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WhiteFemale

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  1. Thanks. I do have an order for protection, in my state that'st he same thing as a restraining order. He can't come near me and he's not supposed to contact me. Surprisingly after I wrote this I went on snapchat and realized he had chatted me on saturday with an "I miss you" emoticon and that threw me through a loop. I was too many drinks in to an already emotional night, feeling confident before that, it kind of totally derailed that and just got me sad again. Man, it sucks. Thanks for the tips on the statement. And about the prosecutor/plea deal thing. I know what you're saying. But after his first appearance, I talked to the prosecutor in private. He thanked me for coming forward and said a lot of victims don't and it's frustrating to see but he was happy I wanted to move forward. He asked my input. And then he told me that he might consider a plea in the future, but before he put it on the table, he would make sure to talk to me first and get my input. He was very concerned about victims rights. This was extremely comforting he also told me that if I wished to attend future hearings that he could get me in contact with a different victims right advocate as there is one for someplace safe, but I guess there's another one too and he recommended her. I am also extremely pleased to know that the judge presiding over this case is a female. Cautiously optimistic, I guess. But like I said in the statement, I am not even sure what i want to see because I don't think any possible sentence could make this go away. I don't know if seeing him punished will make me feel any better but there's a tiny part of me that does want to see him pay consequences in the legal way. I am surprised my uncle didn't beat his ass. I am glad he didn't, though.
  2. Yes, thank you I know what a plea deal is. He may get one, but not without my input first. That's what the prosecutor told me. He told me that he'd tell me what he was thinking and ask what I thought before he actually put anything on the table. And now that I've had more time to really deal with all of this, I feel differently. Initially I wanted leniency and I still felt like sympathy(Idk if that's the right word. Cuz it's some misplaced sympathy. But I felt bad for him. I felt guilty for telling. and I wanted to make sure they went easy) But now I realize that there's not a sentence possible that could ever make me feel better. There's no outcome here that will heal it. So fuck it, do what you do, I'll make my statement and let the system go through with this like any other case. Cuz I am not about to back down and not defend myself.
  3. It'll probably be a long time before I have to present this, assuming I don't let him take a plea deal. But I need some help writing my victim impact statement. I have a rough draft. If someone wouldn't mind giving input I'd really appreciate it. PLEASE. I edited it at 12am and I am posting the revisions now: I don’t see this as a victim impact statement. To me, a victim doesn’t survive. I might not be the same, but I am still here. He could have taken my life, and he made that very clear, but he didn’t. I am alive and I am a survivor. What Drew has done to me can’t be summed up just by recalling the witness accounts. The statement I made to the police doesn’t begin to cover the damage. Why did you stay? Why didn’t you leave? Did you like it or something? Am I going to find bruises on him? Are you as bad as him? Why would you let someone treat you like that? I can never wake up in the morning and feel like the person I was before I met Drew. I can never go through a day without headaches and flashbacks. My dreams are tainted by painful renditions of the trauma and fear that I experienced with him. When I get out of bed and look to my right, there’s an imprint in my wall. It’s from the time he shoved my head into it. I go to open my door to the hallway, but it’s already open. Sometimes it just doesn’t latch anymore. Maybe it’s from all the times it’s been slammed. Or maybe it’s from the time he picked me up and slammed me into it, causing the doorknob to pierce the wall behind it. The first thing I usually do when I wake up is go to the bathroom. But I can’t take my morning pee without remembering the times I tried to lock myself in that bathroom to escape his rage, only to be found. I don’t know how, but he was always able to turn to knob hard enough to just render the lock pointless. From the moment I get up, to the moment I go to bed, and even when I am asleep my reality is affected by 3 years of an unhealthy and toxic abusive