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.

 

Part 4: How I Got Away

My sister saved my life.

She got to the hotel and showed the front desk our text messages. She politely, sternly and I would dare to guess very intimidatingly and passionately told them that they could either let her into the room where her sister was being held against her will, or she would knock the door off its hinges to get to me. The employee chose smartly and escorted her to room 710 of the Ambassador Hotel.

She made her way inside and into the third room where I laid lifelessly still under the weight of my wife. My sister encouraged me that it was safe to move now, she was there – no one was going to hurt me without going through her first. I started to slide out from under Danielle, my body trembling as the images flashed through my mind of her waking and throwing me back down, the beating starting again. Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up. For a moment both my sister and I thought she did. Stefani screamed, “don’t you fucking touch her!” To this day I do not know if we imagined it, but my gut says that we did not. I know Danielle well…as she realized I was conscious and moving, she simultaneously realized we were no longer the only two in the room. She laid still, appearing to be asleep. I imagine the reality coming to her mind that there was now a witness to her crime, her body frozen by the fact that she may get caught. Roles reversed; she was now the one pretending to be lifeless.

It felt like years of time had passed between sliding my phone back under my back, knowing my sister was coming to save me – to when my feet hit the floor of the hotel room. Safely out from under the restraint of my abuser, not yet safely away from her presence, running into my sister’s arms. She took my hand and we gathered my things from the room as quickly as we could, not taking a look back or caring if anything was left. We moved swiftly and quietly. My survival mode kicked in after that, I lost pieces of time. I do not remember walking down the hallway, getting into the elevator or even getting off of it… what I do remember is the chilling realization that I was pretty sure this was planned. As we reached the lobby, it hit me in those endlessly haunting moments exactly why Danielle had been so adamant about paying for valet parking that night. The truth twisted through my foggy mind like a perfectly formed tornado… Danielle didn’t want me to have a way to leave.

I remember blankly staring at my sister as I kept repeating, she valeted the car, she valeted the car. Stefani not fully understanding the deepest darkest truths lingering behind these words. We asked the front desk for my keys. They were unable to give them to me because the one fucking thing I did not take from that hotel room was the valet ticket. With that said, I don’t even know where it was. Probably hidden somewhere by my wife, ensuring there was no way for me to escape. She had quite literally taken me away from the safety of my home, took away my means of transportation and trapped me in a corner suite hotel bedroom where she was undoubtedly more confident that no one would hear me scream.

Accepting this realization and the fact that we were not going to get my car that night, we left and headed to the parking garage. On the way to the car, I recall seeing the manager that had served Danielle and me earlier that night at dinner. He stood motionless, his face pale, his eyes filled with empathy and sadness, a stark contrast to the laughter he shared with Danielle just hours before. Our gaze locking in silence, the unspoken words of “I’m sorry” hanging heavy in the parking garage as I crawled into my sister’s car and closed the door. My head was pounding, but my body beginning to relax – I was safe, I was going to be okay.

The next hour or two was a blur. The concussion of my brain settling in, the confusion of reality attempting too as well. We called my mom on the way home, the words of this conversation faintly present themselves as a dreamlike memory. I don’t remember the full car ride or pulling into my driveway, but I do remember being home. Walking through the threshold of my door and finally feeling a sense of safety behind the four walls of my house, like this nightmare was coming to an end. I remember talking to my sister, utterly bewildered as my mind struggled to make sense of what the fuck had just happened. Had we been at my house for an hour? I think so. But, time blurred together, the concept of it clouded by what I had experienced.

Within those moments of naively thinking I had gotten away, my sense of safety was shattered….there was a sound, a very familiar sound. My garage door was opening. Stefani and I both looked at each other and without a word sprinted into action, frantically attempting to ensure that all the doors were indeed locked. We knew what that sound meant…Danielle was not done, my wife had driven to my home, she was there to finish what she started. 

My wife was there to kill me.

End of Part 4

Part 3: My Sister Saved My Life

I laid there, awake, yet playing dead. Petrified is as close to a word I can think of to express how I was feeling. I didn't dare move a single fucking flinch. I felt her body relax against mine - was she seriously snuggling me right now?? But in that same unbelievable thought, my whole inner being filled with disgust, came a sense of hope. WAS SHE REALLY FUCKING SNUGGLING ME RIGHT NOW?? Was the beating really over? Was she actually falling asleep?? I laid there, awake, yet playing dead - praying and pleading to a god I hadn't talked to in so long, please let that be the case. Please don't let her hit me again.

