"That Man Did Everything But Kill Me"

“That man did everything but kill me.” I use that sentence a lot in an attempt to describe the extent of abuse I experienced with my son’s father without having to relive it in detail. Most people hear that and say, "He put his hands on you?" I reply, "Yes" and that's as far as the conversation goes.  But when I say that man did everything but kill me, I mean that very literally. I was abused financially, emotionally, sexually and physically.
 

He’d take all of my money.  I never got to keep my paycheck, only enough to pay the bills.  I’d have to ask him for some of my money back if I wanted to buy something for myself.  I found out he took money from a few of the women he dealt with.  That was how he “took care” of me…with MY own money and maybe even some of the other women’s too.

It was no secret that he cheated on me.  He slept with many other women.  But still, when I’d refuse to have sex with him, he’d take it from me.  He raped me quite a few times.  Sometimes, I’d just lie there, and other times, he’d grab me by my hair and say, “Act like you want it, bitch!” and I would to keep him from getting angry with me.

I detailed the first time he put his hands on me in my last blog. I can't recall how many times he hit me after that. Whenever he was angry, that's what he did. He didn't even have to be angry with me. Sometimes, I think I just served as the punching bag.
 

One night, I remember, he had gotten into an argument with another woman he was involved with. He came to my apartment beating on the door. As soon as I opened it he pushed me to the floor and immediately began punching me, kicking me. He even spit on me. He kept yelling, "You ungrateful bitches!!!... I take care of both of you bitches!!!” He dragged me outside by my hair. I started screaming and yelling, and he kicked me so hard it took the breath from me. "Shut the fuck up! You gon send me to jail bitch?! HUH?! You gon send me to jail?!" I was supposed to protect him, even when he hurt me.  But it was nighttime and I could see the light from my neighbors’ windows as they were peeking out their blinds.

By the time the police came, we were back in the house and I remember still being afraid of him even though they were there.  He ended up having a warrant and they took him away.  I denied the assault but I knew the officers could tell by my disheveled appearance and teary eyes that I was lying.  I spoke very few words to hide the blood I could taste on my lip.  My son’s father stared at me the entire time, reminding me he’d bond out by morning… that he’d be back.  Somehow it became my fault he was sent to jail and in doing so, I had committed the ultimate act of betrayal according to him.

A supervisor at work, who also happened to be a friend of my family, called me in the office the next day. He lived in the building next to me. He had heard the screaming and eventually learned they were mine. I didn't deny it, how could I? I showed him my bruised legs and busted lip. He gave me the "leave him" speech I'd hear countless times over the next four years. 

He even beat me in front of his daughter once.  She cried and yelled at him to stop but he didn’t.  I felt so ashamed and my heart hurt for her.  No child should have to see things like that.

Why didn't I leave though? I honestly don't know. Fear played a major part. I went to the YWCA a couple times and sat outside thinking about entering their program for battered women. But our city was so small, the thought that he'd still know where I was kept me from going inside.

I never had to tell him I wanted to leave.  I think he knew I was miserable and he’d say, "If you ever leave me, I'll kill you."  To prove it to me he would pin me down underneath him and force a pillow over my face. He'd hold it there until I couldn't breath. The scariest feeling I've ever had in my life was gasping for air, desperately trying to catch a breath. My throat would burn. I'd be in panic because I couldn't catch any air. He'd stand over me and laugh.  That scared the shit out me.  To the point where he could just pick up a pillow and I’d begin to cry hysterically and beg him not to do it.  But that never stopped him.  I never realized until telling my current boyfriend this story a few weeks ago that he could’ve killed me.  He could’ve held that pillow over my face a second too long and that would’ve been it.

I used to pray to God that He’d take me from that situation because even though I wanted to leave, I didn’t know HOW.  I couldn’t figure out how to break myself away.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Felonious Insecurities...

I've been to prison...

At the age of 16, I ran away from home and became involved in a highly abusive relationship with a local drug dealer.  He did everything to me except kill me but I was still so consumed in him.  I was 18 when detectives came knocking on my door and found drugs in my home.  I refused to make a statement against him and ended up taking the case myself.  That was a VERY ugly time in my life.  I wish I could put on a pair of ruby red slippers, click my heels three times and pretend it never happened.  But as I said before, that entire experience is a very large part of who I am and who I am becoming.

