Domestic Violence Stories

I’ve been stuck in my head a few days after watching the mini series Big Little Lies. And my ex last name was Wright. My ex husband was my high school sweetheart. The first time he hit me I was 15 in my bedroom. He was jealous of a boy I was friend’s with. I forgave him when he cried and told me he was so sorry. I had no idea this would be the start to a 17 year cycle.

I divorced him at age 32, three and a half years ago. I was calculating in my head the number of attacks I have survived. The number is somewhere in the 60’s. His cycle was every 3 months or so while we were young and into our twenties. Once I became pregnant at 26 it lessened. Although, I do remember him hitting me in the car very early in my first trimester. The car was a place he hit me back handed a few times, when I was 19 he split my lip and I had to tell my family a lie – that I had been hit in the face at a concert – as they took my bloody face and clothes to the ER, asking me over and over if it was my boyfriend and I stone coldly denied it was him and defended him. To this day I have a scar I wear on my lip.

Once our son was born, he’d pick fights less often, maybe every 6 moths or so. I remember being choked, slapped, shook and kicked sometimes punched with a closed fist. Sometimes I’d have to stay home a few days until my black eye looked OK with makeup. Just like the character in Big Little Lies, I fought back. And unlike her, I would call the police when I thought he was capable of killing me, but when they came, I took the blame, so afraid of the consequences that would come my way if he got taken to jail instead of me.

By the last three years of our marriage, he used his words more than his fists. And when he admitted to sexual problems and his numerous infidelities and encounters with prostitutes, I found a therapist and came up with an “escape plan”. I was weak and didn’t know how to live without him. So I stopped seeing the therapist and decided to stay for my son. I left him after one last huge fight that my 5 year old son witnessed. He saw his parents attack each other in a hotel room, ripping my husbands shirt off him after he twisted and pinched my arm, screaming at him I was done and I was going to hurt him for all the years I had taken from him. I knew it was out last fight. A knock on the door and the police decide to detain me. My ex had a way to make sure I looked crazy and he the calm one. I spent a night in jail and moved out the next week. My charges were dropped. And my ex husband didn’t fight me for custody of our child. We agreed to share custody.

Three and a half years later, I survived. I am strong. I am in a loving relationship with a new man and my son is doing great. I worry about the time my son spends with his dad and his new wife, I’ve heard from my son there have been fights, there has even been an arrest. My ex was finally taken to jail after a night of harming her. As far as I know the charges have been dropped. All legal advice I get it is California is a no fault state, it’ll cost me a lot of money to try and fight for full custody, and it’ll be very difficult to prove there is any problem or abuse. I hope I can combat any violence that my son may have learned with the love and stability I am able to provide him now, that I could not when I was married to his dad.

Submitted by: Anonymous

I remembered him from grade school when he contacted me on Facebook. He didn’t look the way that all of us did back then; awkward, toothy, and chunky. He’d grown up and had become a fine-looking man. It didn’t matter. I’d had a crush on him since elementary school. Considering that I’d been divorced for over a year, I was ready to start dating again. I had three kids, and after discussing it with them, they agreed that it would probably be good for me to get out of the house.

The first few dates were fun. They were so fun, in fact, that I didn’t notice how much he drank. When I really stopped to think about it at the end of the evening, I assumed that he’d had two? Maybe three? Again, it didn’t matter. Between the “Good morning, beautiful” texts and the “I can’t wait to see you again” texts, I was hooked. The euphoria only lasted for a while, however.

Due to an unfortunate turn of events (losing my job in the recession), I was forced to make a tough decision. I had to move in with him to avoid winding up in a homeless shelter. He was strongly encouraging it, anyways, so I figured we could try it. I mean, why not? So, I packed up what our family had, put most of it in storage, and my children and I moved in with him and his four kids. The boys shared bedrooms, and the girls shared a bedroom.

At first, things were quite harmonious. I wasn’t working, so, I’d clean the house, and have dinner for him when he got home. I’d make sure that the children were cleaned up, and that they did their homework. I kissed bruises, put band-aids over scrapes, and tried to heal hurt feelings. When the kids were in school, sometimes, I’d go to my mom’s. At first, this arrangement worked.

I’d noticed that the drinking was much heavier than I thought it was. The first argument came after a case of beer in one evening, when he told me I was no longer “allowed” to see my mother during the day. I told him that he couldn’t tell me what to do, and it resulted in a push so hard that I landed on the floor and skidded backward until I scraped my arm on the wooden bedpost. He immediately apologized and promised it would never happen again. Foolishly, I went to sleep that night, and believed him.

