Guardian Angel

 I just got done watching a show on Apple TV called "The Crowded Room" and WOW, it left me speechless. Speechless in a way that I knew only writing could capture. The show itself is devastating, heart wrenching and an absolutely beautiful portrayal of struggle, survival and self growth. They take you on a journey with a boy named Danny. A boy who had known unimaginable hurt throughout his younger years. A person, that in an effort to survive, created coping mechanisms in the form of altered selves. By DSM definition, it would now be defined as multiple personality disorder. His brain created safety, because his life offered none. 

 Here is where I get brave. When I was a young girl, a very young and innocent child, I was sexually abused. My brain too, created coping mechanisms. I didn't create alter selves, as Danny did, but my mind shut down to protect itself. I was not aware of these memories until the last few years. My brain truly kept these experiences in the dark. Growth, it is a funny thing. It's the hardest, and yes…sometimes the darkest, scariest thing a person can face. But, it is also the most rewarding. When I started my journey to finding me, I had no idea what that meant or what it entailed. I certainly was not expecting to have repressed memories of sexual abuse be a part of it. But, here we are. And it has been a JOURNEY! I've grieved, I've been angry, I've mourned. I've wished I never embarked on this journey to begin with, because if I hadn't, I wouldn't have known this hurt. My brain could have kept these memories blocked out forever, and I would have been just fine. But here is the thing, no I wouldn't have been. My brain shut down to protect me. But just because the memories weren't present, didn't mean the trauma wasn't still being held inside my body. Still alive, in a way. Still fighting, furiously, for our safety. 

I have carried this pain with me since I was four years old. Our brains, as smart as they are, can't cancel out cellular memory. Everything we go through, good or bad, has to process itself through our body. There is a saying that emotion is energy in motion. When things happen, if you do not allow your body the space to process the energy, it can stick. And the longer is stays, the heavier it can get. So, although this path has been excruciating at times, my current conclusion is this... I would pick the road I am on today a thousand times over, without question or hesitation. Do I wish my story didn't include this hurt and sexual trauma? Absolutely, because no one and no child deserves to go through any type of abuse. However, there isn't a way to put something down that you aren't even aware you are carrying. The realization and memories that have presented themselves, as hard as it is to face, have been the pivot point to accepting and loving every single piece of who I am. 

 Now, back to the show. If you haven't watched it, I will absolutely recommend it, with a warning. It is deep, it is heavy, but fuck - is it beautifully powerful. Amanda Seyfried and Tom Holland do an absolutely incredible job! I liked both of them before this show, but now they each hold a closer place in my heart. I won't give everything away, but there will be spoilers because the ending is what touched me the most. So please, feel free to pause this blog until you've finished the show.

 Danny was sexually abused through all of his childhood. Brutally, terribly, horrifically - by people he should have been able to trust. Thus, he created his alters. One of these alters name's was Adam. He created a twin brother, that to his belief was the one who was sexually abused by their father and stepfather. Danny believed that he himself, was never touched. At the end, he comes to understand, that they are one. 

In the ending scene, after a long trial and overwhelming proof that multiple personality disorder does exist, Danny says to Amanda Seyfried's character "I have an unpaid debt I still owe, it's my time to be the guardian angel." Then as her character walks off, she turns around and looks up at the building she just left. At the window of the room she was just in. She not only sees Danny, but she sees another person right beside him. It is a younger Danny, it is Adam, it is his inner child. She sees the Danny (Adam) that took the pain and protected them so that he could survive the reality of existing. I saw this scene and burst into ugly sobs. I allowed myself to cry and feel and grieve. This scene beautifully depicts the inner child in us all. The one that dealt with things no one deserves. The one, that from such a young age, did what they had to do to survive. The one that protected us. 

