The Other Side of Yesterday: My Account of Abuse and Survival

By Spencer Hatch

When I was a teenager, I never thought I would one day endure a violent and abusive relationship. I thought those things only happened to other people. I was meant for greatness. The person I ended up becoming was someone so broken that it was not possible to see a way forward. Yet, somehow, I survived.

Written from true events, The Other Side of Yesterday is my true, first-hand account of surviving my relationship with a sociopath, who abused me mentally, physically, and emotionally. After taking everything from me – my dignity, self-worth, and value – he ultimately tried to take my life.

This is my story of enduring, surviving, and overcoming the violence I endured at the hand of the person I loved, and how I finally found the strength to move on.

In the end, I survived, and you can survive too. Life is so much better on the other side.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886937367

Spencer Hatch

Spencer Hatch grew up along the central coast of California, and, in a way, has lived many lives. As a child he was involved in equestrian ventures, in college he became interested in writing, and as an adult he has become a teacher. A trauma and cancer survivor, Spencer has used his many experiences to promote mental health awareness, champion for social change, and acceptance. Spencer now lives in Colorado with his husband, and many pets. He is a teacher, volunteer, mental health champion, and friend.

Book preview

The Other Side of

Yesterday: My Account

of Abuse and Survival

Spencer Hatch

Austin Macauley Publishers

The Other Side of Yesterday: My Account of Abuse and Survival

About the Author

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

Acknowledgment

Introduction

Chapter 1: The School Years

Chapter 2: Better Times

Chapter 3: My Dad

Chapter 4: Alcohol

Chapter 5: Troy

Chapter 6: The Aftermath of Troy

Chapter 7: Broken from the Beginning

Chapter 8: High School

Chapter 9: Retirement Plans

Chapter 10: College and Beyond

Chapter 11: Spencer Hatch: College Student

Chapter 12: My Dad, Part II

Chapter 13: Tyler Smith

Chapter 14: My Wasted Life

Chapter 15: A Note on Mental Health

Chapter 16: Clovis, Part II

Chapter 17: Cancer

Chapter 18: Remission and New Hope

Chapter 19: Tyler Smith, Part II

Chapter 20: The Invasion

Chapter 21: Cancer, Part II

Chapter 22: Remission and New Hope

Chapter 23: The Easter Incident

Chapter 24: Cars and Confusion

Chapter 25: Abuse, Realized

Chapter 26: The Dinner

Chapter 27: The Shooting

Chapter 28: The Aftermath

Epilogue Remission and New Hope, Part II

About the Author

Spencer Hatch grew up along the central coast of California, and, in a way, has lived many lives. As a child he was involved in equestrian ventures, in college he became interested in writing, and as an adult he has become a teacher. A trauma and cancer survivor, Spencer has used his many experiences to promote mental health awareness, champion  for social change, and acceptance. Spencer now lives in Colorado with his husband, and many pets. He is a teacher, volunteer, mental health champion, and friend.

Dedication

Dedicated to those who suffer in silence. I see you. I hear you. It is better on the other side.

Copyright Information ©

Spencer Hatch 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

All of the events in this memoir are true to the best of author’s memory. The views expressed in this memoir are solely those of the author.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Hatch, Spencer

The Other Side of Yesterday: My Account of Abuse and Survival

ISBN 9798886937350 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798886937367 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023911918

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

To the therapists, counselors, support groups, and friends who helped me when I was weak: thank you for your support, your love, your understanding and kindness.

It is because of you that I was able to start my healing journey.

Introduction

It has taken me many years to be in a good enough space to feel safe enough to write this book. I will not lie: this has been one of the hardest things I have had to do; to relive the past and the trauma. My relationship with men has not been overly positive, but I have endured. I met a man in college who would leave a lasting mark on me—both physically and mentally. I was too scared to leave the situation, and because of my childhood, I felt like I was not worthy of leaving.

I have always thought of myself as the kind of person who has a good grasp of the world, seeing myself as different from other people. Always thinking that would prevent me from heartache or some bad financial situation. Someone who could honestly say, the misfortunes of others will not happen to me. As an adult, this sounds incredibly narrow-sighted as well as reckless. During my childhood, I felt that life was normal and that the pain I felt was a part of life. Then I went to college and met someone who would change my life, but not for the better. The things I have gone through have shaped me and made me who I am today. I once wished that the experiences and trauma could be forgotten, but now I accept the cards I was dealt and have a greater understanding of the pain. I have grown from my experiences.

