My name is Susan Bonny Blocker. I am 34 years old and a "LIFETIME VICTIM/SURVIVOR" of Physical, Sexual, Emotional and Verbal abuse. I'd like to share my story with you, in hopes that it will illuminate the minds and souls of ALL abuse victims and survivors.

I was born in New York City on April 21, 1962. I was born without arms. A drug known as "Thalidomide" is the cause of my physical disability. I was born into a very large family, I am one of nine children. Due to personal problems my parents were unable to raise me. When I was 14 months old, my parents decided to surrender me to the New York City Foster Care System.

By the time I was four years old I was placed in my first foster home. My foster parents were upper middle class people and they treated me very well. We lived in a big house and I had my own room filled with toys. I also had five older brothers and sisters. I attended a prominent school, which was specifically designed for the physically challenged child. Within no time I had adjusted quite well to my new family and my new life.

Less than two years later I was abruptly removed from my home and placed back into the foster care system. As you can imagine this had a negative affect on me emotionally. It created allot of anxiety, mistrust and uncertainty for me and my future.

At age six I was placed in my second foster home. I was the only child and we lived in a one bedroom apartment. Although our home was small it was filled with a whole lot of love and care. It did not take long for me to bond with my new foster family. We needed more space, and we eventually moved to a private house. I now had my own bedroom and a nice size backyard to play in. I attended first grade at a nearby school and I made new friends and I blended in to my new environment quite well.

One week before my seventh birthday my foster mother suffered a massive heart attack. I was alone in the house with her. I watched her die a horrible painful death. She was buried on my seventh birthday, April 21, 1969. Once again I had to deal with the possibility of being removed from a home that I had grown accustomed too. I was so afraid of being placed back into the foster care system, at age seven I started suffering with anxiety and panic attacks. The stress of my short life had begun to take it's toll.

My foster dad loved and cared for me so much, he fought very hard to keep me and he won the battle. Within less than a year my foster dad remarried. Of course there was some animosity between me and my new foster-step-mother, but that was to be expected. For so long it was just me and my dad, now it was me, my dad and my new foster-step-mother. In the beginning we had the typical family problems. But then my dad started spending less time at home and more time with his other women friends.

When my dad did come home, my foster-step-mother would argue with him. My dad didn't like that, he'd argue back. Then one day he began beating my foster-step-mother. I was only eight and half years old when the abuse began. I was terrified, but there wasn't anything I could do, I was just a child. All I could do was hide in my bedroom until it was over. My dad would beat her so bad, at times I thought he would kill her. He'd pick up a chair and throw it at her. He'd beat her with his fist. Stomp on her with his feet. And slam her against the wall and throw her to floor.

After the fight was over my dad would always get dressed and leave the house. And he'd leave me there alone with my foster-step-mother. As time moved on her resentment towards me grew. She began to realize that my dad married because he needed someone to take care of me. When my foster-step- mother realized what was going on, she began to take her anger out on me.

I was almost nine years old when my foster-step-mother began physically, verbally abusing me. She'd always make me strip naked and she'd beat me with a belt, switch or extension cord. I remember the humiliation and the pain that I felt. She'd beat me until my skin was raw, blistered and welted. To make sure that I would never tell anyone what was going in our household, she resorted to verbal threats. Can you imagine being nine years old and hearing someone tell you that they hate you so much that they'd like to cut your heart out? She'd call me all kinds of bitches, whores and mother "who know what". She'd call me stupid and ignorant. And she'd also make fun of my physical disability.

I was so afraid of her. Eventually I became afraid to sleep at night or come home from school, because I never knew what to expect when I walked in the door. Eventually the emotional and physical stress became too much for me. I started running away from home when I was nine and a half years old. I walked during the day, slept on the subways at night and bought food with money that people gave to me.

