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pilesofmyimperfections · 5 years

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It can happen to anyone

It’s been an amazing year. The most incredible year of my life. I found my soulmate, my honey-love, my king, the man that I’ve been wishing for, for so long. We got married and we are having a baby, a baby that I never thought I would have though I dreamed of it, due to many fertility issues. And I am grateful, more than that; I am blessed.

It’s been an amazing year, but it was preceded by the most difficult years of my life. This incredible relationship that I am so grateful for now, I would not have without the one that preceded it, and the man that broke me. I would not know, to be grateful for all the little things my husband does to support me everyday, without the years of emotional abuse I endured before it. Little by little, day after day, year after year. For the first time, I’m going to tell my truth. For all the times he hung me out to dry, with his friends and his family. For all the times, he made me feel small, twisted situations, and used my scars as a weapon to manipulate me. For all the times I kept quiet while he humiliated me in front or friends and coworkers. For all the times, all the moments, all the years, I made myself smaller and smaller. For the fact that he admitted to everything, took responsibility and ownership for everything privately to me, and trashed my name publicly. I’ve decided I’m going to take some time to reflect, for the first time on paper and in public, for all of those who have asked me “why?” or asked “what even happened?” and I couldn’t bring myself to say the words or tell the story.

I wish I knew where it began. I wish I could, after all this time, pinpoint a day when things went bad. Or pick out the first time he manipulated me. Or comb out all the lies and the half truths from the whole truth. But honestly, over the five years we were together, I lost count. I lost count of the lies, the ultimatums, and the little insults that he used to tear me apart. I wish I could tell my loved ones, how I let myself get to such a place, that a man who treated me so poorly felt like the only thing I had in the world and the only thing I would ever have. I turned into someone I always swore I’d never be. I lied to my family and my friends, hid things from them, stopped answering the phone and stopped calling them back because, every time I would get yelled at for “airing our dirty laundry” or for “making me look bad” or for “making your friends and family hate me.”. But it wasn’t my dirty laundry and I didn’t make him look bad or make them hate him. It was his, it was him, he did that all on his own. He wanted to control others perception of our relationship, because the few times I did speak up to my family, they gave me strength to stick up for myself, reminded me who I was before him. He didn’t like that.

Somehow, every time he did something wrong, and I was hurt, he made me believe it was my fault. I never realized how much damage there really was, until I met the man of my dreams, and after months of being back in counseling, could only hold my ground until he said, “you’re right I’m sorry” and then I would break and cry and tell him I was sorry I never should have stuck up for myself. I wouldn’t believe he actually didn’t think it was my fault. Because for years, “I’m sorry” was followed by all the things I did to make him lie to me, or tell other women he hated me, or whatever terrible thing it was that he had done. For years, it was all my fault, and I believed that.

In the end, he was lying to me about everything. About how he’d been evicted from his apartment and was sleeping in his car when he told me he was at home, for over a month. About how he had abandoned our cats there for over a month without care, food, or water. About how he abandoned our things there, my clothes and some of my most cherished possessions. About how he was sexually snapchatting back and forth with women he didn’t even know from the Internet. He was even lying to me, about lying to me.

The night before I found out about all of that and so much more, the night before the made up world he built around me was burnt to the ground; we got home from work and he wanted to be sexually intimate, but I didn’t. I didn’t because I still had a nagging feeling in my gut that I couldn’t trust him. It was our agreement that we would not be intimate until he could be trusted, until he hadn’t lied to me, even over silly things for a while, and I felt safe. Well, that night he didn’t want to stick to that agreement. So he screamed at me. About how I was a piece of shit. About how he should leave my sorry ass for all the women who wanted to screw him and how much better looking they all were than me. About how I was a bitch and I made him miserable and drove him to drink all the time. About how he had worked so hard on himself. About how he deserved to be trusted. About how he couldn’t believe I could be so cruel and manipulative. It was that night, that I realized he had complete control over me. Because despite my intuition, despite the strength I had built up when we were apart, I found myself that night on my hands and knees begging him for forgiveness, begging him not to leave me, and promising I would get help because he was right, clearly there was something wrong with me. He looked me in the eyes, knowing he had been lying about his finances, his faithfulness, his living arrangements, his drinking, and he screamed at me for not trusting him. He berated me for hours, because I didn’t have any proof. He called me crazy and he made me believe it, knowing all the while, that I was not.

So when I found out, when there was a police officer looking for him at his work, as he was being brought up on charges for animal cruelty and abandonment for the state he left our cats in, though he had told me he was going to feed and care for them daily. I sat on my couch, staring at the text message for an hour, while he slept next to me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I went through his phone, searching for proof it wasn’t true, and found more proof of the contrary.

After that, everything was a blur for me, for weeks afterward. I walked through my life, surrounded by a fog made of my own shame. Shame and distrust of myself, that I didn’t see, couldn’t see what was right in front of me for so long. As red flag after red flag popped up, I ignored my intuition, my education, and the proof staring me in the face and I allowed him to continue to be in my life, or come back into my life, and manipulate me into believing him and only him. I couldn’t believe I let it happen to me. Looking back, I realized that last fight, was just like every fight we ever had. After fights, no matter if I did something wrong or not, usually not, I took the blame for it all. I walked with a shame cloud around me, as I let him publicly tell people that I was a crazy bitch who needed help and laughed. I let his friends tell me what a piece of crap I was. I never really stood up for myself, and when I did, I paid the price. I realized there were times where he laid hands on me, and I let myself be convinced that was my fault too. I realized I had been emotionally and near the end, physically abused. I couldn’t believe it happened to me. I blamed myself for that too. But the truth is, none of it was my fault. I didn’t “deserve” a single second of it. He admitted that to me privately, perhaps in an attempt to win me back, perhaps not. He apologized, but it didn’t help a lick.

But after counseling, meditation, and lots of healing, looking back, I know each moment had to happen. Every ounce of pain and every tear had to be felt. It made me stronger, in the end. But I wish I could’ve become the woman I am today without it, without him. I still, don’t believe he is a bad man, I believe he is a man in a lot of pain with a mental illness and he needs help. Help I pray all the time that he gets. He has a good heart, I didn’t love him for no reason, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions, so I send him my love and prayers from afar, and I hope he has the strength to heal. I hope he has the strength to stay sober and heal his wounds, so he can love the way I know he wanted to love, but couldn’t. I won’t tell every story. I won’t tell you his name. I won’t wish him ill. I will wish him nothing but the best in the future. I will have compassion for him. I will send him healing. But I will also, tell my sweet daughter this story, before she goes on her first date. I will tell her, it can happen to anyone. I will tell her, it happens over time. I will tell my story out loud and not feel shame or guilt, so other women know they are not alone. I will heal, and I will take steps forward even after the trauma comes up again and again. I will listen to songs that remind me I am not alone. I will be happy.

“Oh, but after everything you've done

I can thank you for how strong I have become

'Cause you brought the flames and you put me through hell

I had to learn how to fight for myself

And we both know all the truth I could tell

I'll just say this is "I wish you farewell"

I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin'

I hope your soul is changin', changin'

I hope you find your peace

Falling on your knees, prayin'”

#trigger warning #domestic abuse #emotional abuse #healing #writings #we are not alone #survivor

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