My Story of Domestic Violence

 November 7, 2011 2:41am

     I met him when I was 19 yrs old. I was a sweet young girl. Despite of everything from my past, I still had fight in me. I had dreams. I wanted to become someone. I sought to make a life for myself. I wanted to make a difference. I desired to be someone special to somebody. I still smiled. I hadn’t lost all of my being.
    I had just started my fourth semester in college. I was taking my First Aid class. He was sitting in the back of the class. He had long black shinny hair. Dark big eyes. Fair skin. A handsome man. I noticed he looked at me, but I nervously looked away. After class he waited for me. He introduced himself to me. I told him I had to leave. He walked me to my car. He told me he see me in class tomorrow.
I couldn’t take him off my mind that whole day. I thought about him. How he looked at me. How nice he seemed. I couldn’t wait to see him in class the next day.
    The next day he was sitting in the cafeteria. I didn’t see him, but he went up to me and asked me to join him at his table. He had bought me lunch. I hesitated at first. What does a handsome man want from a scrawny looking girl. He convinced me, so I joined him. Soon after we where both enjoying each others company. We would both study together and did everything together. I spent all my summer at his apartment. We would host swimming parties. We would go across the border and hang together all day. I met so many people with him. Of course all his age. He was 40 yrs old. I was the youngest. I had so much fun. I felt like a princess. He would treat me like one. He was always very attentive. I had what I needed. I learned to drink when I was with him. He would provide me with any kind of alcohol I wanted. He always did. I would spend the night with him, because I didn’t want to go home and face my parents. He would cook for me. Go out of his way to make me happy. He felt my sadness. He wanted me to be alright.
When the semester was over I continued seeing him. We were still so much in love. He always made me feel it. He never asked for anything else. He never forced me into anything I didn’t want. He respected me. He was a dream come true.
     That fall, I started nursing school. I was so excited. He did seem happy for me, but he didn’t say it. He asked me to move in with him. I agreed. I accepted. I needed to move away from my parents. I wanted it so bad. I wanted to be independent. I wanted to show my parents that I wasn’t going to live their life any more. I needed to leave that abusive home. I was so happy. Nursing school, a man that was going to provide for me, and a new home.
     Nursing school kept me busy. My boyfriend was supportive, but he was always bringing up the fact that I wasn’t home. He wanted me to be there. He said he missed me. I would explain to him that it was only going to be for 2 yrs, then we could spend all the time together.
    One night after I got home, he was waiting for me. It was 3:00 am. He was drunk. I could smell it as I came in the room. He asked me where I had been. I was about to place my books on the bed when he pushed me onto the bed. I told him I was at school. He grabbed my face and looked me in the eyes. He said, “Let it be the last time you came home at this hour!” He took away my keys. He didn’t hit me. It was the first time he ever raised his voice at me. He had never treated me that way.
     Next morning I got up, he had breakfast ready for me. He drove me to school. He never said anything about that night. Neither did I. The yelling and pushing got worse, but he never hit me. His drinking became worse. I tried to avoid him as much as I could. Sometimes I would spend the night out in the laundry mat, because he would lock me out of the house. I didn’t leave because I couldn’t go back home. I didn’t have any money. Where was I suppose to go? He knew I didn’t have anyone. I was very reserved at school, so I didn’t know to many people. So I stayed.
     Finally, after 2 ½ yrs, I graduated. It was the happiest time. He didn’t go to my graduation. I didn’t miss him, but I sure wished he had been there. We celebrated at home. We drank the night away. The next day we stayed in bed the whole day. It was as if we where both newlyweds. We talked for hours. He told me how he wanted to marry and have children. He wanted 5 children. He wanted to move to Hawaii, because he knew that one day I was going to live in Hawaii. We shared all our plans and dreams. We joked. Everything he had done to hurt me in the past was all forgotten. I loved him and he loved me that’s all that mattered that day.
     I landed a job at a local hospital. I was so excited. My first job. I did it, all by myself. Everything was going to be alright after all. I proved myself I could do anything. I survived nursing school!! My boyfriend was happy even though he didn’t like the idea that I would be working nights. I convinced him. He liked the idea that I would only be working 3 days week with 4 days off. More time for him.
    One month later, he got home from work. I had worked that night. I was in bed trying to sleep. He pulled me out off bed by my hair. He threw me to the floor. He wanted to know why I was in bed at that hour. It was 11:00 am. I told him that I was trying to sleep I had just gotten home from work and that I was going to work later that night. He started kicking and punching me. He started saying that I wasn’t working that I was cheating on him. That only whores worked nights. He would tell me that I was probably working for a pimp. That I was prostituting myself and that’s how I was getting my money. He punched and kicked me until he got tired. This had been the first time he actually hit me. He had never hit me before. I felt afraid. I was confused. He always said he loved me. I didn’t know what to do. I was in a daze the days after.
    Like always I tried to avoid him. It was like walking on egg shells. Being good and attending to all his needs so that I wouldn’t provoke him. I was living a lie. Going to work and attending to his every need, that was my life. The abuse continued for years. I was so stupid. I had once promised myself that I would never let anyone hurt me again. I was letting him abuse me. I would tell myself that it wasn’t that bad. It was my fault for getting him mad. I brought it on. If I listen to him he wont hurt me. Plus, he loves me. He tells me that he loves me. He sends me flowers to work. He takes me out to fancy restaurants. He pays the bills. Excuse after excuse.
