A SHARED LAST NAME

My name is Gus.  I was honored and flattered when Tabitha’s little sister, Nikki Allman, asked me to become a contributor on the The Tabitha Brock Foundation Blog.  As a means of introduction, I would like to relate my incredible journey over the past couple of years.

First a bit of background:  I am a survivor of Domestic Violence, I am a 60 year old male, and I’m a long haul truck driver.  The abuse I suffered occurred during the 1970s, and I was able to break free of my abuser in 1980, but this piece is not really about the abuse I suffered, rather it is about the aftermath.  It is about the years of silence which ensued because of the aftermath.  But mostly I want to share the incredible, continuing, journey, brought about by three amazing women, which has brought me to where I am today….a very non-silent, advocate against Domestic Violence, and against violence in general.

There were then, as now, strong stereotypes about male victims of domestic violence.  Only males who were “wimps” and “henpecked” suffered abuse.  And then, only at the hands of large, hulking, masculine, women.  No man, who was truly “a man” would “allow” a mere woman to physically beat him. I was raised to respect women, and to never hit a woman for ANY reason. Support systems for victims of Domestic Violence were rare, and confined to the assistance of “battered women.”  Support for male victims was nonexistent.  I was lucky to have found a counselor named Diane (who was a graduate student intern), whom was also a survivor of Domestic Violence.  She made me realize that no one deserved to be abused, and she helped me to be able to break away from my abuser.  Unfortunately, she soon graduated and moved away.  Little did I know that she was one of the few that understood that men could also be victims of physical abuse.

After I broke free from my abuser, I returned to college to study Psychology.  It was a joke amongst Psych majors that people only studied Psychology in order to figure out their own screwed up lives.  With me, it was literally the truth.  Through my studies, I I gained an understanding about many aspects of my life, especially issues relating to my childhood.  One of my professors discovered that I was dyslexic, explaining many of my struggles in school. My studies explained my lack of self esteem, helped explore the causes of my childhood stutter, and my fear of dating and interpersonal relationships.  However, my experience as a "battered husband" was never addressed.

The subject of domestic abuse was almost taboo…and when I tried to bring it up, I was advised to change majors to “women’s studies!”  I was once told that “battered Men’s syndrome” was a myth.  During one class, the subject of “Battered Women’s Syndrome” (as it was called back then) was a topic of discussion.  A lot of ridiculous ideas were brought up (such as the idea that women “craved” discipline from men).  I mentioned that I was a victim of abuse, that my former wife often beat me.  One woman laughed and said “what, did she slap you and hurt your feelings?”  I calmly related to her the worst beating I ever received: 

My ex was angry that the Navy had assigned me to go overseas for a period of 3 months.  She demanded that I get the orders changed; I told her I couldn’t get them changed, even if I wanted to.  She replied “I can!”  I owned a two piece pool cue, the two pieces screwed together, and the heavy end was about the size, shape, and weight of a police billy club.  She picked up the heavy end of the cue, and began beating me with it, swinging it like a baseball bat, and swearing that she was going to kill me.  I did my best to ward of the blows with my arms, doing what I could to protect my head. I tried to take the cue away from her, but then she swung low, and hit my lower leg, breaking it in the process.  I started to fall, and put my hands out to break the fall, which gave her the opportunity to swing at my head.  She struck me behind the right ear, as I was losing consciousness, I remember the sheer terror, and belief that I was about to die.  I knew that, once I blacked out, I would not be able to protect myself….I knew that in her state of rage that she would beat me to death. I felt one more blow to the head, and remembered no more. When I regained consciousness, a Corpsman at the emergency room of the Naval Hospital I worked at, was helping me out of my car (I have no idea how I got in the car), and my ex was telling him that “the clumsy idiot fell down a flight of stairs,” at the same time, letting me know the story I had better stick to.   I had several more injuries than I had before she knocked me out, so apparently she continued to beat me.  Why she stopped, I’ll never know.  I ended up with a broken leg, two broken ribs, and a concussion from at least 3 blows to the head, and many bruises and contusions.  Needless to say, because of the broken leg, my overseas orders were changed.