Fast-forward a few months. The pushing, yelling, and demeaning comments and insults flowed regularly, at that point. Someone was always better than me, he could always have someone else if I didn’t do EXACTLY what he wanted me to do. Someone was always WORTH more than I was. Any time I would say something akin to, “Well, why don’t you go get HER, then?”, I was met with a push or slap across the face. When we’d go to bed, depending on his mood, he wouldn’t make love to me. He’d hurt me IF he wanted to have sexual relations that evening. If not, he’d tell me how unappealing my stretch marks were, or how ugly I was. He’d tell me how no man in his right mind would want someone like me. Why did I stay? Well, I still believed that he’d change. Underneath the drunk he was at night, he was as timid as a lamb, I thought.

The positive pregnancy test was a shock. I was on birth control. I didn’t want to be pregnant. I had three, and just couldn’t afford to get my tubes tied. Hesitantly, I told him that I was pregnant. He was elated. He celebrated by drinking himself into a stupor, and then fighting with me and telling me my family would never be allowed to see the child. While he was at work, I started going through cabinets, when I saw a prescription bottle in the cabinet above my oatmeal. The bottle was for Clindamycin, but the capsules were missing, and all that was in the bottle was a fine white powder (presumably, the Clindamycin). I put a tiny amount on my finger and tasted it. It tasted like a bitter powder. It tasted like an antibiotic. I opened my oatmeal canister after washing out my mouth and put some of the residue from inside of the can on my tongue. It tasted the same. He had been decreasing the effects of my birth control by sneaking antibiotics in my food. I sat on the floor and began to cry. Who was I going to call? He’d alienated me from everyone, and I was utterly alone. Feeling trapped, I called my OB/GYN, and asked him if he’d terminate a pregnancy. He wouldn’t but referred me to someone who would. I was six weeks pregnant. I told my fiancé that I was going to the doctor for cramping, and he didn’t give me a hard time. When I got home, I had a prescription for something that would make my cervix open, and I hid the pills between the mattress. I had to be at the clinic at 8:00 the next morning and had to take the pills an hour before I went. That morning, I snuck the pills into the bathroom, and took them with tap water. I knew that he wouldn’t suspect anything, because I hated tap water. I had the procedure that day and hitched a ride home.

That evening, I was bleeding heavily. I told my fiancé that I was miscarrying and leaned over the counter. He took the back of my head (by the hair), and hit it up against the wall while saying, “You can’t even get a PREGNANCY right!” He never knew about the abortion. The recovery was horrible, as I was having depression issues from hormones and my circumstances. He asked me to go to the bar with him, and I refused. He told me, “I don’t care if you’re DYING. If I tell you you’re going to go somewhere, you’re going to go!” Again, I declined. He grabbed me by the neck and pushed me back onto the bed. While holding my neck, he grabbed a roll of duct tape from the drawer next to the bed, and duct-taped my arms to the bed posts on the headboard, then duct-taped my feet to the posts on the footboard. When I yelled for help from one of the kids, he duct-taped my mouth. He smiled, then said, “Wait for me until I get home. I have to get drunk to be willing to sleep with you. Ha!”

I heard him tell the kids that anyone who helped me would be subject to the same, if not worse. Not one, out of seven kids, came to my rescue. I laid in that bed from 7:00 that night until 3:00 the following afternoon. The kids missed school. My fiancé was nowhere to be found. When he came in, he immediately jumped into the shower. When he got out, I croaked, “Please untie me. Please.” He removed the duct tape, and even brought me some water and something to eat. He apologized again. He brought lip balm for the bleeding cracks in my lips that were torn open by the duct tape that I was able to rub off during the night, using the bedding. I ate tiny bites and went to sleep. I heard him tell the children to be quiet so that I could rest. Not one child made a peep for hours. Maybe, just maybe, he’d change this time. That night, he didn’t drink at all. We didn’t argue at all. I felt hopeful, but not for long. His phone buzzed on the countertop. He had that nifty “text-preview” feature turned on, and I read: “Courtney: You were amazing last night. I’m glad you finally left that horrific girlfriend of yours. <3”

I was devastated. I spent the night duct-taped to a bed, just so that he could go to a bar and sleep with an old coworker. I laid in a pool of my blood so that he could get his rocks off with her. He saw me cry in the kitchen and wasn’t aware that I’d seen the message. He asked what was wrong, and I quietly told him, “You’ve just received a text message. Maybe you should check it out.”

