One year ago on my birthday, June 17, I knew I was going to die. I don’t know how to convey the absolute and paralyzing knowing that you are going to be killed, but that’s what I experienced on my last birthday.
My abuser got to my apartment at 3:45am that day, using his copy of my key to enter my apartment and wake me up while I slept. That morning we prepared for lunch as my parents were going to be coming over and officially meeting my abuser. “Tell your mom not to ask me any questions. I mean it,” he had said. He knew my mom was suspicious of him.
At lunch, I failed. My mom began asking my abuser questions and catching him in many different lies. “What college did you go to?” she asked. “The one with the uh uh the husky,” he responded. My abuser said his adopted mom was writing a book about his sensational background. “What’s it called?” my mom asked. “The Lost Boys or something,” my abuser stuttered. “She’s writing it under a different name though so I don’t know what it is exactly.”
I thought lunch had gone ok. My abuser wasn’t outwardly furious at me. I walked my parents out to their car and thanked them for joining us on my birthday. I walked back inside my apartment feeling a sense of relief that I hadn’t screwed up, but I was wrong. So, so wrong. My abuser was standing there, furious. “I asked you to do one thing,” he said. His voice was ice cold. My heart dropped. I knew I had screwed up. How could I fix this? “She interrogated me, and you did nothing to stop it.” My voice got small and I felt like a little child who was being shamed. “I’m sorry,” I said. My abuser was angry though. He blamed me for my mom interrogating him and not stopping it or telling her beforehand not to question him. I was paralyzed with fear. I just kept thinking, “he’s going to kill me on my birthday.” And weirdly, I felt peace at that thought. At the definite knowing that this was my fate.
The rest of the night of my birthday, I was in constant fear of screwing up and pushing him over the edge and that he would kill me. That night I drove his dog around while my abuser was at class and his dog threw up in the backseat of my car. I was terrified to tell my abuser about it because I knew he would blame me. He always accused me of trying to kill his dog (ironic, isn’t it?) by my driving. My 27th birthday was a nightmare and it is an honest to god miracle that I survived it.
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I was nervous to celebrate my 28th birthday this year because it was a trauma trigger. In the days and weeks leading up to it, I had no desire to do anything for it. I wanted to work and be productive on my birthday to make something good out of a traumatic anniversary. 28, my 28th birthday. 28, the age my abuser was turning the weekend I escaped him. I had been planning his birthday celebration in the weeks leading up to it. His 28th birthday, his golden birthday. He texted me, kept trying to call me, threatening me, begging me to come back. His 28th birthday. So 28 was a big birthday for me, for that trauma trigger too.
I’m so happy I ended up having a good birthday. Really, can we get a !!! I taught summer school in the morning and went home afterwards to pick up my dogs before my mom took us to Superdawg for my birthday lunch. Low-key is my favorite way to be and that’s just what I wanted for my birthday. I was exhausted after lunch so we went back to my parents’ house and I took a nap while my pups cuddled with me. I woke up and we changed our dinner plans to get Giordano’s pizza, order in, and watch the Cubs game. It was perfect. My parents surprised me with some amazing gifts for my classroom and I am so thrilled to use them in just a couple months! I have also been blessed with so much love from those who have been following my story and gifted me and my students items from my wish list. I can’t express how grateful I am to all of you. Thank you for making my birthday a celebration again, a day to truly celebrate my life. Because it is something to celebrate, my life that is. I’m here, I’m surviving and thriving, and I have a whole lotta love in my life. So thank you. And here’s to my 28th year!
Sarah's Story 