The woman in the class looked at me and said “if she did that to you, you probably deserved it….but no ‘real’ man would allow that, all you had to do was deck her.”  I told her “I don’t hit women for any reason.”  She replied, “then you’re a damned fool!”  Most of the others in the class agreed with her, saying that I should have “defended” myself.  I tried to explain that I tried to “protect” myself, but I believed that inflicting violence on another, in any situation, is not “defensive,” but rather “offensive” in nature.  At that point a male student told me I needed to “grow a set,” and the professor cut off further discussion and ended the class.  But even the professor did not support my position.  Not long after that, I decided not to subject myself to that kind of ridicule (and abuse) again….I pushed my feelings into a deep dark hole, somewhere in the back of my mind. And, except for a few nightmares, that is where they stayed, for over 30 years!

About two years ago, someone shared a photo that appeared on my Facebook page, two photo’s actually.  The first was of someone, barely recognizable as human…a bruised and battered face, swollen, and covered in cuts, a person barely alive!  Next to it was the image of a beautiful young blond woman, with the prettiest smile.  Her name was Melissa Dohme.  She had survived a brutal knife attack by an ex boyfriend.  It was her smile that intrigued me.  Here this young woman had nearly died at the hands of someone who claimed to care for her.  Instead of turning to anger and bitterness, she had chosen to become an advocate against Domestic Violence, and dedicated her survival to helping others avoid falling in the same situation she had endured.  Melissa’s smile, although a bit "off kilter," (due to nerve damage in her face) was so REAL.  It radiated strength, determination, conviction….and true Joy, Joy at being alive, Joy at helping others, and the Joy of becoming stronger and better everyday.  I was impressed and inspired by Melissa’s continuing story.  I began to follow her page.  I started reading the comments of women who were involved in, or had escaped from abusive relationships.  As I read them, I began to realize, that their stories, were my story.  Hesitantly, I began to make a few comments myself, relating my own experiences.  I half expected to be told to go away, or for people to reject or mock my comments.  I was somewhat shocked when people supported my comments, and commended me for coming forward.  I started to see the possibility that I could address the demons that I had kept hidden for so long.  And then came an extremely emotional day!

As Facebook is want to do, they often “suggest” pages with “similar content” when visiting certain pages.  This was true on Melissa’s page.  I usually just glance at these suggestions; I’ve never been very good at “multi tasking” and tend to stick to a minimal number of pages to follow.  However, one of the “suggested” pages caught my eye.  I saw my last name!

A side note here:  I am an emotional person; I tear up easily for anything from a beautiful Mozart Aria, to kids getting excited about a puppy on Christmas morning.  Often my emotions are touched deeply, and I’m well aware that emotion follows no logic, as will be seen.

I saw my last name “Brock”, and clicked on the link.  I was rewarded with the smiling face of a beautiful young woman.  I suppose I was expecting a story similar to that of Melissa Dohme’s.  An inspirational story of survival, struggle and triumph!  ….and then I felt the pool cue hit me in the side of the head!  That is when I realized that this was a memorial page, and the smiling young woman was no longer with us, murdered, by Domestic Violence.  I’m not sure why, perhaps because of the shared name, but it hit me hard.  I am not related to Tabitha, as far as I know.  I had never met her, I hadn’t ever heard of her!  But I sat in my truck crying over the death of this young woman.  I’ve read many stories about young people being taken far too soon, but this wasn’t some tragic auto accident, or some disease such as cancer.  No, someone decided she should not live.  Then my sadness turned into anger.  How dare he do this?  I took this personally; I would never get the chance to meet this lovely person because someone had the arrogance to believe he had to right to take her life.  And then my emotions took an even more illogical turn….I began to feel guilty.  Why couldn’t I have been there to protect her?  Why wasn’t I there to stop this terrible thing from happening?  (As I said, emotion follows no logic.)  I flashed back on that night that I believed I was going to die, I was being beaten to death, and I could do nothing to stop it….I prayed to the Master of the Universe that Tabitha had not experienced such terror….All of these emotions, because of a shared last name.  I had to stop reading, I didn’t understand why I reacted so intensely.  But I hit the “like” button, vowing to return. 