relationship. I have spent most of my adult life living in fear and isolated from my friends and family. Why didn’t you come forward before? Why did you let it go on for so long? Why didn’t you call the cops? Why didn’t you get help? Why didn’t you listen to all of us when we told you to get out? I wish I had. When my mom called the police after he broke our back door, he didn’t believe that it wasn’t me. That’s when he told me if I ever got him put in jail that I needed to remember that the law couldn’t hold him back forever. He would serve his time but one day he’d get out and I’d “never see it coming” Drew never went anywhere without a knife or two. When we could argue or he would get upset, he liked to play with his knives. Whether it just be brandishing them and looking at them, using them to slice random objects or throw at the walls and floor, or sharpening them repeatedly, he made them very visible and present. I can’t stress enough how scared I was to come forward. I am still afraid of retaliation and I am always paranoid that he or one of his associates will seek and destroy me. I don’t want him to ever hurt me again and I don’t want it to happen to anyone else, either. When I finally came forward, it wasn’t because I wanted to get him in trouble. Sure, I heard the rumors about how I did this because he broke up with me. But I know, and God knows, what happened the day I left. After the assault occurred, and he threw me onto the lawn, taking my key to the house, and throwing my belongings and car keys out, I grabbed my stuff as fast as I could and I ran to the van and immediately locked the doors. I was holding my pounding head, shaking, hyperventilating, and crying. Pieces of my teeth were coming into my mouth. My lungs were crackling and I was coughing up nasty stuff. I rolled the window down a crack so I could spit out phlegm and tooth fragments, mixed with blood from where my lips hit my teeth when his fist hit my face. And I could hear him, begging me. Begging me to stay. Begging me to come back. “Just come smoke some dabs with me and we’ll cuddle. I’ll rub you. Please. Don’t go. I am begging you.” He even pulled the same knife out that he threatened to slit my throat with, and held it against his own throat. I said, “NO. I am going to the police station. I am done.” And that’s when he threatened to blow his brains out. He threatened to blow the cops brains out if they showed up to get him. I’ve never seen him like that. His face was all twisted and contorted as he spoke. His facial movements seemed unequal. His eyes were different. There was a desperation like I’ve only seen in bits and pieces following other outbursts. I started to drive down the driveway and he chased me, screaming. When I passed the house, he came out holding my shoe and begging me to stop. I kept driving and he kept chasing, holding the knife. He fell to his knees and screamed some more and I kept driving. I drove into Wendell, and when I got to the stop sign I saw a truck with a digger pass by. And I thought to myself that could have been for me, to dig my grave and hide my body, had I not escaped? I tried to drive home but I had to pull over and stop on a gravel road because my vision was too blurry from the head trauma. And I couldn’t stop shaking from anxiety, looking over my shoulder to see if he was following me. I parked and checked my phone. He was still blowing it up so I knew he was at least alive. I waited until I could focus enough to feel safe driving 3 miles home to my mom’s. I kept my secret for two days but that was nothing compared to the secrets I kept over the years. Slowly, he isolated me more as I lost friends and grew distant from family. We lived together in a sick sad world. I didn’t even know what gas lighting was until after I left. And that’s when a bunch of stuff started clicking. It wasn’t just the violence, but through his behaviors and careful manipulation, he controlled me. And he always made sure to let me know that it was my fault, even though it would never happen again. Can anyone look me in the eye and tell me that there’s a thing in the world I could have done to deserve what happened? Is it really my fault that he punched me, over and over? Is it my fault he kicked me while I was already down, protecting my head with my arms and screaming for him to stop? Was it my fault that when he asked me questions, and I tried to answer, he’d cut me off with, “Shut up!” and slam my head back into the wall over and over. Did I deserve to get strangled? Did I deserve to be held down as he attempted to unclothe me and mount my backside? Was it something I said? Was it because of something I did 2 years ago? What makes