Anonymous
My Husband knows I was sexually abused as a child, but not the extent of the torture. I’ve spoken about it enough to get past it, and have lived a victorious life in spite of being an abused little girl. I just want you to know that in advance of reading this.
There is one more part of my story that I need to let out. Just once – and anonymously. I don’t remember when the abuse from my father started. It just always was, and I also always knew I had to keep it secret. I know it was before I entered kindergarten. I also know that my mother didn’t care. As long as he left her alone and we looked good as a family from the outside, it was not an issue. I honestly preferred the sexual abuse to the beatings – he gave me money after the sexual abuse, and the bruises didn’t last as long.
My father bet me once in a card game – and lost. He lost a blow job by his 9 year old daughter in a card game. My FATHER BET MY SEXUAL SERVICES TO MY UNCLE IN A POKER GAME. He lost. I lost. He has no idea what I lost that day.
My father came and pulled me out of bed, took me to the bathroom where my uncle waited, and told me to do whatever he asked. When I started crying for shame, my drunk uncle tried to get me to cooperate. Then he yelled, “HE SAID YOU ENJOYED THIS, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!” He left, and I ran back to my room and hid under the bed. My father came in and pulled me out and beat me with an electric cord – then made me give him the blow job. Then he told I got nothing for that one, because he had to pay the bet.
Nine years old. Nine. Nine.
I never saw that uncle again.
My father didn’t stop abusing me until I was about fifteen. I threatened him with a knife, told him I’d had enough, and I’d send him to jail. He believed me.
I think I would have killed him.
He died a few years back. I was so relieved. My mother died, too.
I’m so much happier as an orphan.
Nine. Nine years old. How could he.
***
I am posting anonymously simply because of the break I have made from this past. I am married to a wonderful man, and I am currently raising two daughters who know no abuse in their own lives, and who only know that I was estranged from their grandparents when they died. I need to keep it that way forever. It is part of the breaking of this generational curse. I am sure that my father was abused as a child raised in a Catholic orphanage. I offer that as explanation, not excuse.
I find that as I watch my daughters grow, and see how lovely, vulnerable and innocent they are, the hate and horror I feel sometimes overwhelms me and I am compelled to write about it to get it out. I have sent this to you because it helps to know that someone else can read this and know. Maybe knowing that I have not let the abusers take my whole life will help someone else.
My own daughter is now nine years old.
Belle
My escape was planned. My body was shaking and the mixture of fear and excitement caused me to wet myself before even stepping through our apartment door – but this momentary mishap was nothing compared to the years of physical and mental abuse I suffered at his hands. I now knew this had to end.
I casually entered the apartment, laid my purse atop our daughter’s stroller and headed up the stairs with my younger sister in tow. When I got to the second floor he was there, standing, waiting for me to explain why he could not reach me at work. I heard his voice but I was making a mental note of my surroundings. He was near the television (farthest away from the stairs), and our daughter, in diapers, was in the swing. My sister was to the side of me, and he was still standing there waiting for a response.
“I was busy today in meetings with my supervisor,” I said, as I’d been instructed to. “Is that not what they told you when you called?”
He looked at me, half-believing my tale, and said, “Well every time I called someone gave me a different story.”
I grabbed our daughter, held her, and said, “Well that is what happened. I was in and out of meetings.”
My sister said then, as casually as she could, that she had to get going, that she heard her boyfriend downstairs — when in fact it was my cousin with the get-a-way car. She slowly headed back down and exited the apartment. This had to be timed precisely or he’d know. He’d always managed to know ahead of time what I was planning, but this moment was different.
I said goodbye to my sister from upstairs and he continued questioning me. I held tighter to my daughter. There was only one shot to leaving his grasp alive and I had to play my part as though aiming for a best actress Oscar nod. He was watching me so closely, still standing but with enough room between us.
I waited for the knock, hoping it would come. The timing had to be precise — if it was too soon he’d know I was scamming him, too late and I might be in more danger than I had expected.
I faced a man who was my personal nightmare. He controlled me through his aggression. I gave him everything down to my sanity. He would threaten my life, throw the contents of my purse on a busy street (I lost my glasses in an incident once.) He’d locked me out of our own apartment when I was pregnant, left me bruised after shaking me in a tub, choked me four months into my pregnancy as others watched, only to tell me to “Get my punk ass up!” He then threw me across the floor, left holes in the wall where his fists made the impact, took a large kitchen knife to the bathroom while I showered (contemplating suicide.) He regulated the hours I got home (I could only go from work to home, home to work), and raped me on two occasions.
