Broken by: LifeHouse
As I mentioned before I met my ex husband when I was still with my so called boyfriend. Of course I met him when we were drinking. I knew nothing of this man, and no one shared with me anything about him. He was a native man from Duncan’s Indian reservation. Which I was to find out later was notoriously violent and dangerous. I did marry this man and became a Moostoos, by marriage.
I remember the first time I ever met him I was sitting between him and my boyfriend, and I do not know what provoked him, but her reached across me to hit my boyfriend and hit me instead, giving me a bloody nose. I of course was very upset and wanted him to leave. He apologized profusely and said he did not intend to hit me. It didn’t dawn on me to be indignant that he tried to hit my boyfriend. However, by this time my boyfriend was messing with another girl and I really had no love for him at all. In fact I really did not like him at all. and when I wanted to lay down if he was in the bed I would hoist eight draw dresser we had over my head and hurl it at him. I would just have these bouts of rage, fleeting, but very dangerous, since I lost all reason, in those brief moments. fortunately they were rare, unless I was drinking, then I would be too drunk to really cause any harm, at least that is what I told myself. Fortunately for me, I never harmed any one physically in my drinking days. I think of some of the things I did when drinking and cringe with shame and regret.The day I knew it was time to leave my “Boyfriend” was the day I was in the bedroom, loaded a gun and closed the bedroom door. I called my boyfriend and when he opened the door he had a loaded 22 leveled right at his head. All I said was “It is Loaded”. We stood there for a couple minutes, then I said shut the door, and leave me alone. That is exactly what he did, but the fear in his eyes I will never forget, I had no right to cause that kind of fear, I wasn’t even mad at him, I was cold, unfeeling, I was shutting down. Was I finally broken?
No, I was not Broken yet, more horror was yet to come my way, unbelievable horror.
My soon to be husband had a girlfriend at the time, so I was just friendly with both of them. Unbeknownst to me his current girlfriend was desperately trying to get away from him, and it seemed that I was a good substitute to take his mind of her and onto me. She was so afraid of him, that she was willing to sacrifice me to save her own life. I guess in my world that was acceptable.
Trigger Warning: Content may be Graphic and distressing to some readers caution advised.
She did end up leaving, and he pursued me relentlessly, bringing me booze just so I would let him in. By this Time I would not see any one unless it was to drink with them. I was just isolating myself was so ashamed of my drinking when I was sober. I even tried to gas myself,with our gas stove. Reason kicked in and I thought what if some one lights a cigarette, I will blow up every body, not just myself! I thought well I would just do what our Great Grandmother did and drink my self to death. Easier said than done, it is a slow painful death. I was 22 years old at this time, and felt my life was over, and could not understand why I was still walking this earth! This should have been a time when I had the world by the tail and was living life to the fullest, yet here I was trying hard to drink myself to death. I rarely suffered Dt’s because I always had booze readily available, and my soon to be husband came by at least once every three days.
During this time I did not have any contact with my siblings, again I think the last time I saw them was when I went to see them at our moms funeral,so about two years had passed by again. This was normal for our broken family. I do not even think I realized that other families did not go so long with out seeing, or talking to each other. For us this was our normal. When I look back on it I am grateful that there was such limited contact with my family, as the man I was going to marry turned out to be extremely dangerous.I did not realize this until it was to late. I will call him D.M, to make it simpler on me to write.
The day I went with D.M was the beginning of summer, was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. It was also, the first time I had been out to Duncan’s Reservation. There was a house party going on were he was staying. The people there were fun and kind, I had no idea the wolfs den I was walking into. That early summer, D.M and I had a lot of fun, drinking together and getting to know each other. My Ex boyfriend moved on with the girl he had been messing around with while I was with him. Things were ok, while we were living with his friend, no one ever said anything to me about D.M, they all seemed happy for him. They did mention that his previous girlfriend had left Alberta, but that was the only mention of her. however, I did hear later on she died in a car accident, I really hope this is not the case as she was young and deserved a happy life. I feel bad if she did die, after being abused by this monster that I invited into my life.
