I Thought I Could Run Faster Than Him Until He Stabbed Me

I met him when I was sixteen. For seven years, I lived in a world where his reality was the only one that mattered. He checked my phone constantly and monitored my work. He used our children as leverage to keep me trapped, threatening to end his own life if I tried to leave or guilt-tripping me by saying I was abandoning them. He demanded I stop selling drugs, yet he was the one selling them. He posted accusations of my cheating on Facebook. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could run faster than him.

The violence started small. I learned to ignore the verbal abuse and the damage to our belongings. I told myself it was normal. I told myself it was love. But the control tightened. I was walking on eggshells, terrified that one wrong move would trigger his rage. I called the police twice for previous crises and once took him to the emergency room for a suicide attempt.

I realized I couldn't outrun him. The knife broke, and that was the only thing that saved my life, but the mental scars run deeper than any physical wound.

Then came the night of October 29th. It was around midnight. I do not remember the exact sequence of events because my mind went blank. I only know that he attacked me. He used three knives until one of them broke, and that was the only thing that stopped him. I was stabbed twenty times and strangled. I do not know how long it lasted. I pushed him away and fled out the front door, bleeding, terrified, and alone. I do not remember calling the police. I do not know who called first. A neighbor saw the blood and called the police. I was in the hospital for a month with perforated lungs. I had surgery early the next morning.

When I finally woke up, the first thing I felt wasn't relief, but a strange guilt. I was worried about him. I was worried that he would be alone. I had spent so long being manipulated that my instinct was still to protect him, even after he tried to kill me. I was in a state of total shock and intense fear of dying alone. I felt extreme physical and psychological pain.

He was arrested and eventually pleaded guilty. He was sentenced to nine years in prison. He was imprisoned in June of that year. He is eligible for parole in November or January 2025. He refuses to follow rehabilitation programs and continues to use drugs behind bars. I cut all contact after he violated the peace order four times. I shaved my head because of the blood and the trauma. My father had to clean the blood out of our apartment. I had to tell my daughter, now eight, about the scars on my stomach. She is my child, but I can no longer pretend that a father-child relationship is possible with him. I do not believe he can change. I do not believe he will ever take responsibility.

The physical wounds healed, but the mental ones are still fresh. I have nightmares. I have triggers every day. I read books on domestic violence to understand what happened to me. I realized that the attack wasn't just a moment of rage; it was the culmination of years of control. He was a coward. He was hypocritical. I believe the attack was likely premeditated, though I have no confirmation. I lost my memory of the attack itself.

I am a single mother now. I have rebuilt my life with a new partner. But I still live in fear. I fear he will contact me. I fear he will hurt my children. I fear that the system will let him out too soon. I know that the trauma is the deepest wound. I know that I can never go back to the person I was before I met him. I know that I survived because a knife broke, not because I was strong enough to stop him.

I speak now to correct the narrative. I realized that the attacker was a coward and hypocrite. I want to correct the version of events that might be circulating. I am the one who ran. I am the one who survived. And I will not let him rewrite the story. I will not let him take my life again, even from behind bars. I will not let him take my children's future. I will not let him take my peace.

I hope that by sharing my story, someone else will see the signs. I hope someone else will realize that they don't have to run faster than their abuser. They just have to run. And if they can't run, they have to find someone who will help them. I hope that someone else will know that they are not alone.

I am still healing. I am still afraid. But I am still here. And that is enough.