unsettling feeling telling me not to follow through. What I didn't realize then (because I was under his control) is that over the last year where there was no physical abuse, he was putting his energy into master manipulation. My family and I were barely on speaking terms because they would not accept our relationship. He had convinced me that they 'didn't know me,' 'didn't love me,' 'didn't want to see me happy.' He was the one who went to work for me and my daughter everyday. He left his previous relationship to be with us. He was the one who really loved us. And so we would be married.
Friday. December 6, 2002. I woke up next to him that morning. I did not feel well. "Cold feet," he joked. I called it intuition. He was as excited as you would hope your groom to be. he could keep his hands off me and told he loved me a thousand times. I think I faked it pretty well. Every touch and every kiss made my skin crawl. Ironic. it was on our wedding day that the slightest touch from him began to repulse me. We headed off to work. Everyone was talking about it because they were the only friends I had and so the only people attending our 'reception' at Lyndy's, a local bar. not the classy type, either. I faked it all day long. I really just wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "someone, please stop this from happening!!"
Another bit of irony: black on our wedding day. I wore a black knee-length, low-cut dress- it was the fanciest thing I could find on the sixty bucks he gave me to shop with. He wore his black suit; the same one he wore on our first date. It fit him a little tighter now. We were late. Late to our own wedding in the courthouse. To be witnessed only by my cousin and her girlfriend. We are called into the judge's chambers to go over details of the ceremony. Why do they call it that? We were in a courtroom. When she asked if she should say 'gathered before God' or 'together with love for', he agreed to go with the latter. I had been angry at Him for some time and besides, He had no part in that union. What we were doing was not at His will but at his. As we entered the courtroom, my legs get wobbly. It was very bright in there, made me feel light-headed. Not enough circulation; very stuffy. It was so cold I was shivering. Things got blurry and I did as I was told. A couple of handshakes and pictures with the judge and we head to the parking lot. I step outside and into the sun. The wind was blowing stron now, the temperature had dropped. More irony. The tears started to pour. Again I wanted to scream, "Someone, please stop this from happening!"
He hugged me and kissed my forehead. Said he knew it was overwhelming and to take a deep breath. Then he looked at my cousin and her girlfriend and asked, "what do you want to eat?" Everyone shrugged their shoulders and we look across the street to a ChaCho's. That's right. ChaCho's; and we had to hurry because we have to pick my daughter up from daycare by six thirty. One grande frozen margarita and a load of chicken fajita nachos and we head home.
Later that evening, we left her with another cousin to meet our friends at Lyndy's. Gallons of alcohol down the hatch got me through the night just fine. I don't remember much other than endless shots and laughs. The irony continued when I got a call from my cousin about my daughter. Apparently, the cold front that had come in earlier that day had made her ill. She was feverish and vomiting. Celebration is over. We all head home.
Friday. December 6, 2002. I woke up next to him that morning. I did not feel well. "Cold feet," he joked. I called it intuition. He was as excited as you would hope your groom to be. he could keep his hands off me and told he loved me a thousand times. I think I faked it pretty well. Every touch and every kiss made my skin crawl. Ironic. it was on our wedding day that the slightest touch from him began to repulse me. We headed off to work. Everyone was talking about it because they were the only friends I had and so the only people attending our 'reception' at Lyndy's, a local bar. not the classy type, either. I faked it all day long. I really just wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "someone, please stop this from happening!!"
Another bit of irony: black on our wedding day. I wore a black knee-length, low-cut dress- it was the fanciest thing I could find on the sixty bucks he gave me to shop with. He wore his black suit; the same one he wore on our first date. It fit him a little tighter now. We were late. Late to our own wedding in the courthouse. To be witnessed only by my cousin and her girlfriend. We are called into the judge's chambers to go over details of the ceremony. Why do they call it that? We were in a courtroom. When she asked if she should say 'gathered before God' or 'together with love for', he agreed to go with the latter. I had been angry at Him for some time and besides, He had no part in that union. What we were doing was not at His will but at his. As we entered the courtroom, my legs get wobbly. It was very bright in there, made me feel light-headed. Not enough circulation; very stuffy. It was so cold I was shivering. Things got blurry and I did as I was told. A couple of handshakes and pictures with the judge and we head to the parking lot. I step outside and into the sun. The wind was blowing stron now, the temperature had dropped. More irony. The tears started to pour. Again I wanted to scream, "Someone, please stop this from happening!"
He hugged me and kissed my forehead. Said he knew it was overwhelming and to take a deep breath. Then he looked at my cousin and her girlfriend and asked, "what do you want to eat?" Everyone shrugged their shoulders and we look across the street to a ChaCho's. That's right. ChaCho's; and we had to hurry because we have to pick my daughter up from daycare by six thirty. One grande frozen margarita and a load of chicken fajita nachos and we head home.
