Part 2 of My Purpose Story…

Where do I even begin to tell you part two of my purpose? 

As I sit here ready to share one of the darkest times in my teenage life, I wish I could tell that I learned my lesson. I wish I could say that I never endured anymore physical pain. I wish I could tell you it was all sunshine and rainbows from there. But I would be lying to you. The universe has a perfect path for us. The path will be filled with hurt, anger, mistakes, all while simultaneously giving us happiness, triumph and courage. It strategically gives us just enough of both sides of the tunnel, the dark end, and the light end. It’s reason? To mold us into the perfect version that it had planned for us all along, the version that would create legacies, raise other humans, and continue the cycle of life.

Although I will end “my first big girl relationship” story there, the truth is I have a bigger monster in my closet. This monster has sharper fangs, longer claws, darker eyes, and continues to make an appearance in my life, especially when I sleep. This monster turns my dreams into nightmares. This monster wakes me up out of a deep sleep to my husband hovering over me, gently asking me if I am okay, and if I had another nightmare. This story begins the summer before my senior year of high school. I was 17 years old.

I met him at a dance. The dance was in a small town about 15 minutes from where I lived. I was there with my girlfriends having a good time, laughing joking, and people watching. He was a great dancer. He had a huge smile. He asked me to dance, and the rest was history. I will call him “Mike.”

“Mike” was from a town 20 minutes from my house. He was charming, and very attentive. I had never met anyone like him. He wanted to spend every minute with me. Of course, this was impossible, as I had some very strict parents, who at this point, had zero confidence in my ability to choose a boy. He would have some hurdles to get through, but he was determined to charm his way in. He bought me gifts and took me to dinner. If I said I liked something, he would show up to my house and surprise me with it. “Wow,” I thought, he is the real deal! Slowly, he started to become possessive. He would tell me to call him when I got out of school, before I went to work, and after I got out of work. He would magically appear at my school during lunch and after school. “Don’t you have to be in class?” I would ask him. He would just turn on the charm and tell me he was taking me somewhere.

Eventually, I brought him home to meet my parents. They liked him; even though he wasn’t Mexican. My parents were very traditional. Remember the thing I said about being a first-generation Mexican American raised by strict parents?

He would come over and help my dad in the yard or help him with handy projects around the house. The crazy thing about “Mike” was that he was very helpful to family and to strangers. If we saw someone having car troubles in the parking lot, “Mike” would be the first one to offer help. On the outside he was perfect, but on the inside he was broken, very broken. He reminds me of the character from the movie “Split” the one who has different personalities, and at the end of the movie the monster literally emerges from his body. This was 100 percent “Mike.”

If “Mike” was upset, he wanted the whole world to know. He would yell in public. For example, if I walked away from him at the store, he would scream my name at the top of his lungs. If I accidentally stepped on his shoes, he would stomp on mine. No one knew this side of “Mike.” Once he was done being upset, or humiliating me in public, he would show up to my house with roses, and chocolates. He would sincerely apologize, and say that if I listened to him, next time would be better. He promised to work on his anger, but only as long as I promised to work on being a “good girlfriend.”

I met his family. They were sweet. They were different. I often wondered if they knew this side of “Mike.” How could he be so different from them? It wasn’t possible. Deep down, I believed he was like them. So, I stayed, and I trusted it would get better for us. It never did.

I mistakenly got a job in the town where he was from. It was at a grocery store. I was a cashier. “Mike” used any excuse to come see me before work, after work, and during my breaks. We were in deep. In retrospect, I now realize he didn’t have many friends. He was so attached to me. By this time, his behavior got worse. He would come to my work, pick a fight about something and then tell me to take my break so we could “talk” about it. Afraid that he would cause a scene at my work, I listened. I went outside with him to “talk.” He cornered me behind the store and started to yell and tell me how much of a bad girlfriend I was to him. I tried to walk away, but he pinned me to the door with his body. I began to cry in fear of him, and in fear of losing my job. I was late. My break was over. Then suddenly, I heard footsteps, it was my manager. She came looking for me when I didn’t come back. She told me I was late and needed to get inside. She saw the tears in my eyes. She knew something was wrong, she knew I was involved in something bigger than me.

That day after work, “Mike” was waiting for me. I was scared. It was night-time. My manager saw his car outside and asked me if I knew he was there. I said no. She asked me if I wanted to see him and I said no. She could see the fear in my eyes. She asked our produce manager to walk me out. I walked out with him, and “Mike” yelled a few choice words and sped off. I got in my car, but I knew I wasn’t safe. As I turned to exit the parking lot, he reappeared at the corner. He was flashing me with his headlights, honking his horn and got right behind me. I thought he would ram his car into mine. He stuck his head out the window and told me to meet him at our “spot.” It was secluded. My instinct said for me to race to the freeway, but instead I followed his instructions thinking I could call him down. I was wrong. He had all day to fester in his emotions, and he was about to unload them ALL on me.

