Written by: Lindsey, Survivor
I was young and naive. I remember the very first night that I was going to meet him I had called my best friend and stated very plainly: “I’m about to make the worst decision of my life right now.” When I said that, I was completely joking. I had no idea I was starting the first leg of what would become the worst nightmare of my life.
I was young. He was in a position of authority. I was also overly cocky and self-centered. We began dating. The red flags were there from day one. Calling his ex “crazy.” Making inappropriate comments. I guess I was blinded by the excitement of it all; it never occurred to me that three short months was not long enough to have known someone before moving in with them.
It literally started the night before we were supposed to move in and it terrified me. Technically we had already gotten the keys to the place. We just weren’t doing the actual moving until the next morning. Being the sentimental person I am, I wanted to stay at my old house one last time. I could tell he didn’t really understand, and that he didn’t want to do that but went along with it.
I will never forget refusing to have intercourse with him that night from sheer exhaustion. I remember him getting up, getting dressed, and leaving to sleep on the floor of the new house because I wasn’t going to have sex with him. To him, there was no point in going along with it anymore.
Things spiraled out of control after that. I had a slew of health problems, surgeries, and hospitalizations during our relationship and he convinced me to just stay home and recoup and that I could go back to work when I felt like it. It never occurred to me that when agreeing to do that, I was giving him the last little bit of freedom I had left.
I had no income, no money. Everything I did, everything I purchased, I had to ask for. Everything I did, everything I bought, I had to provide him with sexual gratification exactly how he wanted it, or I wasn’t going to get it. Eventually, it got to the point where I had to do this for my prescriptions every month. I had to do it if I wanted/needed gas in my car. I had to do it if I wanted to eat that week while he was out of town working. It wasn’t optional.
Of course, the verbal/mental/emotional abuse that led the way to sexual abuse, which eventually led the way to physical abuse. It should have been no surprise when a police presence became a regular thing in my life. I should’ve seen it coming all of those visits to the ED after he beat the crap out of me. But I became immune. One by one, all the charges were not only dropped, but they were also expunged as if it had never really happened after all.
The night I left he had been arrested for more sexual and physical abuse charges. I knew from the moment they put him in the back of that patrol car that the clock immediately started counting down. You see, his arrests had gone from initially requiring a 48 hour hold for DV, to most recently being bailed out on his own recognizance just three hours later while I still laid in a hospital bed with the injuries he had been charged with just a few hours before.
I packed up what little I could in my car, which wasn’t very much, took my dog, and left our home at 3 A.M. in July 2015 and I never went back. He continued stalking me and tried to take me to court over our dog; he wanted me to pay the “debts” I owed him, which he had kept notes of. By debts, he was referring to putting gas in my car, feeding me, buying my prescriptions, and so forth. Thankfully he lost and finally gave up about a year ago. My only regret is that I had only done it sooner.
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