by Carla Shaffer

Created on: October 08, 2009   Last Updated: October 09, 2009

As a woman, I have suffered many types of abuse. I convinced myself at the time it was because I "loved" the man that I was with. I also thought in the beginning that I could help that person "change". I knew that there was a good person inside the abuser I just had to be a better person and show them how much I cared for them and loved them. I was so wrong!

My first husband was a police officer in the town that I lived in growing up, and when we first met, I was a single, pregnant nineteen-year-old girl. He wanted to be my knight in shining armour and save me from disgrace. Unfortunately, this was not a good basis for our marriage and soon after the verbal and emotional abuse began. I stayed with him because we had two gorgeous little boys together and the abuse wasn't physical and I knew I could survive. I took this kind of abuse for four and a half years. I know that this does not seem to be a long time, but for me, it seemed like an eternity. I filed for divorce in October of 1994. The loss of self -esteem and degradation that I suffered during those years would set the precedence for the next abusive relationship.

I married Tyrone in 1997, a " recovering" crack addict that I dated for a time and, due to familial pressure, married him soon after we'd met. This was the beginning of a six year nightmare. I lost a lot during this marriage. Not just my self-esteem would suffer this time, I lost custody of my boys and - for short time - my two-year-old daughter. If that wasn't hard enough, I lost my apartment and had to move back in with my parents. It gets worse, because to regain custody of my daughter, we had to move all of the way across the state to live with his parents. This was a blow to me as a Mom and a woman.

However, I also suffered in other ways; I lost my self worth and felt trapped into a life that I felt that I would never get out of. The yo-yo effects of Tyrone's binge drug usage took its toll physically and emotionally. I became depressed. I knew that I deserved everything that I was getting, the toss across the room to the couch, the fist in the wall above my head, the horrible names and finally the bruises. I was slowly drowning and losing all that I treasured. It wasn't until two years later, when my father passed away form cancer, that I finally grew strong enough leave.

I know that this may sound like the end but for me it didn't stop here. Tyrone became obsessed with me and my little girl. I moved back to my hometown and in with my Mother

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