“You drove me to it.” As long as I live, I’ll never forget those words. “Your inability to follow directions and act right made me do it.”

Even that, however, didn’t finish him off for me. What did it is when my children went with my ex-husband for the weekend. I received a phone call from my ex-husband ten minutes before the children were supposed to come home that Sunday night, informing me that the children had told him what was happening at home, and he wasn’t going to return them. He quietly said, “I’m sorry, hon. I can’t have my children in that environment. You can come here to see them, but they won’t be coming over there anymore. I have already contacted my attorney.”

I was able to contact an old roommate of mine, and cried to her, telling her what was happening. I was broke, my kids were gone, and was stuck with someone who was supposed to love and care for me – yet, he cheated on me, berated me, and beat the crap out of me. She invited me over, so, I told my fiancé that I was going to visit the kids (which always resulted in a beating, because I was accused of sleeping with my ex-husband). I collapsed in her arms and cried myself to sleep. When I woke up, I panicked, because it was dark outside. I cried and told her he’d kill me. She told me I could live with her, yet, I still declined.

When I arrived home, the whole house was dark, with an exception of the living room. His truck wasn’t there. I couldn’t have been more relieved. His kids were with his ex-wife, so, he must’ve been out at the bar. I called my old roommate/friend, and told her, “If you’re still offering a place for me to go, I’ll take it.” At that moment, a hand shot out from around the corner, incasing my neck. The hand was then replaced with a cord (it was a bullwhip that I had from an old Catwoman costume). I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. He’d put enough slack in the cord right before I’d pass out, and then he’d squeeze again. “You stupid whore. I parked around the corner and waited here to see what you’ve been doing behind my back. You’re not going to leave me. I’m going to kill you tonight, and no one will ever think I did it. My truck wasn’t here. Once again, I’m smarter than you. You’re just a worthless whore.” My head crashed against a counter. My head crashed through sheetrock. Once he let go of the bullwhip, I started to scream, and he took a dirty sock off his foot, and split my mouth on both sides, cramming the sock in my mouth. All I smelled was blood, feet, and the acrid scent of stale alcohol. Nobody could hear me. I was all alone. When the needle plunged into my leg, I barely noticed it, and then, my aching head ceasing to ache, the burning in my lungs stopped, and everything went black. The last thing I heard him say was, “I have a surprise for you, my love.”

When I awoke, I was duct-taped. My arms were duct-taped to my feet. I couldn’t open my left eye. I was in a tub that was half-filled with cold water, and the water was pink from my blood. I was confused and in a fog. With the sock still in my mouth, I tried to mumble, but couldn’t get the words out. He yanked the sock from my mouth, and asked, “Do you have something to say?” He was holding my phone and was going through the few texts that I had. I asked, “What did you inject me with?” He laughed, and said, “Ketamine Hydrochloride. Smile, beautiful. You’re lucky it wasn’t bleach. I have a fun evening planned for you. Say, what’s your husband’s phone number? I have to report you missing.”

I knew that if there was any glimmer of hope for my situation, him calling my ex-husband would be ideal. I gave him the number. Before he finished dialing, he stuffed the sock back into my mouth. I heard him address my ex: “Hey, this is *******. Listen, ************* hasn’t come home this week. Is she with you? All of her stuff is here, and I don’t see her just leaving without it.” My ex-husband said something to him, and my fiancé responded, “If you have all her information, would you mind filing the missing person’s report? I’m about to go out of town for work.” My ex said something else, and my fiancé then said, “Hey, buddy. Thanks. I’m really worried about her.”

Once he disconnected, he looked at me, smiled brightly, and said, “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. That’s right. Just a second beautiful. You’re going to love this.”

Silent tears streamed down my face as I watched him produce a hair dryer, and plug it in. He turned it on and started dangling it over the tub. He was going to electrocute me. I tried to struggle to scream with the sock in my mouth, tried to fight against the duct tape, and tried to stay calm, but it was no use. I accepted the fact that I was going to die. We went through twenty minutes of this, while he told me how he was going to get rid of my body so that no one would find me. I watched this transpire from outside of my body. As I watched, I heard a knock on the door. My fiancé rolled his eyes and turned off the hair dryer. “Someone always has to ruin the fun,” he said, as he kissed my forehead. He chuckled, “Don’t move, baby. If you make a noise, I’ll kill you, okay?” I just nodded.

