It’s been a while since my last post, but things have been relatively “same old same old” the last couple weeks. This post has nothing to do with things I normally write about, but I decided that I wanted to write about it anyway. I don’t really know why I feel compelled to write about any of this. I have made peace with it and the past is the past. I try not to dwell on the bad things. I try not to dwell on the mistakes that I have made, though I usually beat myself up terribly over even the smallest mistake. I will continue to make mistakes throughout my entire life, some will be impossibly huge and others will be microscopically small, but they will be made. Guaranteed. I am only human after all. I am working on not being so hard on myself and letting mistakes go. As far as my past goes, I have forgiven myself for all the mistakes that I have made at specific times. There are some things that I may never completely forgive myself for, but those are not a part of this particular post. Maybe by writing about it, something repressed will come to the surface and I can cleanse myself of that too. If not, that’s alright too. We’ll see how this goes.
This post is actually in reference to a specific time frame in my life, from age 19 until about age 23. My childhood was wonderful and my teen years were, well, my teen years (need I say more?).
The beginning of my sophomore year of college was rough. I broke up with my high school sweetheart right after school had started and I was trying to figure out a new normal for me. We had dated on and off throughout the first three years of high school and were together for all of our senior year and the full first year of college. We had made it through the first year of college at different schools with 30 miles between us. I thought for sure that we would go the distance. Sadly, he chose the angry, jealous path that led to more and more arguments. We were driven apart and we both realized that it just was not going to work.
A few months after that I started a new job. A co-worker of mine started to flirt with me on random occasions. He started going on breaks at the same time that I did. His job was stock-pulling and I ran one of the printing presses. Christmas rush was in full swing and I developed carpal tunnel in one of my wrists making it difficult to use the press. I was moved to stock pulling for the remainder of the season. He flirted more and more with me. One day the flirting shifted and I found myself blowing him in his car after work. It slowly developed into something. Well, I came to find out a few months into our relationship that he was married. I should have ended it right then and there, but he told me that he was in the process of leaving her. Hmm, I fell for it. We kept on with our fake relationship for more than 2 years (during this time I had met my now Husband). He kept telling me everything he was going to do, without ever doing it. That put a damper on my self-esteem. I lost my happy self. Finally, I got to the point where I could not take it anymore. I was in a place where I didn’t want to be and I told him so. For some reason I couldn’t just outright tell him it was over. 2 years invested in a person is a long time. I told him I needed a break. We didn’t have much contact after that for a long time. Text messages here and there. This was early February. In late February, the next relationship came into being. By the end of March my life will be beginning the downward spiral into my own personal hell.
I had been living in the same house with him at the time. His sister was a good friend of mine and since she lived in the same town that I went to school in, she let me stay at her house. Her brother had moved in, which it was only supposed to be temporary. He was extremely caring and very protective. The way that he presented himself was “Alpha male” and my submissive self was drawn to it (though I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time). I was sucked into his charade. As March drew to a close, I found out that I was pregnant and my whole world came crashing down. Things started to change. He grew more and more aggressive as time went on. Jealousy and fits of rage over insignificant things started to become an almost daily occurrence. Fear coursed through me like fire. The person that I saw in the beginning turned out to be a façade. The real him started to come out and it scared the daylights out of me. The pregnancy itself went about without too much of a hitch. I had slightly high blood pressure and baby was growing a bit slow but otherwise everything went well in that aspect. However, emotionally I was destroyed. It didn’t take very long to completely break me and let me fall to below rock bottom. I was already at a low from the previous relationship plus all the hormones, it was easy for him to gain full control. Totally against my wishes, but the fear of what he would be capable of kept me from leaving. He constantly threatened to hurt me or my family. I begged him numerous times to keep my family out of it, but he still threatened. I assume he had forgotten my real name because he used bitch and whore so often one would have thought they were my actual name. During the time that we were “together” he never actually hit me (he came close to breaking my arm once, but that happened after I had left him), but his intimidating words suggested that he would at any point in time. I got to the point that I almost wished that he would just hit me and get it over with, I had assumed it would happen anyway. The emotional torment was terrible. The verbal slaughter that I received every day was devastating. After my daughter came, things got even worse. In addition to the emotional and verbal lashings, I had to endure the sexual side of things.
*Before I talk about this part, I just want to make it clear that I do have some kinks in this area of sexuality that would seem to be along the same lines as what happened to me then. I just want to clarify that I did not trust him and he did not have my consent in any way, shape, or form. He never took how I felt into any type of consideration in any aspect of the “relationship”. He took what was essentially not his to take. So seemingly similar, but vastly different. I’m sure that most of you out there that read this will probably understand. *
I wanted nothing to do with him, I had zero trust and zero respect for him. He didn’t care and there was no stopping him when he was in that rage filled “zone”. I am sure that he had tunnel vision when he hit that point and my needs/wants were of zero importance to him. He got extremely terrifying when he was in the “place”. He would do whatever it was that he wanted to do. Sure, he would ask me. Make it appear as though he cared. But I always said no. And no was an unacceptable answer. When it first started a considerable amount of force was needed because I would try to fight it (which probably ended up fueling his rage even more). Eventually, I learned that if I stayed as still and quiet as possible, it would be over faster. I can only assume that it got boring after a while. This went on for a number of months. I had lost a good chunk of baby weight, but I started to pile that weight back on. I thought that the more weight I gained, the less attractive I would be and maybe he would leave me alone. I’d rather have taken the “fat” comments (which I had always gotten, even in my pregnancy, but they became more frequent the more weight I gained) over what he was putting me through on an almost nightly basis. Gaining weight did help me in that the “assaults” became less frequent. I was glad that he was losing interest and had hoped that he would just pack up and leave. Since he was taking advantage of his sister letting him stay there, he wasn’t going to leave on his own. Eventually, she got the courage to kick him out of her house. She convinced me that I needed to move too, because staying there was not going to help the situation. So with her help, I worked up the courage and told him that I was leaving and that our “relationship” was over (though I did tell him that I had not been a real part of it since we found out I was pregnant). No second chances, no going back, it was over. Done. Period. He chose to believe that we would get back together one day. I don’t know why he always thought that, but once he convinces himself of something there is no telling him otherwise. If something is false and he believes it to be true, then in his mind it’s true and no amount of evidence will convince him otherwise.
In the years following, he continued to threaten me via text message or phone calls. I had to keep contact because of my daughter (who also suffered from the interaction between her birth father and I, but we worked to reverse her thinking and help her believe that we are both safe) and the fact that I had to go after him for child support. The threats eventually stopped and he quit calling and texting me. He still pays his child support (and is actually staying on top of it too), but still will refuse to call to talk to her. He will get to see her when she goes to visit her aunt (who I am still good friends with, and I would never keep her from them or her paternal grandpa), but only if it’s convenient for him.
Looking back through it all, I have realized that I wouldn’t be where I am now if none of it happened. It all needed to happen as it did. I wonder sometimes how things might have been if I didn’t have to go through all that, but I quickly tell myself to stop thinking that way. I am happy with the way things turned out for me. There really was a light at the end of my tunnel.