I randomly stumbled upon this website, unsure if it is real or not. As I am on my journey, slowly climbing out of the deepest pit I have ever encountered, I am choosing to share my story in hopes that, with a little blind faith, someone might see it in their heart to help me regain the strength and courage that were stripped from me.
I’m not on here to demand a lump sum of cash because I was victimized by a terrible individual (who is currently incarcerated on many violent counts against me, i.e., assault with a deadly weapon, false imprisonment, etc.). I don’t believe that I am owed anything. I had a relatively full life where I was employed, housed, physically healthy, had good self-esteem, confidence, and had meaningful relationships with friends and family. This was all before I met this man. In a matter of a year, he managed to put me in the hospital 5 times, having broken my nose 4 times, broke my arm in half, requiring surgery with several screws to keep my arm in tact, busted my lip on my teeth, requiring 10 stitches to then punch me in the same spot 2 days later, fractured my orbital floor, fractured several of my ribs, and punctured my lungs. I could honestly go on. You would think that was the worst of it, but physical abuse can heal, and then it’s done.
The way he broke me down emotionally, financially, and intellectually consisted of making me shave my own head consisting of long, beautiful hair that I prided myself in; he forbid me to get a job, resulting in my car getting repossessed; I had decent credit and several accounts, all of which he made me max out and deposit fraudulent checks into, resulting in me now being in checkxsystems so that I cannot open a bank account.
He was a gun and drug dealer, so he held a gun to my head, forcing me to use my credit to finance a second car for him. He already had a car, and mine had been repo’d, but he insisted that he needed a Ford Mustang on top of the Dodge Charger he already had, and the kicker was that it was a stick-shift, which I didn’t even know how to drive.
Additionally, he took over all of my social accounts and phones to the point I was not allowed to contact anyone I knew because he broke 3 iPhones of mine. He would speak to my family and friends as though he were me. He was consistently cheating on me and would leave me at home under video surveillance with no phone, no computer, no TV, and no wifi. I was a prisoner in my own home. He was constantly on meth and paranoid, saying that I was cheating on him with the neighbors; I was never once unfaithful. He constantly threatened to kill me and my family. He knew where they lived because earlier in our relationship, when I didn’t realize what a psycho he was, I took him over to see my parents.
He destroyed all of my favorite clothes, lighting them on fire. He ripped up saved cards from my grandparents, broke an antique camera of my mother’s and stole the only diamond bracelet I had inherited from my great grandmother and gave it to the woman he was cheating on me with. He would take my full makeup bag and stomp on it. He always had to buy me new makeup because I constantly had black eyes I had to coverup. Because he made me shave my head, I wore wigs. To embarrass me, he would pull the wig off my head in public, sometimes in the car and throw it out the window when we were driving.
He insisted I have sex with him every day where he would degrade me and hit me if I did something he didn’t like. I had contracted a MRSA infection prior to meeting him, but through our relationship I would complain of the infection spreading, to which he said I was making it up. He forbade me to go to the doctor to get checked out because I constantly had an injury and black eyes and my head was shaved, so he knew that any medical staff would question me about my domestic situation.
I finally worked up the courage to give his name to the cops after months of being the “ride or die” girlfriend where I never said a thing for months even when questioned by authorities. When he was arrested, and I broke down. Even though he was my captor, I had become dependent on him. My MRSA infection had badly spread, and I sat alone in my apartment, not knowing what to do or how to deal.
I forgot to mention that while I was with him, he got me addicted to fentanyl as another means to control me. He gave me enough to keep me addicted but barely enough to feel like a decent high. At the time, I welcomed this because it was a means to keep me comatose while I was being tortured and broken down by him. It also offered some pain relief because my infection had gotten significantly worse. By the time he was arrested, my legs and feet had begun swelling, and large blisters began forming from my MRSA celulitus. I continued to self-medicate with fentanyl and live in isolation due to the shame and confusion of what came next. This lasted a year to the point where I had developed huge wounds on both of my legs, unable to walk. I was constantly in the ER, and the doctor told me that if I didn’t change my ways, I would be an amputee in a matter of a year. This shook me, and I raised some money and went to a detox program where I got on methadone, graduated from a 4-month rehab, and went to live in a sober living house.
At which time I still had the huge wounds on my legs and had to have a skin graft procedure. Which brings us to the present. I have been living in 3 hospitals in the last month and a half healing my grafts. My grafts are almost healed, but I am now left with an ominous black hole when I look into the future. I have no income, I am $60,000 in debt because of him, I don’t know whether to file bankruptcy, I still don’t have a car, I don’t have housing, and my hospital caseworker is asking me where I’m going to go. To which I answer her, I don’t know. My family won’t take me in despite my begging and pleating. I feel so low and so useless, but I know deep down that I’m not useless. That man tried to silence me and tore me down in every way thinkable. But I am on my road to health; I’m on my road to remembering who I am.
I have shared more here anonymously than I have ever told anyone, and in doing so, it has been extremely therapeutic. After hearing my unfiltered story (that I assure you was not written by AI, haha)
I ask of you, from the bottom of my heart. Can you please help me climb out of this pit so that once I find my own strength and footing again, I can help the next woman behind me crying out for help?
I know I just used a lot of metaphors and figures of speech, but down to brass tax, if I am blessed with some finances, I will use them for unpaid medical, therapeutic, and psychiatric bills. If I am being completely honest with myself, I will need help going back to rehab due to all of the pain pills I am on in the hospital. I want to be able to solidify my sobriety because without that foundation, the rest will all fall away.
Next, I hope to be able to try to secure some housing and a means of transportation. My abuser left me in such immense debt that it just feels like I will never be able to get out from under it. This may be true but all that matters is that no matter how many times I have been knocked down, I will always get back up. Any amount will help. Thanks for walking through my story with me.
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