Eventually, in what felt like a lifetime, but was probably closer to 15 minutes - I felt her breathing start to slow. She was actually relaxing on top of my lifeless body. What a weird fucking prayer to be answered. Within a few more minutes, I could tell she had fallen asleep. I didn't dare move yet, I had to make sure it was real. If I was pretending to be knocked out, could she be pretending as well? Baiting me to move, just so she could start all over again. I stayed still. After a bit longer, I trusted she was asleep. I was willing it into reality, as I knew I couldn't lay there forever. I moved the tiniest bit I could - testing the authenticity of her state - she stayed still. That made me feel braver, I had to get out of this fucking hotel room. 

What Danielle didn't realize as she threw me onto the bed, was that she had dropped my phone on to it also. As I strategically angled myself away from the shards of glass, it was simultaneously a calculated twist. When my back hit the bed, my phone was hidden under me. I don't give myself credit for this. There were two miracles that happened that night - her not realizing where my phone was in those moments is absolutely one of them. She had quite literally pushed me onto and held me down on top of the single thing in that room that could save my life. 

The seconds felt like hours, as my wife stayed asleep over me. Slowly I moved my arm, just enough to reach my phone that was tucked behind the small of my back. Please don't let her wake up, please don't let her wake up, GOD PLEASE DON'T LET HER WAKE UP. The instant I felt my hand touch the edge of my phone, I let out a breath I didn't even realize I had been holding. I ever so slowly, so carefully and so terrifyingly edged it out from under me. She moved. I froze. I fucked it up. This is it, I thought - get ready for another round. But no, she remained asleep - she pulled me in closer even, holding me tighter. I had one arm able to move - the rest of me pinned down by my abuser. I managed to pull up my text messages - I sent my location to my sister, I said "help, D hit me." 

A slight, yet relevant side story here - I am far from the first person Danielle has abused. I knew the girlfriend she had before she dated me had filed a PFA against her. My sister knew this a well. Yet Danielle's artful manipulation had convinced us both that it wasn't her fault. Through her deployment, as the emotional and mental abuse got worse - my sister and I both began to question Danielle's "truth." There must be more to the story she had shared. The fractions of truth she is able to take and spin into her own narrative, anyone would have believed she was the victim of that story. It turns out, that could not have been farther from the truth....Victoria - I am so so sorry. I believe you now. 

I hit send on my phone, going still again as instantly as I could - just in case she felt me move. The seconds feeling like years as I waited for a response. How long did I lay there? I still am not sure. I moved as lifelessly as I could once more and I text my nephew. Almost instantly my phone vibrated. The relief and pure terror that ensued in that moment was unexplainable. SOMEONE IS TEXTING ME BACK, but fuck please don't let this wake up my wife. My sweet sweet nephew had responded. He was on his way to wake up his mom. A few moments later, she text me too. I gave her the room number we were in. She told me not to move, she was on her way - my sister was on her way, I was going to be okay. I told her there was no way I was moving, I was still pinned down - only one arm free frantically typing with a single finger - the phone laying on the bed, not even in my hand. She told me to hide it away, stay where I was - stay alive. And so I did. I put the phone back under the small of my back, my body once again returning to a lifeless state.

The contradictory feelings sliced me in two, deep emotion pulling me in opposite directions. My sister was on her way, I was going to be okay. Yet how many minutes would it be until she got there? How many lifetimes would I experience in my mind before I heard her at the door? Infinite scenarios running through my head with each passing second. The next one more real than the last. All of them centered around the terrifying reality; Danielle could wake up at any second. I laid there, as paralyzed as humanly possibly. Despite my efforts of restraint, tears spilled out and fell down the sides of my face. Hang on just a little bit longer, I told myself. 

The breath of relief that washed over me when I heard the door open, the sound of my sister's voice sending instant peace to my very core - defies explanation. Words fall short, inadequate to capture the flood of emotion - my sister was here, she was going to save my life. 

End of Part 3.

Part 2: My Wife Beat the Shit Out of Me

If you read Part 1, thank you for sticking around for Part 2. 

I'm going to start this with the same blunt and honest truth - my wife beat the fucking shit out of me. 