Later that evening, we left her with another cousin to meet our friends at Lyndy's. Gallons of alcohol down the hatch got me through the night just fine. I don't remember much other than endless shots and laughs. The irony continued when I got a call from my cousin about my daughter. Apparently, the cold front that had come in earlier that day had made her ill. She was feverish and vomiting. Celebration is over. We all head home.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
my final plea
The impact statement I presented to the judge (July 2008) during the trial for Protective Order Violations. He plead guilty and received nine months probation.
During our marriage, I endured emotional and physical abuse that required medical attention several times. My injuries ranged from bruises to broken bones. Police officers were frequently called to our home and emergency room visits became routine. My children and I have been through consistent counseling since leaving him three years ago. Initially, my daughter suffered with separation anxiety, nightmares, and hyper-sensitivity. My son struggles with controlling his behavior and is aggressive in his play. Both have come a long way and will continue to improve. I have been through intensive individual counseling and weekly group therapy. I have experienced anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, insomnia, depression, and flash backs. The lingering effects of the abuse have disrupted current work and personal relationships. I have a difficult time trusting people and dealing with confrontation. These symptoms are a direct result of his daily abuse. After leaving my husband, I was granted a Protective Order; we are here today regarding violations of that Protective Order. In June, I was granted a second Protective Order based on these violations. Throughout all of this, I have lost my job four times due to being harassed, filing police reports, being served subpeonas at the office or taking time off for court hearings. This has caused a loss of income as well as pride. My children and I now live in protected housing provided by the Family Violence Prevention Service center. I live life constantly looking over my shoulder, scanning every room before entering. I avoid certain areas of town, stores, and restaurants. When I find myself in these places, I am taken aback as I recall whichever horrible incident occured there. I have been forced to walk down many city streets trying to get away from him as he repeatedly passed yelling profanities at me. I have hidden under bridges and ran to strangers' houses for safety. I have been hit, kicked, stomped on, spit on, bitten, pushed, pulled, choked, and had things thrown at me. My scared children watched as all this happened. It was when i felt his abuse was being directed at my children that I left. He pulled my daughter by the seat of her pants and threw her into the back seat of the car. he also threw a ketchup bottle at my son's head because he would not stop crying to be held. This is a man with a history of violence. At eighteen he was convicted of a felony offense involving unlawful handguns. During our relationship, March of 2004. he was convicted of family violence. He has been court-ordered to take anger management three times and has not begun. his visitation rights have been suspended until he completes the twenty week course. He has not seen our son in over two years. He is over $8,000 behind in child support. he is not a concerned parent by any definition. He has always considered himself above the law, smarter than those in control. He walks the fine line in every situation. I ask that when deciding on this case that you keep in mind what I have been through as a result of his actions; and tht you know that the continued safety of my children and myself is partly in your hands.
During our marriage, I endured emotional and physical abuse that required medical attention several times. My injuries ranged from bruises to broken bones. Police officers were frequently called to our home and emergency room visits became routine. My children and I have been through consistent counseling since leaving him three years ago. Initially, my daughter suffered with separation anxiety, nightmares, and hyper-sensitivity. My son struggles with controlling his behavior and is aggressive in his play. Both have come a long way and will continue to improve. I have been through intensive individual counseling and weekly group therapy. I have experienced anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, insomnia, depression, and flash backs. The lingering effects of the abuse have disrupted current work and personal relationships. I have a difficult time trusting people and dealing with confrontation. These symptoms are a direct result of his daily abuse. After leaving my husband, I was granted a Protective Order; we are here today regarding violations of that Protective Order. In June, I was granted a second Protective Order based on these violations. Throughout all of this, I have lost my job four times due to being harassed, filing police reports, being served subpeonas at the office or taking time off for court hearings. This has caused a loss of income as well as pride. My children and I now live in protected housing provided by the Family Violence Prevention Service center. I live life constantly looking over my shoulder, scanning every room before entering. I avoid certain areas of town, stores, and restaurants. When I find myself in these places, I am taken aback as I recall whichever horrible incident occured there. I have been forced to walk down many city streets trying to get away from him as he repeatedly passed yelling profanities at me. I have hidden under bridges and ran to strangers' houses for safety. I have been hit, kicked, stomped on, spit on, bitten, pushed, pulled, choked, and had things thrown at me. My scared children watched as all this happened. It was when i felt his abuse was being directed at my children that I left. He pulled my daughter by the seat of her pants and threw her into the back seat of the car. he also threw a ketchup bottle at my son's head because he would not stop crying to be held. This is a man with a history of violence. At eighteen he was convicted of a felony offense involving unlawful handguns. During our relationship, March of 2004. he was convicted of family violence. He has been court-ordered to take anger management three times and has not begun. his visitation rights have been suspended until he completes the twenty week course. He has not seen our son in over two years. He is over $8,000 behind in child support. he is not a concerned parent by any definition. He has always considered himself above the law, smarter than those in control. He walks the fine line in every situation. I ask that when deciding on this case that you keep in mind what I have been through as a result of his actions; and tht you know that the continued safety of my children and myself is partly in your hands.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
How it all Began
This is an excerpt from the statement I prepared for my lawyer in 2005 when I was trying to obtain my first Protective Order. It will provide you with a little background information about my husband, my marriage, and the abuse.
