Power

See, that’s the problem, the feelings after are unlike and unmatched to one another. It was a person, just like you and me. A person who in that single moment introduced you to an entirely new world. You quickly became infatuated and filled yourself with ooey gooey feelings. This new life was one unlike any other you had experienced. They showed you new parts of this world, and introduced you to other cultures. They opened your eyes to this whole other side of the world, and it felt so euphoric that the next part was no surprise.

It’s been a month now and you’ve just settled into the happiness associated with them, and their version of the world that you are now a part of. Suddenly something shifts, but you are so deep that you don’t even notice anymore. You don’t see the damage they are about to cause you.

Fast forward and it’s been three months since you came into their world. It was an average Tuesday afternoon, you were getting dressed, and they were getting ready in the washroom.

“You’re going to change right?”, they uttered from the other side of the door. “I think you could at least dress well enough to impress”.

You quickly rifle the closet trying to select a better outfit. After careful thought you opt for an entirely different outfit. They’ve given you so much and made you feel really important, so without even a moment of recoil you change your clothes to mold their needs and wants, even above your own.

It’s no big deal really, it’s just clothes. That’s what you keep telling yourself anyways.

Not more than a month later, your birthday rolled around, and much to your surprise gifts await you. After enjoying the cake you begin to open the gifts they brought. The first had some jewelry. The second a stunning dress, and the third was a slew of makeup. That little voice in your head kept telling you something wasn’t right. They bought gifts more for themselves than for you. You don’t really wear jewelry, or makeup to that extent. The dress was enough to cloud that voice in the back of your mind. You profusely thank them. They spoiled you, even though it wasn’t very personalized to you. “Now there’s no reason you can’t be fully decked out, makeup and all” they explained as you opened your gifts.

You begin thinking in the back of your mind that they want you to look, feel and act a certain way, even when it’s something you don’t normally do, feel or look. Yet every time you begin to see the direction this is heading you don’t do anything to change it, and it always becomes eclipsed by how special they make you feel. Power is a funny thing, and I assure you that you are not the only one to fall victim to it.

Somehow in the blink of an eye it’s been an entire year. Now you’re pretty much conditioned to their idea of you. You don’t dress the same, you look like a stranger in the mirror. You mush all of your feelings down to avoid causing problems. You bite your tongue regularly to avoid problems. You eat foods you don’t care for. You dye your hair, lose weight, got new glasses, took on jobs you hate because to them money is all that seemed to matter. Every time you veer from that version of you an issue arises. Every moment not conditioned to their wants becomes an argument. You beg them not to change you, while also begging them to let you have a chance to change into who they want you to be. All in one breath you simultaneously beg them to love who you are, and beg for a chance to become what they love.

You know the end is coming, because suddenly the hardest job you have worked is this one. You never get a break, you never get to breathe. Being someone else now occupies 95% of your brain. Everytime you grow haunted by that fact, they do something miraculous. They redirect your mind, usually with a nice dinner, or a hollowed speech about how amazing you are, and how proud they are of you. A speech spoken out of two sides of the lips. A speech promoting and demoting you all at the same time. Words strung together outlining how much you have done, and also how far you have to go. You digress, because it’s worth it for love. That’s what you keep telling yourself.

By some miracle it’s been two years now. You open your closet and nothing looks familiar anymore. Your pantry is stocked by their choices. You no longer listen to the same music. You’re isolated. Their family and friends make up your entire circle. You sound different. You make personal and professional choices based on what will cause the least arguing. You don’t even wear the perfume you like anymore, because they like versace best on you. Not one single thing is left entirely yours. You don’t even know you anymore.

It’s a rainy night, you’re home making dinner, you’re wearing pajamas, and for the first time in years you decide to eat something of your own choosing since you only have to feed yourself tonight. They’re off at some event with their buddies, so for tonight you can bring you out to play. Enjoy one night of blissful freedom. Now you manage to find some inner strength, and your mind suddenly gives you all the reason in the world to run for the hills. Painfully you decide you need to end the relationship and run as far as you can as quickly as possible.

The following morning you awake to a blanket of despair, and also a motivation for freedom from the cage that is this relationship. When they awoke you had breakfast ready and tea steeping. While sitting at the table you begin to voice your thoughts. This is the beginning of the end in your mind. As soon as they clue into where this is going, a tear rolls down their cheek. They beg and plead with you, remind you that you are loved, and somehow they manage to remind you of all the good, which is almost enough for you to stay. At this moment you are dead set on ending it so their words grow irrelevant.

“Nobody will ever be able to love and guide you like I have, I’m the only thing you’ve got going for you”.....

Your body sinks into the chair as though you can no longer even hold your own weight. You draw blank, in the aftermath of those words, you are no longer able to hear the voice of reason in your head.

By the next day you’re right back where you began. Not by any surprise you get into an argument with them over your clothes one day, you really don’t want to wear jeans today. You plead to them that you can look good in other less uncomfortable pants. At that moment you are filled with rage.

“I HATE JEANS, ALMOST AS MUCH AS YOU HATE ME BEING WHO I AM!”

The next thing you recall is the blood dripping into your hand from your mouth. Lord knows, that was the one and only time they hit you in the face. They came up with an elaborate ruse to hide the fact they hit you. The violence came as no surprise whatsoever. You excuse it because of how much they love you. You excuse it following the apology and the first aid they provided to you. Although the only medical attention you need is stitches, instead you are impressed by their ability to handle it without seeking any real medical attention.

It’s totally okay though right, because you are loved. They love you right?Is this what love really is? Didn’t I deserve it though? You spend hours racking your brain trying to find solace in it.

For months to follow, the issue wasn’t an argument. It was a swift beating. The arguments stopped because there was no longer a need to argue. Any time you made a mistake or didn’t do what you were conditioned to do, first would be the foot to your ribs, carefully followed by their meticulous medical care.

