Heavily Pregnant, Hungry And Homeless

*Steve’s last day in the army was November 2nd 2012 due to accumulated vacation days. However, his last official day was December 4th 2012. He had chosen to study becoming an electrician and a plumber, so in July I had to do all the research for him as usual. To me, leaving just three months to sort out where we would be moving to and trying to find somewhere to live was too short notice. Asking where he wanted to study as the UK was out of the question (see “He Wanted Me To Work Whilst He Stayed At Home“) he said we should head for Maine. However, it would have proved difficult, because I couldn’t fly. I was too far gone in my pregnancy. Besides, we had the car and all our things to bring along. Anyway, I couldn’t find either course in any of the educational institutions there, so he looked for himself. He couldn’t either. It was decided that Maine was out of the question.

After that idea failed, Steve decided upon New York. This time, he’d study an Architect course in and around the Manhattan area. I have no idea where this came from, but who was I to ask him? Eventually, the explanation I got was that I would have more of a chance to find work. Not sure how we were going to cope with this financially, his mind was set and the moving guys were booked for October 30th 2012 to take our belongings to New York. I was nervous…

Although Steve had a two week break from work in July, but due to lack of money, we couldn’t travel to New York or anywhere else for that matter (we could barely afford to drive down the road!). The thing that bothered me the most about all of this, was we’d never been to the places he was picking out. I believe one should visit the place/area they believe could possibly become their home, so one can know from the ‘get go’ if it’s somewhere they want to be or not. He hated Savannah and I wasn’t too keen on staying there either due to the intense heat, but I had actually said to him I think we should stay in Georgia. The move to another state just wasn’t sitting right with me. Of course, he had to disagree with me and demanded that we leave. So I suggested Tennessee which wasn’t too far away (approximately a six hour drive), so we could be close to his father and step-mother. Again, he disagreed because he didn’t want us to have contact with his family.

He refused to help me pack the weekend of October 27th and 28th. The whole weekend was spent with him sleeping and playing his X-Box, whilst I was in pain. He really did think he owned me and that I was there purely for him to treat like I was dirt. When he wasn’t doing his favourite things, he was telling me to stop acting like I was in pain and would drag me off the bed by my arms or legs. He just didn’t care.

The moving day came. The guys who came packed our things randomly into boxes. It had annoyed me that Steve couldn’t take the time out to help me over the weekend. We found we were having to rummage through it all, trying to pull out the things we would need until we were reunited with our belongings again. It was just the beginning of a long nightmare.

I went to see my doctor to collect my medical records and to let him know that he would not be delivering my son. He told Steve I couldn’t fly; in fact he told of how disappointed he was that my husband would drag me with him to travel so far with only six weeks to go before our son was due to arrive. The doctor shook his head at him adding that he needed to make sure there were frequent stops made for me to get out of the car to stretch my legs. I knew it was a bad idea, but what could I do?

Steve made sure I passed my driving test before we set out on our long journey because he didn’t see why he should be the one to drive us all the way there on his own. This was despite me suffering from Braxton Hicks (fake labour) and being in pain most of the time.

Rupert (black); Oxanna (tortoiseshell); and Pheonix (grey & white).

We woke up on October 31st after sleeping very uncomfortably on the floor as our belongings had been collected the day before, and we couldn’t afford more than one night in a hotel (even that was a push). We still had a lot of things to pack and take with us, so we spent most of the day doing just that. Once completed, we clambered into the car with the three kittens we had left – Rupert (4 months old), Oxanna and Pheonix (both 6 weeks old). We had to sneak them into the hotel as pets weren’t allowed. This wasn’t the only problem we faced. All the hotels we approached wanted payment upfront. One lady swiped Steve’s card. We knew there was nothing in the bank account. It was declined. He wasn’t getting paid until the next day. Thankfully, she took pity on us as she could see I was heavily pregnant and Steve had explained he was a veteran. (Boy, did he like to use that line often!). I told her there would be money available at 02:00 am so she should try the card again at that time, and it was. But it wasn’t the full amount expected. The cost of the hotel was covered, but Steve had taken out a loan with the army, so they were taking back what was owed in lump sums.

It was nice however, sleeping in a warm bed rather than on the floor.

