7 years of Hell
By: Chrystin Roufley
Tags: Rape, Domestic Violence, Narcissism, Domestic Abuse

7 years of Hell

Part 3

I forgot what Fox had done to me, my mind stashed it away in some deep dark corner, but that didn't stop me from experiencing the symptoms of trauma.

The isolation Fox had manufactured deepened. I found myself depressed, anxious and angry all the time. It would only continue to get worse. It's funny in hind sight how the brain repeats its patterns once it sets one. I've experienced other traumatic events and never repressed them. But, being raped, my brain just decided on it's own that I couldn't handle remembering that.

It wasn't long after our return to Montana that I became pregnant with our first son. Fox was surprisingly excited about it. We moved into the same apartment I was living in when we'd met and that's when things started to go down hill again.

Fox was a diagnosed schizophrenic, though I now doubt the legitimacy of the diagnosis. He said that it made it hard for him to be in crowded spaces. I was 4 or 5 months pregnant and working as a cashier at a gas station when he walked out on his job as a food prepper in a busy burger dive. Of course I was upset. Work was becoming harder for me as my belly grew. I reminded him that we were about to be parents and responsibility now took precedence over convenience. All hell broke loose. He told me how he never wanted to be a parent and I was forcing him into it. I was selfish for not understanding his mental disorder. He told me how lucky I was that he stuck around because there was no way my parents would support their daughter, pregnant out of wedlock. It was as if he'd completely shifted from loving partner to the bitter father of my unborn child and it was all my fault.

It wasn't long after that when I figured out that my changing body needed more calories than my young independent body did. I had a nasty habit of not thinking to eat, so during pregnancy, I often suffered from light headedness and fainting spells. Again, I was vulnerable and again he took full advantage.

Trigger warning: rape, sodomy, pedophilic ideation

It was a normal night. We sat in our bedroom watching movies on a laptop. I'd gotten off of work and was laying down. Fox started getting frisky. His hands were already down the front of my pajama pants when I told him I wasn't feeling well and should eat first. Once again, he became unresponsive. A wave of panic washed over me when I felt his member against my back side. What I know now is that the term "fight or flight" is incomplete. It's really "fight, flight or freeze" and my trauma response was to freeze. Ever feel like your own brain is working against you? Mine literally has at every turn. Because of that, the details that follow are blury to me at best. I recall my face pressed into the bed. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and smell the mildew in our mattress. Hot tears streaming down my face. When he flipped me over to finish, I didn't even look at him. I didn't want to see the expression on his face. When all was done, he got up and walked away, leaving me in the bed a shaking, sobbing mess.

I gathered myself enough that when he returned, I confronted him. I don't recall the exact words I said or what he said until he was sobbing in my lap and apologizing. And, then he justified it. I could almost puke now thinking about it.

His voice shaked and cracked so pathetically. "I have these thoughts. I can't make them stop. There's a voice inside my head…. When I see girls, 12, 13 maybe 14 … the voice in my head tells me to follow them. No one would know. They go into the bathroom alone… I could do it and no one would ever know. I've never done it…"

He was so pathetic. He twisted it as if he was a victim of his own mind. He cried for over an hour. Somehow, even though my body was still aching from him raping me, I felt bad for him even though the words he spoke disturbed me as much as they would any one. But, when he went outside to smoke, I laid down and cried again and once again, all was forgotten by morning.

Repressed trauma is interesting, because the brain forgets the occurrence. But the symptoms of PTSD hang around. After that night, I found it hard to be excited about the pregnancy or anything for that matter. It was as if every positive emotion I should have felt was muted, filtered into black and white. Fox and I married. We moved into my parents' because of a serious mold problem in our apartment.

The next time I would feel any real joy is when a beautiful 7lb 3oz boy was handed to me. When I first saw him, he was like a little angel of light and he continued to be. When I tell you there has never been such a good, happy baby, I mean it. Even before we left the hospital, he would crack little smiles at the sound of my voice. He wasn't even three months old before he started laughing. Not just cute baby giggles, but full on laughter that was contagious to someone having even the worst of days. He probably saved my life.

Not only was I dealing with PTSD that I didn't know I had, I suffered from severe PPD. We fixed up a trailer on my parents' property and moved into it and things only got worse. Fox had a new job. I stayed home with the baby for a while. I don't know if Fox resented me not working, or that he had to work to support a baby he apparently didn't want. But, for months, he barely spoke to me unless we were around other people. He came home, ignored the food I'd cooked him and drove straight into video games. When I was fully recovered from labor, I would try to initiate intimacy, only to be ignored or told "in a bit" only to find myself going to bed alone. I was convinced that he found my changed body unappealing. I have never felt so alone and I'd make some really poor choices on account of that fact.