I wrote this book to tell my story and to give people hope. Everything you are about to read is truthful and presented to you unfiltered. Please read this book as much, or as little, as you want. If you have PTSD or in an abusive relationship, you might consider reading this with caution. It is not my intention to retraumatize you.

In this book, you will read about my childhood trauma growing up with an alcoholic dad and a mentally affected mom. You will witness my abuse, my weakest moments, and events that would tear me down. This book is not meant to be a critique of my childhood, my parents, or Tyler. It is not my intention to paint these people in a bad light, but to tell my story of trauma and how I was broken and allowed someone to rule my life and treat me like someone less than human. It was hard to endure, and looking back; I wonder why I did not leave sooner. I look back at myself and wonder how I allowed myself to become so mentally numb and weak. In the end, I survived, and I learned to accept the past. Years after the final event of this book, I met someone new and got married. He helped me heal some of my pain and allowed me to break the past chains. I forgave myself, forgave others, found peace, and accepted things that I could not change with his love.

I survived. You can too.

Chapter 1

The School Years

My earliest memory is probably being at the grocery store with my mom to purchase activity books for me to complete. My second memory is my brother Josh and I reading them. He is nine years older than me, and he practiced reading to me. When I was registering for Kindergarten, I remember how the teacher was impressed with my knowledge and skill. In the early 1990s, California schools were year-round; this meant that students would go to school for three months at a time and have a month off. There were different tracks that students were assigned to base on their skills and education. I was in the Purple Track, which was the highest track though I really would have preferred to be in the lower Blue Track. The Blue Track did more art projects and took more naps than we did.

I was always a social child, making friends very quickly. I had a profound sense of independence in my youth and found fulfillment and safety in my cognizance of the world from an incredibly young age. I was not outgoing, but never shy. I preferred books over parties and was an excellent student. What some might call a talkative child, I would call curious. (Although I was diagnosed with A.D.H.D. as an adult. Go figure.) When I entered school, I was fascinated with the number of books available, and I could never get enough books to fill my worldly interest. From history to religions, I was fascinated with how the world worked and the people in it.

My happiest memories were spending time with my brother, Josh. We were typical brothers: we would fight, laugh, pull pranks, and injure ourselves on accident. We would fight but were always best friends; I think we drove my mom and dad crazy. We were daredevils, he and I. We would start fires on accident and forget to hide our messes. It was a great time.

I was lucky to have grown up in a beautiful part of California called the Central Coast, in a town called Atascadero. The region comprised the coastline from Monterey to Santa Barbara and had some of the most rugged scenery in all the United States. Many movies and television shows are filmed there because of the beauty and access to natural resources. The area is perhaps best known as being the wine-producing region of California by volume. Though I never liked wine (this book is not about drunk children, I swear), we kids enjoyed playing hide-and-seek in the vineyards.

The first house I remember growing up in was on the street called San Gabriel. Thus, we named the home San Gabriel, which, in retrospect, was probably confusing to relatives who lived in the city of San Gabriel. The house was large, and the backyard went up a hill that was fascinating to an outdoor kid like me. At the top of the hill was a guest house with a windmill attached to it, though only for looks. I had a fascination with the guest house, and Josh and I always tried to break in. When I got older, and my dad took us in, it was just a dusty studio apartment with much junk (such a letdown). San Gabriel was terrific to me, and I remember it always being so clean, probably because we had such little furniture to clutter it up. One room was a wet bar with barstools and looked like Moe’s bar from The Simpsons.

But what was most interesting to Josh and me was that the house had nearly two wings. Imagine a 1970s ranch house layout, but on each side (like butterfly wings) were two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and laundry rooms. My parents and I shared one branch, and Josh had his wing. At the end of the hall from his bedroom was a room called the Music Room. The original owners were wealthy and had a baby grand piano in the music room. My parents didn’t play the piano, but my mom kept the room decorated for looks. It always confused me how they moved such a large piano in through a tiny door. They built it inside the room, dumb ass, Josh would tell me.

I only lived in San Gabriel for six years when we moved to the house that would come to define my childhood and life. The house, or the Cortez house as we called it, was brand new and built on two acres. Though the house was much smaller than the San Gabriel house (and had no mysterious guest house), it lacked the physical size it made up for in location and features. There was an extended front porch that ran the house’s length and had ample room for horses and farm animals. The house was on a dead-end street with a massive hill (Pine Mountain) on one side and backed up to a railroad that had a trail next to it, leading to a private park at the mountain’s base. I explored all of this.