The knock finally came and, as practiced, I headed downstairs with my daughter firmly in my grasp, pretending I didn’t know who was at the door. I knew I was leaving for good and my daughter was coming with me.
“Oh hi, sis, what’s up?” I commented loudly enough for him to hear upstairs.
“I forgot my belt,” she responded in the same alto voice.
As we exchanged our “dialogue” I managed to wrap my daughter in a blanket, grab my purse that sat so patiently atop the stroller, close the door behind me and run as fast as my legs could take me to the refuge of my cousin’s car.
As we left, I somehow knew he had not caught on – but my sister remarked that he was looking through the blinds staring at the taillights of the car.
Shortly thereafter, I would make the bold decision to take myself and my daughter to live at a domestic violence shelter. Deputies would eventually find him and arrest him on the charges of false imprisonment, sexual battery-not likely to cause harm, and battery.
Domestic violence cases, I would later learn, are hard to prove. His charges were dropped because there were no witnesses to the incidents that took place, aside from our 4-month-old daughter. I, however, left with my life. There were many people who said that had I stayed, sooner or later I would be dead. I write this story to tell you I’m a survivor and I had a strong support network helping me plan my escape. I’m still dealing with the aftermath of domestic abuse to this day, but I always thank God that he gave me the window of time I needed to escape and live a better life with my beautiful daughter.
Thank you for the opportunity to write this story and for a platform so that others can I read how I survived my escape.
***
Belle blogs at One Latina’s Journey.
Wednesday Q&A: Should I pressure my loved one to leave?
Question:
My oldest daughter is in an abusive marriage. I am extremely worried about her safety, as well as the well-being of my 3-year-old grandson. My daughter’s husband is physically, sexually, and emotionally abusive, and I know my daughter is afraid of him. (Luckily, I live in the same town, and so I probably am aware of the problem more so than if I lived far away.) My younger daughter has been pressuring her sister to leave her husband immediately. We are all terrified of what might happen if she stays — but, the more my younger daughter puts pressure on her sister, the more her sister pulls away from our family. As their mom, I feel completely torn and not sure what to do — my younger daughter is about to wash her hands of her older sister, saying that if she isn’t willing to help herself, there is nothing we can do. But I know my older daughter needs us, and I worry she feels trapped and unsure of what to do. What is the right answer??
Answer:
I am so glad your oldest daughter has family nearby, people who care about her and are actively concerned for her safety. Your younger daughter’s actions come from an understandable place of worry and concern. Yet you are right to question the wisdom of her tactics. Pressuring someone to “just leave” is never the best option.
Abuse victims spend much of their waking hours being told what to do, and being systematically stripped of their autonomy. As someone who loves her, you can avoid joining in that destructive chorus of “you should’s” and “you need to’s”. Instead, help your daughter regain her own sense of herself. Help her learn to trust her own instincts again. Help her learn to listen to that internal compass we all possess that tells us when we’re heading toward danger or safety.
Encouraging someone to “just leave” can be dangerous. Leaving is hard. Leaving can sometimes feel impossible. Leaving is almost never simple.
Leaving safely requires planning: How and when will she leave? What does she need or want to take with her (prescription medicines, her children’s birth certificates, family photos, etc.)? Where will she live? If the car is in his name, how will she get to work? What will happen to the family dog?
Leaving safely requires resources: Does she have friends or family who can help her find temporary housing? Does she have the education or training necessary to find a job that can support her family? Does she have a bank account or credit cards that are solely in her name? If he fights for custody, can she afford a lawyer?
Leaving safely requires courage: What if he promises to change? What if her self-esteem has been so eroded by the abuse that she has a difficult time believing in herself? What if he threatens her safety or their children if she leaves him?
These are just a handful of the questions she will need to consider in order to leave in a way that is safe. “Safe” is the most important word. National statistics show that women are six times more likely to be killed by their abusers when they attempt to leave, than at any other time. When children are involved, the picture can become even more complicated — courts still routinely grant shared custody even when one parent has a record of domestic abuse. As a result, many victims stay in abusive relationships out of a desire to protect their children from being alone with the abuser.
You are right not to encourage your daughter to “just leave.” But there are steps you can take to help her increase her safety.
First, you can help your younger daughter understand the dynamics that might be influencing her older sister’s reticence to leave, so that she can channel her concern into more supportive behaviors. Here are two helpful places to start: Why She Sometimes Stays (PDF) from StopViolence.com and Why She Stays from the House of Ruth.
