My Brush with Intimate Partner Violence

By KG Farrell

Part one: How it began.

I looked anxiously at my front door. It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon and someone I wasn’t expecting was ringing the bell. I hesitated, wondering if I should answer it, I don’t like surprises. I decided it might be the pharmacy with a delivery, so I opened the door. I found the new neighbor John lounging casually against the railing on my front porch.

“Hi, can I help you?”

That sentence; that decision to answer my door, was about to change my life drastically and not for the better. I didn’t know that then of course, after all the guy just wanted to borrow a couple of cigarettes. Harmless.

For a few weeks after that first encounter, it became a semi-regular thing for him to drop by and ask for a cigarette or a little marijuana. (It’s legal here) It wasn’t long before we were having brief but regular conversations and generally being friendly neighbors.
Sometime in June, he came by to pay back some of the cigarettes he’d borrowed. It would be the only time he paid me back for anything. I know now that he needed an excuse to come cry on my shoulder about his “missing girlfriend” and how broken hearted he was. It was a ploy, but I fell for it and I invited him in.

We became friends for a short while after that but it quickly turned into dating and we became intimate. It was only three weeks later that I would break it off.

On the 4th of July I found out he was using Meth. That’s a deal breaker for me and I told him so in a ‘Dear John’ text. He proceeded to stalk me for the next six weeks. He knocked incessantly on my door numerous times a day. He would hang out on his porch watching for me to come and go, hollering for me to talk to him. He asked neighbors to give me messages and of course he would text. Over and over and over. He would text, I would block the number. He would get a free internet phone number from a service like Text Now. I would block it and he would just get another one. He did this no fewer than 7 times.

All the calls and messages were begging me for five minutes and telling me he had feelings for me and a lot of other untrue things. Then there came a day when I was feeling particularly lonely and I broke. I decided to hear him out. He claimed the Meth was just an occasional thing and told me he wouldn’t do it anymore. I believed him. I should not have.

On the 24th of September I found out he was not only still doing Meth, he was also selling it. He was selling it to a 24 year old girl he was also sleeping with. He’s 46. I’m not proud of it, but I found out about the affair by looking at his phone while he was asleep. The text messages made me sick to my stomach.

I immediately woke him up, told him what I had found, and told him to leave and not come back. He of course tried to make excuses and tell me I misunderstood…blah blah blah. All I said in return was “Get out.”

He got really angry at this point. He began throwing things around, trashing my bedroom, screaming insults at me. I just kept replying to every remark with “Get out.”

As he exited my bedroom to the living room where I was standing, he decked me. Twice. Right in my face. I grabbed my pistol off the table a few feet away (I’d put it there as a precaution before I woke him) and again said “Get out.” He turned as if to leave. I lowered my weapon slightly. Instead of going out the door, he picked up the woven basket I kept roughly $300 worth of cosmetics in. It was sitting on the couch. He threw it at me. It missed my head by an inch. It hit the wall, the basket disintegrated and the bottles burst. I fired my weapon into the floor at his feet.

He peed on my floor and quickly darted out the door. That would the last time I would see him until we went to court for the protection order. Oddly enough, he brought a date. To court.

That was the first time I laid eyes on “Blondie.” His new girlfriend. I was honestly thrilled. I thought “Great, his attention is off me! I’m safe.” And I was. Blondie on the other hand was not.

He moved her in and started hitting her almost immediately. I suspected he was but wasn’t sure until she came running out of his house with a bloody lip, screaming for me (of all people) to come and save her. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I didn’t. At least not that time.
The next time I saw her storming away from their house in tears, I jumped in the car and followed her around the corner and out of site. I stopped and gave her my contact info and told her I was willing to help her if she wanted it. She was very happy I did. It would still be a couple of weeks before she was able to get out but tonight she did it!

I’m sitting in my room now, listening to her snore softly from my couch as I write this. Whatever happens next, she’s alive tonight. Despite his having kicked her down the stairs.

Tomorrow we file her protection order and with any luck he’ll be in jail within a few weeks. Now, I hear you asking me why he’s not already in jail for hitting me? I wanted to know the same thing. Why didn’t they prosecute?

But before I called the Prosecuting Attorney’s office I knew I was going to need help. I knew it was time to pick up the proverbial pen and write. Only one problem, I needed an outlet.

I immediately thought of Brad Berkwitt. I had done a few articles for him during the pandemic and felt we had a good rapport. I asked if he would run it and he invited me to come back to writing full-time for the magazine. I gladly, eagerly accepted.

So with the power of the pen in my hand, I called the prosecutor’s office and spoke with the woman I believe is going to be the heroine in my story. What I learned about domestic violence and “the system” during that conversation was overwhelming.

For the next six weeks, I am going to write about the agencies involved with domestic violence in my community and my experience with them as both a victim and as a voice with a platform. Together we hope to give you dear reader, a better understanding of how Intimate Partner Violence happens, how these agencies are fighting to stop it and how you can help if you suspect someone in your community is being victimized.

Next time read more about Blondie’s experience with our abuser and the police. Due to a misunderstood disability, both were very different from my own. Also, learn how a small group of women in our neighborhood banded together to fight this guy on a psychological level in order to keep us all safe and alive.

KG Farrell is an author, activist and artist living her best life in Northwest Missouri. She has previously published two suspense novels that you can find here here.