Eventually, we cross-fenced the property and built barns, stalls, and even a riding arena. For a child like me, the property was like the Wild West—ready to be tamed and unending. We got horses, chickens, geese, goats, ducks, rabbits, fruit trees, and my mom planted a plum-tree-lined driveway. One of my best memories was when I was in elementary school, and my dad allowed me to design a two-story fort that we ended up building together. I created more of a castle, but my dad tweaked it to look like a fort. Less grand, he said.

The structure was modeled after a fort that might be found in the wild west, with an upper rampart, enclosed bottom area, a pulley system, and a room on the second floor that could double as a bedroom should the need arise (which it did, but the idea was always laughed off).

The fort was important because my dad allowed me to design it—from the layout and colors to the location and materials. It became a sacred memory because my dad and I spent about a year building it together. It was some of my happiest times because we spent the time making an expression of our time together. I remember coming home from school and immediately going out to meet my dad, who had already started building it. The fort was the best gift I could have received, and I hosted many birthdays and Halloween parties with my friends.

During this time, I fell in love with horseback riding. My first love was the rodeo. Before living at this house, no one in my immediate family had any interest or experience with equestrian sports. I owned two horses—Shakaya (a bay-colored Arabian mare) and Shane (a chestnut-colored American Quarter Horse). Shakaya was an older horse that was used by Sheriff Posey before we purchased her. She was a calm horse that allowed me to take horseback riding lessons on her and later develop my barrel racing skills. Contrary, Shane was a younger horse with a wild streak in him and once bucked my mom off and into a tree (true story). With Shane, I became a skilled team roper and was comfortable to do jumps and races.

Our neighborhood was set up in a way that encouraged people to own horses and livestock. Our family became close with most of the neighbors, and my mom and I would go on trial rides to the river with them. Having horses was an escape from the stresses of being a kid. It also allowed me to develop a skill that would be mine and not shared by others. The neighborhood families were incredibly involved with my family, always using our house for parties and riding in our arena. My fort was a popular hangout spot for us kids, but we often preferred riding our bikes to the ancient oak trees on The Hill and climbing those.

Chapter 2

Better Times

By the time I was nine, my family had resembled something normal: a dad who worked and came home at night, a mom who kept house, and two kids who seemed generally happy. Josh was succeeding in high school and was very skilled in auto mechanics and auto restoration. My dad was not much of a drinker until this point, though he enjoyed an occasional beer. My dad seemed happier and was involved in our lives. He was attending award ceremonies and Parent-Teacher conferences and even picked me up from school at times. My dad was my hero.

My mom was her happiest during those early years at Cortez. My mom loved being our mom, and she took such good care of us. She was never a fan of cooking, but with a new kitchen, she cooked a lot for our family, considering making recipes that my dad enjoyed. My parents would lovingly tease each other, and they would spend time together sharing domestic responsibilities or just sitting on the porch together. Later, my mom took a job at my school as a yard duty aide, which she thoroughly enjoyed. She made good connections with students, parents and made lifelong friendships while there.

My dad was a very hard-working and powerful man whom I admired. Unfortunately, during the crucial years of my life (birth to four), his career took him all over the United States, as well as internationally, for weeks at a time. I remember being a first-grader and thinking it was odd that my friends’ dads were home every night. But when my dad came home, he was dedicated and doted on us. Then he started working closer to home and was there for us each night and weekend. I look back at this period of my life, and things were right. I was happy, honestly happy. But I was waiting for the other shoe to fall, and eventually, it did.

Up until this time, my dad was a significant part of our life. It was a fun time, and I enjoyed having the family together. When I turned 10, my dad started looking at more lucrative construction projects out of town and eventually decided to start working out of town to make more money for the family. We had a family meeting, and he told us that he needed to make more money. He was always saying how poor we were and often worried, saying we did not have enough cash, although we knew we did. I think growing up poor made him hypervigilant to money woes, real or imagined. My dad is from the generation of tough men who went to Vietnam and came home and worked. His idea of being a man was financially supporting the family and leaving everything else to the wife. This is ideal for older generations to have defined familial roles, despite how antiquated it may seem to modern eyes.

My mom and Josh were against Dad leaving to work out of town, and we discussed how good our family was doing together. My mom pointed out that my dad seemed happier and was not drinking anymore. The family meeting’s consensus was that my dad should stay in the area; nothing had