 When I found my inner child, I had feelings very similar to Danny. I was fiercely protective. I was also heart brokenly sad for this little girl that fought so hard to keep me safe. It was as if I knew I was her, and she was me - yet it felt like we were separate beings. As if she was the one that protected me and got me here, but now I was the one telling her it was going to be okay. She no longer had to fight to protect us. I was releasing her to be free. To be the child she always deserved to be….except this time, we truly knew she could believe it, because I was now able and ready to face what she had been carrying for us this whole time.  

 So, to my younger self, to the innocent sweet Kristi that did what she had to keep me safe when I was young - run wild and be free. It is MY turn to keep YOU safe. You are the one that is brave. In your strength, I find my own.

 It’s my time to be the guardian angel.

My Victim’s Impact Statement

One of my favorite quotes is “there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right.” Standing up here today is not easy. Every step of this process has been heartbreaking and excruciating. I have been mind-blown, and not in a good way, how I have been treated by the system. I am not speaking today because it is easy. I am not standing here today as an opportunity to speak badly of my abuser. I am standing here today because it is what is right.

Danielle, you have taken every opportunity to slander my name to anyone that would read or listen. My response to that is I am so sorry. I am sorry life has mistreated you so severely that you project blame onto the people that you hurt because you are not healed enough to take self-accountability for your actions. It makes me truly sad for you that you can twist a narrative so grotesquely that you actually blame me for the charges the City has pressed against you. 

With that said, I do not claim innocence in our story. Even within the depths of your abuse and manipulation, I still made choices. But here is the thing, you had a choice too. You had a choice to stay and try to work on things or to leave. You had a choice to respect my wishes when I begged you to let me go. What you did not have a right to do, what absolutely no one has the right to do, is put their hands on another human being with pure intent to inflict harm. 

You may not be aware, but it took me months to stay in my house alone without fearing I’d be killed sometime throughout the night, by you. You may not be aware that I had nights where that almost felt easier. You probably don’t know that I was afraid of going anywhere on the small chance our paths were to cross. That every room I walked into I scanned frantically, terrified that I might see you there. Just the thought of it sent chills down my spine. That even when I did not find you, my body still could not relax as you had taken from me all sense of safety. You probably don’t understand that my greatest wish would be to not have to stand here today. That when I got the text message you sent that you were going to kill yourself, my heart genuinely hurt for you. You may not realize that the dozens of times you slammed my head into the floor and then repeatedly punched me in the back of the head, that it damaged my brain so severely it is still not fully healed from the concussion you inflicted. You do not know the feeling of hopelessness I felt in my entire body as I watched your eyes grow cold that night and turn solid black.  

I have had flashbacks and nightmares and cried more tears than I can count. The words you said to me as you cowered over my defenseless body, pinning me to the floor, they were “you will have to kill me if you ever want me to stop.” Those words still haunt me on a daily basis. So, I do not stand here because it is easy. I stand here because it is right. I stand here not only for myself, but for Victoria. I stand here for every woman that has been abused before me and every woman that will sadly be abused after me. I stand here for you Danielle, as I know that you have also been abused – and for that I am sorry too. But someone has to stand and say this isn’t right. Someone has to make it stop. Someone has to be the voice. And in the moments I want to give up, because every step of this process has been un-bearingly painful, I remind myself that someone has to care enough about you, Danielle, to end the cycle of destruction you were on. I am not the first person you have abused, but what I do hope is that I am the last. 

Sometimes I think about what you would have done had you woken up in that hotel room to find yourself lying over your dead wife. I still get paralyzed by fear when I think of what would have happened had my sister not been there when you broke into my home and lunged, armsextended, straight for my throat. My dreams turn into nightmares as you find your way into them, wrapping your hands around my neck. Did you drive to my house to finish off the job? Did you want me dead? It’s hard to imagine any other intent.  

But still, I do not wish anything ill toward you. It would be very easy to hate you, but I do not. My wish for you is that you take this as an opportunity to heal. That you can take accountability and admit what you did. I hope you grow enough to understand that the consequences of your actions are no one’s fault but your own. I hope that you feel shame and regret for beating your wife, so that you follow those feelings to the root cause and never inflict on anyone else the insurmountable pain you have caused Victoria and me. I hope that one day you can be thankful that I chose to stand. That today changes the trajectory of your life and that you never experience waking up next to the lifeless-body of the person you claim to love because you chose violence once again.

