“I grew up in a good household, but my dad was an unavailable alcoholic. I always wanted to make him proud but that could never happen. I just wanted someone to tell me I was beautiful and sweet and I was the best thing that ever happened to them. My dad died and had never told me that he loved me. I was devastated when he died.
I met my husband two months after my father passed away. The abuse started with insults and him telling me I was ugly and stupid and couldn’t make it without him. We were together for ten years and there would be six months to a year without physical abuse and everything that was fairly good. I would think we had made it through. He would be sorry and say he would never do it again, but he always did. I got addicted to the love and craved it and thought if I can just get us back to when we were happy. I made a commitment and I believed him every time. Were were having a good vacation and then he put a gun in my mouth. I left a couple of times and he would cry and I would come back and it would be a good day, week or month.
He once beat me so bad I couldn’t see. The cops came and asked me if I wanted to press charges. I said no, I didn’t want to get him in trouble. I should have called the cops every single time, but he was my husband and I loved him. I didn’t want him to go to jail. We were already struggling money-wise. If I put him in jail, it was going to cost money we didn’t have. I told my family it was a car wreck. It was always my fault, something I was or wasn’t doing. I never did it right, no matter how hard I tried. Even perfect wasn’t good enough.
A lot of people would tell me I was lucky because he is so sweet. And in front of people, he would be. He would fix me a plate or bring me a drink. I would think in my head, God if you just knew. It was mental torture. There were times I thought one of us was going to kill the other.
One Christmas morning, we drove from Florida to Mobile and our son was in a child seat in the back. My husband knew I had a fear of the bayway. He ran up on the car in front of us and threatened to run us all in the bay. He pulled his gun at the people beside us and when he did that I was so happy because I thought someone would call the cops, the cops would pull us over, take him to jail, and I would be free. No one did anything. We made it to his mom’s. That is the day I left him.
I bought a little house for my son and me in Mobile and were so happy. I had a restraining order, but he would threaten me anyway. He sat in the parking lot outside of work and broke into my house. He said, ‘If you don’t think I can get to you, you are crazy.’ The restraining order was no protection. I was in danger and terrorized and at the end of my rope. I walked out of that house and never went back. I filed for bankruptcy.
When we got out, I packed a suitcase and left with almost nothing. He called and asked if I wanted to get some furniture. Stupid me said yes. I started getting stuff together and he came in and raped me. We got a divorce and he got everything because I just wanted to get away and have custody of my son. I moved to the Eastern Shore and told few people where I was and almost went into hiding. Finally, he went away.
He married again and did the exact same thing. I have tried dating. The men were charming, loving, had the same values and said everything that I wanted to hear. Then they are nothing like who they say they are. Controlling and sneaky are the first signs. I would rather be by myself than have anyone hit or disrespect me.
I am a firm believer in counseling. I pawned a TV to get it for my son. I worked two jobs and didn’t eat some meals, but we survived. You walk in my house, you feel at home. I will never have a house where people walk on eggshells. I have wasted so many years. I learned to lay low and be quiet. Now I’ve had to learn how to live. I am happy and self-confident and surround myself with good people who give back.
My son and I have matching “Faith” tattoos. Faith got us through. There were some days I didn’t know how we were going to eat, but it always worked out.
I was in school for psychology at the University of South Alabama when I met him and I dropped out to be with him. He didn’t want me to be with other people. I regret dropping out. I wanted to be a child psychologist or social worker. I want to go back, but I am scared and don’t know where to start. I want to work with battered women or kids and do something meaningful with the rest of my life. I am a giver and was born to be a mother.
I wanted to break the cycle with my son. I tell him if you are a good husband and daddy, you will make me proud. He is in his first year of college and he makes me proud.”
(These are the stories of domestic violence victims from the “Hell to Hope” series that began this week in Lagniappe in Mobile.)
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