Theory of Three Loves - Part 2

He came into my life very soon after I was raped. In my mind, a relationship was out of the question. My brain was still trying to process the trauma that I was quickly burying away. Self confidence had been tossed out the window and I hated my body. There were just so many reasons why I should not date, but he made them all disappear.

We had met before this, kind of grew up together actually. I remembered him as the chubby little boy, but that was no longer the case. He was taller, leaner, and did a pretty good job talking smooth. In the beginning, that was all that I wanted - someone to talk to. He had other ideas though.

There was a small get together at his house one night and, as everyone started to leave, he asked me to stay the night. We were family friends so it seemed casual, almost normal. I said yes, praying it would stay casual. It started off pretty normal with a movie and popcorn. His mom stayed up with us for quite awhile. At some point, he started hinting at her to leave the room. I wasn't sure I was ready to be alone with him. I knew he had the hots for me, but I was still dealing with a lot of bullshit and I was worried things wouldn't go as he wanted or as I needed.

When she finally retired for the night, he came over to snuggle me. That felt normal, felt good. We sat that way for a while, just snuggled into each other. For me, it was comfortable. I suppose that is why when he tried to kiss me, I did not pull away. His kiss was very welcomed by my body and I reacted almost instinctively; my thoughts and questions and worry running for the hills. We spent an hour making out. I stopped him from doing the things that caused flashbacks of the rape. He didn't protest when I wouldn't let him go further. At some point, we both realized how late it was and he asked me to share his bed with him for the night. My head was spinning and I was scared I was running out of strength to say no, so he tucked me in on the couch.

After this night, it was all downhill. Despite pushback from our families, we entered into a relationship. We were determined to prove them wrong and I truly believed we could. He made me feel whole again and I had already thought about it - he seemed like marriage material.

Our first year together was magical. I often felt like I was floating on clouds. Despite me going to college two hours away and him still being in high school, our relationship remained a priority. There was never a question of loyalty in this time. When I returned home each weekend he devoted every second to what I wanted. In my eyes, his goal was to bring joy back into my life. The feeling of security was so strong with him and that led me to making a decision to return home and attend the college he would be attending. Sometimes I think back and wonder where my life would have gone if I had not made that decision.

When spring semester was over, I drove back to our side of the state for the last time and he moved into my mom's house with me. This began our downfall.

Have you ever heard the saying that you don't fully know someone until you live with them? I stand behind that so completely, as living with him showed me the man he truly was.

Our first fight was that fourth of July. The day was perfect. We slept in a bit, fooled around when we woke up, went to our small town derby and carnival. We saw friends and soaked up the hot July sun. Our bellies were filled with greasy food and fresh squeezed lemonade. At dusk, we snuggled into each other's arms and watched the fireworks from the bed of his truck. It was picture perfect, honestly.

After the fireworks we headed to a gas station so he could get his smokes and while he was inside, his phone went off.

"Couldn't stop thinking about being with you tonight."

The text caught my eye and my heart dropped. I opened his phone, opened the text messages. There were so many. He called her Honey Bear. She had told him she loves him, almost daily, and he was saying it back.

I turned off the phone and took a few deep breaths of the crisp summer air, willing myself not to cry. His door opened and he saw my face.

"What's wrong, baby?" I just glared at him. How could he? How long had it been going on? Did he truly mean it? Was it more than just messages? The questions were racing through my mind.

"Take me home." I whispered.

"Tell me what's wrong." I ignored him and looked out the window. He knew I could be a bit stubborn so he started the truck and drove the one mile to my mom's house. When we got there, I told him what I had learned. He denied it up and down and I pushed him to tell me why. He started yelling at me, loud enough to wake our neighbors. For the first time since my rape, I was scared of a man again.

Things did not improve after that night. In fact, they became drastically worse. Yet, I stayed with him for another two years. For the most part, the abuse was verbal, mental, emotional. It broke me down slowly. It wasn't until he actually hit me that I figured I should start looking at the facts and make a choice.

Our second year together, it was apparent he was on the fast track to becoming an alcoholic. He always talked about how his dad was one and so it was likely he would be too. It was almost like he didn't think he had a choice. A characteristic of my personality is to fix people, so of course I wanted to help him not be an alcoholic. That was my mistake.

I distinctly remember the night I sat on my desk with a fifth of whiskey behind my back. He was already drunk and he was begging me to give it back. I was crying asking him to stop and just be in the moment with me. I told him he didn't need the whiskey. He was getting mad though, and when I continued to withhold his bottle, he hit me.

I didn't know how to walk away in that moment. It took more time for me to do that. Part of me thinks I endured a little while longer so I could meet my husband. Had I left that night, I'm not sure our paths would have crossed. Regardless the reason, I learned a lot of things in the last months of our relationship and in the time following our split.

Building yourself back up after years of emotional abuse and then physical abuse is hard. It's just plain hard. I entered the relationship broken and then I felt like I was whole again, but it was temporary. He manipulated my feelings to gain my love and trust. Looking back now, I wish I could have told myself to just be me for awhile. But, I'm a firm believer in things happening for a reason. Part of my path was to experience this hard love.

What's the best part of hard love? Leaving the relationship because you have learned what you want from the person you love. You have recognized what you like about love and what you don't like about love. After you make the choice to leave, you will feel empty and scared and sad. That's acceptable. But, if you also see the bad and know what the good is that you need, you will be on your way to the happiness we all deserve.