The cops would always pick me up and return me back to my foster family.. My social workers would ask "Why do you keep running away".. But I was too scared to tell anyone about the abuse in our house.. From the outside we looked like the "Perfect" family.. We lived in a big house.. Me and my foster brother had our own bedrooms.. I had all kinds of toys, clothes.. I even had my own t.v. and stereo system.. From the outside no one could see anything wrong.. It became obvious to everyone that I was the one who had the problem.. They labeled me as "Problem Child" who needed extra attention.

As I got older the abuse became more violent. My foster parents basically hated each other. All they did was argue and fight, and my foster mom would turn her anger on me. My foster mother started using her fists on me or she'd take a broom handle and beat on me mercifully. When I went to school my body would hurt. I'd have black & blue marks all over me. Sometime my eye would be swollen or my lip would be cracked open. Yet no adult seemed to care enough to investigate and see what was happening in my life.

By the time I was fourteen years old my foster mother had begun slamming my body up against walls and throwing me to the floor. She'd kick, stomp and spit on me like I was nothing. One day she took a knife and slashed it across my face. Another time she took a belt buckle a bust my left breast nipple open. One day she took a plunger and bust me on the left side of my far head, just missing my eye. I had to be rushed to the hospital. She made me lie and say that I fell in the bathtub. I began to hate her and someday's I'd pray that my father would kill her. I figured if she were dead, my suffering would end.

I endured six years of shear hell. Finally the abuse ended when I was fifteen years old. It is by the Grace of God that I managed to survive that type of physical, emotional and verbal torture. I don't think many children today would be able to survive what I went through. Some of the abuse that occurred back then I am still unable to talk about, because I feel a sense of embarrassment and shame.

By the time I was fifteen years old, I was a very angry and bitter teenager. I needed someone to love & nurture me, but I was afraid of letting anyone get close to me. There was nothing left of me. My self-esteem and spirit had been bruised and battered for so long. I began hating myself and my life and I started having suicidal thoughts I felt so out of place, I felt that no one wanted me. I felt that no one would ever love me or want to make me a part of their family.

At age fifteen and a half I was placed in my fourth foster home. My new parents took me in at the height of my emotional turmoil. I put them through hell, I was so mixed up and angry. But they loved me with all of their heart, and I would not allow myself to feel their love. I would not permit myself to love them. I was so afraid of being hurt again. Still and all no matter what I did, they stuck by me through it all.

I started working when I was sixteen years old. I graduated high school with honors. I completed a year of college. And I grew up to be a responsible, independent woman. I got my first apartment when I was twenty one years old. Living on my own gave me a sense of emotional security that I had never experienced in my life. I felt safe and secure, because this was "MY HOME". I felt that no one would ever mistreat me in "MY HOME".

Single and out on my own for the first time I took full advantage of the dating scene. Most of my relationships were based on mutual physical/sexual attraction. I've also had a few long term relationships. My most recent relationship lasted for almost four years. The final break-up was approximately five weeks ago. My ex-common-law-husband is currently in jail awaiting his fate.

I was introduced to him by a neighbor of mine. I was 30 years old at the time and he had just turned 42 years old. We seemed to hit it off very well. We began communicating with each other via telephone. He worked during the day and we'd spend an hour or so talking on the telephone in the evening. He has no physical disability. And he assured me that he would have no problem dealing with my disability. Within two weeks we set-up our first face-to-face-meeting.

It's funny, because when I first met him face-to-face, I did not like him. When he first walked into my home, he seemed a bit uneasy, suspicious. It was almost like he was looking for something to be wrong. Rather than give into my instincts I decided to give him a chance. I felt maybe we both were a little nervous. Well we made it through that night and we began seeing each other every weekend.

Within less then two month's he called me up one day and told me he was having some problems with his landlord. He said he had to vacate the premises immediately and he needed a temporary place to stay. He asked if he could move in with me temporarily. By this time he and I had established what I thought and felt was a close bond, so I said "YES". By the first week in January he had moved in with me.