I choose to stand. 

Even when it’s hard. 

Especially when it’s hard. 

I will always choose to stand.

YouTube Reading to  listen: 

https://youtu.be/Zy2nZw9nbOc?si=L94EIoFwlfWG6trx

Part 7: The End

We sat there, on my couch. My sister still guarding me. My wife still pacing....for far too long. 

Honestly, I don't have the energy - even now, over a year later, to tell the rest of this story. The retelling of events thus far is a very very small start of what I went through. 

Danielle did eventually leave my home. The police did eventually come...after way too much time had passed. I do not want or wish to speak badly of the police, and once they were finally there I appreciate the kindness in how it was handled. I appreciate the cop kneeling in front of me before he left, seeing the broken woman in front of him and saying "what happened to you tonight is wrong. No one deserves this, you did not deserve this." Yet the length of time that passed from notifying them I was in need, to the time they showed up at my door....leaves me with small hope. Had Danielle been more lethally determined, had I been alone - my sister not there, I do not believe I'd be alive or in a capacity to be writing this now. 

Which is just another one of the many reasons I do not have the energy to tell the rest of this story, not now at least. Maybe someday I will. My hope is that someday I can. But the legal system...well that was and is just an absolute complete failure to victims of abuse. Intentional or not, they fail us. In times, it even felt like they abused me further. I hate even writing that for people to read. To discourage anyone from standing up to their abuser - but I also started this series of blogs with the full intent to be brutally honest. So, if you find yourself in my shoes, just know this...it is a long fucking treacherous road. And while the court system supports your abuser more than you, that means nothing. Your voice matters, your story matters. What you went through, it matters. And you, YOU, most importantly - YOU MATTER.

That is the purpose of sharing my story. That is why I have blogged. Victims of abuse, we matter. Our stories, they matter. That is why I choose to tell mine. That is why I am still here. That is why I choose to stand, to speak, to write. Victims of abuse should never be silenced. 

I refuse to let the system win. 
I choose to stand. Every. Single. Time.
Even when it's hard. 
Especially when it's hard. 
I will always choose to stand.

The End.

Part 6: How The Police Were Called

I blinked and Danielle was off the floor and back to pacing the living room. Now into the kitchen, through the hallway and back again. Her eyes never shifting from a cold, dark, violent black. My sister was still trying to reason with her to leave my home in anyway she could possibly think of. Danielle, listening to none of them, spewing profanities and threats anytime she heard my sister's voice. We realized we were not getting her out of my home, not without help.

Stefani and I locked eyes, in silent understanding, we needed a phone. My sister's sat not far from us, on the kitchen table. Abandoned there, set down only so that she could pull Danielle off and away from my throat....but there was no way we were making it across my full living room without being attacked. And there was absolutely no way my sister was abandoning her post of protection around me. We were stuck in place, by the woman I once knew as my wife, and the girl my sister once considered a friend. We looked at each other again and sighed in defeat. I looked down toward the ground, not quite yet ready to surrender. 

Okay, so we didn't have Stefani's phone. What is the next option? I started feeling my pockets, under my legs, in the couch cushions. My wife still wailing and flailing about- where the hell was MY phone? I looked across the room, quickly and chillingly spotting exactly where it was. I looked back at my sister as my eyes filled with tears, panic and fear once again setting in....my phone was in my wife's fucking hand. She had stolen it from me, for the second time that night. Removing my connection to the outside world, ensuring I was unable to contact any one additional for help. Without a phone what the fuck were we going to do?! My concussed brain swirling and pounding more by the minute, my head fell into my hands. My eyes so full of tears I couldn't see straight. I looked again toward the floor, blinking hard, unsure if it was the tears or my swollen brain keeping my vision blurred. 

