I typed something out on Nov. 14 2013 that is still so jarring to me every time I read it.
In October of that year I had finally found strength to get out of a relationship that had been a poison in my veins for way too long. I wanted to put an absolute end to it. I typed, knowing from all my experience with him that I’d have doubts despite this clarity I felt in the moment, to tell future me that I had every right to disappear from C’s life. Cold hard facts to read were the only thing that would keep me from making the same mistakes again. I typed to tell future me that I had every right to feel I dodged a bullet and should never feel ashamed of it. For all the butterflies and sweetness he gave there were dark issues going on and I couldn’t let myself believe they could be erased anymore. I was not going to let doubt blind me so that he could stroll up later like he always did, like nothing ever happened, find some way to tell me “I miss you”, “you were right”, “we were great friends and always have been, I never wanted that to end.”
The quotes are I think what always hit me the hardest. All laid out so bluntly, the things he had said to me countless times throughout the 11 or 12 years we had contact. To see what he would say to me, when anything got bumpy, makes it hard to excuse it as anything other than heartless. In the thick of it I didn’t let myself see anything but loving a person that I just needed to be patient with. He had pain in his past too and we needed to work together and support each other even when times get hard.
“Maybe I should just go kill myself.” “Psycho bitch.” “Fuck that.” “Fuck you.” “Fuck off.” “Fuck you and your family.” “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you’re dead to me.”
“You don’t care about me.” “You don’t care how I feel.” “You choose him/A/everyone over me.”
“If you really loved me you would…”
“Shut the fuck up now or we are done.” “I’m so mad I’m about it end it.” “Drop it now or we are done.” “If you want 2 be with me i suggest we drop this rite fucking now.” “Talk now or we are done.”
“I don’t need you.” “I don’t need to be with you. Don’t even want to be anymore.”
My flaws were ammunition for his black and white accusations that warped me to feel guilty for normal things. I was “always negative”/”never happy”/”doing this to myself” and I “had excuses for everything”, whenever I tried for the more serious communication in our relationship or he wasn’t the center of attention. I would think to myself “I am unhappy sometimes, I guess maybe I complain more than I think I do. I don’t understand things sometimes the way they’re intended, maybe this is another misunderstanding because I didn’t read it right. I’m going to be more optimistic, trust his advice, and everything will be clear and smooth.”
His insecurities started to rule my decisions even though they were hypocrisies and double standards. So many things I ended up feeling guilty for because he would become aggressive with sarcasm and insensitive “jokes.” When I put up more resistance to his provocation he became scarily hostile. He would throw things around yelling. He threatened to leave and break up with me almost every time because he knew that’s what would hurt me the most and make me back off. To him, if I did these things he didn’t like, if something took time and attention away from him for even a second less than he had planned or made him responsible for his own worries, it meant I didn’t care about him or his feelings. The quicker I agreed the sooner it would go back to calm and loving. I so painfully craved the calm and loving moments that I crumbled to so many things I shouldn’t have.
Hanging out with friends, doing things for friends, using my cell phone, talking to friends, talking about friends, having friends, not being “in the mood” every single night/day I was with him, having opinions different from his own, for standing up for anyone including myself or even suggesting a different meaning to things, not doing what he wanted me to do even if I didn’t agree with it, for the normal ways relationships change over time, being tired, being sick, letting my daughter sit with me or climb on me, doing things for my daughter. All had produced negative reactions from him that assigned some sort of blame to me.
I was scared to ever tell him how I felt, scared to say anything. I worried I would say the wrong thing that would set off another chain of events that would lead to him twisting my words, make my concerns sound like accusations, and tell me I was being unloving and selfish.
He knew all the right buttons to push and I stopped trusting my gut. Even the simplest things felt so complex because I had to navigate around a thousand touchy nerves.
My joy for the relationship was replaced by fear.
I had to censor everything while he was free to be hateful and hurtful.
I was blaming myself for everything and making excuses for all the hurtful and selfish words that came out of his mind.
I almost cut off my connection to everyone I cared about because somehow he convinced me they didn’t care about me or him.
Everything was fading because I couldn’t keep up.
I had to have a reminder of the patterns that had formed and the countless reasons it wasn’t love. He made me trust him, tore me down to control me, and took from me what he needed until I was spent. Over and over and over again. He took so much from me I became a shriveled up ghost of myself. I’d been shredded to so many pieces I felt like chaos itself in the end, and in his eyes became an irreparable mess rather than anything pliable and workable.
There was never meant to be a happy ending. Life isn’t a fairy-tale. The whole thing was a mess, not just me. Everyone probably knew it was a mess. I knew it was a mess deep down and wasn’t going to let it keep getting buried anymore.
Here 6 years later it’s still hard to call it emotional abuse. I know that this was a fucked up relationship where really hurtful things were done to me repeatedly. I didn’t imagine that. I didn’t make that up because I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy because it was happening. I learned plenty before and after to reasonably conclude I’m not just a terrible person. I still can’t shake the fact that I feel like I did do something wrong, that I still do it all wrong. That I somehow deserved what went down because he had his good side and I just brought out the bad because I didn’t know what I was doing. That I was young and dumb and, well he put up with me so long, he kept pulling me back in, so that had to have meant he really loved me on some level…
I don’t really buy that but I have always been the type to analyze everything. It can get me through some really tough shit but I am painfully aware of how badly it can also go. I wish, at my age, that I could say I’ve done enough mental work to know the difference between what I should change and what is a flaw that doesn’t hurt the bigger picture. Mostly though I feel as confused as a teenager trapped in the life of an adult. Even while some details are still vivid in my mind, others have gotten fuzzy enough to make the picture seem different. It’s so hard to see the colorful areas of myself because of all the doubt that has ingrained itself in my brain.
I’m told that this thought process is a symptom of emotional abuse. Gaslighting. Basically if I’m told over and over in many different ways that my (very normal) emotions and opinions are irrational, that they’re the only things to blame for all my problems and the hurtful words I receive, I stop trusting myself to know what right and wrong is. If this chaos is what my decisions cause, I’m obviously making the wrong ones. I really don’t want to do the wrong thing so I should listen to this other person. If I’m told those things by someone who has gained my trust and love, it is devastating to my confidence and self worth.
It is scary to sit down and type this all out. It was scary to tell people when it was happening because I was afraid of being judged. I was afraid that people would look at me differently. I was afraid of what it really meant. I was afraid that it would get worse because I opened my mouth. God I was just so fucking afraid. I could write it a million different ways.
I chose silence and silence is a band aid on a wound that needs deeper care. I didn’t set the bone before I covered it up. I have limped along with a smile the entire time for the sake of seeming normal when I am so obviously not. I let go of everything I could see that was keeping me in it, but I still carry so much of the damage that it took years to acknowledge or even realize.
The memories of him yelling at me and around me are so vivid that it can still make my ears ring and my skin crawl like it did then. I still jump and sometimes want to cry when anyone with a deep voice yells. It has affected the way I see myself. It has affected how I choose my words and actions. It has affected how I love other people. Worst of all, I know it affected A. It took me a long time to realize that I need to stop feeling ashamed of wanting to think about it or talk about it. It happened to me and I need to look at it for exactly what it is so we can fucking heal. I owe it to myself, to A, to everyone I love.
I am a survivor of emotional abuse and I need to stop telling myself that it was anything less.
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