it my fault? Is it because I stayed? Is it because I threw away some paper thing when I was cleaning the house? Was it because I moved his drug paraphernalia while I was cleaning? Was it because I took too long to get out of the van and answer all his questions? This beating happened because even though I was told to leave immediately, I refused to drive because I was having a panic attack with flashbacks. Though I begged for him to allow me to lay in a corner, any corner, with a blanket around me until I could calm down, he refused. He couldn’t give me a reason why I had to leave, he couldn’t explain what I did to upset him. I knew better. I knew that when Drew demanded I do something, that I better do it, or else. And instead of leaving without grabbing my belongings, I walked upstairs without permission and attempted to collect my things. This beating happened because I did not listen and obey. If anyone would have told me that one day I’d let a man control me, I’d think they were crazy. If someone said, “One day, your fiancé will beat your head into the wall and hit your head against a chair until you fall unconscious on the floor, and after he leaves, you will beg him to come back so he can rub your back.” I’d have cut them out of my life for even thinking that of me. I would have told them I am a strong woman. I would have told them they don’t even know me because I am too smart to put up with that. But that was almost a year before this incident, and I still stayed. I kept going back. I never would have believed that he’d be able to control where I spent the holidays or what color I chose for my hair. He destroyed my self-worth. He destroyed my self-esteem. He destroyed my ability to make a simple choice or decision without questioning my own judgement or perception. If you asked me what I’d like to see happen, I wouldn’t know what to say. Because there is no outcome or any possible punishment that would undo what I went through. There is no right answer. Does he need drug treatment? Yes. Is he ready for it? I don’t know? Will it really change anything? I don’t know. Will anger management stop him from ever using violence on another person again? I don’t know. Will jail put an end to this? I don’t know. I am afraid to put him in jail and I am afraid of what he’ll do to me once he gets out. I can’t live my life like that. There was a time where I stood in the same court room, because I did something that hurt other people and even though that wasn’t my intention, I had to face the consequences of the justice system. And when I violated my probation, I stood here again as the judge sentenced me time in jail. Jail did not destroy me. Jail was not the worst thing to ever happen. In fact, I am a better person now for having been through that and I can only hope that the same system that helped me, can also help him. Because even though this crime was horrible, and even though this crime went unreported countless other times, I still care about Drew. I loved him with every ounce of my being and I stayed in the hopes that he and I could be everything that we were ever capable of being. And now, I still want him to succeed. I know he is not defined by this and that even though he is imperfect, he is not a demon. If I didn’t come forward, I wouldn’t be helping either of us. I think that anyone who is willing to accept help and try and change can always do that to some extent. All I want is for this to never happen to me or anyone else ever again, and all I want his for him to be better too. I don’t know what will make that happen but I can’t keep worrying about it. I hope this can help give me closure and move on. (Need to write more but not sure where to go from here…having a block. How about input so far?)
  4. It'll probably be a long time before I have to present this, assuming I don't let him take a plea deal. But I need some help writing my victim impact statement. I have a rough draft. If someone wouldn't mind giving input I'd really appreciate it. PLEASE. I don’t see this as a victim impact statement. To me, a victim doesn’t survive. I might not be the same, but I am still here. He could have taken my life, and he made that very clear, but he didn’t. I am alive and I am a survivor. What Drew has done to me can’t be summed up just by recalling the witness accounts. The statement I made to the police doesn’t begin to cover the damage. Why did you stay? Why didn’t you leave? Did you like it or something? Am I going to find bruises on him? Are you as bad as him? Why would you let someone treat you like that? I can never wake up in the morning and feel like the person I was before I met Drew. I can never go through a day without