Ironically this all went down exactly 365 days from the day we got married. Happy anniversary!! She knew everything that had happened. Even though I had tried to leave more times than I could count. Even though I looked her in the eyes at one point and told her I wasn't in love with her anymore and wanted her to move out...that didn't matter. In fact, she looked me square back in the eyes and told me "no." She wasn't leaving and I wasn't allowed to leave either. I was stuck, I was scared and I didn't know what to do. 

On the day of our 1 year anniversary, she asked me if we could "simply" have a good day. She told me that she just wanted to celebrate the love that we had had and then she didn't care what happened after that. January 10th 2024, she'd let me go if I could just give her that one day. And so, I agreed. In my head, somehow that felt fair. Although we had torn each other to shreds, there was beauty in our love at one point. A sense of true magic. If we were going to go out, why not go out honoring those parts of ourselves, of our love and of our relationship. 

Although she had been sober for two years prior to returning from Kuwait...she started drinking again when she got home. She blamed me for this, of course, as if I had the power to control her sobriety. Sadly, I think she thought I did. That morning she started drinking heavily, which I noticed and commented on quickly. I asked her if she wanted to have a good day like she asked for or if she wanted to black out before we even made it to the hotel...Oh yes, the hotel. We had booked a king corner suite for our anniversary at the Ambassador. It was something she had always wanted to do. And fuck, the room was absolutely breathtaking. Talk about magical. We went to Dave and Busters before and honestly, as odd as it may sound, we had a lot of fun. Or at least I did. Genuine fun. Once we finished up there, we went to the hotel and settled into our ginormous enchanting room. We turned on some Taylor Swift music, got ready and then went to the speakeasy bar in the basement of the hotel for drinks and food. There was a live band that evening. They played "Lover" for us and we danced. We danced and we laughed and I truly thought this was the goodbye she was asking for. The darkness that would ensue after these moments of closure, I could have never seen coming. 

Danielle claims she doesn't remember anything after the bar - an easy cop out for someone that doesn't want to have to own up to their own actions. I, on the other hand, remember every chilling, terrifying second...After we ate and the band was winding down, we went back to the hotel room. It wasn't too late, a bit before midnight. Danielle had continued to drink and by this point was intoxicated - so I told her I was going to get in bed. I plugged my phone in and set it on the nightstand, I poured a glass of wine and set it down next to my phone, looking forward to relaxing with a glass of my favorite red. As I was walking toward the bed...Danielle tackled me from behind. When I say I didn't see what was coming - I truly and quite literally did not see her coming after me. 

She had me face down on the floor, her body straddling mine. She grabbed the back of my head, her hand full of my hair and pounded my head into the floor as hard as she could, over and over and over. I felt the pull of my hair, as some of it was ripped from my scalp. I felt the floor on my forehead. The sting of the rugburn, the instant ache of my brain. Yet still, it took numerous times of my head being pounded into the ground to even start to comprehend what was happening. We were just dancing, now my head was pounding. I could feel the welt rising as it formed on the top of my forehead. I am not sure how many times my head was slammed into the ground, at least a dozen. 

Laying face down, I knew she was stronger than me. There was no way I was getting off that floor by trying to over power her. So, in attempt to soften the blows I pulled my arms up and wrapped them around my head. I was terrified. As my head was slammed toward the floor, it still hurt, but at least my arm was there to absorb part of the impact. For a brief second she stopped. I was hoping it was over, that maybe she came to her senses. But no, she started to punch me as hard as she could in the back of my head. I felt defenseless, well no - I was defenseless. I was face down, doing my best to cover my head with my arms, sobbing and begging her to stop. The tears blinding my eyes, the fear paralyzing my body. 

I didn't fight, I wasn't trying to hurt her back. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted it to stop before the beating rendered me unconscious, or worse - god please don't let it get worse. 

It was in those moments that I began to disassociate, because surely my wife was not beating the fuck out of me right now. I curled my arms tighter around my head, but that only made her fists hit harder. When she eventually let up for a moment, I curled into as small of a ball as I could, trying to disappear. I asked if she was really going to hurt me - it was in that moment, the weight of realization engulfing every part of me...I started to comprehend the fact that I very well might not make it out of this hotel room in one piece. When I braved myself enough to look up I saw her eyes, they had gone black. The Danielle I knew, was gone. She looked back at me, with a dead panned stare, and said "you will have to kill me if you ever want me to stop." 