The first time he ever hit me, we were drinking and I said something that upset him. I do not remember what I said, however, I knew I could say mean things when I was drinking, so felt maybe I deserved it. We were outside in a camping trailer on his friends property, as we were going to stay in that for the rest of the summer. He just reached across the table and slapped me with an open hand, it Really didn’t hurt, it just surprised me. I hit him back quite hard and yelled at him. then he slapped me again this time hard enough that I didn’t try to push the issue any further. I just got up and started to walk away, I really had no were to go but I sure as heck wasn’t staying with a guy that slapped me! He caught up to me, which wasn’t to hard since I was wobbly, and he pleaded with me and told me he was so sorry and would never do it again. At that time I believed him, gave him a hug, told him it was ok it was my fault for saying what ever I said that set him off. Taking the blame for abuse, was a recurring theme in my life, since I was little, and this was no different. It was what I was trained to do, comfort the abuser and take the blame.
We spent the summer in that little trailer, and although there was a few more instances of abuse, it was never bad enough that I ever felt like it was him and not me that was at fault. I had no idea that I was getting caught up in a cycle that was going to spiral into a hell that I never even knew existed, in all of my young adult life. I always thought that when I became and adult no one would ever be able to hurt me again. I was so wrong.
The Cycle of Violence was quite clear the longer I stayed with him, and the shorter the intervals between the stages. The honeymoon stage was when he was repentant and sorry, and would be so kind to me. It was those times that I really wished he would be like all the time. The tension building is when nothing would please him and he was critical of everything, it was at these times I felt like I was walking on egg shells. The acute explosion stages when he would beat me, and over time the beatings became progressively worse. They cycles also got shorter intervals in between as well. Which is typical in a violent relationship.
That fall we moved into an apartment in town, and although he would still hit me, it wasn’t bad enough that I felt I had to get away. He even got me a kitten, that I absolutely adored. I didn’t know at the time it was just another way to keep me in line, as I could not very well leave my kitty to his abuse. That little kitty loved me too, she would climb up me to sit on my shoulder, I just loved her, I called her “Baby”. That sweet little kitty, was killed by DM. I did not know until later in life that this was a serious issue. Not only because any one who would kill an innocent animal was disturbed, but also because, it was a indication that he would have no remorse killing me.
That spring we moved back to the reservation, and things really got out of hand. We moved into a small little house, on the reservation when his name came up on the list for housing, The drinking happened any time we had money, and it seemed like we were always able to find money for alcohol and drugs. He liked to smoke pot, I didn’t but would once in a while just to please him, I would. Sometimes we would get into fights and he would start beating me. Looking back now I see they were not fights at all, it was a more powerful person torturing and harming someone who was less powerful. One time he told me he was going to scald me with hot water and pluck me like a chicken. I knew things were getting bad and I wanted out.
One time, out of the blue, he just calmly said fine, go. By this time my cat was dead. I think he killed it out of jealously. I will never know for sure, why, just that he killed her. I started down the drive way, then started to jog, then started to run in earnest, I thought I was really free!! I had nothing but the clothes on my back and no were to go, but I didn’t care!! I was free. I looked behind me and saw him running after me, I started to run faster, he caught up to me with ease. He grabbed me by my long hair and yanked me off my feet, and proceeded to drag me down the long gravel drive way, by my hair, like a cave man. The gravel cutting into my back and legs and buttocks. My head banging on the road, chips of gravel embedding into my scalp. Once he dragged me back into the house he simply said to me “Go!” Meaning leave again, he was such a twisted person. My heart sank I knew the truth, I was trapped and there was no way he was ever going to let me go. I had zero love or compassion for this man, all I had was fear of him, and with good reason.
I began to drink even more, which he liked as it made easier to manage, sometimes I would black out and wake up with puffy bruised eyes and bruises all over my body from a beating. The one saving grace was I didn’t remember the beating, and if I died during the beating I would have seen it as blessing. However, he didn’t just beat me when we were drinking he would beat me when we were sober as well.
