I have really been struggling to come up with anything to write as of late. Therefore, I figured I would write about something that is easy for me to talk about.
DISCLAIMER: I usually like to keep my updates full of sunshine and rainbows, but buckle up and grab a tissue or two. This one could make your eyes spring a leak.
May 2009: I was getting ready for my high school graduation party and I get a phone call from the local police department asking if I would like to accept a collect call from an inmate in their facility. It was my boyfriend of one week (Let’s call him Shrek.) He got picked up for possession of marijuana and got sent to jail. Oh, and he violated his probation. He asked me if I could bail him out and I said I would. I used the money I had received as a gift for graduating to bail him out of jail.
My parents were quick to express their disapproval. Understandably. Not to 17 year old me, apparently. I couldn’t wait to turn 18 and move out. (I’m not really sure why, though. My parents are the coolest beings on the face of the earth. Teenage angst, man.)
And that’s precisely what I did. The day I turned 18, I packed up all my things and I moved into an apartment he had.
At the time, I worked full time at a local fast food restaurant and was considering going to school for Pharmacy Technology at the tech college. My best friend lived in the apartments upstairs and we worked at the same place. Things were going pretty swell.
As a nice gesture, I decided to purchase a guitar for Shrek because he had fallen in love with it when he saw it at the store. Within a week, he had pawned it off. My father was nice enough to get it back out, but guess where it ended up?
I started realizing a trend. Shrek couldn’t keep a job and couldn’t pay his bills. He would demand money for cigarettes and other things. His mood was all over the place and I wasn’t sure how to respond to him most of the time. I immediately grew terrified when I saw that his eyes were black, surrounded by a very thin ring of hazel iris. His nostrils would flare and his jaw would tense. I surrounded myself with work and in the fall of 2010 decided to go back to school just to escape my home.
After I was done with class, I would go right to work. I would come home from work late at night, hoping to just fall right into bed. Some nights this would work, other nights not so much. Shrek would want to fight about how I hadn’t cleaned the apartment lately or gone to do laundry. He’d demand more money from me and I would tell him that I cannot afford to give him any more and that wasn’t acceptable. I remember one night, he backed me into the corner in the kitchen and pulled out the knife drawer. “Which one do you want me to stab you with?” He had that look in his eyes.
All I could do was scream.
One night, I had invited my beloved friend over (not the gal upstairs). I hadn’t seen her for a few years, but she was in town and had time to come see me. Before she arrived, Shrek came storming in the front door of the apartment and threw a lighter, some cash, a syringe, and some pills on the kitchen table. He walked right passed me into the bathroom and grabbed some cotton. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a spoon and a cup of water. He sat down at the table and began making a tourniquet for his arm.
“I’m going to make you watch what I have to go through.”
I insisted that I would rather not, but that didn’t fly. I watched as he took the pills from a cellophane package and went through the process of making them into a liquid and drawing the contents up into a syringe. He proceeded to inject the solution into the vein in his arm.
I sat there in shock and he some what slumped over in his chair. Drugs? Duh, Heather. How did you not see that coming? I reached for my phone and then there was a knock at the door.
It was my friend. Shrek had slowly come back up to attention, but started to harass my friend and me as we tried to catch up. His words didn’t make sense. They were slurred and mixed with manic laughter. She asked me what was wrong with him and I told her. She told me that I needed to leave. Shrek didn’t like that.
He started threatening my life and so my friend tried to leave with me. He started threatening her life. We panicked to get to the door. He grabbed my arm. She got to her car, left, and immediately called the cops. In the mean time, I had to put up with the ogre.
Episodes like this continued to occur until one glorious day in 2011. Shrek was about to start his first day at his new job. I had the evening off and so did my friend upstairs. He went on his way and I grabbed my phone and called my mom. I sobbed and begged to come home. They quickly arrived with the truck and helped me and my friend move all of my belongings out of the apartment while Shrek was at work.
It took me nearly three years to realize my self worth and leave that relationship. It took the support of my family and greatest friends. And it sure as hell took a whole lot of strength.
Fast forward to 2018, and here I am. Still in college (last semester!)
I won’t lie – the past few years have been rough. I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in 2014. The symptoms started before then, but I didn’t have any idea what was going on. I would have nightmares that he was trying to kill me. I would freeze up and panic if I saw him or someone who looked like him. I was hyper-alert – meaning, I was constantly scanning my environment to make sure he wasn’t anywhere near me.
But since then, life is only getting better. I am thankful for a lot more in my life. And I am forever grateful for my friend for being over that day. She saved my life. Had she not called the cops…
So, please, if you see something, say something. A lot of the times, victims are afraid to come forward. Some feel guilt, others are just terrified of the consequences. Domestic abuse is not okay.
I want to let my readers know that they can come to me with any issues they may have. I am not here to judge you. I’m here to help you – whether that be by listening or providing useful resources and contact information.
http://fargond.gov/city-government/departments/police/safety-prevention/victim-support-services/domestic-violence
http://www.raccfm.com
24 HOUR CRISIS PHONE LINE
701-293-7273 or 1-800-344-7273