My sister started talking, I lifted my gaze looking at her confused. I heard her say "call the police." I wanted to respond and remind her that we didn't have a phone, even if I wasn't frozen in place by paralyzing fear, we had no phone. But, before I could speak, I heard her again. Clearer this time, she said "hey Siri, call 911." It started making sense, I understood, my god damn sister was saving me again. She had a single airpod in her ear, that by some miracle had remained in place after all we had been through that night - Here's a fun tip, to keep in mind in case of emergency...Siri in fact does not call the police when you tell her to through an airpod. At least that was mine and my sister's fate. Stefani and I looking at each other in total shock, how the hell was this not working??? By this time I assumed that Danielle had heard us whispering and realized what we were up to, but as I looked over, she was still just....pacing. Still yelling, speaking to us or to herself, at this point it was impossible to tell. The only apparent thing to me in that moment was that Danielle did not seem to realize we had access to a phone. 

Next I heard my sister say, "Siri, call momma." YES, I thought to myself, we had talked to my mom in the car on the way to my house from the hotel. When I thought I had gotten away and falsely allowed myself to feel safe. My mom, she would help us. The call connected this time, I could tell by my sister's voice, her instructions to the person on the other side of the phone line. I still to this day do not know how my mom responded, but I know she was taken back with confusion. We had just called her not long ago, telling her that we had escaped. We had told her that I was safe. Now this? But how? I imagine her thinking to herself, trying to put the pieces together of what could have possibly changed or happened between our last conversation to this one. My mother's heart breaking, under the realization that our nightmare was not over. Stefani calmly, without time to explain, told my mom to call the police and send them to my home, Danielle was inside. My mom hung up to do just that. Danielle, somehow still not understanding what was happening right in front of her, continued pacing my home. I am unclear of her intent with the incessant walking. Back and forth, room to room. My only logical conclusion being that in her continued failed attempts and realization that I was not knocked out or dead, she was reeling. She was scared she got caught, she was trying to come up with her next move, and she was quite literally going out of her mind. 

Moments later, my mom called back. My sister answering with a simple voice command, still unnoticed by my wife. We were informed that the police were on their way - someone was coming to save us. 

We were going to be okay. 
I was going to be okay.

I let out a sigh, but not a trusting one. Scared to believe in any sense of safety. Unsure if or when I ever would again. But at least this fucking night was almost over. God, please let it really be over. 

End of Part 6.

Part 5: My Wife Tried To Kill Me

I’ve sat processing for quite some time, this part feels harder to write than the previous posts. Even now, sitting down, feeling ready to let my fingers flow as the letters on the page reveal what I want to say, forming the next part of my story….all I can do is tear up and shake my head, slowly gazing toward the floor as salt streams out of my eyes, down my cheeks and meet the floor where my eyes have locked. My hands tremble as they return to the keyboard. How the fuck did I get here? How is this my reality? My mind swirling with the same gut wrenching thought over and over….

My wife tried to kill me.

My wife tried to kill me.

My WIFE tried to FUCKING KILL ME.

I sprinted quickly to the front door, ensuring the bolt was secured into place. My sister ran to the garage door to do the same. We both stood for a second, perplexed, as Danielle did not present herself at either of them. I started to walk across my home toward my sister, I KNEW we had heard the sound, but where was my wife? I made it to the kitchen table when all of a sudden the cover to the dog door went flying off its hinges. The cracked plastic covering now lying broken on my floor. Within the blink of an eye there was a person crawling through the space, creating a gaping hole into my home. A mimicking hollowness forming in my gut. My sense of security instantly crumbling…my home no longer offering the sense of safety it had just minutes before. The four walls surrounding me were no longer stable, someone could in fact get it. The mere thought violating every piece of me. Did Danielle know she would be able to fit through the dog door? Had she planned this to bypass my alarm system, which she was acutely aware of the dog door not being connected to? Did my wife actually fucking plan this?