By some miracle of god, I managed to get to my feet. At this point, I'm in full survival mode - I've already figured out that I am not a fighter, so flight was my next defense...I tried to run. I didn't get two steps past her before she grabbed me and threw me back on the floor, towering over me. Eyes still black. Deadly. Soulless. Piercing and silently screaming the horrifying things my wife was capable of doing. The sensation her eyes sent through me was crippling, the fear immobilizing. 

 At some point she let me to my feet again. My head is swirling, throbbing - from reality and from the concussion forming in my brain. I know I can't fight, I know I can't run...so I went for my phone. I got it off the nightstand - I HAVE MY PHONE, I thought. I'M GOING TO BE OKAY! I dialed 911 as quickly as my fingers would let me. The call went through for about four seconds before she was back. She slammed me into the wall, taking my phone. She instantly hung up the call - the very small sense of hope I had, vanished. Within the blink of an eye, before I could even take a breath of realization...with my phone in her hand, she hit me so hard on the side of the head that my ears started to ring. This is it, I thought. 

But oh no, it didn't stop there. She threw my body against the nightstand. Her strength all encompassing, there was no way I was getting away from her. Not alive anyway. The wine glass, with the red I was so looking forward to sip just not that long ago, went flying into the wall. It shattered, and in that same exact instant - so did I. She pulled up my trembling body and pressed me against the wall. She had a tight grip on my arms, forcing them over my head as she screamed into my face "this is your fault. You made me do this!" 

From the corner of my eye, I could see the glimmering shards of glass. Every part of me pleading that she wouldn't throw me into them. I can't fight, I can't run, I can't call for help - but in this moment I have to get the fuck away from the glass!! I angled my body in the opposite direction. I knew she was going to over power me again. I knew she needed that sensation of control. With my body angled in a different direction, she forcefully pushed me onto the bed. As sad as it sounds, I was relieved - it was at least softer than the floor that my head had so repeatedly been pounded into just minutes ago.

With me pinned down, she crawled on top of me. Forcing my body down with more strength every time I tried to move. I pleaded to her more times than I can count. Begging through the catch in my throat and the tears in my eyes for her to please just let me go. It was a desperate and futile request, I knew she would not. So my brain went back into survival mode. I thought to myself, okay Kristi - you can't fight, you can't run, she's taken your phone - what now? What's our next line of defense, how do you stay alive? The only thing I could think of was to scream. So I SCREAMED, I screamed as loud as I could - my throat instantly growing rasp from the few times I got out the word "HELP!" But it was no use, Danielle was covering my mouth with her hands as quickly as it had opened - restricting me from making any sound. No one had heard me, no one was coming. I was going to die in this hotel room. 

You can't fight, you can't run, you can't call for help, you can't scream - what's left? The literal only thing I could think to do next was play dead. I truly went limp. My body was lifeless. My breathing slowed, I closed my eyes and all I could think was don't fucking move. Do not give any sign to her that you are still conscious. She continued to yell in my face. She shook my head from side to side, screaming at me to wake up. She lifted my arms and dropped them back toward the bed, they thudded down on the comforter like a pound of lifeless bricks. There was no way I was giving her any sign of life in my body. I can't fight, I can't run, I can't call for help, I can't scream - but I sure as fuck can play dead.

I sit here, even now, uncertainty within me like a shadow haunting my thoughts. Did Danielle believe she had knocked me unconscious? Did she think I was dead? I will never know. What I do know, is that what she did next not only sends shivers down my spine, it slices through my very core. It was as if reality itself had fractured - this can't be real, right? In the realization that I was not going to come to, Danielle did not get worried. She did not try to get help. She did not panic or try to revive me. Instead she curled her body over mine. The intent clear; I would not move without her knowing. And then, unbelievably, atop her seemingly lifeless wife - she fucking fell asleep.

End of Part 2.

Part 1: I Cheated On My Wife

I am going start this out with the bluntest truth that I have.... Yes, I cheated on my wife. 

 Now, if you'd like to hear the rest of the story please continue to read... 

 In October of 2021 I saw her profile on tinder. I looked it over, I read it over...I sent it to friends. I was hesitant to swipe - my brain swirls now with the thoughts of "You should have known better then." But how could I? Tinder is a meaningless app, right? So, I did swipe right. Within literal minutes she was messaging me. It felt good. To be so quickly appreciated. We kicked it off so easily. We both loved Taylor Swift, we by some crazy serendipitous happenstance had both commissioned a one of a kind drawing of Taylor from the exact same artist in Wichita. It felt like fate, like the stars had aligned. Maybe tinder wasn't so meaningless after all? 

