the struggle for survival.

When I decided to start this blog, I did it because I've been called to write. The Holy Spirit has literally been calling me to share my story and I've been putting it off because I've been struggling to find a way to do so. Today's post isn't for the gritty details of my nightmarish experience; today's post is dedicated to my story of survival.

Leaving my abuser was the most terrifying and hellacious thing I've ever done, and it is also the most dangerous thing a victim can do. It shows power and strength and nothing pisses an abuser off more than their victim gaining the strength to leave them. It makes them vulnerable and vulnerability makes them very angry and in turn makes them even more dangerous and unpredictable.

But I left. I don't know how the hell I did it, but I did.

Then the spiral began. If it wasn't the abuse that had been breaking me down to practically nothing, it was the aftermath of my decision to survive. I spent nights in a home that I shared with my abuser, hating my life a thousand times more than I did when I was sleeping next to him. If walls could talk, mine were SCREAMING at me. Taunting me, laughing at me, making my life more of a hell than he did. I was alone; nobody knew what I was going through. My family had no idea of what I had been enduring, my co-workers and supervisors had no idea- it was just me and the man who broke my spirit more than he broke my body.

Going through all of that alone and not having any sort of landing pad to fall back on led to the darkest pit of depression I have ever experienced (or will ever experience) in my 28 years on this earth. There were times when I considered going back to him just so I wouldn't have to be alone. That's the most sickening thought: that I would endure the abuse if I had to just so I wouldn't be alone.

Then one day, I decided I was done. That is the day that I decided I wanted to die. It was just another horrible day in my life and I was over it. So, on my lunch break I went home with a friend in my unit, and I went upstairs and locked myself in my bathroom and crawled into my bathtub with a straight edge razor and tried to slit my wrists. When I say "tried to," I literally mean that I tried, over and over again, to slit my wrists open but nothing was happening. A straight edge razor was no match for God's plan for my life apparently, because here I am laying in my bathtub in my cammies and boots, slashing at my wrists and my arms for ANY sort of release of the pain and NOTHING IS HAPPENING. I'm screaming and I'm crying and then my door gets kicked in by my Gunny and I see my friend and my lieutenant standing in the hallway, completely terrified at what they are witnessing. I looked up at them and in my descent to rock bottom, I start laughing. Hysterically laughing/crying because I'm the idiot who failed at killing herself.

I didn't fail though. I'm living, breathing proof that Jesus Christ is more powerful than any demon that had been taunting me. That day in my bathtub, Christ proved that He had SO MUCH MORE in store for me. That was the day I decided I really wanted to survive. Probably because in the aftermath of all that, my Gunny called my sister as we were on our way to the hospital and oh Lord did she have words for me. I will NEVER in my entire life forget what she said to me. I'm sitting here writing this post and crying because her words have been seared into my memory. You guys- I tried to remove myself from the lives of my niece and my nephews; from the lives of my mother and my father and my stepfather and my amazing sister and brothers and all of the people who loved me. That is a thought that remains with me to this very day. Have I forgiven myself for my selfishness? I have. It's still kind of hard to not look back and absolutely hate myself for that.

Here I am, five and a half years later, and the road that I have traveled since that day has not been easy. I went through extensive therapy with an amazing therapist whom I credit for helping me maintain my sanity through my survival process. When I got out of the Marine Corps seven months after that day, I moved to Oceanside and got involved with an amazing church where my love for the Holy Spirit grew to a sacred obsession (shameless Jake Hamilton plug). Survival would not have been possible without God.

At that church in Oceanside is where I took some of the biggest steps in my journey to where I am at in my life right now. It is where I revealed to my brother what had happened, where I shared my testimony in front of my sister for the first time (that phone call I mentioned earlier had not revealed my abuse), and it is where I gained the strength to forgive my abuser for what he had done. That was almost as hard as leaving him, but forgiveness is necessary for healing. I didn't have to contact him in order to forgive him; forgiving him in my heart and in my soul satisfied the requirement set forth by the Spirit.

I am living proof that survival is possible. Are there days where I struggle? You betcha. Days like today where I pull some of my darkest moments from my past to the surface are hard. Thank God I have an amazing support system these days. I actually called my best friend and broke down a little bit because of how hard this post has been to write. She is so encouraging and strong and supportive of me doing this, and she understands why I have to do this blog series this month. She even offered to be a guest blogger this month, so keep an eye out for that post as well.

My story is the reason why I live my life by Jeremiah 29:11. God's plan for my life didn't include me taking my life at the age of 22.

Until next time, love and blessings.

Ray Rice and THAT Video.

You HAD to know that I was going to discuss this at least at some point in time. The truth is, I actually had some friends who know my past message me and ask me if I was going to touch on the situation when that video was released to the public. I had actually started a blog post about it, then put it on the back burner because I didn't feel like it was going to do any good. Well, now that it is Domestic Violence Awareness month, and now that a few other NFLers have been thrust into the spotlight because of domestic violence, I guess it just feels like a good time to start talking about it.

When I woke up on that Monday morning, my Facebook newsfeed was just hammered with post after post of this video- from TMZ to HLN to USA Today and even my own friends. Given the fact that I live in Maryland, obviously I'm in the heart of Ravens territory, and seeing as how I have hundreds of friends that are here in Maryland, naturally the discussion amongst them was rampant.

Upon viewing the video footage of "elevatorgate," I immediately sympathized with Ray Rice's then-fiancee (who is now his wife). I mean, come on...that was a gnarly hit she took. Now I'm going to be honest here and say that I played into the gender inequality that is plaguing society these days; I instantly demonized Ray Rice and stated my support in his suspension from the NFL and the end of his contract with the Baltimore Ravens. What my one-sided survivor's brain failed to notice in that video the first time I watched it, though, was that Janay Rice slapped her then-fiance (who is now her husband) in the face before even stepping foot on that elevator. Inside that elevator, Janay Rice made violent physical contact with Ray's body more than once before Ray delivered what is now the punch heard 'round the nation.

You guys:

RAY RICE IS JUST AS MUCH A VICTIM AS JANAY RICE.

Here comes society chiming in and crying, "HOW CAN HE BE A VICTIM??" "He's bigger and stronger than her though!" "He's a MAN. Men can't be victims...."

WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! While I do believe that Ray Rice could have handled the situation a bit differently than punching her in the face, I do whole heartedly believe that Ray Rice was victimized in that elevator. I have said it before and I will say it again:

DOMESTIC VIOLENCE DOES NOT DISCRIMINATE.

ANYONE can be a victim of domestic violence.

Since the incident, I have somewhat re-wired my brain and the thought that when a man violates a woman, he's immediately a horrible person who shouldn't be allowed to reproduce. I was a feminist man-hater but now that I've educated myself and opened my eyes to what a victim is, I know that the lynching of Ray Rice in the media for his actions was uncalled for. How can we as a society turn a blind eye when a man is abused? Our one track mind is set on men not being victims. This mindset needs to change. 

This will conclude today's blog post. I will be touching on more statistics of male victims in a later blog post, I just wanted to get this one out of the way because I've really been wracking my brain to find a way to discuss this issue in a manner where I felt it would open others' eyes and maybe make them start thinking about the victimization of men. 

Until next time, love and blessings.