My name is Brooklyn, and I am a survivor of domestic violence.
In May of 2013 I befriended a guy I met via social media. He had mutual friends with me, so I accepted his request. I’m a Christian, and thus I posted Christian pictures and statuses. On one, another girl had started fighting with me about my beliefs. Two people defended me, he was one of them.
Afterwards, I messaged them both thanking them. My now ex replied “no problem.” That was the end of the conversation. Later that evening, he messaged me again to talk some more. He wanted to get to know me, so we exchanged phone numbers. For two months, he tried to date me. I wasn’t interested, but finally in July I agreed to go on a date with him.
He took me for Chinese, and we talked for 2 hours. He wanted to be a pastor, he was a youth leader at a church, and he was so polite in every way. When he dropped me off that evening, he kissed me, and it was my first real kiss. We made it official that day that we were boyfriend/girlfriend. My first boyfriend, and eventually my first love. It was so great for the first month, and then September came.
He was leaving for college in New York, and that meant I wouldn’t see him until Thanksgiving. I was okay with that, because we trusted each other to be faithful. The same day he was leaving, I was planning to meet my life-long favorite singer, Keith Urban. The entire time I was at the meet-and-greet/concert, he texted and called me probably 20 times in a row. He was crying about not wanting to be there. So I had Keith Urban 5 feet in front of me on stage, and a boyfriend in New York begging for my attention. Needless to say, my experience was rained on (even though still the highlight of my life so far) and he came back home the next day, dropping out of college.
After that day, he started making “rules” for me. I wasn’t allowed to talk to any guys, I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup, and if I didn’t text him back 2 minutes after I received the text, he would text me again yelling at me. It was such a hassle to keep him happy and keep up my grades at the same time.
Eventually things went down hill slowly. I wasn’t allowed to listen to Keith Urban, have his posters on my wall, watch my favorite shows, eat certain things, or workout. He controlled my appearance and my dreams. He ruined me, but I loved him.
We got into a fight while I was at school one day, and a friend of mine was there to help me. When the friend texted me asking how I was later that night, he (my ex) was furious. He broke up with me, and then begged for me back a couple hours later. I took him back.
He proposed to me 5 months into our relationship, and I stupidly said yes. Then he tried to make me drop my chemistry class, texted me during all of my math tests, made me call him every day (making me miss out on homework), and basically never left me alone. This went on for a year. Finally, he let me wear makeup again, but added more rules on top of letting go of that one. I cannot even remember half of them at this point, but basically my freedom was gone. I was so stupid, but his brown eyes kept me worshipping anything he said.
He took my virginity a month into our relationship, and honestly our relationship revolved on rules and sex. If I didn’t sleep with him, we fought. He said I must not love him if I didn’t want to do it. It was torture, and wasn’t enjoyable to say the least.
January of 2015, I moved out of my fathers house and moved in with my mom and stepdad. They were more lenient (being I was 18, and a good kid) so I could see him whenever I (well, he) wanted. This took a toll on my grades and work because he kept me out and up all night.
My feelings started to fade because I wanted to be free, but he never let me. I had to go to dinner with him and his friends at 11pm, had to go visit his family on weekends. I LOVE his family and friends, but I had other priorities, which still remain unaccomplished. I broke up with him March of 2015, and I started spending all my time with my best friend, Loren. I basically lived at her house, and she helped me recover from the break up. But, we got back together a month later, and then I wasn’t allowed to talk to Loren. Loren was also my boss, and he made me transfer stores so I would never see her.
He forced me to move in with him, without any of my clothes. In the time I lived there, he quit his job, and I was still in school/working. I had to come home from school (the days he let me go), do laundry, clean our room, make him food, go to work, come home, finish laundry, clean up his mess, tend to his desires, go to sleep (around 2am), wake up at 4am for school, and repeat my day. It was exhausting.
On top of all of that, he kept trying to get me pregnant so I would marry him. He also took me to the courthouse to get our wedding papers so we could elope the next weekend. That weekend never came, because that weekend was when it all became real.
Living with him, once a week we would fight and he would throw me around and get on top of me, scream in my face and degrade me until I cried. It was torture. At this point I had gone through humiliation, manipulation, emotional abuse and more from him, then came the physical.
On May 24th, 2015,(the weekend we were supposed to marry) he and I got into a fight. He accused me of cheating via text and told me to come back and get all my stuff and never speak to him again. When I walked in our room, I opened the closet door and he jumped on top of me, throwing me backwards onto our bed. He screamed in my face. He got off of me and kept yelling. I began packing my bags and he threw my things everywhere. I got a lot of it packed, but then the tackled me onto the bed again and began choking me. After he got off I was taking clothes out of the closet. There was a space between all the clothes from me removing most of them, he spun me around and pushed me full force into the wall of the closet. I dropped to the floor holding my head and whimpering in pain. I finally stood up and he sat on his bed. I was crying, had the worst headache, and just wanted to get out of there. He pulled out a knife, a big knife. Not like a Michael Myers knife, but one you would use for hunting. He said he would kill himself if I left, so when I tried to get the knife off of him (stupid mistake), he cut me down my right arm, from my bicep to my forearm. I grabbed what I could, threw it in my car, and I drove to work. He texted me 10 times after that apologizing, but I didn’t accept it.
I lost every part of myself in that relationship, and now I can’t even remember who I was before him. I don’t know where he is today, but I want him to know I’ve forgiven him, and I’ve found myself.