....Yet still I was hesitant to trust. Scared - as my past had taught me to be protective. Yet slowly, Danielle broke down those walls. She wrote me a letter once, telling me she'd build the wall with me. She told me she'd stand on the other side, helping lay the bricks if that's what I needed. She made me feel seen. She made me feel safe. She made me feel heard. It was nothing short of magic. And that's how the next few months went. Blissful. Magical. Full of love and laughter. 

However, that facade was not able to be sustained. I broke up with Danielle in June of 2022. 

Danielle's insecurities started taking over. She was co-dependent, half a person without me. She didn't just want me, she needed me. It was a heavy burden to carry on a good day, until eventually the weight pressed so insistently - I had to put it down. I wasn't allowed to be me. I felt suffocated in her presence. And so, I broke up with her. I felt confident in the decision at the time, strong even. I have a history of letting people and relationships go to far. I'm forgiving to a fault. I've played the doormat role far more times than I'd like to admit. I thought to myself - wow - you got out before you were destroyed. That was a first for me, I thought I had grown. 

 In that same month I broke up with Danielle, my best friend at the time also moved states. Not like the next state over - she moved to Florida. I've had enough friends move out of state to know what that meant. I lost the two most important people in my life in the matter of three weeks. I was devastated, depressed. I hated my job at the time. It was draining, toxic and abusive. I didn't feel I had many places to turn and so I didn't. I reclused. I read a countless number of books, I watched a countless number of movies and tv shows - to this day, that was the time in my life that I was more like the shell of a person than I have ever experienced. It was sad. It was lonely - and I wanted out. It was dark. It was heavy. Possibly even heavier than Danielle, so....I let her back in. 

I missed her, I was still in love with her. I never wanted our relationship to end. I believed in the Danielle that I knew Danielle wanted to be. The tricky part was - she's a two sided coin. You never know what you're going to get. It's quite literally a coin toss from day to day, hour to hour, moment to moment. Yet, I still believed in the good that did and still does live within her. I gave it another chance. I told myself if I went back, I wasn't leaving....and so, long story short - we got married. Quickly, quietly and absolutely in a way that was very perfectly "us." Nothing else mattered. We didn't need a big wedding, we didn't need a party, we just needed each other. And honestly, it was absolutely beautiful. It was love in its purest form. No show for everyone else, no putting on a face. It was simple, easy.... and once again, it was nothing short of magic. 

Within weeks of getting married Danielle was deployed to Kuwait, for most of the 2023. She would be gone 10 months of the first 12 months of our marriage. But I was not worried. I wasn't just all in, I was diving headfirst into the deep end in love with this woman. I felt proud to be married to her. I felt proud to support her and stay strong and love her through her deployment. Loyalty was no question for me....but it was for her. She let insecurities seep in. As soon as she got out of the country something shifted. She changed. The magic I knew was gone. Not only gone, but turned into a dark endless cloud of doubt, blame and disbelief. I tried to reassure her, I tried to prove myself, I tried and I tried and I tried and I fucking tried some more. But no matter my efforts, my genuine love and support - I was met with questions, accusations and distrust. I started to lose myself under the magnifying glass of her relentless stare. Her narratives soon consumed my mind....maybe I am what she says I am? Could I be capable of being the monster she so often accuses me of? Then in the next thought, I told myself NO! Your love is strong and pure. You are loyal and trustworthy...just stay strong and eventually, god please tell me eventually, she will see it too. But the questions and accusations persisted. I started not being able to keep up. The whiplash was harsh and fast, disorienting. And just when I thought I was safe, when there was nothing left she could pick apart or blame me for, another blow came. I'd go to dinner with my brother and that was unacceptable. My dog would sit on my lap during our facetime, and she'd get jealous he was taking attention away from the phone call. I would want to have lunch or dinner with a friend and holy fuck - that was definitely out of the question. And when she really ran out of things to complain about - it was my fingernails...they were too long. My house decor was not to her liking. There was even a time I was standing in my kitchen on a facetime, and she asked me why I was in my kitchen. I stood there, utterly dumbfounded - I quite literally could not even stand in my own house without something being questioned. For the record, I was dog sitting my nephew puppy, Oliver. The night before when we talked he was in the facetime too much and it made her upset. I was standing in the kitchen in attempt to please her, to keep the dog out of the frame. Riddle me this; when sitting is wrong, and standing is wrong, and everything is...wrong, what are you supposed to do? I started to lose hope. 

