By Malarie Girdler
Nowadays,
you can’t turn on the TV or check your social media without an act of violence
popping up. Investigators when solving the murder their first suspect is
normally a spouse, partner, or someone close to victim. If it does come to
light that it was their partner, people tend to wonder if there were signs that
this awful tragedy was going to occur. Domestic violence comes in so many forms,
and not everyone’s story is the same. Some, unfortunately, end so many lives
way too soon. I will be sharing my own personal experience I had with abuse and
how I slowly emerged from a dark hole I was so deep in that the light wasn’t
even visible.
Let’s
go back to spring break 2016. I was so excited as I was getting ready for my vacation
to Gulf Shores, Alabama. Recently single and so ready to mingle, I had made a
dating profile. Yes, I know, right? Isn’t that the thing to do? While on the
road down there, I receive a notification from a blast from the past. His name
was Mario. He was more of an acquaintance. I had only ever hung out with him a
few times in a group setting. He was a familiar face and that made me
comfortable. For the next 10 days we didn’t skip a beat. We texted from morning
to night, and I felt like a teenager all over again. Finally, the day came it
was time to leave and head back to Illinois. Mario and I already had plans to
meet as soon as I made it back. The drive felt like a million miles away and, I
didn’t feel we were ever going to make it.
After
10 days of only text messages and calls, finally, we were together. It was love
at first sight, literally. The connection we had was different than anything I
ever felt. He was so affection and attentive that I whole heartly felt like I
was the only girl he saw. I found myself captivated by his charm and attention.
To this day, I still haven’t been treated better. There I was, head over heels
in love with this man. Mario was the one; I was sure of it. I was never going
to ever find anyone like him. From that moment on, my life consisted of making
him happy. I was so blinded by love I couldn’t feel myself slipping into this
hole that I wasn’t going to be able to get myself out of.
After
about 6 months I started to notice small changes in his behavior. It started
with the jealously. To me that meant he must really love me then, huh? All the
sudden, social media was a problem, so I deleted that to please him. Mario was
my world. I wasn’t going to let anything ruin us. The anger and mental abuse
started soon after that. So there I was trying to figure out how to make myself
better. If I just did this better or didn’t say that, then he wouldn’t have gotten
mad and that wouldn’t have happened, right? Mario was a drinker but until that point,
I didn’t see any issue with it. Until the night he got physical. Blaming it on
the alcohol, he promised me it wouldn’t happen again. I forgave him and we went
back to our picture-perfect life like nothing happened until the next time.
That
promise he made to me became one of many. Every time was the last time. Every
bottle was the last bottle. I felt I needed to save Mario from his demons, but
I wasn’t aware that trying to saving him was going to destroy me. I was dealing
with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and if alcohol was involved, I could count on it
getting psychical. The abuse eventually took its toll on me mentally. I felt
defeated. The love for myself was nonexistent. A year had gone by, and then I
was pregnant and stuck so far down in that hole, no one could hear me screaming
for help.
In
my mind I knew all I had to do was leave, but that’s easier said than done. I
didn’t know where to even start. I was just living in survival mode. I barely
had energy for anything else. The thought of leaving terrified me. As if the
threats he made of me leaving weren’t enough, the good times gave me faith that
he was going to change. I blamed everything on the alcohol, or that’s what I
told myself. Because how could someone that loves you so much say or do any of
those things? Embarrassment kept me from telling anyone, so I faked it to make
it. Let’s be clear: Makeup works wonders. I even got so creative with my
stories to explain the bruises and stiches I almost convinced myself.
It
was the beginning of October. I just finished my shift at work. Mind you, every
time I was waiting on him, my anxiety was through the roof. Instantly when I
got in the car, my heart sank. All I hear is Kodak Black blaring on the
speakers. Right then I knew it that tonight was not going to end well. To this
day, I have no idea what started the fight. All I remember is it got real bad
real fast. The look in his eyes that night was different, and his thought
process was all over the place. At this point I knew I needed to get out of
this real quick. As I’m being drug down the hallway by my hair into the room, all
I can think to do is pray to whoever would listen to get my unborn baby and me
out of this alive, and I promise I will really leave this time.
As
I’m begging for him to stop before he hurts the baby, he just continues to drag
me to the bed. I try to ball myself up the best I can to protect my stomach and
head. The only words that I remember through all the chaos were, “I don’t care
if I kill you or that baby.” Then all the sudden, I hear a car pull into the driveway
and someone coming into the house. It’s my uncle and his girlfriend. So, here
is my chance. I somehow mange to make it out of the room and rush downstairs. His
girlfriend hurried up and took me to my mom’s. On the drive there, all I could
think about is how I promised my child and myself if I made it out that night,
I wouldn’t go back. There was no more
fight left in me. I didn’t even know how I even became this woman.
I
woke up the next morning with a few bumps and bruises but at least we were both
were safe. We did have to call the police to remove him from the house, but he
legally had 7 days before he had to leave. Once he finally left, I still was
scared to go back home. I knew that he wasn’t going to take me leaving well. He
called my phone on so many numbers that my block list was a mile long.
Eventually, I had to just change my number. I was fortunate enough to stay at
my mom’s until I was able to save enough for my own apartment. So, I threw
myself into my work getting as many hours as I possibly could to stay busy to escape
from the thoughts and feelings I was suffering.
A
few months after I left Mario, my life on the outside couldn’t have been better.
Everything started falling into place. In my head was a different story. I was
still stuck at the bottom of that hole scared and alone. Everyday was going to
be the day he followed me home. I jumped at every loud noise. I was always on
edge. Constantly living in fear was draining. Until the day I decided I needed to
reach out for help because whatever I was doing wasn’t working. I was so desperate,
so I set my pride aside and called the Center of Prevention of Abuse. They set
me up with a therapist. That first session was the first time I ever felt understood,
and she assured me all my feelings were valid. She was able to teach me the
cycle of abuse, what the red flags are, and what a healthy relationship really
was. I finally got the courage to stand up off the ground in that hole and
start control of my life again.
Slowly
but surely, I started to find ways to pull myself up one day at a time. I finally
was living for myself. I had to find what I loved about me again. I had to show
myself kindness and patience. Understanding it was never my job to save Mario,
but knowing that missing him didn’t make something wrong with me, either. I
learned to love myself enough to know I deserved more then what he possibly
could offer at the time.
Little by little, I was getting closer to the
top of the hole, and the light was visible. Once I was finally able to reach
the top, I froze. I almost wanted to jump back down. I was so terrified of what
was at the top waiting for me. Thinking to myself on how hard I fought to get
to this point, I couldn’t just fall back down. I had to put my faith that
whatever is up there must be better than what’s waiting for me back at the bottom.
I gathered my strength, and I emerged from that lonely dark hole. Only then is
when I found my self-efficacy, my boundaries, and my worth.
About the Author
I'm a 29-year-old who decided
to go back to school, so I can follow my passion to help others. I'm currently
enrolled in the Drug and Alcohol program with ICC and plan to continue my
education to become a Domestic Violence Therapist. My story showed my
resilience to rise up, and I hope it will encourage others to always know their
worth in this world!