I listen to victims statements or their statements to police in all sorts of podcasts or recording made in tv shows true crime based. I was recently listening to a podcast about Libby Caswell and her death. The end of the podcast series, there were a group of women recounting their own domestic violence stories. I guess it was the first time I thought about him. I’d like to tell you about my domestic abuse story.

I think I met him when I was at the end of my 17 year old self. I was just on the cusp of turning 18. I believe I was at the Westwood Mall in Marquette, MI. I’m not exactly sure exactly how we met, what got us to speak to each other for the first time. We may have even met through the CB. I was “Carrot Top” because of my love of red hair. *not affiliated with the comedian* and he was “Weekend Warrior”. When we did meet, he said all the right things, to me. He probably saw me coming. This girl who just seemed – not confident, not pushy or brash. Just a naive little seventeen year old with a lot to corrupt. I still was driving around town in a Subaru hatchback (that I hated). And I’ve always been open to people of other races, creeds, religions. I wasn’t prejudice. Hence why he became my boyfriend. He is Puerto Rican. His family and him seemed to live in the trailer park not far from where his Grandmother lived. He was formerly from Milwaukee, WI. I’m not sure that I was exactly attracted to his looks, but I was attracted to the bad boy persona. He was allegedly a member (or former, not sure) of the Gangsta Disciples out of Milwaukee. Honestly, I didn’t know much about that. 

At that point in my life, I had white walls in my room. As a method of rebellion and a reminder of love from my friends who came to visit – I just asked one thing. Write on my wall – something like, I was here…. etc. And my friends did just that. He did the same thing. He plastered all sorts of GD stuff on my walls that - I didn’t really understand. My dog (Scruffy) Did NOT like him. I probably should have figured out that was a red flag. However, I didn’t get it. I was just like… what is up with this? And walked away in confusion. 

After I had been dating him for a little bit, I got a phone call from my best friend Missy. She was calling to tell me that she had gotten a call from his wife…. Missy. I had no idea he was married. I think by that point I was angry and I wanted to end the relationship. There was also a part of me that just didn’t care. I think I confronted him about it, but I don’t remember the confrontation. I just wanted to be loved. By this point I had spent so many years feeling like an after thought. 

I had other male friends. People I went to school with, or other family members that were male. The last time I spent any time with a friend was a guy I went to school with named Burt. He was a very cute and very nice guy. Not someone I was interested in. He was just a friend. We had been out late one night, Burt and I. And he became VERY jealous. The first time that he and I had an incident of domestic violence was when he though that another male friend of mine named Scott had stayed at my dad’s house with me. This was a rumor, of course. Scott was a friend and just that. There was nothing between us. I think I had gotten up to put something in the kitchen. At a certain point, he grabbed me by my throat and pushed me up against the front door – walking me a few … oh, 7 feet from where we originated? He warned me that type of behavior (you know, Scott staying at my house… which he hadn’t?) would not stand. And from that point on, I was terrified. He asserted his control and manipulations to the point where I moved out of my father’s house and into his grandmother’s apartment. I was not allowed to take birth control (he wanted me to get pregnant) and all money that I had was now his. 

He terrorized me. Calling me names, hitting me, pushing me, punching me. He even offered me to his father for sexual favors. Fortunately his dad never took him up on it. One night I can recall. He, his dad, and I, his dad’s friends Patty and Mike – went to a bar in Marquette. He was mad about something. And he expected that I take him to Taco Bell. Then he changed his mind and then we went back to the bar where he directed me to go in and get his dad. We were leaving. He said after a certain number of minutes, if I was gone anytime after that, he would hit me for every minute I was late. I went into the bar to tell his dad that he was ready to go and we needed to. His dad told me not to worry about it. To have fun and play pool with them. I was probably about ten minutes late. And I felt every minute. After we left, he slapped me and then escalated to punching me across the face while I was driving. The harder it got, the crying started. And then he told me if I kept crying – he’d hit me harder because I was crying.

There were times I felt unsafe living with him and his grandmother. I’d lock myself into the bathroom to stay a safe distance from him. His sister and I formed a bond. Or so I thought. She was nicer than he was. She was engaged to someone that lived in a neighboring town to us. We got together relatively frequently. One night he called his sister to tell her that he was attempting to commit suicide by drinking cleaning products. We drove to her fiance’s parents house and called the police. His sister told me that she would take the fall for calling the police. And in the end – she told her brother that it was me that called the police to have his stomach pumped. He took that out on me too.

