The Untold Story of Domestic Abuse

Where do I even begin?

A girl meets a boy. They hang out, fall in love, and move in together, all in only three days...

A bit fast, okay. Not everyone's love story. But this is what happened to me.

It was my first day back in the sun shining city of Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I wasn't sure exactly for how long I wanted to be in this city again, but I was back and ready to have some fun. After a week of traveling around the Midwest and southern states of America, I didn't have any travel arrangements, nor did I know where I'd be staying. In all circumstances and situations, I was doing best by going with the wind and being present in the moment. I was also flat broke. At that time of my life, I had absolutely no responsibilities. I was 19 years old and absolutely fearless. In the past month, I had hitched through Louisiana, had my last $100 stolen on a bus, made friends with a group of homeless young adults called DirtyKids, slept in the 9th ward of New Orleans, miraculously didn't get raped on my hitched rides with two different semi-truck drivers, and got dropped off right where I intended in downtown Fort Lauderdale. After these rendezvous, the very same day after being dropped off by the truck driver number two, I met the father-to-be to my son-to-come in four years time.

So, let’s start there. I had previously lived in Fort Lauderdale in more comfortable situations. I had fallen in love with this hidden gem of a town and was ready to come back. The day I got into the town, I got together with an old friend. I was getting a bite at my favorite restaurant and, later to be, a place of employment. While waiting for my food, I noticed this couple, who appeared so carefree and in love. He was a blonde-haired deadhead and she was covered in tattoos with a wildly beautiful big smile. I found myself desiring this for my future. After I ate, I got together with my guy friend and told him about the couple I saw. He exclaimed, "I know who you are talking about! And I have another friend who looks just like that guy!" I felt a glimmer of excitement, but nothing I was too attached to.

We walked over the ginormous 17th street bridge, goofing off and taking pictures. And before I knew it, we were on the beach boardwalk. I was riding his skateboard while pulling my duffel bag on the second skateboard behind me. At this very point in my life, I had no idea nothing would ever be the same; forever changed by the event that would occur next. Someone pulled up in his car (black mustang) on the boardwalk edge. He did a bro-shake with my friend and I peered into the ride to see who it was. "That was my friend I was telling you about! We’re going to meet him at his house to light one, is that cool?"

My heart skipped a beat and butterflies filled my stomach. My soul knew that this friend would be the guy that forever changed my life. But my mind, my mind just helped with the directions to his beachside apartment address.

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This was the beginning of a very long and complicated love story. I will sum up the next four years as briefly as I possibly can. I will keep it short because the point of this article is to give a side of domestic violence that doesn't always get the spotlight and not to talk about all the details of our intimate relationship.

We fell fast and hard. After hanging out that day, we met again a few days later. After a night of beach walk fun, I moved in a few days following. We lived together for a month the first time. That month til today is still one of the most favorite months of my life. Every day he got home from work I’d run into his arms, we hung out at the beach all the time, and had passionate sex quite frequently. It was the epitome of young summer love. But as fast as we fell is as fast as we crashed. I remember the first time he yelled at me very vividly. I was putting clothes away in the drawers that he cleared out for me, and something struck a chord. I knew that underneath all the love was something dangerous. I left and went to stay with a friend I met out on the West Coast permanently residing in Hollywood, Florida.

The next year was a roller coaster. I went about my life, but was never able to get him out of my head or my heart. Like a bee pollinating a beautiful flower, there he was buzzing around my unshackled heart. A few months later, I moved in with him again. At that moment, he had a girlfriend, but broke up with her to be with me. Then, just a couple of months later, he put his hands on me for the first time. Actually, he squeezed my head with his arms in the midst of an argument. But, I didn't leave him. A few months later, he thought I was flirting with someone, and when I got in the car, he punched me; decked me straight in my jaw like I was some grown-up man. I was 20 years old.

I left the next day. I went along with my life once again and once again unable to shake him. Still, my love for him unchanging, unwavering. My soul was hurt and my mind was so confused, while my heart stayed true. About a year later, I went back to him. And this time I had done some things I was not proud of right before coming back to him. But he still loved me anyway. Just as much as I always loved him, he always had open arms for me. This time, my return had a condition. If we were going to be together again, I would have to have his child. All I wanted at that moment was for him to love me. To feel the love that radiated around us the first month we met. I agreed. After I got pregnant, there was more head squeezing along with tackling, pinning, and screaming in my face. And the last one was after our son was born; a violent arm grappling push and toss onto the bed while I was holding the baby. This was a few days before Christmas and left me in complete shock. I thought for sure after I had his child he would never jeopardize losing the both of us by hurting me again. But he never changed, and time and time again he showed me who he was. And time and time again, I went back to him, chasing summertime love.

Today is Father's Day, and I sent him a letter with pictures of his son in the mail. I left the day after Christmas; it’s been six months since we have seen him. Even today, after all that happened, I can still feel that love I had for him that first month. It is buried deep inside my heart. On top of that love is a brick and hamper full of wisdom, protection for my child, and understanding that people do not change unless they try their hardest to or get rocked by a power much greater than man. Yet I can't help to wonder about this feeling of love I have this person who hurt me so many times.

Does that same feeling keep women around the world in abusive relationships? Is it truth or is it just an illusion? A desperate hold onto something that had passed or a hopeful faith of a new leaf in life that may turn? This feeling kept me going back for more for years. Today, I am 23 years old with an 8-month-old baby. A single mom. I am grateful for the gift of life I have been given. For me, my child is the greatest gift I have ever received. And yet in paradox, he is a product of one of my life's greatest hindrances, unshakable love for this person. This feeling that has caused my heart to fly with hope and spin in turmoil with trauma. Personally, I am a woman of great faith in God today, and I believe that love is the source of all creation. But, what I don't understand is how something so pure like love can create something so ugly like domestic abuse?