What has happened to Gabby Petito has me, quite frankly, triggered. Honestly, I’ve been feeling extra screwed up lately. Ever since I recently saw someone who reminds me of a bad time in my life out and about at the same place I was. I haven’t been okay.
Now, this young girl (and don’t get me wrong, so so many other people), is dead. She is gone at the hands of someone who claimed to love her. And fuck, all I can keep thinking is, “I was that girl. I was Gabby.”
I think back to being an 18 year old, acting brave and tough all the time, while in the dark my boyfriend was physically and mentally abusing me. I think back to a physical altercation in his car - one where I fought back. Someone driving next to us saw and called the police. I watched the footage of Gabby and her boyfriend on the side of the road talking to police. In my head, I see 18 year old Angela, crying as the officers who pulled us over asked me if my boyfriend was hitting me. Through tears and a fat lip I told them we were just arguing. I told them that everything was fine. I told them that he would never hurt me and that the fight was my fault so that he wouldn’t get in trouble. I watched Gabby do the same. I saw myself in her. It tears me apart. I wonder if those cops ever think back on me. I made it out. Gabby did not.
I think back to being a 19 year old. I’m trying to get away from him. Instead, he shows up to friends houses when he knows I’m there. He drives around town, hoping that he’ll see my car. That’s when he starts to erratically follow me as I drive. I’m always scared. 19 year old me keeps trying to break up with him. He coerces me over to his parents house late one night. I was hanging out with a girlfriend. He didn’t like that. He was mad. I’m sitting on his living room couch telling him that I don’t want to be with him anymore. He walks out of the room, only to return with a chefs knife. I’m terrified. I’m frozen. He holds it up to his neck and says if I leave him he’ll kill himself in front of me. I’m only 19. I stay.
When things in life are going well for me he gets mean. If I played well in a softball game it’s “gay” or I “still suck.” When schools try to recruit me he talks down on each program. If a friend wants to have lunch and then a movie day I get accused of actually going out and fucking other men. He texts me every two minutes and if I don’t reply right away he gets abnormally angry. I’m always awaiting a punishment or a cruel comment. The only time he seems “happy” with me is when I’m being less successful than he is. I can never do better than him because if I do it’s going to be a big fight. It’s going to be a dangerous fight.
One night he kicks me out of his car at the marina. I don’t remember why anymore. But I remember being determined to just walk home. I only lived down the street. But once he saw that I wasn’t begging to be let back in the car, he starts driving, dangerously, towards me and slamming on the breaks right before he hits me. I’m frantically looking around hoping there’s someone out there who see’s what’s happening. There’s no one. I’m alone. It’s either get back in the car or take the chance of him running me over. I can’t trust him not to. I get back in the car.
My friends visit me at work and notice all the bruises on my arm. I show them a larger bruise on my upper arm and finger marks around my wrist. They tell me that I need to tell his family. They tell me that they’ll go with me so I don’t have to be alone. After work, my friend drives me to his place. He’s at work so he can’t intervene. I walk in with a friend and ask his mom to speak to her. I show her the bruises. I tell her which knife he threatened his life with. I tell her all the horrible things he has done to me. She says, “I can’t believe my son would ever act like that.” She sort of changes course and says that her and her husband will get him help. She tells me that they’re going to keep him away from me. She lied. They never did anything. Months later she guilts me by saying, “I don’t know where he would be without you. Probably jail.” Keeping him out of jail wasn’t my responsibility. You should have raised a better man.
I’m 30 now. I’m over eight years removed from this situation. Honestly, I thought I was okay. But recently I was diagnosed with “trauma and other stressor related disorder,” AKA pre-ptsd. It all stems from the five years of abuse I endured at his hands. The manipulation, attempted rape, using me as a punching bag, and the gaslighting to make me believe that I was crazy. Him making other people believe I was crazy because I started to lash out at him. I started to lash out and react because I was tired of being harmed. I see Gabby Petito and I see myself. And I’m fucking sad. And I’m fucking pissed off. Because this can’t keep happening to women. This can’t keep happening to indigenous women. This can’t keep happening to black women. This can’t keep happening to latinx women. This can’t keep happening to trans women. This can’t keep happening to Asian women. And this can’t keep happening to white women.
I feel guilt. I feel guilt because I never tried to get him punished for his actions. I feel guilt because after the years of abuse at his hands he went on to hit other women. I feel guilt because I know he has a live-in girlfriend now and I don’t know if he hurts her. Can someone so evil be worthy of redemption? Is it even safe to assume he is different? Every day I fear for this woman. Does she know that he not only beat me, mercilessly, but also completely ruined my brain. It took me years to feel better about myself. It took me years to feel comfortable with sudden movements. Honestly, I’m still working on it. Does she know that he went and put hands on the woman after me? Has the cycle ended? Does it continue? What if something happens to her and it all could have been prevented if I had just spoken up? Will the next girl be able to get away if he snaps?
I look at Gabby Petito and I see myself. Only I got lucky. She was stuck out there alone with her abuser. She tried to get through - I know she did, because that was me, for five years. I look at Gabby Petito, and I see a kid who deserved so much better than what she got. I look at Gabby Petito and my heart fucking breaks because we live in a world where we allow this to happen over and over again.
I’m mad. I’m angry and sad and frustrated. And I’m sorry to her. I’m sorry to her family. I’m sorry to her friends. My abuser got away with it. I hope that her abuser does not.
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