“If you could just be happy, show me affection and perform sexually, then I wouldn’t have to punish you” they say softly. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

Soon the punishment became alternatively unique depending on the day. You now provide oral sex whenever they want. Though nothing to pleasure you is ever provided. They only wanted your mouth.

Now it’s something minimal, even if you roll your eyes, or roll an inch too far in your sleep. Even things you have little control over now result in punishment of some kind.

You start to ask yourself why you stay, but every time you try to leave they remind you of all the reasons to stay….

Here’s the problem, you need so badly to leave and they need so badly to have you to control and manipulate. They’re so good at it now after years, you don’t even really notice. It’s been months since you spoke to your friends or family because that quietly exited your life. Everything that was yours, is gone.

You excused every wrong doing because they followed it up with how much they loved you. Even when you knew it was too far gone. Even when every fiber of your being told you to run, you couldn’t. Power is a funny thing, and I assure you that you are not the only one to fall victim to it.

This story ends one of two ways…

On a random Friday evening while they are out with their friends, you carefully eat, clean and shower before grabbing a baggy shirt and shorts. You climb into bed and listen to their music because you’re in so deep that you subconsciously follow the rules.

Around midnight they return home, they kick you out and say it’s all because you are just too much. What does that even mean? You run through it in your mind probably a hundred times over as you shove your entire life into bags and leave, never to return. You cry, scream and beg for another chance, all the while that voice in your head is screaming at you ‘thank god you’re finally free’. Part of you is dying inside and the rest is elated by freedom. This is a painful end to a painful love. Despite all the horrible things, you still remember all the good. You’re mourning the death of the good, and breathing in the bliss of the freedom you now get to have.

It takes time but you slowly start putting the pieces back together, slowly but surely. You slowly delete every photo, every conversation and try to erase it from your memory. You raid your closet and get rid of most of it, allowing room to build it back to your own wants and needs.

As soon as possible you go out for coffee with your best friend who by some chance hasn’t forgotten about you. After hours of conversations you finish it off by saying “power is a funny thing, and I know I am not the first to fall victim to it”.

OR

On a random Friday evening while they are out with their friends, you carefully eat, clean and shower before grabbing a baggy shirt and shorts. You climb into bed and listen to their music because you’re in so deep that you subconsciously follow the rules.

Around midnight they return home, angry because you forgot to make them food for lunch tomorrow. You plead with them that you’ll get up early and make something fresh for lunch.

As they yell, you roll out the bed to go and make food for them, thinking that’s enough to solve the problem.

As you slip into your slippers they grab your arm, throwing you to the ground. It started with a kick or two…. They help you onto your feet apologizing for the damage they had done.

After making a sandwich and some pasta salad for their lunch you crawl back into the room, where they await you. They grab you by the ponytail and direct you to their crotch. Just as they get close to finishing you accidentally jolt, the pain in your side becomes worse and worse. You ruined their orgasm by accident because they hurt you so badly you could barely take the pain. They pick you up and throw you on the bed where you wish it was just a kick or two….

For the first time in a while they go for your face, hit after hit, they eventually kneel over top of you, one hand holding your hands above your head and the other scratching and hitting whatever was in reach.

After what feels like forever they tell you to go rinse off in the shower… and for the first time you let out a tear. You’re in bad shape, and now you’re crying. They grab you and throw you to the floor, this time kicking and stomping on you. The room grows darker, and slowly the pain drifts away. You drift in and out of consciousness. They kneel over top of you on the floor this time, slapping your face to keep you lucid. The other arm finds your neck and leans onto it, while still slapping you. You can’t breathe, and soon the room grows black. Your pain stops all together. You’re finally free.

Back home your mother awakes to her phone ringing. “Hello, I’m looking to speak with a Mrs. Smith.”. Your mother in such a daze informs the caller that she is Mrs. Smith.

“Alright Mrs. Smith we have an officer on route to your home, could you meet them at the door please?”, “they will explain everything once they arrive”.

Your mother creeps down to the door with blue and red flickering through the window. She opens the door and invites the young partners into her home.

They ask her to confirm your name and address.

“We have some unfortunate news regarding your daughter. She was brought to hospital earlier this evening with lights and sirens, however despite all our efforts she was pronounced dead at 3:02 am. The caller was a male, however upon reaching the scene it was only her. The caller fled the scene it would appear. Do you have any idea what may have happened?” The male officer asked in between sobs and despair.

It took a few minutes for your mother to explain that it has been months since she last heard from you, that your boyfriend was likely the caller, and that you seemed happy… She is utterly in shock and had no clue what went wrong.

The other officer was a young woman, she seemed particularly invested in this case. “First of all, I am so sorry for your loss. She was taken too soon.”, “Based off the scene, her injuries and my experience, I have reason to believe that this is a domestic violence situation…”

The officers took hours to speak with your mother before bringing her to the hospital to officially identify your body and collect your belongings.

The female officer offered to accompany her into the morgue. As your mother sobbed and collapsed in the officer's arms, the officer piped up and spoke.

“I know you don’t know me well, but I almost ended up like your daughter. Power is a funny thing, and rest assured your daughter is not the only one to fall victim to it. I am deeply sorry that this is our reality but many people have fallen victim to power one way or another. Some survive like me, others don’t, like your daughter.”

Both of these endings are very possible. You are not alone. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. You shouldn’t foster any shame, guilt or pity. You fell victim to something that seemed harmless. Power really is a funny thing, and too many fall victim to it. Too many headstones stand above too many victims. Too many carry PTSD for the rest of their lives.

Let me say it one more time for the one’s in the back. Power is a funny thing, and I assure you that you are not the first to fall victim to it.