This went on.....for far too long. 

Until I started to actually lose it, I will 113% admit and own that. More days than not I felt absolutely insane. Stuck in the asylum created by my wife. Danielle started fights so much and so often, that I started fighting back. If that is what she wanted, or hell even needed, then fine. I will buck up and fight. I would like to take a moment to point out the fact that before I met Danielle - I could count on 1 hand how many times I had raised my voice at another human being in my whole entire life. Screaming and fighting is NOT me. And it's a me I hope I never meet again. But god damn, Danielle brought it out in me. I've lost count now, how many times I yelled at her. I hated myself. I hated how I treated her. I hated the things I said - but I was desperate. It got to a point that I didn't even feel like I was fighting against Danielle, it started to feel more like I was fighting for me. And fuck....if you knew the war I went through to find me, you'd understand why I fought so hard to keep it. And while I still hate how everything happened, I will never apologize for standing up for myself. Danielle can be a beautiful person, truly. However, any partner that threatens your existence, that makes you feel like a pile of fucking shit - just for being who you are, that is not a partner. And, that is precisely what I started to see. I tried to plead, to explain, to make it make sense to her. I recall telling her once that I didn't want a parent, I wanted a partner. But she just couldn’t get it. The sad thing is that a lifelong partner is what she wants the most in the world, yet it's the one thing she can't allow herself to have. Self-fulfilling prophecy as some would say. Borderline personality, some would say. Inexcusable and inexplainable childhood trauma could be a reason. Self-sabotage. Insecurity. Triggers. Projection. Blame. Rage. Sadness. Anger. The emotions are endless, and honestly not the point - because at the end of the day nothing, NOTHING, excuses physical abuse.

So yes, I cheated on my wife. 

After months and months of being torn down, accused, constantly questioned, insistently controlled, stalked, harassed, manipulated and gaslighted - she finally broke me. I am not innocent in this story. I regret the better portion of trying so desperately to love this woman. To show her the safety and home that I know she has always longed for and wanted. I broke a vow. I will own that. I will process that. I will not lie or hide behind twisted truths, this is my story...and if I'm going to tell it, how cowardly would it be to only tell half of the truth.

In that, I refuse to allow the other half of my story to fade in obscurity, concealed by Danielle's web of deceit. My wife was absolutely abusive. Emotionally, mentally, and eventually physically. She is truly so gracefully artful in what she does, it would almost be awe inspiring if it wasn't so fucked up. She is so good in fact, that I almost started to believe her fabricated beliefs about me myself. How she'd take fractions of truth and twist them into a narrative that suited her victim mentality so eloquently, I almost felt insane to question it. I felt so small, so useless, so terrible. Still, in those moments, when Danielle would ask me what I wanted...my reply every time was simply to let me love you. Accept good, accept that I am here, accept that this is a safe place to not be so defensive and protective and accusatory. To not have to question every single fucking thing that I do. For fuck sake PLEASE just let me love you. But, that wasn't enough. Me being there wasn't enough. Me passing her many many deliberately planned tests was not enough. She never trusted me, because she's never trusted anything. I very very very sadly can say, I do not even think she can trust herself...I pity her for this. There is so much good locked up behind her brokenness. But when you are unwilling to look in the mirror - queue Taylor Swift - "I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror, it must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero." And yet louder, "IT'S ME HI, I'M THE PROBLEM IT'S ME!!" I hope for Danielle's sake, one day she sees this. One day, she can look in the mirror and truly love the person staring back at her.

ANYWAY, she won, I suppose...she broke me – round of applause. I am resilient and mother fucking strong, yet her darkness ultimately overpowered me. Day after day, I carried the weight of her on my back like a burdensome rain cloud, desperately striving to validate myself. To prove to her that there are good people in this world, worthy of trust...only to realize that was a narrative I never had a chance of being granted in the first place. And so, she triumphed in her personal war. She molded me into the very monster she treated me as – relentless and unyielding. She believed I was the villain of her story, and so I became it. 

End of part 1.