My Testimony Domestic Violence

He asked if he could join me while I waited in a coffee shop in San Francisco. Instantly, I was charmed by his attention. I had grown up in a small town in Ohio, and he was the opposite of a small town. He was European, a world traveler, exciting, and, best of all, he was attracted to me. He took me to expensive restaurants and bought costly bottles of champagne to sip on the beach. He lavished me with attention and affection.

After a few weeks of this whirlwind romance, I needed to leave San Francisco abruptly without telling him I was leaving or where I was going. So, when he showed up at my dorm at Ohio State a few months later, I was thrilled he had somehow figured out where I was and came across the country for me. I did not see this as a red flag. I began skipping classes to be with him. He wanted to spend every waking minute with me. I felt loved, not seeing this as the beginning of control. Eventually, I dropped out of OSU, moved in with him, and began working. I started handing over all my money to him. He was extremely wealthy but had "good" reasons for wanting my money.

I felt so lucky to have his attention so when he criticized me, accused me of cheating, or partied like a rock star all day and night. I tried harder. I tried hard to be what he wanted. I tried harder to prove to him I would never cheat on him. I tried harder to keep him from partying with other women. Inside, I was breaking bit by bit. I relapsed into an eating disorder and was trying to keep up with his party lifestyle.

It was just too much, so I left him. I went back to my grandparents. He began obsessively calling me or anyone that knew me. He finally got ahold of me, promised to correct his ways, and professed his undying love for me. My cousin agreed to take me back to Columbus. Her car broke down about thirty minutes into the drive. I hitchhiked with a strange man to get back to him.

He took me to Chicago to meet his friends when I returned. It was the San Francisco experience all over again. We rode in expensive cars and partied with famous photographers, doctors, etc. He and his friends criticized my out-of-style clothing, so I let them dictate everything I wore and how I wore it. Cocaine, alcohol, and sex were flowing. I was terrified, all these people on massive amounts of coke and alcohol acting strange. Although I did not do drugs, I tried to believe it was just how the fabulous people did things.

Soon after Chicago, I found out I was four months pregnant. He did not want me to have the baby. He scheduled an abortion, when I did not get it, that is when the physical abuse began. I stopped drinking the eating disorder and moved back to Cincinnati. He followed. He convinced me to get an apartment with him. However, he was rarely in town. When he was, he became increasingly more violent.

I married him. He wanted to call off the wedding the day before, but I begged him not to, it was the shame. I was pregnant, dropped out of college, and wanted my son to have a dad. I did not know how I would survive as a teenage single mom. In my mind, I could not survive the shame of my baby's dad refusing to marry me. He left town a few days later. We continued in this cycle for a while. He would leave town because everybody where I lived were "cowboys" (rednecks). He had to be in the big city, which actually turned out to be dealing in illegal activities. My heart broke every time he left us, wondering why I was insufficient. He would say sorry, come back, and get an apartment. The situation would escalate, he would go to escape the law and I would have to move back in with my family because I could not afford rent. Repeat and repeat.

We had our first interaction with the law. I was hugely pregnant, and he shoved me down and kicked me. Someone called the police. I lied to them to protect him.

One winter night, he shoved me on the ice. I hit my head on the road. I remember him laughing as I came in and out of consciousness because I "looked like a piece of meat "because I was like a rag doll. When I got home that night, my mom saw the back of my head was matted in dried blood. I didn't even realize what had happened. I lied to her to protect him and from deep shame. She knew.

I delivered my son without his dad being there. My family was amazing, but my heart hurt for my child. I continued trying to make him want to be with and love us. One day, we were in the car, and he was raging. He told me he would kill my son and make me watch him bleed to death because he was the only one I loved. Sheer terror ran through me. My son was in the backseat. I now know it was a miracle. A police officer was driving towards us. I flashed my lights. He pulled us over. I will never forget Officer Piles from the Cincinnati Police Dept. He seemed to "get it". He arrested him for parking violations. Then, I opened up to my mom about what was happening and what just happened. It was shocking then, but she told me, "If you ever take your son around him again, I will report you for child abuse ."Thank you, Mom.

I filed for divorce by publication because he was challenging to track down. He continued to call and harass me at work, sometimes twenty times a day, along with any friends and family he had contact information for. He wore me down. It was during this time an FBI agent contacted me at work. I had false hope they wanted to help me protect my son. They only wanted me to get him to sell me drugs.

I agreed to meet him to talk about child support, etc. I believe God was warning me over and over not to go. I did. He convinced me to get into the car with him after our talk so he could drive me to my car. It was so strong in my heart not to get into that car, but I did. He drove me to a dark parking lot, where he proceeded to threaten me, telling me how I had to die. At one point, I looked up at a street light and said to God, I know I will die. I thought about my mom and son. In that instant, another miracle happened; God provided a way out of the car. He ran around the car, punching and kicking me. I have always been amazed how I never felt the pain of the punches. I reacted to them, the heaving, stumbling, and falling, but I never felt the pain. I was able to start running; he tried to hit me with the car. I made it to an apartment building, ran in the first door I tried, locked their door, and started crying, "he is trying to kill me." I had run into the apartment of two youth pastors who were so kind and gentle, another miracle. Soon, the police picked me up to confirm they had arrested the right man. It seems hard to believe, but seeing him with cuffs and spotlights was just as painful as when he tried to kill me. A part of me still wanted to rescue him. He was released on an O.R. Bond and never showed up for trial.

The next five years were terrifying. He stalked me and threatened to kidnap my son. The Center For Missing and Exploited Children was beneficial in educating me on how to keep my son safe; they red-flagged my son to prevent him from being kidnapped and taken to any of the many countries his dad had citizenship.

At this time, I remarried and had another son. One night, we knew my ex was in the area, and we heard someone in our home. My husband got the shotgun and stood at the top of the stairs. I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't stop thinking about how if the only man my son knows as dad kills his biological dad, it could destroy him. Thank God, the loud cocking of the gun caused the intruder to leave. That night, I decided I would no longer live in constant fear.

Stalking was not recognized back then like it is today. The prosecutors would not take the case but said I could present it to the judge. Judge Porter listened to my whole story. She examined all my documentation and gave me the first order of protection for stalking. She then apologized to me on behalf of the courts and law enforcement for not protecting my son and me. An order of protection rarely does anything to deter an abuser, but it helped me. I never again had to convince anyone what a threat he was. The police would just have to arrest him.

I thank my Heavenly Father for His protection. I thank Him for showing me it was not law enforcement or myself that kept us safe. I praise Him for His mercy, grace, and patience in healing giving me the grace to forgive and forgiving me. I thank Him for using what the enemy meant to destroy me; He used it for my good and His glory. He has blessed me to serve many women in abusive situations. He has used this to give me compassion for others in the cycles of abuse, shame, fear, guilt, helplessness, and hopelessness.