From K.d.c. in uintah county
Dear Utah,
Growing up, I was in a home surrounded by violence. My dad was an alcoholic and addicted to meth, so when he would start throwing things and hitting us kids at the slightest inconvenience, I just thought that is how dads are. When I was 15, I started dating my abuser. He was a young boy who ran drugs for his brother and, ultimately, to my father. My abuser was a plug for my dad’s addiction. My abuser used to tell me we were perfect for each other, that we were made for each other. We saw each other for years on and off. When I was sixteen, I gave him a piece of me; I lost my virginity to him. When my abuser saw that I had bled, he told me we were bound in blood to each other; he always knew just what to say to a girl like me. A girl that only ever wanted to be loved, a girl that just wanted to believe true love did exist. We broke up and didn't see each other until the next summer.
I was seventeen and living wherever I could. Anywhere was better than home with my addict dad and mom who locked herself in her room with the lights out for days, sometimes weeks at a time.
I was homeless, and so was he. He told me that home is anywhere if we are together. His words were magic to a girl like me, a girl who just wanted somewhere to feel safe, a home that wasn't tainted with pain and constant anxiety. That same night was the first time I let him convince me that he didn’t rape me. We were drinking, being dumb teenagers. I drank too much; the room started spinning, so he took me to a room in the house we were partying at. The sun came up, and I woke up with no clothes on. Why didn't I have clothes on? I was devastated and asked him what he did to me. “It isn’t rape because we love each other, we were made for each other.”
When I was twenty-three, and fresh out of another domestic violence relationship, my abuser could see the sadness in me like a beacon calling him to me. We got back together, he had a job, and I was just laid off, he had an apartment, and I was just kicked out of my house. My abuser told me all we needed was each other. He was running from a domestic violence charge from his daughter's mother. I told him I couldn't see him doing something like that to her, I couldn’t see him hitting her so hard both her eyes were swollen shut for two weeks, I couldn’t see him throwing her so hard the porcelain from the toilet chipped off inside her skin and cracked. My abuser told me, I was blinded by love, and love brought us back together. I believed him. Love brought us back together.
Three months later, I got a positive pregnancy test. I didn't want kids. We were homeless again, living in a camper. My abuser told me, “Now we really are bound in blood.” When I tried to leave, he raped me and pinned me down. There was no leaving. When I was five months pregnant, I managed to get us a house to rent. It was a friend of my dad’s place made from cinderblocks. I wanted to work; I wanted to make honest money to support my baby growing inside me. When I told him I had a job interview, he pinned me down, hit me, and raped me. My new job was driving him to sell drugs. When I told him I didn't want this life, I didn't want to bring my daughter into the world being a criminal, he took his gun and put it to my head. There was no leaving. Every day of my pregnancy, I was beaten or I was raped.
When I had my daughter, I needed a C-section. There were complications and I was losing a lot of blood, my abuser was there in the room. I didn't want the doctors to save me. My time in the hospital was lonely, my abuser left for hours at a time while I struggled to breastfeed, while I was learning to be a mother. I wanted to keep my baby safe, but when I tried to ask for help, I was paralyzed. My abuser told me if I told the doctors anything, they would take my baby away. They would take her away from me because of the lifestyle he forced me into.
When my daughter was four and a half months old, there was no going back. While trying to escape with my sister on my birthday, my abuser took the car seat my daughter was in and threw it across the room. My abuser took the barrel of his gun and put it in my mouth. I wanted him to pull the trigger.
We were all able to escape, my daughter, my dog, and I were finally safe. We went to the police station for hours, filling out paperwork, going through danger assessments, and answering all of the questions. At 3:00 in the morning, the police told me I had to leave the city. I had no money; I had no clothes. All I had was a sleeve of diapers and a pair of pajamas for my baby. My abuser forced me out of my house, and I was never able to go back. I wasn't able to get my daughter's first baby blanket or her handmade baptism dress. All of her firsts were gone. It was just me and her. My older sister lived in Vernal, so that's where we stayed. I didn't know anyone here; I didn't have any leads on a job that could support us. I worked gas station jobs and cleaning jobs to make sure my daughter was fed and we could afford rent. We lived this way for nearly two years.
When I met my husband, it all fell into place. The day before we got married, I got a call from FAFV, offering me an interview. I would be a liar if I told you I didn't cry. I wanted a job where I could help the people that were in my situation. If I could make it out, I could help others make it out. FAFV was a light at the end of my tunnel. I was in a place where I could work through my traumas while also helping other people who needed it most. The most therapeutic thing I could ever do is work in an environment where I get to see people make it out and succeed. I remember every client we get to see grow and accomplish the things they never thought they could do. I remember the look on every client's face when they walk through the door and see that they don't have to fight to survive anymore. I remember the look on their faces when they realize they don't have to steal formula for their baby anymore. I remember the look on their faces when they leave the shelter with a bittersweet feeling, going to their new homes that feel safe and a place they can feel loved.