My friends and foster family did not trust, nor like him. They felt that he was up to no good. They told me to be careful. Some of my friends even advised me not to let him move in. But I felt differently towards him. I felt a need for companionship. I had just ended a five year relationship and I felt alone and he was there. Without realizing I was on the rebound. My need for companionship, caused me to make the worst mistake of my life.

During the first two years things seemed to work out quite well between him and I. However at times he seemed to be a very selfish, secretive, private man. Whenever I had company, he'd hibernate in the bedroom. He'd barely speak to my friends or family. None of his friends or family ever came by to visit him. Matter a fact he told me that he did not want his family or friends to no where he lived. ALL of his mail went to a P.O.Box.. I thought this was odd, but I didn't question it, because I wanted to respect his privacy.

Whenever I needed to contact him at work I could only reach him via his beeper number. I knew he worked at an insurance company, but he never gave me the address or the main telephone number. He was a was a very selfish, cheap and moody bastard. Because of my disability I had to depend on him to perform certain activities outside of my home. IE: light grocery shopping, and minor errands. Depending on his mood, sometimes he would do things for me, or sometimes he'd outright refuse to help me.

Luckily enough I receive 7 day home care service. So my home attendants help me do anything that I need help with, so I never really had to depend on him. The fact was he was supposed to be my man. If he cared enough about me he'd want to help me and he would not give me a hard time about it. On the other hand he would travel anywhere he wanted and he'd come home with all kinds of stuff for himself. But he'd rarely buy me anything. He'd rarely spend over $20.00 on me. I remember one year he gave me $20.00 for my birthday, and that was all. That hurt my feelings terribly and it was an insult to me. He'd usually give me $20.00 if we needed a few groceries in the house. What kind of gift could I buy myself with $20.00? It's not like he didn't have extra money. He was just too selfish to share.

This man was so selfish and cheap he did not want to celebrate Christmas or any holiday where you had to buy gifts. Yet he'd buy for himself all the time. He blamed his selfishness on his religious beliefs. Which is a bunch of bullshit, he was/is just a cheap person . Little did I realize at the time, but this was the beginning of the emotional abuse and hold that he thought he had over me. I did not like his ways, or the way he treated me at times.

There were certain good qualities that I saw in him and eventually I fell in love with him. And that was another bad mistake, because he knew I loved him dearly and he played on that. He believed that I loved him so much that I'd be willing to accept all the crap he was dishing out to me. Needles to say I did accept the abuse. I felt that my love and commitment would somehow change him, but it didn't.

After my foster father passed away, the abuse became more evident. My foster dad loved me with all his heart. He told him if he ever hurt me in anyway, he'd have to answer to him. So my foster dad was like my "PROTECTOR". Once my protector was gone he felt he had FULL control over me and my life. Soon after my dad passed away he started physically, sexually and financially abusing me.

He worked Mon-Fri and he earned close to a $1,000.00 every two weeks. Yet he'd only give me $150.00 a month. He had no children or any bills, that I knew of. So basically his money was his to do as he pleased. In the beginning he would give me $150.00 in cash at the beginning of the month, he knew that's when I'd pay the bills and go food shopping. After two years passed, out of the blue he decided to started paying me $150.00 by check. And he'd pay me towards the end of the month. When I questioned him about the sudden change, he gave me an "I Don't Give A Damn Attitude.Ó That's when the financial abuse began.

He knew that I lived on a minimal budget and his $150.00 helped me out. This is my home and I managed all of the financial responsibilities. All he had to do was give me $150.00 a month and he couldn't even do that without giving me allot extra stress. During the entire time we lived together I payed the rent, electricity bill, cable bill and I took care of my personal bills. When it came down to purchasing household furnishings, I took on the financial responsibility. I literally refurnish my apartment and he did not offer one dime towards any of the furnishing bills. Even when it came down to buying sheets for the bed that he too slept in, he refused to offer to help pay. He was a nasty bastard, a user & abuser.

