Confessions of an Abuser: My Life in the Cycle

I should start by mentioning that the three women I discuss in this piece are incredible humans. They are all unique, smart, talented, creative, strong, and just dope people. I am fortunate to have had them in my life, and they are all safe. Two of them are still very much in my life and on good terms.

I should also mention that this article is about abuse and self-care. This is a trigger warning.

What I wish most for my exes is that they're able to move forward understanding that I'm not their fault. I didn't cheat on you because you weren't beautiful or exciting, I didn't punch a hole in the wall because of something you did, I didn't yell at you because you didn't deserve my respect in those moments. I've heard from one of the three that she hasn't healed, and I actively walk one other through the process. I accept that she's changed though.

I grew up in a shit household. While I never witnessed physical violence from my father to my mother or older brother, the intense yelling, destruction of property and occasional calls from the neighbors were beyond normal. I've been a white knight my whole life, and I often bore the physical brunt when I felt my mom or brother had had enough. I don't cry and I don't tolerate those who bring others to tears. In the context we're about to explore, that's ironic.

As a fun fact, my father used to have a particular penchant for throwing glass cups. While my mother used to replace them, eventually she stopped. To this day there are only two drinking glasses in my house. While they've both taken great strides and no longer harbor the same intense anger, I still remember why we don't have drinking glasses and I don't think they do. That actually really hurts me, the way the perpetrators moved forward and I never really will. It's a fun fact.

I learned some great coping skills, in fact I credit my upbringing for giving me my knack for humor, my openness (displayed here for your reading pleasure) and my want to learn about others. When everything hurts, life itself can become this sort of joke where you learn to see things for their ironic value. Laughing at yourself for coming to picture day with a black eye sort of thing. I'm funny when I'm sad, and that's just how it is. "Appreciate the comedy" was my tagline for when bad things happened, and sort of my philosophy on life.

I became something of a ladies man, and a very needy romantic too. I latched on for the first time as a freshman in high school. This girl a friend of mine was trying to hook up with invited me over while I was supposed to be sleeping over at this same friend's house. I saw boobs for the first time that day. Excellent boobs. I remain a connoisseur of boobies to this day. Big fan. Boobs rule.

The only thing nicer than the boobs was her personality. To this day, I don't think I've ever met someone who was more genuinely kind. This girl just helped everything and everyone. She's a gem, still. She's a social worker and it's great to know that people like her can go on to make a career and life in helping people.

I found someone who thought I was cool for all the thing I was able to appreciate about myself and this person thought I was attractive too! My weight is something my father used to belittle me for constantly, and to just be seen as handsome by someone, Jesus that first time I felt good about my body. It's like losing your virginity, the first time you can take your shirt off in front of someone. I'll never forget that.

When I can, I still keep my shirt on during sex sometimes. Weird. It's one of those things I explain to you later in knowing me and you sort of have to make due until that happens. Most people are cool with it, especially guys.

Things were cool in high school until it wasn't enough. I remember the first time I cheated. I'd been flirting with this volleyball player a year younger than me (I was a Junior at this point) and I knew something would happen if I wanted it to. At the same time, this woman who I loved (I think, and at the time knew) would be devastated. This would not be the only time I would make a questionable choice with a high school volleyball player a year younger than me.

But she wasn't enough, and I know now there is nothing she could've said or done to have been enough. It was being wanted that I was after, it was being encouraged that I wanted. I've always wanted to feel intelligent, and what's more impressive than a fat kid so emotionally intelligent he could convince you he was worth it? Even if I was marginally popular, I thought if I hooked up with people it was an accomplishment on more levels than it should've been. Acceptance is crack, it's really hard to find a place where you don't need anymore but aren't sick of it too. It's hard for me at least.

I consider that abusive behavior. Maybe it wasn't back then, and maybe I didn't realize how much she cared about me. But she cried a lot, and while she's recovered. Those months where we didn't speak, I know now that she had to process and recover. I betrayed her trust and taught her that people can be terrible things. It's a real lie, and that's an abuse of trust. An abuse.

I'm in college now, and there's this girl that thinks I'm cute. At this point, I've been a bit promiscuous. For whatever reason, originally, my boisterous personality fared me well. I think I was controversial and I can't say I was liked overall, but I can say I did well in terms of sexual partners and people knew my name. I met this girl by pulling her face off another girl she was kissing and making out with her. According to her I just kissed her passionately, hands over her ears, and then walked away. I have no recollection of this, but it was Safer Sex Night at Oberlin.

As a further fun fact, I punched a hole in a door on the 3rd floor of Dascomb that night, kissed 12 people (including 2 guys) and had sex with two people (I think). Bit of a wildcard. No condoms either.

I met her again on Acid at my buddy Saad's house about a year later. I was wearing this Juicy Couture green corduroy jacket with a purple Kool-Aid guy shirt that had a hole where my ribs are. I'm tripping and I just felt this feeling she gave off, so I just held her hand. I couldn't look at her because I was scared, but I held her hand.

