In December of 2011, I moved from my childhood home on Long Island to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, with a spark of hope and a dream in me that I was starting a new chapter of my life. Little did I know, that the following six and a half years were going to be an actual nightmare. My family begged me with sadness in their eyes, asking me not to go. The "You can't leave!" and, the "You barely know him!" circulated the table as a tension built up at the end of the night came closer. At Twenty years old and as headstrong as I was (am?), I went against their suggestions, and left. It only took about a month for this person that I moved in with to lay his hands on me. (And I say person because there is no way in hell that he deserves to be called a 'man'.) He was upset with me for staying up "too late" to talk to one of my childhood friends on Skype. How dare I catch up with her while she's away at school, right? I remember him putting his hand around my neck and pinning me up against the closet door in the kitchen, and lifting me up so my feet dangled above the floor. This was only the first incident, among a slew of others that I had experienced from this person. I've had food and drinks thrown in my face because he didn't like what I said. I've been shoved and grabbed into walls when I've tried to run away. And when I found him on live-porn websites talking to other women, sending them money and gifts? I was held at gunpoint of the times, and the other time, chased down the dirt road that we lived on while he cocked the gun and threatened to shoot me if I went to the neighbors. He'd take my phone, my laptop and keys periodically, so I wouldn't be able to contact anyone and HE would take me to and from work.
I was victim blamed countless times and gas lit and made to believe that it was my fault for making him angry. I was told that he was only outhouse websites because “I didn’t put out enough.” I was told that even if I tried to leave, I wouldn't be able to make it on my own without his support. I was told I was the one who was crazy. I was the one who needed "help." I was yelled at and cussed at, berated and I truly believed that I was worthless. And in twenty one year old mind? This all translated to the fact that I wasn’t enough.
And in the late fall of 2017, I finally had enough. One last fight. I calmly sat in the living room chair, telling him that I'm done, he is not invited to my works thanksgiving party because they all knew how he treated me, and that was going to be the last time he's ever going to call me the c-word. He launched himself at me, picked me up out of the chair and slammed me into the floor, pinning me down. I fought back, scratching and clawing at him to loosen his grip and when I was almost at the door, he pulled his signature move pinning me by my neck so my feet dangled above the floor. When I began to choke, he finally let go and I bolted for the door and drove to the grocery store in town.
I was able to return for some of my items and my cats with my best friend, Selina, outside in her car on standby. "If I text you anything, thats when you call 911." And as I attempted to gather enough belongings, he began to get violent again, ripping my clothes off the hangers and throwing items like picture frames and decor so hard at the walls that they broke. I sent the text and shortly after, the police arrived.
It wasn’t until months and a new boyfriend later, after living on my own and after finding out that I was pregnant and signing up for health insurance that I had been through a textbook definition domestic violence relationship. The questionnaire asked if, “in the last x-amount off months had I been living with someone who had physically caused me harm, caused me to fear for my life, and if I had ever had to call the authorities.” The answer was yes to all three. I could see the look of concern in the eyes of the woman who had been inputting questionnaire for me and I remember how I had to reassure her that it was a previous partner and not the baby’s father. It was the first time that I processed how serious of a situation I was in and that I was finally able to physically able to separate from it.
I didn’t follow Gabby’s story closely when it was broadcasted live. I heard of bits and pieces as newer findings popped up during the investigation of her disappearance but I never invested myself into what had happened to her. I thought of her has another missing person, until my mom had mentioned later during the investigation, “that story could have been yours.” And I was. I left home for a boy I barely knew. I moved far across state lines. And then he treated me badly, causing me physical harm., I could’ve died. But I didn’t. I was lucky in that way. The details that were included in Gabby’s Netflix documentary hit me so hard that mid-way through the special, I had to pause and sit with the police footage that I had just witnessed because it sat too closely to my heart. She felt everything that I had felt. The vulnerability, the gaslighting, the manipulation and level of charm that was amplified in the presence of the law, or someone that he had respect for. I saw her though. That girl needed help. I needed help. I was that girl that never asked for help until it happened to me again with a more recent partner.
It only took two incidences of physical conduct to remind me that I know I deserve better. I called the police and shortly after a female and male cop arrived. I broke down in tears and sat down on the curb with my head in my hands. The male officer attempted to get my statement and while balling through tears, I tried to explain the situation. “Look! I can’t get your statement if you can’t pull it together!” I remember him yelling with a tone of frustration in his voice. And with everything in me, I replied, “I apologize, but I am distraught right now. I have been through this before with a previous partner, where a gun was held to my head, so I am sorry that I am in shock that this happening to me again. However, I knew well enough this time to call you for help and not for you to yell at me.”
The female officer sent the male to his car to do the paperwork while she handled the rest of the report. I wish I could have seen her name under the darkness of the streetlights because I could thank her a million times for being so kind and patient with me. Reliving all of the emotions from 2011, and more recently that night as I type this, opened up some deep, deep wounds that are hard for me to face because of how much fear, disappointment, loneliness, emptiness and loss of hope they put me through. I knew hitting an emotional rock bottom for me to realize I can’t forget that I deserve more. So I started running again.
I recently caught up with a friend who experienced a similar situation. “You would never lay a hand on a true friend that you had a disagreement with. What makes (you) to think that it’s okay that (you) can do that to a spouse/partner/someone you’re in a relationship with?” There is no excuse for what state of mind a person is in, no matter how angry or upset, whether they are drunk or especially if they are sober, you do not lay a hand on the person you love. That is not respect and that is certainly not love. I’ve known this for years but have only recently started to start believing and reminding myself that I deserve more and that I am worth more.
On and off for a few years, running has given me peace of mind and a sense of accomplishment that I never knew I was able to achieve. I never kept up with it constantly, and always end up tapering off due to some stupid excuse like the weather, or prior commitments, or being afraid to go to a gym.I’ve also been generally very pessimistic, self conscious, and an insecure person but with running, it helps combat some of those negative thoughts against my self worth. I get to enjoy my music, focus on one thing and zone out for a half hour while I let my legs take me wherever I end up going that day. I feel empowered and that I can do more than I realize because running used to be one of my least favorite activities . Now, I look forward to getting some time to hit the pavement and get lost for a little while, feeling completely unbothered. And sure, I feel better about myself physically, but I feel even better about myself mentally. I feel accomplished. I feel energized. I feel ready to conquer more. I feel…better.
I don’t run to strengthen my body. I run to strengthen my mind. I do it for her. I do it for Gabby. I do it for my daughter. I do it for me.