Towards the end of the month, money was short and food was low. I'd ask him to give me some money so I could pick-up some items from the grocery store. When he first moved in he'd give me $20.00 extra towards the end of the month. Two years passed he'd give me $20.00 towards groceries and I'd have to pay him back. What kind of crap was that. This man was laying up in my house, eating and sleeping with me, yet he was too selfish to offer any kind of financial assistance. Eventually our money problems caused us to get into some heated arguments.

I figured I can do bad myself. I don't need any man to lay up on me and use me and make my life miserable. This man truly felt that I needed him financially. He believed that I could not survive without his measly $150.00 a month. I held on and I continued to take his abuse, because I was in love with him. I put all of my needs aside to accommodate and please him. And he pissed all over me.

He didn't give a damn about me or my feelings, just as long as he got what he wanted. I kept trying to convince myself that he loved me. But I think deep in my heart I knew he didn't, but I wasn't ready to face reality and realize, that this was a doomed relationship. So I held on, with the hopes that he would change his nasty ways. But he didnÕt. My friends began to notice a change in me and my household. I became very depressed. I no longer did the things that I once enjoyed doing. It was almost as though a dark cloud loomed over my home.

He'd come home from work and sit by himself. He rarely made conversation with me. Yet he'd get on his telephone line and talk and laugh up a storm with his friends or family. Sometimes two or three days would pass and we'd barely utter 10 words to each other. We never did the things that other couples do. Sure I have a problem with traveling far from my home. So I'm more or less a homebody. He never tried to do anything that would make me feel good. Yet I'd go out of my way to show how much I cared about him. We don't even have any pictures of us together.

He never wanted to take pictures with me. Even after I offered to pay for it. Most couples take pleasure buying their mates small trinkets, knick-knacks and I LOVE YOU cards. Yet he never went out of his way to do those things for me. I'm not a rich woman. I couldn't afford spending money that I didn't have on gifts and trinkets. But what I gave to this man came from my heart. I gave him all my love, but it didn't phase him. In the four years that we were together I don't ever remember him saying "I Love You Susan" I don't even remember him hugging me or showing any real type of affection towards me. He was/is the type of man that would see me cry and not ask me what's wrong.

The stress of the relationship had begun to take it's toll on my health. I became physically sick. At one point I was sick for fourteen days straight. I had contracted some type of intestinal infection. Acid had backed up into my intestines. The acid was literally burning my insides, I felt like I was on fire. One night I was in so much pain all I could do was cry, because I was hurting. He flayed in the bed next to me, knowing I was sick, yet he never did or said anything to try and console me or make me feel better. I could have died during night and he would have just laid there and watch me die.

After awhile the tension between him and I was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Our arguments had turned into physical violence. He became the antagonist. He had a nasty habit of jumping in my face or verbally annoying me, until I'd get mad enough to argue with him. It's almost like he was trying to pick a fight. When I'd argue back he'd take pleasure grabbing and groping my backside, vagina and breast. He knew I could not physically stop him, because I have no arms. All I could do was ask him to stop.

He'd laugh and continue sexually assault me in my home. When I'd get mad enough I'd take my leg and try and stomp his no good ass through the damn floor. And he'd respond by fighting me back. I'm a woman with no arms, how could I fully defend myself against a non-disabled man? This sick man knew he was physically, emotionally and sexually torturing and abusing me. One day I asked him why does he take pleasure hurting me? He laughed and his response was "I like to torture you, it's fun.Ó I even went as far as to inform him that what he was doing to me was abuse. He didn't see it as abuse, he saw it as a game that made him feel good.

One year before our final break up I was fed up and I told him to pack his mess and get the out of my house. He laughed and said "I'm not going anywhere until you pay me the money that I gave you for staying here.Ó In other words he truly expected me to give him $150.00 for each month that he stayed with me. I replied "go to hell .." I told him if he could not treat me with respect I'd go to another man to get what I was not getting from him. He did not believe me at first and I did not act on my threat.

