[Dryerase] The Alarm!--DV: My story of DV

[The Alarm!Newswire]

My Story of Domestic Violence

By Patrick Letellier
The Alarm! Newspaper Collective

When I met Stephen, I had no idea he was abusive. Handsome and witty, 
he was a proud 25 year-old gay man writing his Ph.D. thesis. He swam 
every day, wrote poetry and was a great kisser. None of those things 
spelled abuse to me.

Honestly, the first time I kissed him I saw stars. We walked into his 
office at school, closed the door and embraced in a passionate kiss 
that left my head swimming. I was hooked.

He was sweet, attentive and so much fun. We talked a lot and made love 
even more. He was a great partner.

Unfortunately, that was only half the picture. Like most abusers, he 
kept reins on his violence until the relationship was secure. And his 
violence began slowly, gradually becoming more frequent and severe.

The first abusive thing he did was grab me by the shoulders during an 
argument and shake me. I didn’t even think of that as violence then. 
But when I look back over all the incidents, I remember that argument 
when he crossed the line for the first time. I wish I’d known then to 
leave and never return.

A couple months later, he punched me in the stomach. Then he dropped to 
his knees and wept. I had no idea why he was crying. I was mad he’d hit 
me, but mostly confused. “Don’t worry,” I told him, “we’ll work it out.”

The violence got much worse. He punched, kicked and slapped me—always 
during arguments, always with the excuse “you provoked me.” Once he 
shoved me into a wall so hard the wall broke. Another time he tore up 
my things: letter, pictures, even clothes.

Now I was afraid of him, but unsure how to proceed. I knew getting away 
would not be easy, and I still hoped the violence would stop. I wanted 
him to become again the wonderful boyfriend he’d been at first.

I held onto the illusion that the violence was caused by some external 
stress: an argument with me, financial woes, anything. I was wrong. The 
problem with violence was a problem with him, not any outside force.

I left many times. But I was isolated and had nowhere to turn. When I 
left he’d track me down and beat me even worse. Leaving was more 
dangerous than staying.

Finally I fled thousands of miles to San Francisco. I called to say I 
never wanted to see him again. But I underestimated him. He told me, 
calmly, he was coming to San Francisco, and I could either meet him at 
the airport or he would hunt me down and make my life hell.

He threatened to hurt my brother and his wife, whom I was living with. 
He threatened to come to the restaurant where I worked and turn over 
every table. He threatened to break every bone in my body.

I met him at the airport.

There was no violence for months. But the day we signed the lease on 
our apartment he beat me senseless.

The violence was now life threatening. I fought back a lot, but one 
punch from me meant a tornado of violence in return. He would choke me 
and bang my head into the floor. Once he tackled me on a sidewalk and 
pounded my head into the concrete. I thought I’d die there.

There were sexual assaults and lots of psychological abuse. He 
criticized everything I did and said. Everything.

I was bewildered, frightened and had no idea how to get away. “If you 
try to leave me I’ll hunt you down and kill you,” he’d say. I knew he 
could.

One day I saw a flyer: “Does the hand that holds you in public strike 
you in private? Gay Domestic Violence.” I called for help.

The counselor helped me make an escape plan, and the next day I 
escaped. When Steven attacked, I climbed out the living room window and 
ran down a fire escape. I ran for my life through the streets of San 
Francisco. I never went back.

I hid in the apartment of an acquaintance for four months. I got a 
restraining order. I filed police reports. I began putting my life back 
together.

Steven stalked me for three more years, but I was not deterred. I wrote 
a book about gay domestic violence, got a counseling degree and for ten 
years counseled victims of battering. I do not want anyone to go 
through what I did.

Today I have a wonderful partner, and we’ve been together for four 
years. I’m amazed at what a gentle soul he is. Occasionally, I think I 
see Steven on the street: I get very still and ready to run. But he has 
not bothered me for years, and I believe the ordeal is over.

Patrick Letellier is co-author of the book Men Who Beat The Men Who 
Love Them: Battered Gay Men and Domestic Violence. He lives in Soquel, 
and can be reached at PatrickGL at aol.com.

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