putbleachonit

[putbleachonit]

Hi everyone,

I’m sorry I haven’t posted part 2 yet. My life has been really hectic.

I am hoping to get a little downtime in the next week or two, at which point I will write and post part 2.

Thank you to everyone who has read this far, thrown me hearts and even follows. Thank you for listening to my story.

[putbleachonit]

Part One; “I won’t be a repeat victim.”

This is the beginning of my story and experience with DV. For safety and protection, I’ve changed names of the people in this story.

I have had my amount of trauma in my life. Losing grandparents as early as 10 years old. An aunt at 11 years old. Being relocated to a different city across the entire country at 12 years old. Being the new kid with a weird accent. Bullying. Trying to fit in. Acting out. Experimenting with alcohol and drugs far too early. Becoming a bully myself. Suffer verbal abuse at home. Never really having a boyfriend in high school, I had sex with guys thinking they would like me for it. It never really hit me that they were using me until long after high school. My first experience with DV started young. Studies show often times, victims of DV have a repeat pattern. I had my first experience young, and didn’t experience it again until my relationship with prisoner. I thought I had beat the odds. No repeat victim here.

I became a victim of DV for the first time when I was 19 and he was 21. Let’s call him Kyle. It was only 6 months, but he managed to isolate me from my family, friends, and even talked me into going from full time employment to part time. I still to this day have no idea how I let this happen to me… but it did. Kyle drank a lot, he didn’t have a steady job, and whatever money he did have, he spent it on alcohol or drugs. The pattern of abuse started minimal.. asking to go through my phone, questioning if I was 5 minutes late coming home from work. But almost overnight, it seemed, he became more and more abusive. Consistently accusing me of cheating on him. Picked fights with me if I wanted to see my parents. I remember specially one time I was “allowed” to go see my parents, and I was going through summer clothes at their house…I found a pair of yellow short shorts and decided to wear them back home (to Kyle’s house where he had forceable moved me in). I remember thinking “these would be a treat for my boyfriend”, wondering if he would look at me and throw compliments my way. Tell me I looked beautiful. I got back to his house after maybe 2 hours and instead of telling me how pretty I looked, the minute he laid eyes on me they narrowed and he said “who the fuck are you wearing those for?” I remember being instantly stunned and said “uhhh… for you, silly.” He brushed it off and accused me of wearing them for “some douchebags” then gave me the silent treatment for the rest of the night. I couldn’t believe it. I did so many little things for this man. Cooked him breakfast every morning, supper every night. Cleaned. Did laundry. I did everything, and he’s giving me the silent treatment for wearing a pair of shorts?

Another time, Kyle and our other roommate had been drinking heavily, and I was in bed because I had to work the next morning. Kyle was texting me from the living room, some nonsense about me not respecting him.. I was also texting a friend named Colin, who didn’t even live in the same country. He lived in the States and was about to head off to sea because he had enrolled in the Navy. I was talking to him about how hard of a time I was having with Kyle, and how sad he made me. I didn’t reply to Kyle’s text in a timely manner, I guess, and Kyle came storming into our room. Yelling, screaming, punching the closet door. He took my phone and saw I was texting Colin, completely lost his shit and threw my phone against the wall, smashing it. He was belligerent, pacing back and forth, talking about how he knows people in 81 (Canadian people will understand this.. 8th letter of the alphabet and 1st letter of the alphabet.) and how all he had to do was call someone and I would be taken care of. This was the first time I was truly scared of him. He wasn’t making sense, I didn’t recognize him. The next morning i packed up a few things and snuck out while he was still passed out from drinking. I went to my parents house and stayed there for a few days.

Things progressed after this night quickly. I had an old iphone at my parents that didn’t have a working home button, but I was able to download the app that creates a home button somewhere on your screen. I got a new SIM card and started texting some friends, frantically apologizing for being so distant and trying to mend some hurt feelings. Once Kyle woke up from being passed out drunk, he took to blowing up my phone. Text after text after text, multiple phone calls in a row. Crying, begging me to forgive him. Using alcohol as an excuse for being so incredibly hurtful to me the night before. I wanted out, and expressed this to him. I told him I would be by his house later that afternoon to collect my gatherings. I showed around 430PM that day… when I showed up, he had 4 girls on my couch that I paid for, 3 guys, and a shit ton of alcohol. He decided he wanted to have a party. I walked through the living room and he was staring daggers at me. I instantly started to cry, how could he do this? Why can’t he be an adult about this and leave this amicably? I was in our bedroom, packing up my clothes and other personal things, and he came in. He told me he kicked everyone out and wanted to talk. I can still remember the smell of alcohol on his breath. He was crying. Begging me to stay. I fought through my tears and told him no, this isn’t what I signed up for. He became enraged again, and grabbed my wrists, screaming in my face, calling me a whore, a slut, useless, ugly, fat. Anything to tear me down. I screamed “YOU ARE HURTING ME”, hoping his roommate on the other side of the house would hear me over his music. Kyle let go of my wrists, staring at me with so much hate in his soul. I grabbed a bag I had packed and turned to leave the room.