Then one day I couldn't handle his mess anymore and I started dating again. I told him that I was dating other men and I wanted him to leave my home, so that I could have my freedom and privacy back. This was my home and I felt uncomfortable bringing my friends into my home, knowing that he was still here. He knew the relationship was over, but he refused to leave. His refusal to leave my home proved to me that he had no respect for himself or me. How can any man allow his woman to bring other men into their home and not put up a fight. All he cared about was, that he had a roof over his head. It didn't matter to him that he was hurting me and making me feel like a prisoner in my own home. That's just the type of nasty sick man he was/is.

Things had gotten so bad between him and I that I actually felt myself resenting, almost hating him. Three weeks had passed and we barely spoke to each other. It got to a point where I couldn't stand sleeping in the same bed with him. I could barely stand the sight of him. I spent most of my time conversing with my two very good friends. They both knew of the problems him and I were having and they gave me the emotional strength that I needed to make that final decision.

On August 18, 1996. I spent the entire day ignoring him. He knew I wanted him out of my house, yet he still refused to leave. At that point I had nothing else to say to him. That night I was in my kitchen preparing dinner. he came in the kitchen and started verbally agitating me. To avoid confrontation I ignored him. But he continued to verbally agitate me. It was like he wanted me to confront him. Finally I couldn't take it anymore I began arguing with him. That's when he grabbed my breast, butt and vagina. I was mortified and I felt totally helpless and violated once again. Why did he feel the need to touch me in a sexual way during an argument?

I told him to STOP, but he didnÕt. I let him know that I was no longer his woman and he had no right to touch my body. He thought it was funny and he continued grabbing and groping my body. I ran to the bedroom and I told him that I was going to call the police. I picked up my telephone headset and he grabbed the phone from me. He prevented me from calling for help. That was the first time that I really felt afraid of him. He looked like he was crazy to me. Rather then argue or grab the phone away from him, I left it alone and I returned to the kitchen. He followed me and continued to verbally agitate me. I ignored him. Finally he retreated and went back in the bedroom.

It was that night that I felt nothing but hate towards him. I almost contemplated on killing him, that's just how mad I was. I made myself stay awake for as long as I could. I did not want to sleep in the same bed with him. The next morning after he left for work I got up out of my bed. I took my shower, ate breakfast and got myself together. Around 9:30 am. I called my foster mother and I told her what happened. And I told her I wanted him out of my house that day. Within an hour my mom was here and she bought the family back-up.

We called the police and I filed a sexual abuse report against him. We changed the locks on the door. Then we paged him at his job. When he called me back, my mom got on the telephone and she told him off good. She told him to come and get his possessions out of her daughter's house, or else it would be placed on the sidewalk. She also informed him that the locks were changed and he could no longer enter my home. Of course he tried to make up all kinds of excuses. He pretended that he did not know what he had done to deserve such treatment. But of course my mom did not buy into his act of innocence.

I did not see him for one week. For one week I lived in constant fear and uncertainty. I wasn't sure what he was going to do, or if he would try to retaliate. I was so afraid that he'd try to break in my apartment and hurt me. I barely slept that entire week. I kept the lights on in my bedroom all night. I jumped at every unusual sound that I heard. Although the locks had been changed, whenever one of my neighbors would enter into the building I'd get so scared, because I thought it was him. During the day I felt much safer because I had my friends and family visiting and calling to check on me. And I also had both of my home care workers here with me. But once the day was over and night had fallen, fear would set in again.

The detectives and police advised me not to let him in the house. They told me to dial 911. If he showed up The police would come to my home and arrest him on the spot. Tuesday afternoon August 20th, he called me and left a message on my answering machine. I decided to page him, he returned my call and we talked. Once again he played his little innocent act. I didn't get into a long drawn out argument with him. I just told him to come and pick-up his belongings. And I told him to bring two police officers with him.