He got in my two-door Honda Civic, and banged his fists against the dashboard and the window. He did it so hard that my little car started to shake. He was crying and asked me why I had to get him this angry. I stayed silent. I was afraid to move. That infuriated him more. This is when he decided to force himself on me. I was in shock. It felt like I had an out of body experience. I laid there, didn’t move and didn’t speak. I felt like it was happening to someone else. Not me. When he was done, he apologized and said he loved me. Everything would be better if I didn’t ignore him. I half-smiled so he could think we were good now, but the truth was, it was not good, it was not good at all.

After this, “Mike” would continue to get in fits of rages and we continued to fight. One time after ignoring his phone calls all day, he waited for me after work; again. I got in my car, locked the doors and sped off. I was done. He chased me. I didn’t stop. I put my foot on the gas and was not about to lose this battle. I thought he would turn back once I got on the freeway; wrong again.

He followed me on the freeway, and we both reached speeds of up to 90 miles an hour. He got dangerously close to my bumper and acted like he was going to hit me from behind. At this point, I knew we would crash. I thought, this is it. He is going to run me off the road. Eventually he turned off an exit and disappeared. I thought he was done. Thank God! About ten minutes later, I called my dad and told him I was stopping for food and asked if he wanted anything. He said “Mike” had just gotten there, and I should wait so we could all grab something. What the fuck?

I couldn’t believe this. He beat me to my house and pretended nothing was wrong. He acted like he hadn’t just tried to run me off the freeway. I could picture his stupid, grinning face sitting next to my father on the couch. I was pissed. I told my dad very calmly, that I needed “Mike” to leave. I told him I didn’t want him there, that we had a fight, and I didn’t want to see him. He asked if I was okay, I lied and said yes. I didn’t want to scare him. My dad was very ill. When I got home, he was gone.

At this point, I was mentally done being stalked, being afraid, and being held against my own will. I was exhausted keeping up a fake face to my family about what I was going through. My dad was getting more and more sick. He had a liver disease and needed a liver transplant, or he would die. My life wasn’t about “Mike” anymore, and “Mike” knew that.

On my 18thbirthday, I ran into “Mike” at the mall. He was on the phone with another girl. I don’t know how I knew this; I just did. He quickly hung up and chased me through the mall. I ended up walking into Sears and ducking behind some clothes racks. “What the fuck am I doing?” I thought to myself. This had to end. I couldn’t do this anymore.

I went home and got ready. We were having a large family dinner at Red Lobster for my birthday. My mom and dad left earlier to prepare for the dinner, and I stayed home alone while I got ready. Suddenly, there was knock at my front door. It was “Mike.” I told him to go away and that I didn’t want to see him. He was apologizing and crying. I wasn’t having it. I told him to leave and that I was not going to open the door for him. His knocking and crying turned into pounding and screaming. He was pounding the door so hard that my whole house felt like it was shaking. This went on for about one to two minutes. I finally opened the door, because I was sure the neighbors were watching, and I was worried they would call the police. When I opened the door, “Mike” tackled me to the ground. He was right on top of me on my living room floor, yelling and spitting on my face. I was mortified. By this point, I had learned how to calm him down, and I did by apologizing and telling him how stupid I was and how lucky I was to have him.

The neighbors who were also my niece and nephews’ babysitters at the time, must have called my sister and brother-in-law, because they came racing to my house. My brother-in-law drove onto the lawn and confronted “mike.” He back peddled, and instantly put on the charm. In my moment of humiliation and wanting to save face, I made up a lie, and said it was my fault. I didn’t hear the door and my cellphone was off. That is why the neighbors heard banging. The situation with “Mike” made me such a good liar. My family didn’t buy it, but they knew it was my birthday and wanted to keep things as normal for me as possible. By the time we got to dinner, all of the men in my family were outside waiting for me and “mike.” “Oh shit,” I thought. The truth was about to come out.

My dad cornered Mike outside Red Lobster and asked him what he was doing banging on his house like that. He asked me if he had hurt me, I said no. I could not even imagine the disappointment my dad would have if he knew this little boy were hurting his teenage daughter.

With his jaw clenched and in his thick Mexican accent, my dad told him that if he found out he touched a single hair on my head, he would “kill him motherfuckerrr.”

“Mike” and I broke up shortly after that. The façade I had kept for that year and and a half was too much for me to bare. The lies were getting bigger, the stories weren’t matching up, and my family was officially done with him. He was no longer welcome anywhere near my home or at any family events. Mike was moving on to his next victim. He was starting to leave me alone. I was grateful. I needed to get my life back. I needed to start over. I needed to do all the things I ignored because of him. I needed to get away. I was DETERMINED to move on.

And so, I did just that…or so I tried.

See you next week for part three of my purpose story.

Please remember that if you are someone you know is a victim of dating abuse, domestic violence, or sexual assault, you are not alone. There are many resources out there.