We dated for about 3 years on and off, and in that time I:

1. Sort of dated, definitely was hooking up with a girl while dating her (twice).
2. Pushed her down because she didn't like dancing with me.
3. Yelled at her because she finished watching Wilfred with Elijah Wood without me in an art studio with someone else in the room.
4. In one argument punched two different wall holes, broke a bannister, slammed my head into a counter, and drew blood.
5. Cheated on her again, with a woman I would later date.
6. Almost got expelled for trying to fight her friend/ guy she slept with sometimes multiple times.
7. Mocked her for taking anti-depressants (which I now take and highly recommend).

All this time, over all these years—I keep bringing her back with this bullshit pity party. I would be a good guy 90% of the time, sharing emotions, introducing her to cool music and movies (abuse offers a lot of time trying to escape your house from within your room, so you get exposed to a lot of media) and convincing her that my positive qualities and good sex made me worth the investment/care.

Something all three of these women have in common is that they're natural aides—the sort of emotional nurses that won't run away if you can at least explain yourself. And I had the perfect tool for manipulation for that sort of person. I was abused as a child, was sexually exploited by an older man as a teen, and made it all the way to Oberlin with all the odds stacked against me. Hell, I'm Hispanic with a socialist hero father—but I'm white passing so I have this sort of halfie flair that I wear when it suits me. It's fucked, but I accept that I was actively trying to avoid understanding the depths of my manipulation and that manipulation runs deeper than I can get into, maybe deeper than I understand.

I needed to keep her around, because she was the best person to ever love me and the first to never sell me down the river. Even my Grandmother, who I love in a very special way for basically adopting me, sometimes I still think she could've stepped in earlier. These women though, I loved them because they were the first ones to know and to care. I knew many times that a real man would've left and admitted they needed help, spared their lover the pain that they knew they were. I was not a man then, and I can only hope I am now.

It's the next girl, and she's incredible. She's so well read, and smart, and she's like me too. She wasn't who she was in high school either so we both have ugly duckling syndrome. This fairly regular girl turned into this gorgeous, smart, funny, sophisticated, complex, kind, endearing, total certified bombshell.

The first real conversation we had was in front of Mudd Library on Oberlin's campus at about 2 AM during reading period. She asked me for a cigarette (we were on the same softball team, the legendary Skin Flutes). We talked about nihilism and death (my favorite things) and from then on we were talking constantly. I remember trying to convince her to go skinny dipping with me multiple times because I don't know how to not telegraph a pass. I'm Mark Sanchez or something.

We were in her dorm building on the porch when my eye started to itch. I play it off until eventually, a very stoned her starts laughing. My eye is golfball sized and I've had an allergic reaction. After returning from the hospital, I asked her if she would come to my room. She said yes, and she walked into a perfectly clean room. I was even reading a book of Nancy Boutilier's poetry because I'm a douchey emo kid and so I have poetry books. Girls like poetry, right? Or girls like guys that like poetry? Someone likes poetry, I knew that, so I went with that.

As a fun fact, I missed my neuro final makeup and was able to take the test completely alone because of that eye allergy debacle. Since the staff was meeting at my singular test date, I may or may not have had access to the textbook and the internet while taking that test. I passed the class with a C. Further fun fact, my first college girlfriend of note would eventually have a fling with my neuro tutor.

I dated her for 18 months, and in that time I

1. Cheated on her with my other ex
2. Cheated on her with a girl from work (in the walk in fridge, gross)
3. Smacked a dent in her car
4. Threw a music festival to convince her to reinvest her emotional capital in me while remaining an emotional trainwreck
5. Made her cry by yelling at her
6. Was able to spin a traumatic back injury into a pity ploy
7. During an argument, I once got so upset that I jammed a fork deeply enough into my thigh that it just stayed in me. I walked around for a second with a fork sticking out of my bleeding thigh as a sort of symbol of how charged I was. I must've thought I was being real fucking cool. Big scary Jake is mad, grrr. Disgusting. I had to pull it out because trying to shake it out wouldn't even move it.

I know factually that my behavior has stuck with her, we've discussed it. I'd reflected on all this a million times and come to terms with my role in the cycle of abuse and had taken steps to fix myself to great success, but it hurt to hear everything. Hurts to know she still remembers. Maybe she remembers less than I do. I hope that's the case.

She told me that she still worries she's being cheated on. That's my fault. Even cheating on me couldn't fill that, and that's my fault.

I accept responsibility, and I understand more than anyone can know that I hurt people. I've taken steps forward and it's not as if I was abusive 24/7, on the contrary, it was episodic, but I understand what I've done. Nothing I say or do can change that, and while I hope the three women mentioned never read this, I'm so sorry if you are. Know that I haven't forgiven myself, and I'm so proud of you all for moving forward.

I'm writing this partly as an admission of guilt, but also as a lens into what life is like behind closed doors and a call to those like me.

You don't know what I went through when I'm in your class, or at the desk next to you and you don't know what scars I carry. The same goes for everyone around you, even if they weren't abused.

