Personal Struggle — Part 12

I think this might actually be the concluding chapter of my personal story. At least for now… I had to stop where I did in Part 11. It got too difficult for me to write. It’s hard to write about traumatic experiences because you get to relive those moments when you go back in time, down the memory lane. I want to thank everyone once again for their support and encouragement.

This is a very personal and painful account of surviving abuse. I’ve struggled with its aftereffects and resulting PTSD for many years. Since I never got to press charges and put my ex behind bars, sharing my story has given me some sense of relief and justice for myself. Letting go of this burden that I’ve been carrying around for so long (19 years to be exact) has been a very healing experience. I know that I’m not alone and I encourage all other survivors to speak up and share their stories. That’s when you stop being a victim.

If you just got here, this narrative is meant to be read in chronological order starting with Part 1.

Part 12:

I began to lose all hope. I knew that there was no way that I could wrestle him off of me. He was on top and twice my size. I was gasping for air and I was preparing to die. That last scream for help I managed to cry out must have been loud enough and disturbing enough for the babysitter to hear it and finally make her way over to see what’s up (after much hesitation, I’m sure). When she opened the door, she startled my ex and he speedily escaped the room and ran out of my house before she could even comprehend what she just saw.

I was still on the floor. Shaking and hysterical. Now looking back at it, I’m pretty sure that my ex had some sort of an agreement with her. Definitely that she wasn’t supposed to go into my room no matter what she heard and possibly, that she also wasn’t going to talk about what she saw. He might have paid her money or promised to pay her when I wasn’t there with them earlier that night.

Regardless, something must have not gone according to plan (I mean the plan that she was briefed on). After all, something did force her to come into my room. And I will forever be grateful because she saved my life.

I was struggling with my ex for what seemed to be a very long time. And for a while I couldn’t even figure out what he was doing because he was doing it in such an odd way. With his massive physique, he could have quickly and easily snapped my neck, but that would have left marks and physical evidence. He was clearly trying to leave no signs of outward struggle. BTW, approximately 50% of documented cases of strangulation exhibit no visible injury.

I bet his plan was to asphyxiate me and then frame it as a suicide. He could have easily given me a shot of something (if even) to make it look like an intentional overdose. Given my history of attempted suicides, it would have been super easy to stage. It would have looked like he was over, we had a heated argument (and the babysitter even heard it), then he left, and I took a bunch of pills again and died. Nobody would even check anything.

I got really lucky. His ingenious plan failed. The babysitter failed him.

I was in a state of complete shock. I was in pain. I was still chocking. I couldn’t talk. I could’t even comprehend what just happened. The babysitter was freaking out. She was freaking out that I would call the police. She told me that she would run away if I called the police.

The problem with the babysitter was that she was illegal. Her U.S. visa had expired and she was scared that she was going to be deported. I was scared that the family court would discover that I hired an illegal worker and take away my custody. I was so young and uniformed. I didn’t know that there was a law protecting witnesses in California and that nobody would deport her. I was scared for her and I was scared for myself. I didn’t call the police that night. It was a big mistake.

I don’t remember exactly, but it took me a few days to even tell my lawyer about this “incident.” I was in a state of shock for a while. I couldn’t comprehend that my ex could actually do what he did and I was very scared. At the same time, I was very scared to even tell this to anyone because I knew that nobody would believe me. Nobody who knew my ex could believe me.

I finally told my lawyer and we finally filed for a restraining order. It gave me a temporary sense of relief. Of course, I knew that my ex wouldn’t leave it at that. I knew that he was going to retaliate and fight back. After all, he did promise to “make my life a living hell”’ if I filed for divorce.

He aggressively argued that I was a crazy bitch who made this whole story up. This story was absurd, it didn’t make any sense, and I was a bitter loser trying to get back at him. Since the babysitter was refusing to testify in any capacity, it was basically my word against his. That babysitter actually stopped working for me shortly after this whole thing happened. I can’t blame her for wanting to get away from this mess as far and as fast as possible.

At first, she found another job and then she quickly met someone who married her and legalized her status. I completely lost touch with her after she got married. After a few months, someone told me that she suddenly died from developing a blood clot. Weird, right? She was barely in her 50s. Makes me wonder if her death was natural.

Then, my ex evidently had a rock solid alibi. Turns out he wasn’t even in SF that night. Turns out he was partying in LA with his buddy Andrea (real name changed because I actually don’t want to mess with this individual). Andrea is an interesting character. I’m not going to say much here to not give away his identity except that he is Sicilian and very connected in some very influential circles.

One of my most vivid memories about Andrea was that time when I had the honor of attending one of his kid’s christening parties. It happened when I was still married to my ex. The party had a lavish banquet with a particularly impressive display of deserts. I remember this one guy coming up to me to introduce himself as I was eyeing some mouthwatering cannoli. He was wearing a black turtleneck and a bright fuchsia blazer. “I’m Rick Murano…from the Murano family” (this name has been changed as well). I will never forget the guy and his greeting. I didn’t stay long enough to try that cannoli. I ran out as fast as I could. You don’t mess with the Andrea types. I’m just gonna leave it at that.

My ex was ready to fight till the end. Our custody battle lasted for 14 years. 14 of my best years. Half of my 20s and most of my 30s. Crazy, right? I went through multiple lawyers and I even self represented at some point. I could probably write a whole book on family law. My custody battle lasted for 14 years because I initially let myself be intimidated and broken under stress. I let myself be pressured into signing some very bad stipulations without even realizing what I was doing to myself and my child. It took me 14 years to undo the damage. Unfortunately, I could never undo all of the damage. I failed at getting my ex the punishment he deserved and I failed to protect my son from him. And I still haven’t seen my ex’s herpes report.

That being said, I know that I did what I could. I know that I was the only person to be able to walk away from him.

It’s very important for me to add here that I didn’t do it all on my own. There is no way that one can do it on their own. I was lucky and fortunate to meet someone who not only tirelessly provided constant therapy and moral support, but also spent endless hours helping me with my declarations, depositions, custody evaluations, etc. I had a whole group of people, my chosen family, who were willing to be with me on this long journey to support me every step of the way. I am forever grateful. You know who you are and you know how much I love you.

You should always seek help and support. You are not alone. You need to speak up. You need to talk to others. You can do it.

I’m alive and thriving…