He Made Me Believe I Was Hearing Voices

I thought I was building a life. I was a young single mom in a coastal area, a photographer trying to stay afloat after leaving the military. I had a daughter, a career, and a plan. Then I met him at the gym. He was friendly, persistent, and immediately told me I was his soulmate. He promised a life together, a family business in another state, and a future where I didn't have to struggle alone.

I was vulnerable. I was young. I believed him. We moved across the country. The moment we arrived, the promises evaporated. The business wasn't ready. I had no job. I had left my clients behind. I was stuck at home with a small child, dependent on him. When I questioned why he hadn't kept his word, he told me I had misunderstood him. He claimed I had forced the move. I started to doubt my own memory.

He told me I was hearing voices, then claimed I was crazy if I tried to see a doctor, all while forcing himself on me when I was half asleep.

As my photography career began to recover, he began to undermine it. He told me I didn't understand the business side. If I made money, he demanded it, claiming I hadn't contributed to rent. His finances were a black box. He made significantly more than I did, yet he made me feel like I was the one failing. He isolated me by telling me that anyone I tried to meet was untrustworthy. He told me my friends were bad influences. He told me I couldn't trust my own judgment.

Then came the gaslighting that went beyond memory. He would start conversations about my past traumas, then hours later, he would deny we ever spoke about them. He would tell me he knew what I was thinking before I said it. He told me he had telepathic abilities. He told me he had been abducted by aliens. When I tried to process these strange claims, he told me I was falling into deep depression. He told my mother that I was hearing voices. He told me that I was hearing voices, but that I was too smart to admit it. He told me I couldn't see a doctor because they might take my child away. He told me I was fine, but that I was crazy.

The turning point wasn't a single argument; it was a night in the middle of the night. I was half asleep, exhausted from the constant stress. He woke me up and tried to force himself on me. I said no. I told him to stop. He didn't stop. He told me he saw me as his wife and that I needed to see it that way. He forced himself on me while I was asleep. I was crying in the bed, processing the violation, and he came back in and did it again. That night, the gaslighting turned into something darker. I couldn't sleep. He noticed. He started waking me up to ask why I had left a light on, then flicked it on himself to prove I had turned it on. He punched holes in walls when I argued. He shoved me into walls. He grabbed me by the neck during intimacy.

I told my mother I wasn't happy. She, who had always supported me, told me everything looked fine from the outside. I poured my heart out to him, and he flipped the script. He told me he worked every day for me. I felt like an idiot. I felt like I was the problem.

In the summer of 2016, I ended up in the hospital. They told him I might be bipolar. He latched onto that suggestion. We broke up briefly, and I lived with my parents. He came back, love-bombed me, and I moved back to the other state. I got pregnant with my son. We had a quiet year, but the abuse was still there. In December 2019, he proposed. We planned a wedding for 2020. Then the pandemic hit. We were forced to be in the house together. The abuse ramped up.

I decided I was done. I hired movers. I moved a couple of miles up the street. I told him the night before. He agreed, saying we would be great co-parents. A week later, he started demanding to see our son at random times, changing plans last minute. On my birthday, he smashed my phone. I put my new phone in my bra to keep it safe. He came at me, bear-hugging me, throwing me to the ground, ripping my pants. I managed to dart out the garage. My neighbor was outside mowing the lawn. I was bruised, disheveled, and my pants were ripped. He called 911. He was arrested. He spent a few nights in jail. He convinced his family to drop the charges. He told me I had escalated the situation. He told me he didn't touch me. I fell. He ended up getting convicted of a domestic misdemeanor. We ended up working on it and kind of got back together.

By 2022, he was ramping it up again. He told me he wanted to leave. He told me I didn't do enough. He told me to get out of the house. I told him the kids and I lived there. He said it was his house. We argued for months. I needed to be right with God. I needed to be married. He agreed to couples therapy. Two weeks in, he reverted to his old ways. He forced himself on me while I was sleeping. I woke up crying. I had been sexually assaulted in the military. This was triggering. He came to my house and told me I couldn't come back. He threatened my life. He said all hell would break loose if I stepped foot in that house.

I took the threats seriously. He wasn't on the birth certificate of our son. I had full legal rights. I told him the next day I wasn't coming back. He said, "Okay, good." Within a week, I left. I started my new life. Two weeks later, he filed for emergency custody. He claimed I was a flight risk and that the potential bipolar diagnosis was acting up. He got granted custody of our son for two months. He refused to let me talk to him and refused to let me see him. My son, who I had never been away from for more than 24 hours, was ripped from my arms.

When we finally got to court, the judge saw through it and realized that they didn't have a case. He gave my son back to me.

That doesn't mean it's over. But I am starting to shoot more photography. I have new clients. I have a new job. My daughter is a competitive gymnast. My son is in the program I work at. We are a refreshed version of our lives. We are separated from what we were setting up before.

My advice is to advocate for yourself. Stand up for yourself in the moment. Draw a boundary immediately and follow through. Once they know they can challenge your boundaries, that's where your weakness is. Tell your story. I didn't tell my story to my family for a long time. They believed his story. That ended up biting me. Love yourself above all else. Put yourself first. There is always somebody there to support you.

I am not alone. I am here. I am free.