The next night wasn’t good at all. We couldn’t afford a hotel, but we couldn’t start our journey until Steve signed off from the army. This couldn’t be done until after midnight. We slept in the car with the kittens in Walmart parking lot. It was now November and was so cold at night. I made sure the little ones were nice and warm, wrapping them in blankets and making sure they were fed and had water. Not to mention cleaning out their litter tray regularly. I could feel the cold through to my bones. I thought I was going to freeze to death. There was nothing for me to eat except a bag of chips/crisps. He had food though. If he didn’t eat, he would be miserable and make my life hell, whilst telling me it was his money. Bearing in mind I had turned down his “offer” for little over a year, I couldn’t believe just seven months after I moved to the US to please him, I was pregnant, hungry and homeless.

(*Not his real name)

He Wanted Me To Work Whilst He Stayed At Home

(A man of leisure… or so he thought).

Financially, things started to get worse once I’d moved out to the US. We went downhill fast, whilst still having no idea what *Steve had spent all ‘our’ money on. All I knew, was that considering he had said back in December 2011 I could be a “lady of leisure”, shit was going to hit the fan. He spent faster than he earned, and was even ignoring money saving tips I put forward. It was suddenly his money after mine had run out. But were it not for his excessive spending (with nothing to show for it), we would have been fine. I made sure of that, which is why I worked as much as I could before the move, sold my car and furniture, etc. At four, five and six months pregnant, he was shoving me out to work, telling me it was about time I got a job! At the time, he was seeing a therapist. I remember he walked out of the last session we had together because according to him, there was nothing to talk about. I, however, remained in the room and told the therapist of our financial woes and the impossible he was expecting from me. Quite rightly so, she said I had done all I could; the rest was up to him. He was the one who needed to step up to the plate, especially as I was pregnant and that it was his idea for me to move there in the first place.

We never went back again. Even though the army was paying for me to see her separately, Steve would not allow me to go back and see her again. There was only one car between us – the one I paid for – but at the time, I didn’t have my driver’s licence. Even if I did, he would use the excuse that he needed the car for work and still wouldn’t allow me to use it anyway. The title was in his name. He made this fact very clear to me.

Having no idea how I was going to get to and from work, I started looking for employment anyway. I knew no company would take me on being so far gone into my pregnancy. By the time I was trained up, I’d have to go on maternity leave. It made no sense, but I wanted to keep the peace as much as possible. Steve actually wanted me to work and support him, not to mention pay child support for his daughter from my own wage! He stated that I should work, whilst he’ll be a stay at home father. The idea really appealed to him.

Steve’s car tags ran out on his birthday, November 14th 2012. He didn’t want to get new tags when he was supposed to, so there was an additional fee for late payment. As if money wasn’t tight enough. By November 30th, with the car being our only mode of transport and I had hospital appointments to attend, he was driving the car illegally. We went to get the tags, only to find out that since March of the same year, all vehicles had to go for an Emissions Test. I couldn’t take any more bad news. All I could do, was pray that the car would pass so no extra money would need to be found to to keep it on the road. It was (and still is) a 1998 Nissan Maxima. It failed…

I asked Steve what were we going to do. We had no money. We could barely meet rent for the mould infested room we were staying in. I was already not eating enough, if at all. The only thing I could do was sacrifice what little food I had altogether, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to make any sacrifices. We had the weekend to think about it, because he was bringing the car to get fixed on Monday 3rd December, and we had to return to the tag office on the same day.

Steve did have a “brainwave” though. He wanted me to pay for Oxanna, Pheonix (our cats – I will go into detail about them later), what little luggage we had of which most was his, himself and myself to get to the UK on my credit card because his car cost $247.00. Hold on a minute, The cost of his car was going to be $247.00, but it was going to cost me approximately $4,500.00 on my credit card to go along with his idea. A debt that would be solely in my name. I didn’t even have the actual credit card with me. I had spoken to my mother via Skype months earlier, who had told me a new replacement credit card had arrived for me in the UK. She gave me the details, which I wrote down in case of an emergency. Knowing I had this information, Steve was determined to rack up yet another debt on my card. (See “My Mother’s Wedding). I was having none of it. But he tried his best to get me to agree, stating that he would continue to drive around illegally until we were going to leave the US for a new life in the UK; he’d then leave the car at the airport, meaning he wouldn’t have to deal with the up and coming bill.

