Healing the Soul Scars

Hi there.

I'm so glad you found our site, and have decided to look around. I hope that, if you are a survivor or a current victim of domestic violence, you will find something within this site that can offer you comfort and encouragement, and even some hope. You are not alone.

As I had stated on the home page, my name is Meredith, and I am a survivor of domestic violence. It has been quite a few years since I got out, but much of what I endured still affects, and essentially haunts my life to this day. It's so easy for an outside to say "Just walk away". If you're a victim or a survivor, however, you know that it's not that black and white... by any means.

I am in my early 30s now. I walked away from the abusive relationship when I was 22. He was 31 at the time, and a raging alcoholic; a fact that he kept carefully concealed, at least in the beginning. At the time, I thought that I had found "the one". He was charming, charismatic, witty, and he said all the right things-- as abusers always do in the beginning. I had just come out of a relationship in which I had been cheated on, and I was feeling vulnerable. I suspect that he sensed it, and that that was the incentive he needed to swoop in.. and swoop in, he did! It all happened very quickly, and in the beginning, it felt as if I had somehow landed in the middle of a fairy tale. That, however, was not to last.

He knew that I had very low self esteem, and that only empowered him further. He knew where my buttons were, and he figured out very quickly how to push them, to get me to do exactly what he wanted.

The abuse didn't start immediately. He knew he had to wait until I was settled in the relationship, and at least semi-dependent on him emotionally, which he probably knew wouldn't take too long.

The abuse started out verbally. After the first few weeks (the "honeymoon" period, as it's called.) he started giving me orders.. telling me what to do, and knowing exactly how to make me feel bad if I even so much as disagreed with him, let alone argued. From there, it progressed to expecting things from me, such as making sure that I always came home from work with a pack of cigarettes for him. He had perfected the guilt trip, to the point where I felt like the most horrible girlfriend in the world if I disappointed him. Looking back now, I imagine that that was what he was aiming for.

I honestly don't remember the first time he struck me. I do, however, remember the first time he was physically rough with me. I ignored the 'red flag' that came in the form of the grin that he gave me when I told him he was hurting me. Of course now, I wish I hadn't. He became rougher sexually, as well, paying less and less mind to whether or not I was enjoying it.

He was my first sexual experience. He had made flowery promise after flowery promise about how my first time would be at Niagara Falls, in a gorgeous hotel room, surrounded by roses. None of it amounted to anything. My first time was in a dirty hotel room, with him half drunk, and I had to fight him to use protection. I remember him growling at me to lay still because squirming was only making it hurt more. Afterwards, he just passed out, and I laid there in a dark hotel room, listening to him snore and wishing that I had waited.

Three months into the relationship, I was diagnosed with Herpes. I knew it had to have come from him because I had never been with anyone else. I was devastated, and went to him for support--- support that I did not receive. Instead, he called me a dirty whore, accused me of cheating, and told me that I should consider myself lucky that he was staying with me, because no one else would want a dirty slut like me.

We had been together for about six months, the first time he raped me. That, I'll never forget... no matter how hard I try; and I have tried. It's burned into the back of my mind. I remember being back-handed when I cried, and how evil he sounded when he snarled at me to shut up because I was 'killing the mood'.

Everything escalated ten fold when we moved in together. He started becoming extremely possessive-- telling all of my friends that I "belonged" to him, and that HE decided who I could and could not talk to, and spend time with. He monitored my phone calls, read my e-mails, and even pretended to me be online so he could talk to my friends-- especially the few male friends I had.

I'll never forget the night he injured my neck... all because I didn't move fast enough for his liking. His hands were around my neck in seconds, and he snapped me towards him so hard that I practically fell into him and knocked him over. It was only the vice-like bite of his fingers in the back of my neck that kept me steady. When I cried out, and tried to get him to loosen his grasp, he only laughed, and the words that followed that demonic sound are ones that still replay in the back of my mind, as clearly as if it was merely weeks ago; "If you had come when I called you, it wouldn't have hurt.". I sustained permanent damage to the nerves and ligaments in my neck by his hands. I have neckaches, and headaches on a regular basis. I have for the past eight years, now.