I remember the phrase kick the shyte outta some one. I always thought that was just a saying, but it is not. One time during a sever beating, he kicked me in the stomach area with his cow boy boots, and my bowls literally let go with that kick. It wasn’t the fear that did it, it was he kicked me in just the right spot that it loosened my bowls enough that I defecated myself. During these beatings I never cried, or screamed or nothing, I just accepted that this was what my life was meant to be, and that I was forever going to be abused. I went to the bathroom cleaned my self up and went to our bedroom to lay down and begin healing in preparation for the next beating. The incredibly illogical reason he gave for beating me was that he was scared that I was going to leave him! What a crock of shyte. Sorry but sometimes thinking about this makes me so angry.
There was no time that was safe, drinking, not drinking, even sleeping was not safe. sometimes he would rip off the blankets and start whipping me with this long thin, flexible plastic cord he had. He would say he had a dream that I cheated on him, or was going to cheat on him, and his “Native ” blood gave him the power to foresee this. This man was insane, but all his actions were coldly calculated. He would , wake me out of a dead sleep, with a beating and I would scream at him what did I do?! He wouldn’t tell me until he was sweating with exertion. I just retreated into my mind that place, were no one else was allowed to come. It got to the point were I no longer could sleep properly, and would only sleep when he was outside, or gone to work at the reservation plant. You might be asking why not leave when he is at work. I tried twice,and got a sound beating, the third time the beating was so bad I could not walk for a week.
D.M was the epitome of a Misogynist, and his abuse was not just relegated to me, if any woman displeased him he was not afraid to cause her pain. People were very afraid of him, including the police, who refused to come out and help me the two times I called for help. They asked were I was calling from and when they found out I was at D.M’s place they refused to help me. I never thought of filing a complaint, because I did not want D.M to know I called them!
We had a little hole in the ground for a cellar under the house, and he threatened to put me down there with the spiders and bugs, I was really scared of spiders, Thank fully he only threatened to put me down there , but I think it was only a matter of time before he actually did put me down there, dead or alive.
Hunting was a very prevalent way we used to feed our selves. I remember the first time that he told me to come hunt with him, of course I didn’t have a gun.. I really do not know how to shoot nor have I ever shot a gun, I’m actually scared of guns. He made me walk in front of him, I don’t know whether it was he wanted to instill fear, probably, or because he didn’t trust me, probably not. My skin felt like it was crawling on my body, I was so sure he was going to shoot me in the head and say it was a hunting accident. Because the law enforcement was scared of him, it probably would be swept under the rug. I mean after all who was I, just a 24 year old drunk, not of any importance really. Because’ I did not have contact with my family, they would probably never know that I had been murdered, if they even found my body that was.
He used to go in to great detail how he would cover up my murder. One way was he had a friend that was a butcher. He said he would get this friend to let him in to use the meat grinder. He would hack me up and grind up my body and sell me to the public as hamburger. Sick Bastard that he was I believed him. He also said he would feed me to pigs as they eat every thing. Another way was he would bury me in a gravel pit that was not longer in use, and they would never find my body, and even if they did he would be either to old to care or long dead himself.
There was a white boy that had a young child with one of the reservation girls that was at a party one night. apparently he was flirting with some ones sister and the brother took offense to it.He stabbed the 24 year old young man 27 times. I was not at that party, but I heard about it from the others. The man that stabbed that young man to death got five years, D.M laughed while looking at me and said “I could do five years standing on my head…” The message was loud and clear to me.
The longer I stayed the worse things got, one would ask how could things possibly get worse, well they did. After I married him thinking that by marrying him it would assuage his fears that I would leave him, and the beatings would stop..That is not what happened, but I will talk about that in the next segment.
Thank you for bearing with me, this content was disturbing for me to relive with you, but it was also healing , so thank you for bearing with me! Your support means so much to me!! LOVE