headaches and flashbacks. My dreams are tainted by painful renditions of the trauma and fear that I experienced with him. When I get out of bed and look to my right, there’s an imprint in my wall. It’s from the time he shoved my head into it. I go to open my door to the hallway, but it’s already open. Sometimes it just doesn’t latch anymore. Maybe it’s from all the times it’s been slammed. Or maybe it’s from the time he picked me up and slammed me into it, causing the doorknob to pierce the wall behind it. The first thing I usually do when I wake up is go to the bathroom. But I can’t take my morning pee without remembering the times I tried to lock myself in that bathroom to escape his rage, only to be found. I don’t know how, but he was always able to turn to knob hard enough to just render the lock pointless. From the moment I get up, to the moment I go to bed, and even when I am asleep my reality is affected by 3 years of an unhealthy and toxic abusive relationship. I have spent most of my adult life living in fear and isolated from my friends and family. Why didn’t you come forward before? Why did you let it go on for so long? Why didn’t you call the cops? Why didn’t you get help? Why didn’t you listen to all of us when we told you to get out? I wish I had. When my mom called the police after he broke our back door, he didn’t believe that it wasn’t me. That’s when he told me if I ever got him put in jail that I needed to remember that the law couldn’t hold him back forever. He would serve his time but one day he’d get out and I’d “never see it coming” I can’t stress enough how scared I was to come forward. I am still afraid of retaliation and I am always paranoid that he or one of his associates will seek and destroy me. I don’t want him to ever hurt me again and I don’t want it to happen to anyone else, either. When I finally came forward, it wasn’t because I wanted to get him in trouble. Sure, I heard the rumors about how I did this because he broke up with me. But I know, and God knows, what happened the day I left. After the assault occurred, and he threw me onto the lawn, taking my key to the house, and throwing my belongings and car keys out, I grabbed my stuff as fast as I could and I ran to the van and immediately locked the doors. I was holding my pounding head, shaking, hyperventilating, and crying. Pieces of my teeth were coming into my mouth. My lungs were crackling and I was coughing up nasty stuff. I rolled the window down a crack so I could spit out phlegm and tooth fragments, mixed with blood from where my lips hit my teeth when his fist hit my face. And I could hear him, begging me. Begging me to stay. Begging me to come back. “Just come smoke some dabs with me and we’ll cuddle. I’ll rub you. Please. Don’t go. I am begging you.” He even pulled the same knife out that he threatened to slit my throat with, and held it against his own throat. I said, “NO. I am going to the police station. I am done.” And that’s when he threatened to blow his brains out. He threatened to blow the cops brains out if they showed up to get him. I’ve never seen him like that. His face was all twisted and contorted as he spoke. His facial movements seemed unequal. His eyes were different. There was a desperation like I’ve only seen in bits and pieces following other outbursts. I started to drive down the driveway and he chased me, screaming. When I passed the house, he came out holding my shoe and begging me to stop. I kept driving and he kept chasing, holding the knife. He fell to his knees and screamed some more and I kept driving. I drove into Wendell, and when I got to the stop sign I saw a truck with a digger pass by. And I thought to myself that could have been for me, to dig my grave and hide my body, had I not escaped? I tried to drive home but I had to pull over and stop on a gravel road because my vision was too blurry from the head trauma. And I couldn’t stop shaking from anxiety, looking over my shoulder to see if he was following me. I parked and checked my phone. He was still blowing it up so I knew he was at least alive. I waited until I could focus enough to feel safe driving 3 miles home to my mom’s. I kept my secret for two days but that was nothing compared to the secrets I kept over the years. Slowly, he isolated me more as I lost friends and grew distant from family. We lived together in a sick sad world. I didn’t even know what gas lighting was until after I left. And that’s when a bunch of stuff started clicking. It wasn’t just the violence, but through his behaviors and careful manipulation, he controlled me. (Need to write more but not sure where to go from here…having a block. How about input so far?)