He asked me why? I told him I had been instructed by the detectives to not let him in my home, unless he had a police escort. That's when he got scared, because he realized the police were now a part of our business. He started asking all sorts of questions, he was trying to feel me out. But I played along very well, giving him very little information. I did give him the name and telephone number of one of the detectives who was investigating the case. I told him to call them and they'd explain everything to him. On Thursday August 22nd I received a call from the detective in charge of the Domestic Violence unit. She said he called her and he was very concerned about what was going to happen to him. The detective gave him very little information, she didn't want to scare him away. She told me that he wanted to come by on Saturday to pick up his clothes. I said that would be fine. She said "Do Not let him in when he gets there, just call the police.Ó

Saturday morning August 24th my mom came by to sit with me and wait for him to show up. She knew that I did not want to be myself when and if he arrived. We waited for almost three hours, but he never showed up. I decided to beep him and see if he'd call me back. Within five minutes he returned my call. I asked him when was he coming to pick his stuff up? He replied I can't get it now. I told him he'd better get it that day, or else it was going in the trash. He began getting defensive and badgering me into a verbal confrontation. At this point I just didn't care and I let him have it. I told him he better watch it, because he was already in deep dodo. He said "You know for a lady who has no arms you are quite spunky.Ó I told him a few choice words and he slammed the phone down.

My mom left my house around 1:30 pm... I was a bit tired and I decided to lay down and rest. I fell asleep and I was woken by the sound of the doorbell at 2:30 pm.. I asked who it was and it was him. I asked him if he bought the police with him, he said "NO, are you going to call them?". I said "YES stay right there.Ó I called the police and gave them the information. By 2:40 pm. They still hadn't arrived, so I called again.

While I was waiting the phone rang at it was my biological father calling to check on me. He knew of the problem that I was having with this guy and he wanted to make sure that I was safe. I told my dad he was outside and we were waiting for the police to come. My dad said "Sue stay on the telephone and act like you are talking to me. I'm on my way.Ó Within three minutes four police had arrived. Two of them came in the house and questioned me. And two of them stayed outside with him. I gave the police all the information and the papers that showed he was to be arrested on the spot. The cops told me to stay in the house while they questioned him.

I watched as they stripped him of his personal belongings, handcuffed him and drove him away in the police car. When it was all over, my dad and I came in the house and we had our first father & daughter talk. When he left my house I felt a sense of peace and security. Because I knew if I needed him he'd be there, right along with the rest of my family. That night I slept peacefully, because I knew he was locked in a jail cell and for the time being, he couldn't hurt me.

Monday August 26, 1996 I received a call from the District Attorney's Office. They said that he had been formerly charged with a "B Felony" sexual assault charge. And his bail was set for $3,000.00. The court had issued me an emergency "No Contact Order Of Protection.Ó Meaning if he posted bail, he could not see, call or write me. He was also informed that the courts had issued me an immediate order of protection against him. His first court date was scheduled for September 6, 1996.

I realized now was the time for me to try and put, my life back in order. The first order of business was to remove his belongings from my house. My best friend and I started removing his things that Monday. It took us five full days to dispose of his belongings. Without realizing, this man had literally taken over my house with all of his things. I was living with a human pack rat. Anything he thought that he wanted, he'd buy and pack it away.

I must have thrown away over 500 video and audio cassettes.. The video and audio cassettes dealt with different types of religious beliefs, and mental health practices. He had a whole library of books pertaining to laws surrounding the disabled, human rights, and all types of medical books. He'd buy these books and never read them, he'd just pack them away. By sifting through his belongings I found out allot about the man that I was living with.

Basically I was sleeping, eating and living with a stranger. For starters this man has a learning disability, which he kept hidden very well. He did not finish junior high school.. He could barely read or write at a 3rd grade level. He was attending a special adult literate classes at night. I ran across a few of his papers that his instructor had graded.

