I was married to my abuser for 3 years, but only lived with him for two years. The abuse didn’t start until about 3 months into me moving up to California with him. It started slow with him just being jealous of my family and friends back home because they would call to chat with me. The abuse began verbally then lead to pushing and slapping me to breaking my phones so I wouldn’t have contact with anyone but him anymore. I would have to call my mom from his phone with him next to me so I wouldn’t tell her what he had been doing. 

As time went on it kept getting worse. 

He would throw away any clothes he didn’t like. He wouldn’t let me go outside by myself. He would pull my hair, slam me into walls, and I would just beg him to stop and scream for help. The neighbors would sometimes call the police. He would throw me on the floor and get on top of me and choke me until I would pass out. Thankfully the neighbors would run over and yell that the cops were coming so he would stop. He would always say if you say something I will beat the fuck out of you. I was so afraid I would just lie to the cops and say we were just arguing and apologize for them coming. The neighbors weren’t dumb they knew what was going on because they would see my bruises. I couldn’t take pictures as evidence because he wouldn’t buy me a phone. 

I felt like a prisoner in my own marriage and house. 

He would always cry after he hurt me and come home the next day with gifts. He was nice for about a week at a time after every attack. After our first year we moved from the apartments due to neighbors complaining about the cops constantly being called. One day he got so mad because I was on my lap top. He grabbed it and accused me of finding ways to leave him online and he threw it against the wall, breaking it. I tried to run outside but he grabbed me and pulled me back. He kept slapping and yelling at me, so I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in there. I kept begging him to calm down but instead, he broke the door open and punched me in the face. I managed to turn my head so I only got a black eye. My nose was gushing with blood and I was screaming. He grabbed a towel and put it over my mouth, telling me to shut up. Once he calmed down, he told me to shower and get cleaned up so he could take me to the hospital. He told me to make up some story about me getting punched at the convenient store by some random person. So we went on base and I told them the story. Nobody believed me. We waited 2 hours. I had a concussion and fractured nose they couldn’t do anything about because it was too swollen. Sitting in that hospital room with the door wide open the whole time, I could hear and see the staff come by looking at me and saying things like, “she is so stupid to stay... why is she protecting him... why can’t she just tell the cops and she can leave...” 

I just felt like I was worthless. How did I let myself get in that situation.

I would never let a man raise his hand at me and yet there I was. I was protecting my abuser. But I was also terrified of him. He took me home and was nice for a couple weeks. After his last incident, he came home with a phone for me. The next day, I immediately took pictures of my bruises while he was at work. I sent them to a friend and told him, “I know you’re a cop but please don’t say or do anything, but if I come up missing... or dead, you know what to do.” I would send him pictures and tell him about my attacks so he would be my voice if that day ever happened. I asked my abuser for a divorce a few days later... that was the worst mistake... he punched me so bad I fell to the ground and he continued beating me. I lost consciousness. I woke up having a seizure and realizing I had peed on myself. It took me a few minutes to regain my senses because I couldn’t see or hear. He freaked out and started crying and begged me not to leave him. I was so scared I told him I would stay.  

That night, I just laid in bed hurting while he and his friends started drinking. He came back inside and started telling me how ugly and worthless I was and how I didn’t make a good wife because I couldn't take a few punches. He continued yelling at me about how he should just bring other girls home. I just started crying and told him to leave me alone. He was so drunk and mad that he got on top of me and kept trying to pull my clothes off. I tried to fight him off but I was still weak from earlier. He held me down and raped me. I felt like I was paralyzed. I screamed but he kept hitting me and holding me down harder. He would just laugh and say “I’m your husband so you give me sex when I want. This is not rape...” After it was done I just sat in the tub for hours. 

Fast forward after months of this continuing, I was so sick and worried he would kill me in my sleep so I wouldn’t sleep if he was there. I finally got the courage to contact my fire brother and he told me he was going home for Christmas, if I wanted a ride home. I told him what was going on so he asked for an early release from the hot shot crew in California so he could pick me up. I started to pack my clothes in bins and told my ex husband I was spring cleaning. He didn’t care. Thanksgiving was coming up and my ex husband was suppose to go to work the day I had planned on leaving, so I planned to leave the next day. All of a sudden he comes into the kitchen mad because the turkey was still frozen and once again, starts arguing with me. 