There was quite literally no time to process these inundating thoughts, I have never seen a human contort itself through such a small space in such a short amount of time. The memory still haunts me today. Straight out of a nightmare, except it was not a dream. Another blink and Danielle was standing, lunging straight toward me. I unfortunately was positioned only a few feet away from where she had just broken into my home. One long stride and her face was now within inches of mine. Her arms had been outstretched. Her hands finding their way to my neck, wrapping around my throat. Air constricting, I stood there frozen in horrifying disbelief. I had been safe seconds before, now I was not. My concussed brain trying to remember the strategies…fight, flight, freeze – but I had already tried them all that night, not long ago in the hotel room. I had tried every way I knew how to survive and each had failed me. In that moment, my body didn’t try anything. My wife’s fingers were gripping harder against my throat. I couldn’t do this again. I wouldn’t have to play dead this time, I was sure she was going to kill me.

My sister suddenly stepped in...thank fucking god my sister was still there!!! I wasn't alone. Somehow beneath the grip of my wife's hands, I had forgotten someone else was in my home. Stefani saved my life for the second time that night, as she grabbed Danielle and pulled her off of me, throwing her to the floor. I blinked again and I was sitting on the couch in my living room, curled into the tiniest ball of a human I could manage, willing myself to disappear or wake up from this nightmare. My sister was standing in front of me. I took a breath. I wasn’t safely out of my abuser’s presence anymore, but I did know she’d have to kill my sister if she planned on getting her hands back around my throat.

Danielle’s eyes were wild, violent, murderous. I have seen many forms of my wife before, but I had never seen her like this. She was flailing around in a way that could only be described as possessed. She was screaming profanities and saying things that didn’t make sense. My sister interrupted her demonic episode by telling her to leave my home. She had hurt me, I did not want her there and she needed to get out, now! With the sound of those words, reality I assume weighing heavy on Danielle that her plan had failed…she lost all rationale. The screaming got louder, the threats more detailed and intense. Not just toward me now, but toward my sister as well. She tried to literally leap and crawl over Stefani to get to me. In fact, days later I found the hat she had been wearing that night, tucked deeply under the Christmas tree. It had flown off of her head in her desperate attempt to get near me. Danielle wasn’t acting human, but my sister never stopped standing her ground. She never budged an inch from in front of me. She wasn’t going to let me die.

Danielle, realizing her futile attempt to lunge on top of me had failed, took to pacing the living room area in front of the kitchen table. She now stood in the same spot I had when she had attempted to strangle me just moments before. She started telling my sister that she didn’t hit me, that she would never hurt me. That I had made it up. Acting as if the mere accusation was wildly insane. Like she was trying to reason and plead my sister into leaving my side. She started claiming that actually I was the one that hit her. She told Stefani that she would show her the bruises that I had left on her body. With false confidence, she started taking off her jacket to show my sister the marks. But when it came to rolling up her sleeves for the big reveal that I was actually the abuser, she stopped. She had no markings on her body to show. She was testing the limits my sister would go in defending my safety. Attempting to implant just enough doubt that my sister would question the truth and abandoned her post. When that didn’t work, she shifted gears. Swiftly and scarily, she abandoned the façade of me hitting her completely. Within moments she had dropped to her hands and knees and started crawling toward my sister and me. Her body animal like, rabid. The words she was spewing run together in my memory of these moments. I don’t recall what she was saying or even if I was listening – what I do remember is the overwhelm of being utterly and completely consumed by fear. 

I am still not sure if my wife was inside the body that contorted itself through my dog door and was now on the ground making its way toward me. Danielle and I had our very large share of fights, conversations, disagreements, yelling, screaming and crying. I have never claimed or pretended to be innocent in our story. But I had never before looked at my wife and not known who was staring back at me. I had never been petrified by her presence, questioning whether she was going to take my life or not. My wife’s body was present, but the eyes looking back into mine were not those of the woman I married. They had turned black, consumed with darkness, demon-like. While I do not believe Danielle is a natural born killer, in that state, she was undoubtedly capable of taking a life.

End of Part 5.