I was a different person 24 years ago.
Very seldom do I think about what my life was like back then.
Not because I've repressed anything, but because I moved on.
Healed.
Until this week.
I won't get into the details as to why, but as it turns out, I have a story to share.
Some people have heard bits and pieces of this story, but I'm not sure I've ever told it in it's entirety.**
Be warned.
This isn't a funny story. It's not filled with anecdotes or tongue-in-cheek fantasies, so read on at your own risk.
When I was 16, my cousin had a birthday party. There was a boy there who was the date of a girl named Crystal. I remember her looking annoyed at one point during the party, and I thought,
how can she be annoyed when she can at least say she has a boyfriend?
Ah...the mind of a teenager.
Long story short, it got back to him that I thought he was cute. Crystal had broken up with him, so he asked for my number. We hit it off.
In all honesty, we hit it off because he paid attention to me. We had nothing in common. But I had never had a boy show any interest in me at all...so I was beyond giddy.
I remember the first time he came over to my house. It was about a week or two after we first talked on the phone.
My Nan was in the kitchen making some lunch, or reading while drinking her coffee, and he kissed me.
I had only been kissed once before so I was swimming in joy and horniness.
And then something happened that made me both excited and scared.
He fingered me.
While my grandmother was in the other room.
I sort of pulled his hand away, and sort of didn't.
That was the very first time he forced me to do something that I didn't want to do...the first time he had power over me.
In the months to come, it was the little things that he did to keep control over what I did, said, ate, or clothed myself in.
He took every opportunity to argue with me, even if he knew he was wrong.
And five minutes after the argument was over, he would tell me how much he loved me and that he thought I was the smartest girl he knew.
I wasn't allowed to talk to my friends outside of school unless he was right there with me.
I wasn't allowed to wear certain pants because they showed off my ass too much.
I wasn't allowed to wear my hair in a pony tail because he thought it made me look repulsive.
I wasn't allowed to talk about my day at school because he had dropped out and why was I rubbing it in his face that I was graduating when he didn't.
And so on and so on......
Eight months into our relationship, he hit me for the first time.
Three times in a row, with his right hand, while he was driving me to Menchey Music.
I remember I screamed.
But the conversation after that is gone. I can't remember what I said, or what he said to convince me to stay with him.
But I did.
A few more months went by before he did it again.
This time it was a smack across the face.
And right after that he punched his windshield so hard that it cracked the whole way across.
I remember thinking,
thank God he didn't do that to my face.
And I stayed.
As the days went on, the violence became more frequent.
It was mostly pushing and shoving. His favorite thing to do was grab my arms and shake me.
One time he left marks...which was actually rare.
And every time he hit me, pushed me, or grabbed me, I stayed.
We were visiting his cousin once. He pushed me so hard, I flew into a couch that continued to slide 6' across a hard wood floor. His cousin was so uncomfortable, he laughed. But I could see fear in his eyes.
And I stayed.
He continued to make me feel stupid, as if I would never amount to anything without him.
And I believed him.
So I stayed.
One Sunday, we were at his grandparents house (which is where he was living at the time) and he wanted to have sex. I didn't. He pushed me off of the couch, held me down with one hand, pulled down my pants with the other, and took what he wanted.
When he was done, he climbed back onto the couch as if he held women down every Sunday.
Still...I stayed.
He started smoking pot, which I thought would finally help him to keep calm.
Nope.
It made everything worse.
He was constantly paranoid and edgy.
He became more violent.
He choked me at the bus stop because I didn't tell him there was a bee flying around us.
Two men saw and actually laughed. I felt more alone than I ever had in my life.
Yet I stayed.
We moved in together.
One afternoon, I was getting ready for work. He was pissed about something (it didn't take much to set him off at this point) and he started yelling at me. I tried to ignore him so I could leave without incident. While in the bathroom, he grabbed the back of my hair, threw my head back and grabbed the first thing he could grab to hold at my neck, like a weapon.
Thankfully, the closest thing within reach was a toothbrush.
That was my straw.
I laughed in his face and he saw something in my eyes.
He let me go.
I walked into the living room to get my bag and he blocked my exit.
He didn't say anything but I could see the fumes in his eyes.
I asked him to move, but he stood like a statue.
I raised my head, looked him dead in the eye and said, "If you don't get out of my way, I will have you killed."
And he backed down.
I walked out.
I meant what I said that day. The offer was already put on the table and I was ready to call in that favor.
I was lucky.
I don't know the statistics, but I know that domestic violence happens more often then we think about.
And sadly, most stories don't end as well as mine.
It took me some time, but I eventually moved on. After the threats ended and ties were severed, I dealt with the emotional crap that was left in my brain. I struggled to trust. I struggled to accept kindness. But mostly I struggled with the fact that I am worthy of good things.
I don't share this story because I want pity.
I am not looking for comments or advice.
I am sharing this story, because it's something I should have done a long time ago.
I am sharing this story, because I am not ashamed of what happened to me.
And I think, for a long time, I was.
How could I let this happen?
I am strong, independent, intelligent and I don't take shit from anybody.
At least not now.
But for 2 years of my life, I did.
And it's hard for me to admit that.
But not anymore.
Because I have a voice.
And I plan on using it.
********************
**Although most of the people close to me, know the basics of my violent two year relationship, at the time, people didn't know. I hid it well, and for the most part, so did he. He was charming and people liked him.
If you suspect that someone you know is involved in a violent relationship, ask. And keep asking questions. Keep showing concern. I know it's hard and frustrating and will leave you wanting to pull out your hair...but keep asking.
I did have one friend who started to suspect during the last few months that I was with him. And although she was very angry with me, she kept asking until I finally broke down and told her that he was in fact hitting me. She kept asking me to leave. She kept telling me that I deserved better. And although I pushed her away, she was there for me when I finally left him. She helped me pack up my things and get out, for good. She even got in his face when he threatened, first me then her. In that moment, I saw what I should have been.
I think in some ways, I modeled my life by the example she set for me in that moment.
Keep loving, keep asking and keep being there.
And if it's YOU that needs the help...you can call 1-800-799-SAFE.
Or, on a safe computer go here.
There is help out there...and life CAN be better.
*