I also found his welfare identification card. The card was dated back in 1988. Which means he has not been working for as long as he'd have you think. I guess because of his learning disability, he could not get a descent job. The job he currently had was not as glamorous or important as he'd lead me to believe. Yes he did work with an insurance company, but he did not process insurance claims. His job title was "Desk Clerk". He spent his day stamping visitor passes and keeping a record of who entered and left the building.

This man was nothing but a pencil pusher. Yet he had the nerve to try and put me down because I was unable to physically get out of the house to get a job. No matter what I tried to achieve, he'd always make his job seem more important then anything I could ever hope to accomplish. This was a man who everyday had the New York Times delivered to him. He'd leave the house carrying a briefcase, as if he were some big business tycoon. Yet he could barely read or write at a 3rd grade level.

I will say for, almost four years he managed to pull the wool over my eyes. He was/is a very clever, sneaky evasive man, who knows how to lie very well. He never told me anything, he did not want me to know. This type of person is very dangerous, because you never know what's in their mind. This relationship was a set-up from the very beginning. He never had any intention of doing right by me. His only motive was to try and gain control over me emotionally and physically.

The reason I say this relationship was a set-up from the beginning is, because he never wanted anyone to know that he lived here. He was always worrying about the neighbors finding out. When I asked him to marry me, so that we could live together legally and place both our names on the lease, he did not want to do that. Why? Because he knew our rent would be based on his income, since he was working. Instead of giving me $150.00 a month he'd have to dish out a whole lot more. He's a cheap, selfish bastard, he doesn't like spending money.

That's why he hooked up with a woman who already had her household set-up, this way he would not have to contribute in a financial way. When he moved in, all he had to do was hang his clothes in the closet. My house was already fully furnished, bills were paid and we had plenty of food in the freezer. What man would walk away from an opportunity as sweet as this. He did not want anyone to know that he lived with me, because he was afraid that management would find out. If they found out he'd have to move or we'd have to pay back rent. That's why he always wanted to keep things hush, hush.

Right before he was arrested, he went down to the management and told them that he had been living with me for almost four years. He even went as far as to sign a sworn affidavit. He knew that management would try and make me pay back rent. That's why after we were together for two years, he started paying me $150.00 a month by check. That was the written proof that he needed to prove that he was residing with me.

So I admit, he did get me on that one. However he's really stupid to try and sabotage me, knowing that I still had all of his personal belongings in my home. You don't talk bad until you get all of your stuff out of someone's home. As of this very moment there is no trace or proof that this man lived in my home. I got rid of everything he owned. Everything that meant something to him is gone. In the end that was my sweet revenge. He has no job, no home and everything he owned is gone. ALL he had to do was vacate my premises, when I asked him to.

He never thought that I'd take things this far. He felt that my love for him wouldn't allow me to hurt him or cause him trouble. It was a hard lesson for me to learn, but in the end I've come to realize, my health, my safety and my well being is much more important than any man. When I felt that my life was being threatened and jeopardized, it was then and only then that I came to the realization, I love myself more than I love him. And I will do anything to protect "ME".

I'd like to dedicate this story to ALL victims and survivors of abuse. Especially the victims/survivors who are physically/mentally disabled. If someone does something to you that hurts you or makes you feel uncomfortable, 9 out of 10 times it's a form of ABUSE. Stand up for your rights, you don't have to take it. There are many services and organizations that can help you and bring you to SAFETY. Take FULL advantage of the services. Your LIFE is more important than your fear of shame or embarrassment. You have done nothing WRONG. Throw your PRIDE aside and get help. SAVE your LIFE, you are too important to US.

PEACE TO ALL

Susan B. Blocker

Susan B. Blocker is a 35 year old, physically disabled Afro-American woman, a LIFETIME "SURVIVOR" of Physical, Sexual, Verbal, Emotional & Economical Abuse. Susan is a former foster child who suffered greatly in foster care. She is dedicated to helping others break away from the cycle of abuse. You can email her by clicking on her name. Susan B. Blocker

Please visit Susan's website CLIMBING OUT OF THE SPIRAL