Anyway, after explaining to him that he’d be out of work for nearly a year, whilst things were being set up if we did go to the UK, I asked him what would he do with that time. Surely, he’d get bored. Steve said he wouldn’t be bored. He’d chill out at home and go sightseeing. So, with just two weeks to go before the birth of my son, he wanted me to pay for us to get to the UK on my credit card (I’d be left to find the money to pay off the debt); find somewhere for us to live; get a job; pay the bills – rent, gas, electricity, T.V. Licence, council tax, water, and broadband; mobile/cell phones for each of us; food; buy new furniture; get a new car; pay for him to travel, eat out, go sightseeing and to get new clothes. Not to mention getting things for our soon to be new born son – crib, buggy, etc. I would have the world on my shoulders, whilst he would be a man of leisure. His way of thinking was not normal.

(Second Trimester of Pregnancy: Weeks 13 to 27. womens-health-advice.com).

It was not the first time the subject had come up. Months earlier, when Steve was looking for an institution in which to study after his time was up in the army, he suggested studying in London (UK). This surprised me as he was always saying how much he hated cities and crowds because of his (so called) PTSD, which might I add, he does not suffer from. So why did he want to make this move? This was his reasoning… he said he’d claim benefits from a system he’s never paid into. He added that he liked the idea of not paying for medical, indicating he would use our National Health Service (NHS). Did he think I was stupid enough to bring him to my country to sponge off of the system? The response was a flat “no” on all occasions.

I went to the US because he forced me to go be with him, laying on the guilt trip if I didn’t. Although this being the case, it was never my intention to live anywhere else except the UK, but at least when I did go, I was armed with a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology & Sociology (with Politics & American Studies), not to mention, three A-Levels and six G.C.S.E.s. I had studied up to the age of twenty-two with no breaks. To add to this, I had work experience in Accounts – number crunching; as an Account Manager – helping to design and create adverts for newspapers and magazines, as well as glossy brochures on behalf of Estate Agents/Realtors; and my most current job by the time I moved was Acting and Modelling in T.V., Films, Commercials and Corporate Videos. I was not going to the US to claim benefits at all. Nor was I going there for Steve to support me. My intention was to work. I had been working since I was seventeen.

Whereas I could bring something to the US, Steve had nothing to bring to the UK. There was no way I was going to allow him to come to my country via me so he could just do as he pleased. I’m so glad I stood firm.

(*Not his real name)

Today Is My Birthday

Today is my birthday, so I’m going to change things up a little bit. What I’ve decided to do, is to tell about my birthdays from 2011 to 2014. This is significant, because for all these birthdays, I’ve known *Steve.

March 6th 2011

Steve was meant to be in the UK with me to celebrate. We had spoken about it for a while and it was his idea in the first place. He didn’t make it. Instead, he said he didn’t have a civilian passport, and was not allowed to use his military passport for personal travel, claiming this was a new ‘rule’. I spent my birthday alone and embarrassed as I had told everyone he was coming. To add insult to injury, he sent me a message sounding like something was wrong. When I did call him, worried, he wished me a happy birthday. He actually made me pay for the call for him to do so. To try and cover his tracks, after I complained to his sister *Anna, he lied and said he’d bought me a birthday card but forgot to post it. A lie he would admit to later as being just that, a lie, because I wouldn’t drop the matter.

March 6th 2012

Steve insisted I be in the US with him for my birthday. Seeing as the last one was so disastrous, I was reluctant. However, I was attending the Military Ball with him on March 10th, plus I was moving out to the US to be with him for good so March 3rd was set. He promised we’d do something for my birthday, something really nice to make up for the previous year. Well, we did. I spent the whole day at home by myself as he was working. When he finished work, we went to Perkins. (For those who don’t know, Perkins is a version of Wetherspoons in the UK). That was it. It was not worth it. He was happy; he no longer came home to an empty apartment. I was miserable. Stuck indoors day in, day out.

March 6th 2013 

In the early hours of the morning, I was trying to call the police. I’d had enough of everything. The controlling, the abuse, the violence, the bullying, and then some. He had just tried to kill me by pinning me down and was trying to suffocate me. All 260lbs+ of him. I was at an angle on the bed. At the realisation of what I was about to do, he came crashing down on me as if we were in a wrestling ring. My right knee popped out of place; then back in place again. I was in agony. The pain was indescribable. I’d had a caesarian just two and a half months earlier so was still in pain from that also. (The physical abuse he was inflicting on me made it take longer for me to heal). All of this was in front of his new born son. I just thank God my son will not remember any of this. I told Steve I needed to go to the hospital. He refused to take me, stating that if he did, I would snitch on him and that they would believe anything I told them. I didn’t get my knee checked out until I returned to the UK. Limping, I had an x-ray appointment on May 22nd. To this day, my right knee still ‘clicks’ and I still find myself limping sometimes. It’s getting better, but it’s been a long process. After this, he went and bought me a fake gold chain with a heart key pendant that said “LOVE” on it. A key to his heart. Was that supposed to make everything OK? I think not. I still left him six days later when I boarded a plane back to the UK with my 12 week old son, using a one way ticket.

