I’m not really sure how to start this story.
I just know that it needs to be told.
This story is a real story, but the names and places are changed to protect identities.
It’s been 8 years since I made the decision to join the Army. As a young, attractive female, I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. I just knew I wanted to serve my country for a few years before getting out, going to college and living the rest of my life as a civilian with some sort of successful career.
I grew up in a conservation family with old-fashioned values. My view of the world wasn’t really sheltered, but I guess you could say I was naïve. I always pushed myself to do the right thing and tried very hard to be nice to everyone. I was a nice, sweet person—until I had to learn how to be mean to protect myself.
The first time I was assaulted was during AIT. There was another male Soldier who was obsessed with me. He’d run behind me making all sorts of sexual comments during PT. He was bigger than me, and honestly, I was afraid of him. When I finally stuck up for myself one day, he grabbed me and pulled me into the bathroom—locking the door behind us.
He tried kissing me until he saw that I was going to scream—he placed one hand over my mouth instead. As his other hand roamed over my body, touching me everywhere, I felt sick. I felt helpless for a little while, but then rage took over and I slapped him in the face as hard as I could. This must have shocked him because he let me go enough for me to free myself and get away. That was when I realized I really was in danger. The comments being made were really threats, and I knew I had to constantly be on my guard.
By the time a deployed to Iraq, I’d mastered the art of being tough and mean to protect myself, but that still didn’t stop the Officers and Enlisted in ranks above me from making passes and trying to get me to meet them after we got off work to have sex. I was dating the man who is now my husband at that time, and the idea of sleeping around repulsed me.
There were several other incidents that happened during that deployment before I came home and was honorably discharged from the Army. My then boyfriend returned from his deployment to Afghanistan about the same time as me. He proposed shortly after, and we moved in together—neither one of us knowing what PTSD really even was, let alone that we both had it. Me from the sexual assaults during AIT and my deployment, and my then fiancé because of the combat he had seen and been a part of in Afghanistan.
Things were amazing for a while. We were just enjoying being in love and newly-weds, but it wasn’t long until things changed. He started drinking more and more. The more he drank, the more he would talk about war and everything that he had seen…the friends that he had lost…the guilt that he had for still being alive. Sometimes he would get so drunk he would just stand looking at himself in the mirror and tell me how I needed to stay away from him because he was a horrible person—a monster.
I was heartbroken. I wanted to help him, but he wouldn’t let me in. And, with my own issues from the sexual assaults, I don’t think I would have really allowed myself to get in close. We were both trapped in our shells of protection, and I felt our relationship was falling apart in this cycle of emotional breakdowns, drinking and verbal abuse—followed by apologizing, reconnecting and what I called “the good phase”.
He deployed for the 4th time to Afghanistan in 2011. When he came home things got even worse than before, and my husband ended up getting a DUI. I thought this DUI would be a wake-up call and he would realized how out-of-control his drinking really was, but it wasn’t. I tried being supportive and went to his alcohol recovery program through the Army. They released him when he showed “signs of improvement”, but I knew the truth. He had been drinking the whole time. Sure, there were a few days here and there that things seemed to be better, but he really had been drinking the whole time through “recovery”.
Finally New Year’s Eve rolled around—it was time to welcome in 2013. I went through the motions that day. I got dressed up and played the part of being “happy and excited”, but my chest was tight. I couldn’t shake this feeling that something bad was going to happen. I couldn’t explain it—I just felt it in my heart.
Just after midnight, my brother-in-law and his girlfriend left and my husband and I headed to bed. As I came in the room, my husband grabbed his 9mm handgun and put 2 bullets into it.
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