Sex became his favorite form of punishment. When I did something that angered him, he held me down and raped me. It became a fairly regular occurance after a while. I learned not to cry. As long as I didn't cry, I didn't get hit. Eventually, I taught myself to drift to another place. I was told later in therapy that that was a coping mechanism. The night he proposed to me (beer in one hand, of course), immediately after what should have been the most romantic night of my life, he raped me again.

I was threatened at knife point.. more than once. He made threats against my friends, as well, knowing that that would keep me quiet. He held me at knife point and forced a can of beer down my throat, more than once, insisting that I "needed to know what addiction was like".

My money was also his. I had no control over it. My paychecks always went to him. I assume they paid for his cigarettes and beer. I spent more nights than I care to think about sitting in some bar or another, surrounded by smoke, and loud, rude drunks while he downed beer after beer, until he couldn't even walk. It only took a few beers before he was all over me.. whether I wanted it or not.

He often made me sleep on the floor, snarling at me to 'lay down and shut up if I knew what was good for me.'. When we did sleep in the same bed, he slept with his back to me, and if I tried to touch him or snuggle up against him, he shoved me away and growled. There were many nights he chose to sleep in his car, rather than with me. It reached the point where I welcomed those nights because it meant I could sleep in my own bed and not worry about being woken up in the middle of the night by his hands.

Not long after he moved in with me and my father, my father bought him a car, so that I didn't feel like I had to keep going out at all hours of the night to pick him up from wherever he happened to be. Within a month of my father buying that car, my abuser demolished it, driving drunk. I had almost gotten into the car with him that night. I continue, even now to be SO grateful that I didn't, because there is no way I would have survived the crash if I had. His mother blamed me for the accident, claiming that if I had been with him, he would have been more careful.

I learned not to feel safe in the dark because of him. He used to creep into the room in the middle of the night, if he had been out drinking, jump on top of me, pin my arms down, and just grin at me. Naturally, it scared me half to death every time, which gave him even more of a rise. He did the same thing when I was in the shower. He loved to creep in silently, and not tell me he was there. I pulled the curtain back and there he was, just sitting there with a grin on his face. I learned not to sleep with my back to doors or windows because of him, and I still catch myself pulling the curtain back in the shower, just to make sure no one is there, even though logically, I know there isn't.

I remember the night I finally worked up the courage to walk away. He called me from a hotel room, drunk, after having walked out on his job half way through his shift. I could hear the woman in the background, though he defiantly insisted he was alone. I told him I couldn't take it anymore.. that it was over. He, however, didn't leave it at that. Instead, he called me constantly for nine months, and I never knew what to expect when I answered the phone. Sometimes, he proclaimed how much he still loved me and missed me, and other times, he called me a dishonest, unfaithful bitch. I cried for months after I left him, feeling like I had just done the absolute worst thing in the world by abandoning him. I had become dangerously emotionally dependent on him, and had to learn to survive without him. We had been together for a year and a half at that point, living together for nine months, engaged for six. He had been my first sexual experience.

I haven't heard from him in six years. I haven't seen him in eight. I would love to say that he never crosses my mind--- that I'm not at all affected by everything that happened in the course of that 16 months.. but I'd be lying. Love is not an issue. The truth is that I don't even think I knew what love was back then, so how could I have been capable of it. I was dependent. Dangerously dependent. It took every ounce of courage I had to walk away from him, and I know that if I hadn't, I probably wouldn't be sitting here now, writing this. Either he would have killed me, or I would have killed myself. I knew I had to get out. I had to save myself. It wasn't easy, but I am so thankful that I did.

So for anyone who is reading this, who is still struggling to find the courage to walk away from an abusive relationship: you can do it! Go to a domestic violence counselor. Develop an escape plan. Get a few close friends to help you. I know it's not easy. Believe me, I know... but it is SO worth it, and even more so, YOU are so worth it!

Please... use the message board. Reach out. Utilize the contact numbers listed on the site. Check out the resources. Put yourself first, because no matter what, you ARE worth your own love and care, as well as the love and care of those around you. You DON'T deserve what you're being put through. No one has the right to abuse you. No matter what!! There is no excuse or reason in the world that could ever make abuse okay.

And for anyone who has gotten out of an abusive relationship and is trying to find themselves and their strength again, please.. join our community. We would love to have you, to support you, to commend you, and to embrace you.

For all who are here, welcome. I'm so glad you are.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I hope that it will encourage you to share yours, as well.

Namasté,
Meredith

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Healing the Soul Scars