I walked through the kitchen and saw a 4lt jug of milk on the counter, that I had purchased the day before for Kyle’s ridiculously large bowls of cereal when he was stoned. By this point I was by the kitchen table, and he came tearing through the kitchen, grabbed that jug of milk and threw it at me. It hit my right shoulder and then broke open all over the kitchen floor. I screamed “what the fuck is your problem?!” And I will never forget the expression on his face. His eyes were dark. His nostrils were flared. His chest was puffed. Before I could even react, he came charging at me like a fucking football player. He tackled me to the ground. With his force and weight, we ended up in the archway to the living room and main entrance. His roommates room was next to the main entrance.

He had me pinned on the floor. Straddling me, and he punched me in the mouth. My lip started to bleed, my mouth filling with the taste of copper. And without hesitation, he put both of his hands around my throat and started choking me. I had my keys in my left hand and I was trying to jab him in the arm with them to lose his grip. He saw this, let his grip on my throat go and pinned my hands against my chest with one hand. He grabbed the keys out of my hand, and dug them in my left wrist. “Oh you want to fucking stab me with keys?!” He screamed. The key punctured and I screamed with everything I had. I was kicking my legs. Trying to move my elbows. Squirming to get him off of me. Blood running down my chin from my now busted lip, his roommate finally came out of his room, and he said “kyle man what the fuck are you doing?!” When Kyle heard his roommates voice he instantly let go of my wrists, got off of me, and left the house in a rush. He had been caught finally. Someone witnessed how reckless he is.

His roommate just stood there in complete shock, looking down at me on the floor with blood running down my neck from my lip, blood dripping down my arm from the key puncture. And he just stood there. Staring. It must have been a solid minute before he choked out “what the hell did he do to you?”

[putbleachonit]

You were born for me.

Built from my thoughts. My dreams.

You’ve always belonged to me.

But now those thoughts turned intrusive, and those dreams turned into nightmares.

[putbleachonit]

I became a penpal with a male in the Canadian justice system, fell in love, planned a wedding, and was destroyed by him a month and a half before our wedding date. In two short, but also very long years.

I’ve decided to share my story, the ins and outs, the good the bad and the ugly of it all, as a part of my healing journey. It will be multiple parts, because it’s been the last two years of my life. Two years of 5+ hours long phone conversations, letters, scheduled and monitored video chats, media interviews and travelling. My story does contain graphic materials, DV, SA, past criminal activity and drug use trigger warners. For a mature audience only and readers discretion is strongly advised.

If you are interested in reading my story, and or want to connect with me as DV survivors, please give me a follow. I will begin writing in the next week, releasing parts every few days.

Thank you in advance for all support given. I’m scared, anxious, but also excited to get all of this off my chest and allow myself to heal from this tragic event in my life.

❤️

[putbleachonit]

Thanks for stopping by.

This is going to be an ongoing blog. It’s going to take a while, because it is 2 years of a relationship to unravel. To protect my identity and my ex partners identity, I will be changing names, locations, and other identifying information. I will reveal the sex of people in this story (male/female), but nothing more. I’ve been healing from all of this, and finally I feel like it’s time to share my story and experience, and to hopefully help someone else in a similar situation. Due to the level of sensitivity of this story, please, I ask you refrain from sharing your opinions that may be construed as criticism, hurtful, or ignorant.

Pre trigger warning, this blog will contain stories consisting of DV, SA, many forms of abuse and assaults. It also includes stories of the Canadian Justice System, our federal prisons, and how twisted our system is. It can be triggering to some, therefore it is for a mature audience only. Please use discretion when reading.

If you or anyone you know is a victim of or experiencing any form of DV, please reach out to someone. You are not alone. There is a way out. This does not have to be your life, your story, or your end all.

I need to get this off my chest. I need to write it out, get it out of my system. This is a part of my healing journey. This is part of me moving on with my life, without my ex partner. I am not by any means a medical professional, I cannot diagnose him or myself. When I provide diagnosis on both parties, these have been founded by medical professionals who have interviewed each party.

Again. Thank you for being here. Thank you for letting me get this out.