And I did return. I learned more about the efforts to stop Domestic Abuse, and to bring about more awareness.  I began to share some of my experience.  The Tabitha Brock Foundation page (along with Melissa’s page) lead me to Break the Silence Against Domestic Violence.  All three pages made me feel welcome, and accepted.  After more than 30 years of Silence I was able to open up about the abuse I suffered.  I no longer felt like a “victim,” instead, I was a Survivor.  But the Tabitha Brock page went a step further.  The responses to my “comments” were personal, in the person of “Tabitha’s Little Sister” Nikki.  I am inspired by Nikki and her mother Cindy Lou.  I can’t imagine the depths of despair at losing a child or a sibling to such senseless violence.  But Nikki has turned her despair and anger into something positive, keeping the memory of Tabitha alive to help others!   Nikki seemed to understand my need to be included in the Domestic Violence conversation.  Last January, Nikki invited me to share my story on the Survivor Saturday feature on the foundation’s page.  I agreed to do so, but I felt some reluctance.   I gave her the excuse that it would be some time, since I was so busy.  I had never shared my story with anyone; even my wife of 26 years had only heard bits and pieces of it.  I was afraid to open myself up to ridicule and shame again.  Thus far I had only made a few comments…how would the whole story come across??  I delayed for a couple months, but then I went back to The Tabitha Brock Foundation page, trying to decide if I should “take the plunge,” or give Nikki another excuse!   Then I started reading Tabitha’s story again….and the emotions came back.  I couldn’t explain why Tabitha’s story affected me so strongly; simply having a shared last name could not be the only reason.  Then I realized, Tabitha is/was around the same age as my own kids.  I couldn’t protect her, but how can I protect them?   Nikki gave me the answer:  had she, and Tabitha, and others known the signs and triggers of Domestic Violence, perhaps this tragedy could have been avoided.  The only means I had to protect my kids, and grand kids, or anyone, was to make them aware….To BREAK THE SILENCE!

So, in March, I wrote my story.  It was difficult recalling the years of fear and the feelings of worthlessness.  But as I wrote, I started to get a feeling of freedom.  I felt the weight of a thousand demons leave my shoulders. The response on Facebook was fantastic, a great deal of support and praise, and even gratitude for sharing my story.  My wife, and my kids, learned a lot about me…and it even explained why I react the way I do to certain events.  I even learned a few things about myself.  Mostly that Silence is far from golden, it can be deadly.  I’ve always hated change, I like routine…and it takes a lot to get me to change my routine.  Routine is safe, routine does not take much effort, routine can hide a lot of pain….but my routine has been broken, this time by something as simple as a shared last name.

Soon after I shared my story, I noticed a lot of the people at Break the Silence were talking about SurvivorInk, a BTS tattoo, depicting a purple ribbon with the letters “bts” incorporated into the ribbon.  I wanted that tattoo…I wanted a permanent declaration that I would be silent no more, a means to open the discussion about Domestic Violence, and a testament to three women who had greatly affected my life:  Melissa Dohme, Nikki Allman, and especially, Tabitha Brock.  When I got the tattoo, I debated where I would place it.  My wife went with me when I got it, and she told me to put it on the inside of my right arm, so that when I shook hands, people could not help but notice it.  And it has opened a lot of discussions.  The first photo of my tattoo, I shared on The Tabitha Brock Foundation page…in memory of Tabitha.

On a personal note:  When I got my tattoo, I considered including Tabitha’s name, or initials as part of the tattoo.  But then I decided that such a thing would be inappropriate. Such a personal touch was something reserved for her family and loved ones.  But then one day, I was looking at my tattoo, admiring it really, it had healed and the color popped….it was looking good.  Suddenly I realized Tabitha was there, in my tattoo….as I said, I am dyslexic, numbers and letters often appear in reverse order….and while the rest of the world sees “b t s” for Break the Silence, to me it will always read “s t b” for the Spirit of Tabitha Brock!

And so my journey continues.  I have become quite vocal about Domestic Violence, and I’m trying to become more involved in this cause.  (Now I’m even writing a blog about Domestic Violence.)  I no longer fear ridicule, although I still encounter a great deal of ridicule, non-belief, and scorn, but it makes for a “lively” conversation.  But it doesn’t bother me anymore, because I know that the conversation is still bringing about awareness!  And I also know that there are places I can go where I will feel accepted and supported.  Our society has a long way to go when it comes to Domestic Violence, and violence in general.  In future posts I hope to explore the “male” perspective on Domestic Violence, both as a survivor, and a male in general. 

Change is slow to occur, and it often happens just one person at a time.  I truly believe, that if just one person is helped because of me Breaking my Silence, then it is all worthwhile.  Change can come about from simple actions and events.....even from something as simple as a shared last name!

Gustaf (Gus) Brock