What happened next was a blur. I heard a man scream, and I saw blue and red lights flashing through the windows. I heard my ex-husband screaming my name as he ran to the bathroom. My son, who was sixteen at the time, was right on my ex’s heels. I felt gentle hands lift me out of the tub and succumbed to unconsciousness. It was finally over.

After I was released from the hospital, I moved in with my former roommate. She registered me for college, so that I could get financial aid. She helped me find a part time job. She took care of me throughout numerous night terrors, meltdowns, and fears. I couldn’t have done it without her. My ex – his shrewdness used to irritate me, but that night, I’m convinced that it saved my life. He came to the house because my ex-fiancé was asking him to file a missing person’s report, yet was about to go out of town, meaning that he wasn’t very concerned about me. He was trying to cover his tracks.

That was six years ago. I have graduated college and remarried a man I met in church. He treats me and my children wonderfully. I still go to counseling on a regular basis, and I still cringe any time that I hear ANYONE call another person, male or female, worthless.

If you are in a relationship that is moving at 90 mph, there’s substance abuse, or there are constant insults being spewed, LEAVE WHILE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE. Just LEAVE. Don’t wait for it to escalate, thinking it’ll change, I promise you this: It won’t change until you’re gone, and how you go it completely up to you. LOVE DOESN’T HURT. If it does, walk away, or you could leave in a body bag.

Submitted by: Corrine

A domestic violence story by Christine Davis.

I married my son’s father the week after I turned 18; I had second thoughts while walking down the aisle but felt the conviction for my son to have his father and legally be married would bring less shame to myself and my family. He was usually so nice to me, except when I was pregnant, the first time; he was angry as if it was my fault alone. His kindness seemed to come to a screeching halt the night of our honeymoon… he brought a friend along, decided to get drunk and tell me at 135lbs, and measuring 38-28-38 that I was “fat, lazy and no good”… we didn’t consummate the marriage that night, I went to sleep with my son next to me and my husband partied into the wee hours of the night.

Later there would be coerced escapades staged that I was to take part in with him and his friends, that made me feel so small, so worthless. He would use drugs and alcohol, his personality was not easy to read. If he had a bad day at work, I was the one who would get beat, or pushed, or emotionally abused until he felt better. He would put me down, not allow me to wear make-up because to him it was a sign I was trying to look good for his friends. Certain clothing was no longer allowed, my hair was never right. To try and strangle me, throw knives and keys with sharp objects on them became the norm. He would call multiple times a day; and if I had not answered by the 3rd ring; he was certain I was having an affair and I would get his wrath when he came home from work, we had a corded phone, so I had to drag it around the house with me, I had to pull the phone into the bathroom to bathe, to use the toilet whatever it took, as long as I could hear the phone and get it before the 3rd ring I was safe.

There was no visiting friends, or family alone, he would send me out to get him cigarettes really late at night and have me walk a few miles to get them; our neighborhood was scary at night with gangs infiltrating and random shootings. His type of abuse was very blatant and came on so quickly it seemed and so strong; I had no idea how I would escape. He never worked double shifts at work, and when he did stay away from home, he was having an affair; yet still managed to stay in contact at home by phone or by having a friend of his “check in on me”. If I mentioned my unhappiness and how I thought we should separate, or go to counseling, he was angry. He took parts out of my car so it wouldn’t start and hid them until he got home. Eventually he worked a double-shift for the first time in a year and a half. This was my opportunity. I had snuck a few cents or a dollar from him over the last year and had a little less than $25.00 to my name hidden in the closet. I called my family and told them what had been happening and that I had to get my children and I out of the house and I desperately needed their help, and I had 8 hours to get out with anything of importance. Family came from out of town, my mother opened her house to me and my two children, I was to find out a few days later that I had left him; 8 days pregnant with our 3rd child. He denied that she was his; spreading false rumors to our neighbors that I’d had an affair. I didn’t, she was his and looked just like his side of the family when she was born. I didn’t know a thing about how restraining orders worked back then, but I bluffed and said I had one and he was to stay away. Come to find out he’d been having numerous affairs and fathered a child with one woman he was with. I filed for divorce after our 3rd baby was born; he didn’t show up to court. I hadn’t heard from him again for 22 years. He never visited the kids; he was heavily into street drugs and drinking and had kept under the table jobs in order to not pay child support and even ended up homeless. Point is I had to find my courage to make a move, strategize and get help as soon as I could. My story doesn’t end there, but it’s enough for now.