We met in January 2001. He was charming, funny, and a good listener. Exactly what I needed in a friend. I was five months pregnant with my daughter and her father wanted nothing to do with us. Tony, my ex-husband, became a friend to talk to. He cared. He would ask how I was doing, about the Dr. visits. He even bought her gifts. He was a perfect potential step-father. Our first date was Christmas Eve. I did not have a baby sitter, but that did not bother him. He looked so handsome in his black suit. He was a complete gentleman. During the following months, he was everything I wanted him to be. We moved into our first apartment together in March.
The first time he hit me was in April. We were arguing about him spending so much times at work. His eight-year-old son, who barely knew me, would stay with us 3-4 days a week and was completely my responsibility. I was a new mom to a nine-month-old. I had no idea what I was doing yet. He began criticizing my parenting skills and inability to juggle it all. I decided I was leaving for a while; just needed a break. He grabbed my daughter knowing I would not leave without her. He kept pushing me away from the doorway. I got my phone and ran to the bedroom to call the police. He followed and pushed me into the closet and hit me over the head with the phone. I had already given them the address, so he knew they were on the way. He released my daughter and threw me on the bed. He pinned me down and grabbed my hands and forced me to poke him in the eyes and scratch his face. He said he wasn't going to jail for me and that he was going to tell them he was defending himself. Back in the living room, I was again trying to get out. He pushed me about five feet away and I knocked my back and head on the couch, also knocked the wind out of me and I fell to the floor. When the police got there , he ran out ahead of me told them his story. They made him leave and stayed until someone came to get him. I called my parents. They were furious. At me. They told me I was stupid. Ruining my life. They threatened to take my daughter away from me. He was gone about two and half months. He started knocking at my door at 4am, crying. He was sorry. The usual routine, for the first time. By that November I had finally had enough when he asked me to marry him. How could I?! You abuse me! I don't know why, but I told him if we could get through a whole year without me being hit, I would marry him. As far as I was concerned, if we could fix just that, all would work out fine. A year later, December 6, 2002, I married him. January 28th, I found out I was pregnant and February 7th, the abuse began again.
Every incident that followed was similar. Usually over the kids, finances or jealousy. If not a push, then a hit, slap, kick, punch, or bite. Every apology meant less and less. Eventually, the apology didn't come.
We met in January 2001. He was charming, funny, and a good listener. Exactly what I needed in a friend. I was five months pregnant with my daughter and her father wanted nothing to do with us. Tony, my ex-husband, became a friend to talk to. He cared. He would ask how I was doing, about the Dr. visits. He even bought her gifts. He was a perfect potential step-father. Our first date was Christmas Eve. I did not have a baby sitter, but that did not bother him. He looked so handsome in his black suit. He was a complete gentleman. During the following months, he was everything I wanted him to be. We moved into our first apartment together in March.
The first time he hit me was in April. We were arguing about him spending so much times at work. His eight-year-old son, who barely knew me, would stay with us 3-4 days a week and was completely my responsibility. I was a new mom to a nine-month-old. I had no idea what I was doing yet. He began criticizing my parenting skills and inability to juggle it all. I decided I was leaving for a while; just needed a break. He grabbed my daughter knowing I would not leave without her. He kept pushing me away from the doorway. I got my phone and ran to the bedroom to call the police. He followed and pushed me into the closet and hit me over the head with the phone. I had already given them the address, so he knew they were on the way. He released my daughter and threw me on the bed. He pinned me down and grabbed my hands and forced me to poke him in the eyes and scratch his face. He said he wasn't going to jail for me and that he was going to tell them he was defending himself. Back in the living room, I was again trying to get out. He pushed me about five feet away and I knocked my back and head on the couch, also knocked the wind out of me and I fell to the floor. When the police got there , he ran out ahead of me told them his story. They made him leave and stayed until someone came to get him. I called my parents. They were furious. At me. They told me I was stupid. Ruining my life. They threatened to take my daughter away from me. He was gone about two and half months. He started knocking at my door at 4am, crying. He was sorry. The usual routine, for the first time. By that November I had finally had enough when he asked me to marry him. How could I?! You abuse me! I don't know why, but I told him if we could get through a whole year without me being hit, I would marry him. As far as I was concerned, if we could fix just that, all would work out fine. A year later, December 6, 2002, I married him. January 28th, I found out I was pregnant and February 7th, the abuse began again.
Every incident that followed was similar. Usually over the kids, finances or jealousy. If not a push, then a hit, slap, kick, punch, or bite. Every apology meant less and less. Eventually, the apology didn't come.
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