That will forever be a stigma on my life.  Despite my felony, I am going to finish my degree and transform the lives of many youth.  This part of my story is my testimony but my fear of acceptance and how other people will judge me has held me back A LOT.  Many times, I've allowed society's preconceived notions of a felon deter me from wanting more but I can no longer allow other peoples' opinions to determine my life.  I have developed a strong sense of responsibility in fulfilling my purpose and completing my story so that I can share it with others and use it for outreach.

I remember the first time my son's father put his hands on me.  He threw me to the ground, stood over me and punched me like I was another man.  He'd stop, curse me out and then knock me down again.. punch me more.  I can't even remember why he was upset that night but I know he bust my lip, twice. And my entire mouth was swollen. I was 17. No one had ever put their hands on me before.   I went to school the next day pleading with my counselor to help me.  I told her what happened and she referred me to the dean.  I sat in tears in front of her, explaining I had no where else to go and that I was in a dangerous situation.  She sat there not even looking at me.  And as she looked out the window I heard her mumble about how she could see her daughter running in late for class.  That was her concern, not me.  And then she turned me away. 

Let me say that I accept responsibility for the decisions I made, but I can't help to imagine if she would have at least heard me out, how different my life could've been.

I think about that specific situation all the time.  I've met so many young kids stuck in the streets that want to change but don't know how, don't know how to utilize the right resources or even what their resources are.  Or they're afraid to reach out for help in fear of being misunderstood and/or turned away.  I don't want to be just another face behind a desk.  I want them to look at me and know that they have a choice to change and that my heart is invested in helping them through it.

People always ask me why I go to school or how I plan to work in my field with a felony.  But this is not MY plan, this is God's plan for me.  The laws and opinions of man change all the time but His word and His promises have always remained the same.  And when necessary, those things will align to fulfill my calling, not the other way around.  My faith has brought me a very long way.  Knowing who I am meant to be propels me; to work harder...be better.  I made a huge mistake but it won't define my life in a negative way. 

That's not to say I don't become discouraged.  I do.  I have so much, at times, it's depressed me. I still struggle in confessing that I have a felony.  It still shames me.  In confidence, I try to explain to people that because of my faith, the laws of man don't apply to me and because they can't understand that, they try to get me to seek other options. That's hard to hear... that doubt.  Especially when it comes from loved ones, so I choose not to associate myself with very many people.  I can count on a single hand the number of people that truly believe in me and still have fingers left over.  That has held me back too, kept me stuck in a position of fear, limiting me from being greater than what I really am.

This is my biggest struggle, my biggest insecurity and ironically it will define my greatness.

"A lot of people will tell you you can't because they don't think they can.  They put their fears on you.  Always believe that you're great, even before anyone else believes it." - Shawn Carter

It's Time...

"If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it." - Anais Nin

It has been on my heart to write for a long time.  The very few people that I have shared my story with know my dream of writing a book (or books).  My friends have always told me that I have a way with words, a way with story telling that engages people.  If you've followed me on Twitter, you know I tell stories all the time. I love it.

My heart is in sharing my story, offering my life as encouragement, inspiration or just to give someone a reason to smile. But there's a large part of my past that I am deeply ashamed of.  Things that I've done that I'd like to forget about but I can't, because that part of my life has shaped SO much of who I am today, what I believe, how I think and who I am becoming.  And I know that part of my life will be used to touch so many other young people.  That part IS my story.  So I've been forced to face it.  But when I finally built up the courage to start a blog, my writing was so empty because I was afraid.  Afraid to get too personal and to share who I really am, afraid what other people would think of me... so I stopped.  I felt like I wasn't ready, like I hadn't redeemed myself enough from my shameful past to share it.  The plan was to be graduated from school, having already started working in youth outreach so I could say, "this is who I used to be, but look where I am now" and I'm not there yet.  But God has really been encouraging me to rejoice in my struggle.. that THESE are my glory days... these are the moments where I will find the most passion.  So here it is.

I am still anxious, still nervous but my sense of responsibility to fulfill my purpose has become greater than my fears.  I will get very personal, so much so that it may make me uncomfortable. My faith is a huge part of my life but I will be the first person to tell you that I am far from righteousness.  I am no longer ashamed of who I am.  I may detail my struggles with my past, spirituality, and relationships and I am VERY emotional and can be very dramatic at times but I love to laugh and joke as well.  I'm not perfect, none of us are and I offer to share with you my journey of growth through my thoughts, opinions and life experiences.

LOVE