His sister, her fiance, he and I went to the bowling alley one night. I ran into a good friend of mine, her parents. We talked for a bit and then went into the alley to play. After being there for a while, I had to use the restroom. At this point, a few lanes away was a police officer taking a statement of a person there. Apparently their car had gotten broken into. I would have to walk passed the officer. I told my boyfriend that I needed to use the restroom and he told me to cover my face when I walked passed the officer. Honestly, I had no idea why he would tell me that. Was I just that ugly??? So I did my thing in the bathroom and when I got up to wash my hands, I looked in the mirror. I had a black eye. Of course that was why he wanted me to shield my face from being seen by the officer. The police officer would want to know how that happened. So I proceeded with caution.

I wasn’t getting pregnant, I got kicked out of high school, and I had ZERO relationship with anyone in my regular life. I was lonely. I had even sold my car to give him the money. No matter how much I hated that car, I still wish I hadn’t given away that freedom. 

I had only been in this relationship for maybe, three months. He had escalated to raping me. Over and over again. And he even told me that he’d take sex from me whether I wanted it or not. The last night that I was with him, he got upset at me over something and he punched me in the vagina. I dropped to my knees in tears. From that point, I was trying to find a means of escape.

I knew I couldn’t take anything. At least my other clothes or belongings. I just had to let it go. My safety and well being was more important than anything. And as my dad had said in the past – it could be bought again. So, it just so happened that his grandma was poor and living off disability. So I opted to go out and get a food basket from a local thrift store for her and go and vote for a local election. I promised I would come back. It was made easier by the fact that he wasn’t there. He was visiting a friend and so I figured I’d walk to my friend Lesley’s trailer and take refuge there. At least until we had an idea what to do with me. 

I walked – just with what I was wearing and my purse. I carried no extra items. He saw me. He was shoveling with his friend Jason across the street from the trailer park where his family, wife, and my friend Lesley and her mom lived. I wasn’t scott free yet. I had to plead my case.

I had to tell him my “plan”. I’m going to get your grandma a food basket and then I’m going to vote. After that, I’ll be right back. I promise. I even had to kiss him goodbye. Placating him that I was still the good little girl. When I got to Lesley’s trailer, she saw the now aged black eye that had turned yellow. She brought me to the mall, we went for Burger King, and then went to our friends Jamie and Tracy’s home to discuss what was next. During my time with Lesley, I felt free. I hadn’t felt under the weight of his expectations anymore. I wasn’t being threatened. Someone decided that I should go to a domestic abuse shelter. One of the girls called the police. A police officer responded and came to Jamie and Tracy’s home to take a report and I was taken to the domestic abuse shelter in that area. When I first got to the domestic abuse shelter, I was told that I was not allowed to contact my abuser for the first 48 hours. He was all I knew for months. No matter how dysfunctional he was, I didn’t have anyone that I felt a kinship with at that time. I didn’t feel safe yet. I wasn’t sure if he was going to come looking for me – so I stayed at the shelter until I was released. 

I knew I should contact the police to report my experience. I was still so confused as to why this occurred and how to move passed it. I didn’t have anyone … not really … who would ease me through this transition. I was so accustomed to being hit by him that .. well, I didn’t quite feel alive. So one day, I took a dull pair of sewing scissors and cut my arms with them. I laid on my bed like … sorry… like Jesus on a cross. I agonized over what I had just done – and the intelligence of doing it. While I was cutting my arms, I didn’t feel the pain. It was after, that I had. And at that point I knew how stupid I was.

A year later, I decided I was going to call the state police department in Michigan. I decided I was going to try to put him away. I felt like I deserved to be treated better and serve a lesson to him about how he treats women. I dialed the phone and someone answered. I told them I wanted to file a report to press charges. When I was asked how long ago it had taken place – I explained it was a year ago. The next words are frozen into my mind: Why did it take you so long to call? I was so devastated by that question. I had always felt like no one took me seriously. I was alone. Again. So, I did what I did. I hung up.

It’s been many more years since this happened. I think it was March of 1995 when I broke up with him by leaving him. And this is probably one of the only times I’ve really told my story about him. Mind you, this is far from the entirety of what happened in our relationship. I was lucky to have the mental fortitude to leave when I did. I was lucky to have been believed by him that I would follow through. I was lucky that I did NOT have his child. And I was lucky that the one day I saw him again in Green Bay, that I was with the man I love today. Eric got to see this monster’s face. And its one I hope to never see again.

There was a short period of time where I felt angry at Puerto Rican people in general because of this mistreatment. It’s not all of their faults. It is one man that did.  I cannot possibly condone racist sentiments because of the actions of one man. 

He hurt me in ways I can’t explain. There are things I don’t remember. Things I’ve blocked out for protection about that time. And probably things that time has erased out of my memory banks. It’s incredibly terrifying to be in a relationship with someone who abuses their partner.

I hope no one that reads this ever has to experience this for themselves. And if you have, I hope you’ve healed since – or are in the process of.