Denise's Story

Denise’s Story

Hi, my name is Denise, and I suffer from chronic post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety with major depressive disorder. This is where it all began:

In 1997, I got married and was pregnant with our first child, my then husband was a big drinker and once I became pregnant everything changed.

When I was 7 months pregnant my husband would tell me I was fat, useless, ugly, used and unwanted.

I gave birth to our first child a daughter and everything got even worse, the words became physical and while sitting on the bed with our newborn child in my arms my husband put a knife to my throat and threatened to kill me.

I should have left, but who would want me? I’m useless, I’m used, I have a child with another man. Those were things beaten into my head every day until I believed them.

I eventually just stayed quiet so I wouldn’t hear those things and then it became a constant fight of me not defending myself and the words became slaps, and I took them.

Every day I grew more depressed, more alone, more alienated from my family due to bruises that I couldn’t cover up.

After 4 months of physical abuse, I packed a bag, and my daughter and I left.

However, for 6 months he did everything right: went to church, counseling, stopped drinking etc. So, I went back…

BIGGEST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE!

Four months into our “newly lit” marriage he wanted to go drinking and I said “no”, because I was pregnant with our second child, so he threw a fit and called me a bunch of names, left, and was gone all night.

He came home and everything, as usual, was my fault.

I fell into the biggest depression of my life.

Stuck, pregnant, and what felt like alone, in this personal Hell.

Why couldn’t I leave?

I was 21 and before I knew it, I had another child and got beaten daily for no reason other than existing.

On December 26th, 2004, my husband wanted to go out, but our son who was 2 did not want to leave my side and I was not going to force him to stay somewhere he didn’t want to be.

That turned into a fight for my life.

He left, got drunk and drugged out and when he got home, I was the punching bag.

I tried to cover up every bruise with whatever I could, but I couldn’t hide the fear in my voice that day when I called my dad.

He knew something was wrong and before I knew it my dad had walked 5 blocks to get to me and was confronted in the street by my then husband: a month after burying my dear precious mother.

I was miserable, I played the perfect housewife, yet it was anything but perfect.

That day my husband shot at me, shot at my dad and stabbed me with his deer knife when I was pregnant with our third child. He put that 12 gauge to my head and pulled the trigger as my 2 young children were in the car with my dad watching everything and all I could do was hear their screams.

When he pulled the trigger, the gun jammed, and I went running up the hill chasing my dad in my car with my 2 children to get away. We were all shaken, but alive and we called the police, but it wasn’t over.

The police got there just in time to witness this monster I married, pull-up with the 12 gauge and ammo, he wasn’t done.

It took 4 cops and 4 cans of pepper spray to get him into cuffs.

Because there were no charges brought on him for stabbing me, the abuse wasn’t over for me.

I spent 6 months running and hiding.

Every safe house I would find, he would find me.

I bought a new car, went by a new name, my kids weren’t in school or daycare, but he found me every single time.

Each time he found me I became more and more depressed and started drinking alcohol, then drinking more and more every day.

Eventually I was granted a full order-of-protection by the courts. He wasn’t allowed to be within so many feet of me and my children. YAY!!!

I thought I was safe.

Nope, that was just a piece of paper, and he walked through it every single time.

I finally had a few months of peace because he was in jail for hitting his own father.

I found a house and moved there with my 2 babies.

Eventually he was released from jail and on May 3rd, 2006, he found me.

He broke into my home and held me and my 2 kids hostage. Made me lay in the bed with him and the 12 gauge in between us. I tried to get away and he beat me, punched me in the head, beat my head against my car, until I pleaded with him and convinced him he could move in we could be a family.

I worked for a hospital and went to work after dropping my 2 kids off with their Mimi. I took my tattered, torn clothes and my beaten face and I went to work. They hid me, my car, my kids, and again the police file was reported I was mentally done at that point.

I tried to commit suicide by taking a large amount of whatever I could find in the medicine cabinet. I was mentally exhausted.

Thankfully, I survived.

Finally, it came time that they would sentence him, and he got what he deserved.

He was sentenced to two life sentences, and I finally got my peace back physically.

Little did I know that my fight was still going on in my head, mentally, and it felt like it wasn’t just going to end.

My mental health had continually gone down the drain.

Day after day, nightmare after nightmare, it continued.

But after no longer drinking or doing drugs, and by getting my psychiatric medication right, I live day to day like I should.

I’m in a healthier space.

Mental illness can happen to anyone.

I’m the daughter of a very Godly man and woman, and mental illness is not prejudice, it does not matter your background or your beliefs.

Denise