I was done. I needed to get out. 

I called my dad and told him don’t ask me why, but I need you to come to California right now. I need to divorce this man and I need to get out of here now. My dad got silent and said, “We are actually on our way now. I am an hour away. Hang tight and we will be there. Go outside if anything happens.” I told my ex husband that my parents were coming for me and if he would do anything they would call the cops. He looked at me and said ok and left. I started to pack the rest of my things. He comes back and just sits in the living room staring at me. I grabbed a knife and had 911 dialed. I told him to please not do anything stupid. 15 minutes later my parents showed up. I started pointing at my things, they were grabbing stuff, and taking it outside to get me out quickly. My family didn’t say anything to him. I took my wedding ring off and told him I would send the divorce papers. 

Once we got to a hotel I showered and felt so much better. Like I was alive. I didn’t tell my parents anything that night. They just told me to call my fire chief and tell him I was ok and I was coming home. I guess he went to my parents house and told them that the neighbors, who were friends with the chief, would call the cops because they could hear me screaming. My fire brother had also called him and told him what was going on. My fire chief immediately told my parents to go get me and save my life. He offered to pay for the hotel and gas but my parents didn’t accept. 

They were just so thankful he told them. He helped save my life. 

After I came home I had to change my number because my ex husband kept telling me he was going to kill himself if I didn’t go back. I had to contact his supervisors and put a restraining order on him again. He didn’t want to give me the divorce for over a year because he wanted to keep the money he got for being married and living off base. 

It took me a long time to get back to myself. I lost who I was. He broke me in ways I didn’t think were possible. The thing that kept me going was the support from my parents, brother, and my fire family. I have a second chance at living life. God saved me every single time from dying. There’s a reason why and I feel like he left me here to help others. 

At the time.... I had been working on getting my immigration paperwork and the day I got married I had to start over. And he knew that and he didn’t want to wait for the paperwork to go through to get married. He wanted to get everything finalized quicker because he told me he loved me and wanted to get married asap. Well his plan wasn’t to help me, he wanted to have power over me, so he never put any of my paperwork through. He held that over my head and would threaten me with deportation. He couldn’t touch my family since they still had their paperwork through the government. I was the only one not protected. 

I came back to Roswell and got in touch with the womens shelter. They told me about a similar case; the Violence Against Women’s Act (VAWA). This law involves the abuse and threats of holding women hostage for intimidation of immigration status and other similar things. It took me 2 years to build my case because they require so much paperwork, but luckily I qualified under VAWA.

I, on my own, was granted citizenship. 

I haven’t been public about the VAWA.... just because I’m still afraid of him trying to hurt me for telling the truth but I think it’s time to tell my story!! This is a different kind of domestic violence that has never been spoken about publicly honestly. Because of the immigration relation nobody wants to speak about it but I know it happens to so many people. I wish I could turn my entire story I had to write into a book and show women and men that there is help. I was lucky and got out alive, while others weren’t so lucky and had it worse.  

Do not give up. You are strong and you are warriors. Things can get better with help. Be strong and fight for your life. I am living walking proof that life can change. It will not be easy but it is worth giving your life a new start. Keep faith by your side and keep fighting for a new life. Womens shelters have so many connection to places and they will keep you safe and guide you through a new chapter in your life to get back up. Domestic violence is not only physical but emotional and verbal too. Say no more and stop the vicious cycle. Love shouldn’t hurt! An abuser will NEVER change no matter how much you believe you can change them, they wont change, but you can change and get out of the abusive relationship. Being a survivor is not shameful. Do not be ashamed of your scars. With time you will see that those scars made you a stronger person and with your scars, you can help someone else by telling your story. I’m a firm believer that God kept me alive those several times I almost lost my life to domestic violence for a reason, and that is to help others. I hope my story can help at least one person.

You are a warrior! Reach out and save your life!