Two weeks before I left my ex, a group of friends and I dated. I remember the way he treated me on the way in the truck with our friends. He would not play the CD I asked him or put it on a station that I wanted. It made me so mad that I remember it. It just kept ignoring my request completely.
So we went to the bar. We were all drinking. Although I was not in love with him, and I did not care much about him, it made me very angry to see him talking and paying attention to someone other than me. He always treated me so humbly, but he treated everyone else so well. It made me feel ugly, despised and alone. So I got drunk … I really got drunk. I’m not even sure how it happened. I kissed one of the girls who went out with us. It’s not that I like girls, I just did. I can’t even tell you why. It seemed like fun at the time, I guess.
On the way home, we all decided that we would go swimming and continue the party. Some of our friends decided to go home. We were all in the pool and the girl I kissed earlier in the evening was obviously a bit wild, she took off all her clothes in the pool. My boyfriend at the time was still flirting with her, grabbing her and throwing her into the pool. It really bothered me. After all, this man lived in my house. Apparently he didn’t respect me. We all got out of the pool. This girl, completely drunk, sat on the steps with her head bowed. Her phone was ringing and I remember trying to answer it so this guy she wanted to sleep with would come pick her up. He wouldn’t let me answer the phone. He took her downstairs to “her room”, which was the basement of my house, where she decided that she would sleep every night after our daughter was born, and she was there for quite some time. I told his friend to go check and see what was going on because they were there for a while. I remember thinking that I really didn’t want to go there. If I see what I think I can see, I will lose it. So I’m upstairs with my friend’s brother and we start kissing. I thought, this man doesn’t care about me, why not? He’s downstairs with a drunk naked girl, why not? Well my boyfriend went upstairs and caught us when we were just kissing. It got on my face and hit my head against the stove. Out of reaction, I punched him on the lip. The blow didn’t stop him. His friend and his brother got their things and left me there. They should have known what was going to happen. After they left, he dragged me down the hall and threw me off the wall. The rest is somewhat blurry. I remember trying to get to the window so I could open it and scream. Maybe someone would listen to me? I broke the blinds and was unsuccessful. He was much stronger than me who grabbed my legs and began to put his fingers into me. It is difficult for me to write it down and I have never told anyone what happened to me with this great detail. He was yelling at her to stop. My five year old son walked into the room and witnessed it. He stopped. I remember thinking to myself, if I survive tonight, I’ll quit. I am gone.
It hit me all night. He harassed me and made me have sex with him. It was by far the most degrading experience of our entire relationship.
I finally called the police when I couldn’t take it anymore. But when they got to my house, I was too afraid to tell them that he hit me. He was also scared because he knew I hit him back in a moment. I thought maybe I would go to jail.
My whole body ached the next day. I had bruises all over my body, literally. My arms, shoulders, legs, neck. I couldn’t bear to look at myself because it was a disgusting reminder of what happened to me.
During the following days, the harassment was unbearable. It was so horrible to me. I felt so lonely, depressed and desperate.
The following weekend came and I decided to get out of the house. I went and had a few drinks with two of my friends. It was good all night. When I got home, I wanted to have sex. To give you some background, for months before our breakup, he disgusted me. He made me have sex with him, even when I didn’t want to. It got to the point where I never wanted to do it because he was so mean to me. And that he forced me also made me not want even more. I decided that night that I didn’t want to have sex, and I wasn’t going to. He went crazy. Hit the walls, broke the DirecTV box. He grabbed my hair and pulled upward, ripping some of my hair out. I’d go downstairs and I thought I was done. Apparently he wasn’t finished, because he was starting to shout obscene words and phrases at me from below. Then he would go upstairs and start freaking out. I remember grabbing my blankets on the couch. My heart was beating out of my chest. He was so scared of what he was going to do next.
The next morning he was still very angry with me. He reminded me that I was going to have sex with him that night, whether I liked it or not. He was not going to tolerate me not having sex with him.
The Sunday before we quit, we made sauce, meatballs, and pasta. He invited a mutual friend. I remember him telling me how useless it was. And how was he going to go out with his friend and find a real girl. One that was pretty and liked, in nicer terms, to have sex. I remember telling him, it’s okay. But if you want to do all that, get your things and get out of my house. He told me he would never leave. He said if I ever left him and had another boyfriend, he would kill me and my boyfriend.
The next day I got the PFA. That was the end of my six years of hell. This is just a small part of the sheer torture I endured with him.