March 6th 2014

Present day. I have had the most wonderful birthday. Rich in love, I have my family and friends supporting me. I was woken up by my gorgeous son this morning and received a hug from him which has become the norm. Thankfully, he didn’t try to physically open my eyes which he has tried to do on many occasions! But today was different. It was special. His smile started my day perfectly. No arguments. No lies. No deceit. The best birthday I’ve ever had since knowing my son’s father.

Although I’m not where I want to be yet, I have come a long way. I’ve have food in the cupboards and fridge; my son does not know hunger like I do because of his father. My son has more clothes than me! Considering when I left, he literally only had the clothes on his back, as did I. I have eighteen pairs of footwear now and five jackets and coats. I didn’t have any when I landed in the UK. Only the cheap pair of $12.00 pumps I got after wearing broken shoes for four months, which I returned to him. Slowly but surely, I’m replacing things I lost, such as my laptop. I purchased one on October 31st 2013 after Steve smashed mine to bits in December 2012 so I couldn’t call my mother via Skype. It took me seven and a half months to scrape the money together, but I did it! My eldest sister bought Microsoft Office for me on Monday 3rd as I couldn’t afford it. My mother let me live rent free with my son. Gaia, a Domestic Violence Group has been wonderful. Referred to by my lovely doctor, I came to terms with certain things. The main one being I have to pick myself up, as well as having to be proud of myself that I had the strength to walk away and come out of the situation ALIVE! And with my son. This is just a ‘taste’ of what I have being doing and what I have achieved since walking away.

With what little money I have coming in, I make sure my son is fine first and foremost. Although what I have is very little (material wise), I donate to charity. Mostly to the food bank because no one should go hungry, especially in this day and age. I’m going to stretch my tiny budget even further now, by donating to animal charities. I love animals. I am proud to say, I’m an Animal Advocate. On a daily basis, I do all I can to save as many as possible, mainly in the UK and US, but all over the world too. I no longer eat meat; although I still eat chicken and fish, but I will eventually stop eating these too.

Thank you to my wonderful friend Elaine, who encouraged me to start my blog in the first place and doing the research for me as I didn’t even know where to begin. I think she is my number one fan! She made me believe I could do this, and I have.

Last but not least, I have encountered some amazing people who have been so supportive but I’ve never even met! One person I would like to point out is sweetmarie9616. I cannot believe this woman’s compassion towards me after being through so much herself. From day one, she’s been there for me, as if she’s an angel specially picked out for me, to help me every time I stumble or fall. I thank her with all of my heart. Thanks to everyone else too, who have followed my blog and have said the right things at the right time – especially when I nearly had a melt down just a few days ago.

Today is my birthday. Cards. Gifts. Cake. My son. Family. Friends. It’s been a very blessed one indeed! 🙂

(*Not their real names)

Abusing Me Whilst Pregnant, He Started To Call Me Ugly

The first time *Steve told me he couldn’t wait to  see me pregnant and barefoot in his kitchen, I didn’t take him seriously. But the more he said it, the more I  realised that he was quite possibly not joking. He’d also ‘joke’ about a woman’s place is in the kitchen more and more. One day he asked me “Why are women’s feet smaller than men’s feet?” Baffled, I asked why. “So they can get closer to the stove”. I was not happy. It was sexiest and quite frankly, rude. I told him so. He acted as if he meant it in jest, and didn’t mention it again for a little while. However, when it was confirmed that I was indeed pregnant, whilst stood in the kitchen on a separate occasion, he took a picture of me, and said “Ha! You’re barefoot and pregnant in my kitchen!”.