Second, you can help your oldest daughter understand the various tools available to help her increase her own safety and the safety of her son. You can let her know that while leaving is one option, you want her to make that decision if and when she feels ready to do so. You can help her come up with ways of increasing her safety at home, during a violent incident, and in the event she decides to leave. A very common safety plan that address all of these issues can be found here. Safety planning tips for victims who currently live with their abusers can be found here. Additional tips can be found here.
Isolation is one of the most powerful and effective tactics abusers use to control their victims. Too many victims are abandoned by family and friends who don’t or can’t understand the scary and difficult environment that defines their everyday existence. Maintaining a relationship with your oldest daughter that is grounded in unconditional love, understanding and respect is critically important to her well-being (and possibly her survival). Let her know that you love her, that you believe in her, that she can count on you to be an unconditional ally and listener, and that you will support her choices to maximize her safety in whatever form those choices take — even if, for the time being, that doesn’t include the decision to leave.
***
Each Wednesday we feature a Q&A with an expert. This column is not legal advice, nor is it intended to take the place of legal advice, professional counseling, crisis intervention, or safety planning. For legal or emotional support or for safety planning specific to your situation, please access help from the National Domestic Violence Hotline or from a domestic violence agency near you. This column is intended for educational purposes only.
Please exercise the same safe, supportive, non-judgmental restraint in the comment section of the Q&A as you do for survivors, as many of them are reading.
Our volunteer expert, Carrie K., is a trained advocate who has worked with survivors of domestic abuse and sexual assault, as well as their families and friends. Her background includes hotline advocacy, community education, and awareness and prevention programming around issues of domestic violence. She currently works for a domestic violence intervention and prevention program in Wisconsin. She blogs at rageisgood.blogspot.com
If you have something you have always wanted to know about domestic violence and/or sexual assault, please email your question to carrie [at] violenceunsilenced [dot] com.
Kristie
Things I’ve Learned
· Constantly being screamed at, belittled, badgered, and accused of doing things that are completely normal as though they’re not… is emotional torture.
· Making eye contact with people, telling your cashier to have a nice day, and looking out the car window when someone else is driving are normal human behaviors.
· Emotional torture is abuse.
· A person can know in his/her head that the bullshit an abuser spews is completely untrue and still become mentally damaged.
· Getting arrested can be the best thing to ever happen to a person.
· A damaged soul can heal and become stronger than anyone ever imagined.
My name is Kristie and I survived an emotionally torturous relationship. I met a man when my self-esteem was low. I allowed that man to move into my apartment and treat me horribly. I accepted the cycle of violence as a way of life. I subjected my innocent young children to venomous verbal abuse and sleep deprivation, and I taught them to walk on eggshells in an effort to appease a man who could not be appeased.
I have been stalked, almost run off the road, almost stabbed in the head with scissors, and straddled on my bed with his knees pinning my arms down while he screamed in my face and spit on me.
I have called 911 and been told by responding officers that my problem is civil and they can’t help me. I have been asked by my neighbors if he ever screamed that he was going to kill me and denied it. I have hidden my hellacious home life from my family.
I’ve been arrested for hitting the man who had me cornered and repeatedly flicked a lighter so the flame would ignite in my face. My arresting officer told me it’s not OK to be treated the way my live in “boyfriend” treated me and my kids. He told me how to get a protective order, and he arranged to get me before a magistrate, recommended release on recognizance, and got me to the daycare to pick up my kids before they closed.
I went to court for my arraignment, then went before another judge down the hall and was granted a one year protective order. Weeks later I showed up for my trial with a lawyer I couldn’t afford and was lucky that he wasn’t there. My case was not prosecuted because the prosecutor didn’t have a witness.
At 12:01 a.m. on the day my protective order expired, he called me. I told him to fuck off and never call me again. He called about every three months for two years but never did show his face again. I was not afraid of him anymore and he knew it. He finally gave up and stopped calling.
I learned how to function like a normal person again. I forced myself to make eye contact with people and look straight ahead when I walk instead of down at the floor. I learned how to embrace physical touch instead of flinching. I re-programmed my brain so that I could pick up the phone and call my mother without being afraid of the consequences. I’ve learned how to make friends after being isolated from everyone who didn’t live in my apartment. I’ve learned that I AM SMART and I AM NOT WORTHLESS. I’ve learned that I am important to people in both my personal and professional lives.
Ten years later I am a strong person. I am not easily intimidated. I have a strong sense of humor and the ability to draw people in. I am able to help people who are like I used to be. I volunteer on a domestic abuse hotline and I can tell people who don’t know how to put their emotional torture experience into words that they don’t have to because I KNOW.
I am successful and I have accomplished everything he said I never would — and more. I won. He lost. I am a survivor.
***
Kristie blogs at Ponderous Rambling.
