Michelle at Mommy Loves Stilettos

When I walked in the house the air smelled stale. I wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming feelings I felt when I walked through that door. The living room was trashed. It looked like a crack house, to be honest. Looked like those dirty houses you see on Cops and wonder how the hell people live like that. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. Beer cans and bottles everywhere. Empty bottles of hard liquor littered the entertainment center that was now leaning to one side. The practically new carpet was ruined. I walked into the bedroom oblivious to the things my parents were asking me. The things they were saying were distant, I felt like I wasn’t even in the same house. Like I was hearing them from far away. I was in a daze and really couldn’t have made out what they were saying if I tried.

When I walked in the bedroom I saw condom wrappers all over the floor–funny, I knew those weren’t ours. Then I looked to the dresser and saw an 8×10 picture frame with a picture in it of our daughter. She was 3 months old in that picture and smiling so big. The glass was covered in cocaine residue and I don’t know why but I was shocked at what I saw. I guess I knew all along how bad his problem was, but sniffing lines of coke off of your daughter’s picture is oh so low. And I really never expected that of him. Some drug addicts do have a conscience, I’m told. That sent me into hysterics. I remember my mom and my stepdad just looking at it in awe. They couldn’t believe what had become of this house in just one short week.

His mother was there. To keep me from “taking his things” of course. I went from ignoring her, to cussing at her and telling her how much I hated her son for doing this to me and my daughter. She of course defended his actions and discounted what he had done. She’s always been that way, and still is. My parents and my uncle helped me get everything out of the house and loaded into a UHaul. It was really difficult. I loved that house. It was the first real house I’d had. It was only a rental, but going from living in a shitty little duplex to that was pretty awesome. And it was Katelyn’s first home.

As we pulled away with all of my stuff jammed into that UHaul completely unorganized I thought about the events of the week before. I was at home with Katelyn – she was about 7 months old at the time. My friend Adrienne was there keeping me company. He had been gone for about two days–drinking and using. The usual. At that point I didn’t care anymore as long as he wasn’t there with us. I preferred him leaving and going elsewhere so that we didn’t have to deal with his constant mood swings. We were in the kitchen and Katelyn was in her highchair. I was sitting in a chair with the highchair between my legs, feeding Katelyn some baby food. I heard him come home and my heart dropped. I knew this wouldn’t be good. He came with a friend so I assumed everything would be fine. He didn’t typically do anything around his friends because he didn’t want them to know the truth. Little did I know, this time would be much different.

He stormed in the house drunk and high and started screaming at me for god knows what. To be honest, he was so fucked up that I couldn’t have even tried to figure out what he was saying. He stormed past Adrienne and reached around Katelyn’s highchair and knocked me out of the chair. I was sitting about a foot from the basement stairs and I started to fall. I caught myself thank god. If I hadn’t I could’ve broken my neck without a doubt. I used my cell phone to call 911. Before I could get out all of the information, he stole my phone and smashed it. He hit me in the face and spit on me and then he left. Just like that.

The police came. At the station they took pictures of the bruises all over my face, arms, and legs. I had to go there to file an official report. Adrienne went with me for moral support. I decided that night I had to move out. I took what I could in my car and Katelyn and I went to my mom’s. When we moved all of my stuff out a week later I really believed I was done. My parents believed that I was done. But no, I wasn’t. I went back for more just a few months later. And guess what? It didn’t stop. It happened again, and the next time it was worse.

Abusers don’t change. They don’t get better. They don’t transform into new people. They are who they are. No matter how many times you hear the words, “I’m sorry.” ”I’ll change,” ”I won’t drink anymore,” it’s all bullshit. I hope that any of you that are reading this that happen to be going through something similar understand that. It doesn’t get better. It never will. Get out now while you can. Find local advocacy agencies that can help you get out of that situation. Easier said than done. I know from experience. But I promise you that there is life after that. You can find YOU again. You can build a better life. You don’t NEED a man. You deserve so much more than this. Never forget that.

If you are in my area [St. Louis, Missouri] the best resource for you is ALIVE. Amazing women. They really are. And they can help.

###

Michelle writes at Mommy Loves Stilettos. This post originally appeared on her own blog in May 2010.

Thank you for visiting Violence UnSilenced, a speak-out platform for survivors of domestic abuse, sexual assault, and sexual abuse. If you are a survivor and it is safe to do so, we encourage you to share your story here. If you are not a survivor but you want to support those who are, please click around this site and find out more about what you can do.

25 Comments | February 7, 2011 | Filed Under domestic violence, survivor story

Comments

25 comments 0 people listening

Comment help
Get Livefyre

Sort: Newest | Oldest

AmyLynn

I cannot tell you how much this brought me to tears. I found it off your blog and I found your blog through Ian.

I don't know if I could ever tell the details of what happened to me. I tend to tidy it up in generalities.

Do you live in KC? Or somewhere else in MO?

I just don't know whether to feel relief that someone else can understand some of what I went through, or to feel afraid when I read this.

Although I am not sure what I am afraid of exactly

Does any of that make sense?

Michelle at Mommy Loves Stilettos

SAFETY ALERT

Subscribe and Connect

A word about comments

Donate

One Year Anniversary Video

Two Year Anniversary Video

2010 Bloggies Finalist