You're reading this, and maybe you know me personally and maybe you don't, but just because I'm admitting this and I've done these things—you have no grounds to judge me, you really don't. You don't know me.

If this is how you're finding out and you're my friend, I bet you had a feeling something was a little off. I have some classic manic Facebook statuses that looking back, you know couldn't come from someone who was all the way there. Funny, but sad too.

You don't know the relationships, you don't know the other half, and you don't know what it was like. In no way do I excuse this behavior, but please understand that I'm not a monster, there was context and I cared very deeply for all of these women. You abuse two people when you abuse your partner (unless you're a monster)—the difference is that you can put a stop to it and they haven't done anything unforgivable—you are, and likely have before.

Again, that isn't to say I was anything less than the devil. I'm just saying its complex. I'm sorry.

From us, the beaten, we might not know either. I was never as bad as my dad, so I never thought it was real abuse. "It could get so much worse" was something that was always in the back of my head. Because I never crossed that line I figured it was a regular relationship and it would pass.

To my brothers and sisters in arms, the war-torn adolescents. The adult kids that never had childhoods. It can be okay, I promise. You don't get that time back, and maybe I'll spend my whole life trying to figure out what it was like to be supported and maybe you will too, but that's okay.

You're not a little shit, whether you're fat or not is not the end of the world and is something you can work on, you're smart and you're deserving of human rights and safety.

You can learn to believe in yourself, and you can have all those things. You're going to have to work harder though, but that's okay too. You're going to cry when you watch that scene in Good Will Hunting, and that's okay. It's a great scene. Same with Mystic River, same with Spotlight. It's okay.

You have to work though, and that's not work you can do alone. That's work you need help with. Please don't be afraid to seek out mental health clinics in your area, don't be afraid of anti-depressants if your quality of life can be improved. If you're a youth reading this, go talk to someone at school. Go to someone who knows more than you, visit a shelter if you have to. I know it's difficult to do, and I know that it's just another task on that list of things you haven't done. Do it. Nike, Just Do It.

It sucks to know that sometimes it's all on your shoulders. I don't have a solution to that, but if you don't break, you grow stronger. Take the scary moments and turn them into empathy. Learn that others might never have to feel the way you have, and save them from that pain. Be kind in the way others couldn't have been for you.

It's amazing how people can see this awesome person in you, while you can do feel nothing but pity and hate for yourself as soon as they leave. But when you get better, they'll still be your friends, and that is so beautiful. Those friends can become your family too, and that's something I'm grateful for.

Don't do what I did. Don't leave a trail of tears behind you and don't let your parent's mistakes become your partner's wounds. I know its hard to control yourself and I know what kind of a learning process it is, but you have to do it. You have to do it for them, for all they give to you and you need to do it for yourself and the person you will become. Growing up is a process, and you can have been flawed and still accept yourself as a work in progress and someone that brings good to the world.

Chill, read some Milan Kundera. Let the Unbearable Lightness of Being meet Camus' Stranger. Breathe.

Don't wait until you're 25, start now. If you're older than 25 and grew up in an abusive household, get that help now. There is no shame in saying I'm damaged, in fact, there's strength in it. If you read this and have gotten help—I'm so fucking proud of you and thank you for working to end that cycle. I'm so proud of you for doing that work and even if the people around you don't know it, I know you're beautiful and accomplished. If you haven't gotten help and maybe you're thinking about it, please do it because you deserve it.

Don't make decisions you'll regret. There are always people that care that you don't realize, you don't see them right now. There are people who see through your flaws, they see you're a kid and they see that no one wants to be hated—not naturally at least. If you're an adult, there's someone who recognizes all of this. We're around.

I bet you've played with self-harm, but see how those earliest scars are now almost unrecognizable. You know they're there, but others can barely see them. Everything heals if you treat it. Get help, don't jump.

If you're still reading this you're one of a certain few kinds of people.

1. You know me and are intrigued by this aspect of my life you may or may not be aware of. Maybe you think I'm weird for being so open, maybe you're some sort of emotional pervert/gossip who thinks this is interesting.
2. You dated me and are fuming/investigating aspects of my other relationships and trying to fill holes that can't be filled. If this is you, I'm sorry. I need to say these things because there are people that can see this, and fighting abuse and suicide is bigger than us. You know how to reach me if you want this gone.
3. You find relationships interesting, maybe you have an interest in gender roles. Maybe you have opinions and are either supporting or refuting your opinions as you read this.
4. You went through what I did, and you're thinking, "well he's right there, but I never felt like that, or did that, or coped like that." It's cool, it's different for all of us. Whattup fam.
5. You're learning English and practice makes perfect.
6. You work at humans.media and have to proofread this.

To all 6 of you, and everyone else, I love you. Please be nice to each other and remember that the world is bigger than you, you can always be the better part of someone's day and things can get better. Time will pass no matter what happens. Use that to your advantage.

Thank you for reading this far. If you are someone that needs help I can be reached on Instagram as Gloom_Patron, by searching [email protected]