In recognition of October Domestic Violence Month. To inspire and empower girls and women to be strong, take a stand and leave, and live again.
Once in a blue moon the memories drift back and the feelings of hopelessness and sadness sweep over me and I wonder "How did I get there? Where did I go wrong?"
Other days it's as if I am staring into a haunted house peering through the broken glass window and I watch this young woman who I vaguely remember as me. Violence and abuse were the demons that plagued my innocent years from 18-23. The longer I stayed the more my soul became lost and my own identity shattered. We often ask why do they stay?
We've all heard women vow "The first time he hits me I'm outta there." I was one of those. I was an educated young woman who was raised in an upper class family with no history of abuse. I "fell in love" at the fresh age of 18 vowing for eternity to dedicate and devote myself to this man, my soul mate with a baby on the way.
Even on this day, it is difficult to recount the sequence of events that lead me to be another statistic in the emergency room.
There are some memories that I realize I will never ever free myself from. When I was six months pregnant with my son, my husband became violently angry. I can't remember why, I think it had something to do with dinner and a television show. He stood up and started to rage. A rage is like being with a gigantic monster who you know wants to kill you and you're so scared you freeze. You have learned to become numb and in this trance of horror you think in your mind "it'll be over soon, don't do anything stupid. Hold still." You feel the pain of being hit, you feel the sting and confusion, but you just take it, because maybe, just maybe, you deserve it.
This particular day, he used a new method - strangling. I could actually feel myself go weak and then collapse to the ground. I had bruise marks all over my neck. I saw my physician for fear of my baby. He begged me to get help. I didn't. I did not want to admit what was living in my house. I wanted people to think I had the perfect family. I wanted the perfect family.
Those years were devastating. They stripped me of so many things. Most importantly, they robbed my two young children from having a secure and loving home, and from having a mother who was emotionally present and who was free to foster their growth and development.
Several years passed and I almost became comfortable with the pattern of abuse. He would rage, hit and scream, then later would be so very, very sorry. The roller coaster of emotions kept my adrenaline swinging. The love days reeked with intensity.
Then in a sudden twist in my nightmare, my son became the victim. It was as if someone had suddenly shocked me out of a coma and I woke up. I was so angry as I vowed passionately not to live one more day with the monster. My anger gave me the strength and fire to get out. I hit Safeway at 2 p.m. and frantically packed my bags to start a new life.
One does not escape the monster easily. My husband continued to violate me after I escaped. I remember the last time very well. There would not be a next time because his rage had fueled mine and the next time I actually, honestly, crazily thought I might just kill him. My inner lioness was re-awakened and my baby cubs would be protected at all cost.
He called and calmly told me he had a baseball bat and he was going to use it to kill me. I hung up the phone in sheer panic as I secured the deadbolt on the apartment door. I grabbed my baby girl and 4-year-old son and ran into the back bedroom as I frantically dialed 9-1-1. Thank God the police station was only four minutes away. I held my precious children close as this familiar sense of doom came over me. Our funerals danced in my head. Seconds later the pounding and screaming began. You could hear the crashing of the baseball bat over and over again against the apartment door, over and over again. Suddenly it stopped. Were the police there? I waited forever to come out with my children. He was gone. As I peered out the window to our little car, every window smashed, hood crunch in, sunroof shattered, I bawled my head off as I thanked God for saving us. The destroyed car symbolized the violence and hatred he was filled with.
I will always be grateful to the strength of that apartment door and deadbolt. That blessed door stopped the monster from unleashing his baseball bat on us. Twenty minutes later the police showed up to take a report, which taught me another invaluable lesson, self-protection.
With faith, courage and strength I moved forward. My scars have healed through true love, time and space away. That life-changing day made it crystal clear that I would not tolerate any physical, sexual or verbal abuse and committed myself to protect my children and be emotionally present. I relocated to this healing Valley to begin again and rebuild my life. I have been remarried for 30 years to my true soul mate and blessed with a loving, strong marriage and four amazing children.
I live to tell the story to inspire other young mothers to leave. The abuse you endure will be reflected deep within your children's lives and souls. Memories will fade. Love is the greatest healer.
Take a stand, leave and live again to save your children and yourself before the next blue moon.
Jillian Johnson is a Carson Valley resident.