     On many occasions he would forced me into sex. He would tell me that I wanted it as much as he did. If I didn’t show that I enjoyed it he would demand I did. He didn’t care how I felt. All he wanted was for me to pleasure him. I felt disgusted. I never enjoyed having sex with him. Even when I was ill, he demanded sex. He would force himself upon me. He would beat me if I resisted. On the day of the car accident, I had just come home from the hospital, I was so sore and in pain, and he didn’t care. All he cared for was himself. He threw me onto the floor and did as he always did. I was to hurt to even fight him. I just wanted to die. I wanted it to be over, so I did what he wanted. Thank God he was too drunk that he ended up falling asleep.
    The next day I could hardly move. I hurt all over. My body was covered in bruises. From head to toe. My back, my neck, and my stomach were purple. I didn’t go to work that day. I was to hurt. I couldn’t get out off bed. My boyfriend cared for me that day. He fixed me breakfast in bed. He gently combed my hair. He fixed my pillows and repositioned me. He helped me to the bathroom and help me bathe. He massaged my back. He brought me ice cream. He pampered me the whole day. He kept repeating that he didn’t mean to hurt me. That it wont happen again. He loves me. He was very attentive to my every need that day and the week to follow. He sent me roses to work. He took care of everything.
     A couple of weeks later I began feeling sick. I couldn’t hold anything down. I was very nauseated all the time. I just blamed it on stress. I had been working the night shift for a long time, so I reassured myself that I was just tired. I took some time off from work. I went to see my doctor. My worst fear was coming reality. I was pregnant. When the doctor said “Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”, I felt like if a bucket of cold water had fallen on me. I couldn’t move. I was speechless. I knew I was pregnant, but I didn’t want to accept it. How could I have his child. I couldn’t carry this child. I didn’t want to have a child. Not now. Not under these circumstances. Not his child. How could I’ve been so stupid. I am a nurse and I couldn’t prevent this pregnancy. I drove home. I cried the whole way home. I just kept on asking- "WHY? HOW DID I LET THIS HAPPEN?!! HOW WILL I CARE FOR THIS CHILD? I COULD BARELY CARE FOR MYSELF!"
     I told my boyfriend a couple days later. I needed time to accept it myself before I could tell him. He was ecstatic. He wanted a boy. He hugged me so hard that I had to tell him to be gentle. Our relationship couldn’t be better. He always talked about the baby. He would talk to my stomach. He named the baby, David. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. He didn’t want to leave my sight. He was always there making sure I was alright.
     It was about 2 months after I found out about the pregnancy, I started bleeding. I saw the doctor at work and I mentioned it to him. He took me to an exam room and had me scheduled for a D&C that evening. I had miscarried. I was out of the hospital that night and back at work the next day. It sounds horrible, but I was relieved
     I underwent a second surgery, due to the complications of the D&C. I was hospitalized for 4 days. He didn’t visit, not even once. I went home after the fourth day. He wasn’t home. He didn’t come home until 5 days later. His drinking became even worse. He drank day and night. I tried to avoid him as much as possible, but on the night he came back. He wanted to have sex. He forced me onto the bed. He laid his filthy drunk body over mine. We had sex. He didn’t enjoy it. He demanded more. He began hitting, punching, and biting me. He kept on saying that I was a bitch. That I was filthy trash. That I was not woman enough to carry a baby to term. That I wasn’t worth anything. That all I was good for was to have sex. I was only a sex object. His sex object. No one will ever want you, when they find out who you really are. You’re garbage. He repeated it over and over again. He feel asleep next to me. I hated his precense, his breathing, and his smell of cheap whisky. The thought of him made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to wake him and have him hurt me again. I just silently cried myself to sleep.
     I went to my follow up doctors appointment. It was my annual exam as well. When my doctor came in to examine me, he noticed that I was nervous. He asked me why I was so nervous, but I simply smile and looked away. He proceeded with his exam. As he unrobed me, he noticed the bruises on my arms. He asked what happened. I smile and told him nothing. As he continued assessing my body he noticed the bruises on my chest, breast, stomach, back, thighs, and legs. He stopped, covered my body with the cold white sheet. He asked me, more like demanded to know who had done this. I was quiet. I didn’t want to say anything. I was more embarrassed than afraid. I was embarrassed. What is he going to think? He asked the nurse to leave the room. Explained that legally he is obligated to report his findings even if I don’t say anything. He told me that he wanted me to trust him, to tell him what happened and who did this to me. After a while I decided to tell him. I told him everything. He then proceeded to take pictures of all my bruised body. He documented on every single bruise. He sent me for x-rays. He cancelled all afternoon appointments and reassured me that he would be there for anything that I needed. He notified the police. He helped me file the report. He kept me in his office until we were sure that my bf had been arrested.
    I was no longer with him. I was so afraid of going back to the apartment. I was afraid that he would be there. I had mixed emotions. I was confused. I missed him. I felt bad that he was in jail. But I was also relieved that I didn’t have to answer to anyone anymore. I felt free. My doctor helped me get a protective order. He helped me get a lawyer. He kept me on track. Help me along the way. If it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know where I would be right now. Would I still be with him or would I be dead? God only knows, but He sure was there that day. The day I took the first step. The day I left him.