A domestic violence story by Debra Bell-Vanzant.

My Prayer is that it will help somebody..Only you know when you are sick and tried of being sick and tried…

It was not easy, but anything you want in life, bad enough won’t be easy…
This is the introduction of my book and the end of a dark life and the beginning of a new.

My book Title is:
One Pair of Panties…”A True Story of Abuse, Survival and Victory” It will be avail. in July/2012…

About the Book
Debra Bell-Vanzant exposes how a family, who lived with abuse, adultery, lies and deception behind the closed doors of their seemingly perfect middle-class existence, crippled a precious little girl emotionally. It was a life that she never should have known. The story gives a riveting account of why this little girl became rebellious and felt forced to live on the streets of Chicago at the age of fourteen – lost, lonely and looking for love. It covers her life of drugs, abuse and more abuse at the hands of men, disgrace, shame, loss of self-respect and total abandonment by her family at such a young age.

This story is intended as an eye-opener for young girls, alerting them that there are wolves in sheep’s clothing just waiting for them to run away from their parents and into the streets. No longer a child, the woman described herein has lived a life of trials and tribulations, but overcame her struggles and is now a survivor of an apparently hopeless situation for over eighteen years.

The book will hopefully serve as inspiration for women currently trying to escape the cycle of abuse. By the grace and mercy of God, you will be able to make it through; not necessarily by duplicating the efforts of this woman, but by the path that the Heavenly Father has laid out for you.

This not a new story, but this is my story…

I’m here at the end, but yet the beginning of my life that at one time I thought, I would never see. But God… I made it by the Grace and Mercy of God, through Hope, Faith and Prayers, with a sincere heart and made up mind, but most of all, Prayers from my Na-na and from other people that were praying for me. I made it out of a life that had me racing straight to Hell!

I’ve grown a lot. There were parts of my past life that have taken me years to overcome, but I made. But God…

As I wrote the details of my life in the form of an open book, I wanted readers to know that it doesn’t matter what you went through in life or where you are right now in this present moment; there is a brighter day. The sun will shine and you will see a rainbow, you just have to hold on to God’s unchanging hand, and don’t look back.

Writing about my experiences in life helped me to realize, I had to go through what I went through, to get where I am now, and to see where I’m going!

During my difficult journey of writing my story, I had to go back to some dark, dark places that was scary and painful. I cried, I got angry and I even laughed at times, but all while I was going back down that path, I realized how truly Blessed I am; how God has given me favor and power over it all.

People have tried to pull me down, but come to find out I was my worst enemy. See sometimes we can blame other people for all the tragedies in our lives, but if we really stop and think about it we had a choice. Remember, that God gives us a choice, at our own will.

It was a serious battle for me to re-visit those dark places, to break the strongholds that Satan had on my soul and spirit; the barrier’s of my past. I had to realize that there will always be temptation, in my life. I know that Satan will never stop trying to lure me into his trap of destruction. It’s up to me now to do the will of the Lord in order for me to stay on this side of the battlefield.

I have shed many tears and endured heartaches and pain. I have suffered in this battle of life only to come out standing firm and staying suited up with my Armor of the Lord awaiting the next temptation/battle, and it is not easy!

There will always be trails and tribulations in our lives until we die, but God is able. We only have to make up our own minds which side of the battlefield we will stand on.

I would like to apologize to all the people I may have hurt while I was walking the path of destruction. To my children, I’m so sorry that Mama put you through that life. I would also like to say to my ex-husband, James that I forgive you for all the hurt and pain you caused me.

I released it all and I thank you for being part of my strength today; I will continue to pray for you.

I thank my Heavenly Father for Life, for the Battle of my Life and even more for helping me get to the other side of this Battlefield.

We all need to know that we have choices in our lives. You can stay in the situation that you’re in or you can remove yourself from people, places and things.

It is your choice of which way your life is going to continue in this race of what we call life.

I’ve told you my story of how I overcame the trials and tribulations of Abuse, Alcohol, Drugs and the Barriers of my Past.

If I can make it, you can to! Remember it’s your life; it’s your choice. The question is will you make the right decision and make it to the other side of this Battlefield?

I will pray that you do, I made it, so can you.