Steve wanted us to have one Facebook account between us, that way he could control who we stayed in touch with. I refused. We argued about it. I stormed out of the apartment to try to cool down. Having none of it, he followed me. I told him to go away, to leave me lone. He wouldn’t. Instead what became the ‘norm’ was pulling and dragging me down the street. Whilst pregnant. At one point his colleague witnessed him doing just that. He approached Steve and told him he should never lay a hand on a woman and to leave me be. Another time, Steve grabbed my cell/mobile outside and dropped it on the pavement on purpose. It didn’t break though; there were scratches and a couple of small dents. But what he did next was ridiculous. He picked it up, went into my Facebook account and un-friended all the friends I had made in the army since I’d been there. I told him he’d have to do the same. He was friends with many of my family and friends, but he refused to remove them.

When I eventually got my cell/mobile back, I had the most embarrassing task of lying to those people by telling them I was messing around with my phone, so had un-friended them by mistake. Luckily, they accepted my friend requests and that was that. Who knows whether or not they believed my story. I am however, still friends with them to this day, whereas I know he isn’t with at least two of them.

Steve wanted one email address between us. When he realised he was getting nowhere with this demand, he created an email address for me that only he was able to control for a while (see ” He Wanted Me To Keep Quiet About His Behaviour“).

(Image from Itsirrational.com)

Fighting a losing battle of trying to control me one hundred percent, Steve started to call me ugly to grind me down. After a while, hearing it frequently, one starts to believe it. Isolated, I was going through one of the worst times of my life. I should have been happy; I was pregnant after all. But it was heartbreaking. After all the support I’d shown him, after giving up my life in the UK for him, after bailing him out financially on numerous occasions, saving him from being kicked out of the army, this is the thanks I got. I’d known in my heart, since June 1st 2012 that we were over. I didn’t want to stay with him. I was done with it all. It hadn’t been worth it.

Calling me ugly soon extended to “No man will ever want you.” Where did that come from? This was coming from the person who had been dumped by the mother of his other child whilst she was pregnant, and now by me in the same situation. Having no idea how I was going to get out of this situation, I had to hold on to hope and faith – both of which were fading rapidly. No money to go home (UK), having physiotherapy, weak from hunger, isolated, in excruciating pain from the pregnancy, being smacked about and then some, all I could do was pray God hadn’t forgotten me. Pray that God was going to see me out of this dark, soul destroying situation I found myself in.

My appearance was now a mess; by the end of it all, I didn’t look like the trophy wife who had gone to be with him just months earlier. My hair was rough. Nails were broken. My hands were wrinkled from all the cooking, washing and cleaning I endured as if I were a slave. He made sure I looked awful so no man would look at me as they did before.

A shadow of my former self…

I was ugly indeed.

(*Not his real name)

His And Her Tattoos

*Steve wanted us to get his and her tattoos. This was before I moved to the US. I’d have his name on me; he’d have my name on him. I definitely was not comfortable with that. He pushed and pushed, but I stood firm. Why on earth would I want to do that for? According to him, I should want to do it as we were the loves of each others lives. Right…

I noticed he was telling me what I should have done and where on my body it should be. Initially, he wanted it on our “wedding” fingers. I said no. Steve said it would be perfect for him, as a ring would get in the way of his work. When he realised I wasn’t budging, he moved on to another part of my body. This time he suggested my butt. I told him “You talk enough shit to warrant your name there!”. Anyway, he was determined to try to get me to get one. I said I’d think about it, but that if I did, I’d use the shortened version of his (real) name, because that way, if we broke up, I could add a letter to the end of his name to read something I believe in. (You’ve probably guessed his real name now!). He was not happy to say the least; he wanted my body to bear his full name. I had no idea how I was going to get out of this…

During another conversation, the subject came up again. I remember thinking “Please Lord, make this stop.” I felt under pressure and so uneasy about it. Surely no means no, right? You’d think so, but not with Steve. Only this time, he actually made me laugh. He wanted me to get a tattoo saying “This Belongs To Steve” on my vagina! And he was not joking. Of course I refused. He got upset. So, to try to avoid any more tension, I said I would definitely consider a tattoo of his name when I moved out there to be with him for good. At this point, I didn’t know when that was going to be, so I’d bought myself some more time. To me, he just wanted to mark his territory. But I wasn’t his to own.

He in the mean time, as a birthday present to himself in November 2011, had my name tattooed halfway across his chest. Over his ‘heart’. As if he has one.

I’m just so glad I didn’t get his name tattooed on me, in full or otherwise.

(*Not his real name)