I Was a Stalking Statistic

This post is part of my series “Mi Vida Loca”. Believe me, it doesn’t get any crazier (or scarier)  then being a stalking victim. I was one. For five years.

My story starts with me moving from Wisconsin to Texas. I was young and naive. My younger brother lived there and convinced me to move down to be with him. Him and I were always close when we were younger and so I went.

Soon after I moved there I met my future stalker. My future husband. My future abuser. And my future ex-husband. They were all the same man. My story starts like a lot of stalker stories. I fell in love. *L, was a sweet talker. One of those big cowboy types. At 6 foot 2 and 250 pounds he was way bigger then my 5 foot, 130 pounds. But, he showered me with attention, compliments and presents.  It was something I wasn’t used to. I didn’t date, I was too busy working and then burying my head in a book. At that time of my life I was terribly shy. So I suppose I was easy pickings for a man like *L.

Marriage
Marriage (Photo credit: Lel4nd)

Soon after, we were planning our wedding. Looking back, boy was I stupid! I saw so many signs that I should have heeded. A few people even tried to talk me out of the marriage. One was *L’s own father! That should have told me something was wrong. But, I was in love for the first time in my life. So I shut the outer and  inner voices off. We got married. And that was the start of my road down to hell.

It started almost from the day after we were married. The controlling, the belittling remarks. The violent outbursts of temper. It was like as soon as we signed those wedding papers he changed. The mask was off. I wasn’t really scared yet. More confused than anything. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. Because he told me it was all my fault. I made him lose his temper.

He didn’t hit me. Oh no! That might leave marks that couldn’t be explained. What he would do is crowd me against the wall, yelling in my face with this giant booming voice. Then he would smash his fist through the wall next to my head. We had lots of holes in the walls of our house that I tried to hide with pictures and things on the wall.

There were times I had enough and I would threaten to leave him. Those were the times he would be that sweet, kind, gentle man I knew in the beginning. He would promise not to yell at me anymore. Promise not to use his fists on the walls. Promise me the world. And I, still wanting to believe in him, would take him back.

I had a job when I first met *L. It wasn’t a great job, but it paid the bills. He convinced me to quit. He had a good job that paid well and he promised me he would take care of me. Little did I know at the time it was just another way to control me. After about six months of just being a stay at home wife, I got bored. So I got another job. It didn’t last long. *L would call 10 – 15 times a day to talk to me. It got to the point he would call so often checking up on me that I was told that if *L didn’t stop calling I would have to leave. Well, I told *L this and he exploded! He yelled that it was my fault! That I made him do it because I couldn’t be trusted! Another fist eventually went through the wall next to my head.

I had to leave that job, and a few more through the years. During those years I didn’t notice till it was too late just how isolated I was. *L had been so rude, so obnoxious to my family that they eventually stopped calling me. I had no friends, except for Terri. We pretty much kept our friendship away from *L. Terri hated *L, and always said that I should leave him. Unfortunately, by that time I had been married to *L for more then ten years. And was pretty much convinced I had nowhere to go. I certainly didn’t have any money. He kept control of the finances at all times.

During 13 years of marriage I was not only verbally abused, emotionally stripped. *L also cheated on me numerous times. He would tell me, I forced him to cheat. He stated he cheated because I wasn’t woman enough to keep him home.

I lost 4 babies during those years. I never could carry them past 10 weeks. He constantly threw that up at me also. Telling me, I wasn’t even good enough to have a baby. Secretly I was glad I couldn’t have children. I know it sounds cold and terrible. But, my thoughts were always about what a terrible father, he would have been. I didn’t want any children of mine to be subject to that.

What finally made me leave was he hit me one day after calling me every name in the book. He hit me and when I tried to call my sister for help to finally get away from him he pulled the phone out of the wall and locked me in a bedroom for 3 days. I pretended to comply with his demands on being quiet and not to call family so he would let me out.  But my mind and my heart were finally convinced to leave him for good. I had enough. It happened on a July Fourth weekend. He was out boating with his new girlfriend. I sat at home and just became numb. I called Teri and told her I was packed and ready to leave, could she come get me. She must have broken speeding limits she was over so fast. She took me and my one suitcase to her house and that’s where I stayed for the first 2 weeks after I left.

That was the end of my marriage and the beginning of my stalking nightmare.

*L is just a letter because I hate saying his name. Superstitious maybe, but better safe then sorry.

***I will continue this post tomorrow. That will be about the stalking. Right now I’m emotionally exhausted, but glad I finally got it out.

July
July (Photo credit: kurafire)
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13 thoughts on “I Was a Stalking Statistic

  1. I am so sorry that you were put through this, my heart goes out to you with being in this situation with a man you thought you could trust and I am really sorry this happened to you.

    Like

    1. changeforbetterme

      It has taken me a long time to tell it. If I can help someone else it will be worth it. Even as a warning to young ones. If you have doubts, don’t bury them!

      Like

  2. Pingback: I Was a Stalking Statistic (part 2) | To Breath is to Write

  3. Pingback: I Was a Stalking Statistic (part 3) | To Breath is to Write

  4. Pingback: Daily Prompt: Release Me | To Breathe is to Write

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