I was the victim of an attack—the kind you see covered in documentaries. I was held hostage in my own home. The exit was screwed shut. After I screamed out that I was calling for help, they flipped the breaker, cutting all power to the house—knowing I would no longer be able to use my phone. I had no way to communicate with the outside world. My life was in danger, and I genuinely feared I would die in that house.

Since the night of the attack, I have been left without a single one of my possessions. Even the shoes I was wearing were taken into evidence. I was advised by detectives not to return to the house until my court date of May 10th. From April 20th to May 10th, I’ve had to rely solely on the limited assistance from the domestic violence shelter, which provided only basic toiletries and temporary clothing. I was told upon intake that I would receive three months of support. However, after less than a week, I was moved to a hotel and informed that funding wouldn’t allow them to continue helping me because my attackers were not romantic or familial partners. I am now facing homelessness, with only days left before I have nowhere to go.

I am filled with overwhelming anxiety knowing that they were released shortly after their 24-hour hold. The thought of them being free while I live in fear and without stability has paralyzed me. I can barely complete basic tasks. My memory of the days before and after the assault is blurry—my mind has blocked things out, and friends are reminding me of things I’ve said or done that I no longer recall. What I do remember are all the red flags I wish I hadn’t overlooked.

I remember Marcus, my roommate, showing me the weapons—homemade, brutal, and crafted with obvious intent to harm. A full-sized bat driven with more than 20 nails, each nail tip sharpened after being sawed off. Barbed wire was wrapped around it, and the grip was hand-braided “so no one could take it from him during a fight,” as he put it. He even made a smaller version for “easier handling.” At the time, I had no idea those weapons would be used against me. But they were. I was struck in the head with that very bat—so violently that I required multiple metal staples in my scalp and suffered numerous puncture wounds.

What I endured in that house—being trapped, cut off from help, and beaten—has left scars beyond the physical. I wake up with panic. I’m afraid to sleep. I don’t feel safe in any space. I’ve lost my home, my belongings, my sense of stability, and my peace. I now live with daily fear that they will come back for me, and I have no one to protect me.

Please understand: this attack has not only left me with permanent injuries, but it has stripped away every layer of security I once had. I’m not just asking for justice—I’m begging for safety, for acknowledgment, and for support as I try to rebuild my life from the ruins they left behind.

Sincerely,

Ashley AKA melaniefelony