  5. So I'll just give a tiny background.3 years.Lived together through most of it.Abuse was only verbal and emotional for the first year.It escalated after that.The last incident prompted me to go to the police and file a report. I left him for good, I got an order for protection, and I haven't gone back.I refuse to go back.Last physical assault lasted over an hour.I was beaten.I was kicked, punched, thrown, strangled me until I passed out and urinated, bashed me against a wall, and spat on the whole time.I have post concussion syndrome.I had double vision following this for a WHILE.My hearing was almost completely gone for a while, then a lot lower for the following days..I am very lucky that I am not retarded.I don't want to tell the whole story. Because I think stating that is enough to get the picture.I didn't assault him back.I didn't retaliate.I struck him only in self defense and mostly, guarded my face and head as best as I could.He brandished and fired a gun.He pulled a knife out.He threw me on my stomach and pulled my pants and underwear down, attempting to mount me.I fought him off.He weights over 100 pounds more than me.He's 6'2.If he wanted to kill me, he could have.And he made that clear.He probably honestly went as far off the deep end emotionally as I've ever seen him.He then threatened to kill himself and the police if I reported him.I fled away to safety and secluded myself for 2 days, only seeing family.Finally I felt the courage to talk to my uncle about it.And I told him I kind of wanted to go to the police this time.He knew about the history of abuse and frowned upon the relationship, urging me to leave for the past 2 years.He told me that if I wanted to go, we should go now before I change my mind.So I did.He was arrested and spent a night in jail, then released because he has no violent priors.He had his first appearance.And he entered a not guilty plea, then requested an omnibus hearing.I can't be sure what that entitles, or if I should go????Unless a plea deal ends up on the table, I'll have to testify.I am not sure what's reasonable for a plea.What have other people seen in this kind of situation?The prosecutor said he won't accept or offer any pleas until he gets my input.He was very thankful that I am willing to move forward because so many victims aren't.And I am so over feeling sorry for him like I did the first 2 weeks after it happened.(Oh no! What if this makes his life worse? Will it help him? How is he doing? I miss him!)Enough of that shit.This asshole took 3 years of my life and made it a living prison where I didn't have friends, felt away from my family, and suffered.He's not a monster, he's human, but he will not change.And I will not send the message to younger women that this is acceptable.I will not tell my sisters and daughters that if a man does that, it's okay if you put up with it.Man...I just need some advice from people that know what I am going through. Or even if you don't, i'd like the support.
  6. BS. Severe trauma threatens the psyche so much it does threaten your life just maybe not always in terms of life or death. But it wounds you so deeply that it threatens the life you have, the life you deserve, and the life you will get. It threatens your sense of safety and security so badly it causes a rift in your development. It's not always about life or death. The threat you felt was real. The damage is done.
  7. when you consider your diagnosis an insult in itself and feel hurt by it
  8. 16 when it was considered possible but not officially diagnosed due to lack of maturity in adolescence. It fit. My mom was astounded how dead on it was. I felt offended which might be due to the BPD, but I took it as an attack on me and felt rejected.
  9. one mental health IP stay they insisted on checking me for uti and said a lot of people get wacky when they have one. i believe it. my last IP psych stay was during a UTI.
  10. Avoid intoxication. Avoid lowering your inhibitions and avoid anything that lowers impulse control. Last time I self injured I was wasted as fuck and I required 18 stitches. I bled so much it scared the crap out of me. I hurt myself because I didn't want to bother anyone and I ended up having to bother someone to take me to ER anyways. I should have just reached out. Since I was messed up I was sloppier, riskier, cut deeper, longer, and caused more damage.
  11. Lost and mixed up. Different times felt different. Last attempt I felt like I failed and I wished I could have followed through. I was ashamed to admit what I had done. I was partly glad I got help but a huge part of me remained convinced I belonged to be dead and that I made a mistake going to ICU. Then I moved on and almost forgot about that attempt. Until 3+ attempts caught up with me. My kidneys suddenly went into acute failure and I almost died but since I am young they bounced back with lots of help from the doctors at the kidney wing in the cities. I didn't need dialysis. I never imagined that the OD's I tried in my younger years(13 to 19) would ever randomly affect my internal organs and health. Nobody ever warned me or educated me of the serious permanent damage I was causing. I figured when I dc'd that I was just ok and they fixed me right up. Naive.
  12. Sometimes we don't know how to communicate about it. When I act on my impulses, we fight, I get violent, we grow apart.
  13. My memories kick in at 2. Very vividly. Do you use a planner?
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