I am a survivor

Set Me Free
I’m not mad at what you’ve done,
I’m angered that you’ve won.
I’ve watched passively,
As you’ve slowly consumed me.
Silently dying each day inside,
While the black and blue I continue to hide.
Wearing a fake smile during the day,
And wishing each night to run away.
I bow my head concealed within the dark,
Praying that God will protect me from another mark.
I hate the girl I’ve become,
Feeling no emotion, being simply numb.
Your condescending words I no longer hear,
Seeing no bruises as I avoid every mirror.
Now you’ve left me bleeding on the floor,
While I struggle towards the door.
Just as I reach for the knob,
I collapse releasing a final sob.
Suddenly appears a happier place,
As a brilliant light shines upon my face.
God has finally brought me home,
After I lived years feeling all alone.
It took you killing me,
To finally set me free.

My name is Jenni, and I am a dating violence survivor.
It all started my sophomore year of high school; I was merely 15 years old. I was a high achieving student while still playing sports and leading clubs. Homecoming was quickly approaching and I was still dateless, but I had my eye on a certain guy. He sat behind me in biology, and his eyes always drew me in. To me, he was the Prince Charming I had been waiting for, finally sent to me in the form of a high school football player. My dream came true when he finally asked me to the dance. Shortly after, we began dating and the nightmare set in. Things were great for the first month, then everything seemed to fall apart, even though I couldn’t see it then.

There are always warning signs of a relationship becoming violent, but it is so difficult to see when you are in it. The abuse began with controlling behavior, as it often does. He dictated what I was allowed wear: I had to look good enough to be with him in public but I couldn’t attract the attention of any other guys. Every other day he would yell at me simply because of the outfit I chose to wear. He used offensive language calling me a whore, slut, bitch, and hoe. I stopped spending time with my own friends and family. I had to constantly be in his sights. I always had to answer my phone whenever he would call. He slowly isolated me from anyone that could have helped me, from anyone that would see exactly what he was doing to me. It got to the point that I couldn’t even recognize who the girl in the mirror was looking back at me. Therefore, I simply avoided any mirror in the hopes that I wouldn’t have to face these problems.

Things escalated, and escalated fast. Now instead of emotional abusing me with his words, he would push. I remember a time that I didn’t want to go where he wanted so he shoved me into a brick wall. His force was so strong that my back was cut open. I didn’t even feel the blood or the pain until a friend came up to me and said, “Oh my gosh, Jenni you are bleeding.” I laughed it off and quickly covered it with a Band-aid. I could feel the angry stare of my boyfriend on the back of my neck. But I knew better than to say anything. As the months went on, the cuts and bruises became more frequent. The weather grew warmer but my sleeves had to get longer. It would be 80 degrees outside but I had to wear a hoodie and jeans just cover the black and blue.

He became more and more comfortable with physically taking out his anger on me. The empty hallways were his scene of choice, and the metal lockers were the enemy that pierced my back with every forceful shove. The abuse was getting more public and more aggressive. One day I watched as he practiced for football with a few of his friends. He fumbled the ball and we laughed at his butterfingers. Suddenly I felt the pressure of all 185 pounds of him crashing against me. My feet fell from under me as he slammed me onto the field. My neck jerked my head hard against the ground, everything went dark. When I regained consciousness, the first thing I saw was him standing over me. His friends stood in shock and asked over and over again if I was alright. I wouldn’t take my eyes off of his. He finally spoke saying, “She’s fine. Get up, now.” I struggled to stand. The spinning feeling from the hit on my head caused me to throw up on the field. He grabbed my hand and led me into the school. I laid on the floor of the gym while he glared down on me, shaking his head as if out of shame for a wrong I had done. That was the first time that I prayed that God would have just let me die. I was in so deep; I was convinced that I would drown before I made it out alive.

Summer came, but there was no shining sun for me. Even the happiest place on Earth, as known as Disneyland, became a place of fear and pain. That summer we flew to California to visit colleges with some other students. The trip included a free day at Disneyland. I remember waking up that morning and saying to myself, today is going to be different. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. It was the Buzz Light-year ride that completely sent him over the edge. How dare I score more points on a silly shooting ride, right? He got so anger at my teasing remarks about being out-shot by a girl, that he came up behind me, wrapping his arm tightly around my neck. I tried to pull him off but he was too strong. I tried to scream but I had no voice. I watched as people turned their heads the other way and continued to walk. I started choking and crying, this only caused him to tighten his grip. I closed my eyes and prayed, “God take me now. Please just let me die.” Just as I was about to pass out, he released me. I fell to the ground gasping for air. He walked past me and waited for me to gather the strength to lift myself to my feet. I couldn’t even look at him for the rest of the night. Sometimes I still have nightmares of being choked. They feel so real that they wake me up.

It took over a year of bruises, cuts, and much more before I finally left. I feared that leaving him would spark more violence. But at that point, I figured I would end up dead if I stayed. It wasn’t easy, and there were times I doubted my choice. But now I can stand before you and say I am alive. My life is in my hands now. Death didn’t release me, I did. The journey to where I am now was tough; I had to rediscover who I was all over again. I no longer avoid the mirrors. I no longer fear being smacked around. I am no longer the victim. I am a survivor. And I am finally set free.