Yet still I stayed

You know how when you watch a movie, you put yourself in the shoes of the actor/actress and you tell yourself how differently you would do things if put in their situation? How if you ever found yourself in an abusive relationship, you’d immediately get out before any real damage could be done? I was one of those people. I was wrong, but I was one of those people once.

What TV doesn’t show you is how emotional manipulation and abuse can be so cunning and entangle you before you even knew what happened. TV doesn’t show you how the rest of the world sees a snake for what it really is, but that you are completely oblivious to the danger hidden beneath the grass. The rest of the world is screaming at you to move and get to safety, but just like yelling at the TV screen, it doesn’t change a thing.

I met him in high school. We worked together for a short period of time at a major grocery chain and I had recently gotten out of what I considered a long term relationship at the time. I was like every other girl. I had dreams, I had visions of what my perfect relationship would look like. I had boundaries. Or what I thought were boundaries. I had a very clear picture of where my life was heading in high school, until he showed up.

I don’t know what made me do it. I don’t know that I was even that interested in him to make me do it. But for some reason, on my very last day of working at that store, I decided to flirt with him. Subtly of course, nothing super out of character. But it was enough. I caught his attention and boy, was he interested. Maybe I was flattered? Maybe I thought, why the hell not? Whatever it was, I wish I could have changed whatever happened in my head to make me think flirting with him before I left was a good idea.

He wanted to call me. He wanted to hang out. I figured, what harm could come from hanging out? The same night he called me, we went and hung out. I was the good kid in school, I didn’t spend all hours of the night out and about, especially not where my parents didn’t know where I was. He had a car. He decided to pick me and my friends up and we went driving around. I don’t remember where, exactly. I don’t think it was all that important really. I do remember that late in the morning, the first time we ever hung out, we all ended up at a park. The red flags started the very first night we spent together, but for whatever reason, I ignored them.

He started touching. Gently at first, nothing worth being concerned about. Then, his needs grew more persistent. He went from gently rubbing my shoulders, to putting his hands on my thighs. He also wanted to kiss me. I allowed it, but it wasn’t anything too special to me. I think the kissing was to “loosen” me up a bit because that’s when his hands started going higher. I remember thinking I knew what it was he wanted and thinking that closing my legs tighter together would prevent him from going any further. While pressing my legs tighter together gave me a temporary reprieve, it didn’t stop his persistence once everyone left. I don’t know why, but I just stopped trying to stop him and stopped pushing my legs together. I remember feeling uncomfortable and had no sense of pleasure.

But that wasn’t enough of a red flag for me, as much as I wish it was. I continued to see him when he wanted it. He hid his abusive behavior behind lavish gifts and expensive dates. It was hard to keep your mind straight when all these nice things are being done, maybe that night was just a fluke? He took us to lunch so I could meet some of his friends and my favorite song came on over the speakers. I quietly was singing to myself while he and his friends talked over lunch about something from their high school memories and I remember all of a sudden, he stopped and asked me who sang the song I was singing. I proudly told him the name of the band and without batting an eye, he told me to let them sing the song because they do it better. I never sang out loud again after that. But that still wasn’t enough to drive me away.

After two weeks of dating, TWO WEEKS, he took me to his parent’s house. He had the whole basement to himself and he had parents that weren’t home. He begged and pleaded with me. I said no to him at least twice. He kept asking, I got tired of saying no. I cried the whole time. To make matters worse, protection failed and I spent the next few weeks in gut-wrenching fear. Surely this was enough for me to walk the other way, but I still came back.

Six months later and we are living in our first apartment together. I don’t have many memories of that apartment, except one. I don’t remember how it got to this point, or why he was even mad in the first place, but I remember the sheer terror I felt sitting in an arm chair with my knees to my chest and arms around my knees. He trapped me in the chair by blocking my exit and was screaming at me, six inches from my face. I don’t know what was said, I don’t know why he was angry, but I remember he swiftly got out of my face, grabbed a coffee mug, then slammed the coffee mug on the counter and it shattered into pieces. Of course, the expected happened and his hand was cut up and bleeding. Due to his inability to deal with blood, I was instructed to clean it up. Had I seen this in a movie, I would have screamed at the woman on the screen and told her to punch him in the face and leave. My inner dialogue was not so helpful. I dutifully did as I was told and cleaned up the mess and tended to his wounds. Yet still I stayed.

A year and half later and we are getting married. I thought I was excited, I thought it was what I wanted, but I realized that wasn’t the case when I spent our wedding night in tears due to his drunkenness. At least one of us had fun that night. I remember staring at the ceiling in our hotel room after he passed out drunk next to me and realized I committed to this for the rest of my life. I got myself into this, now I have to stick it through. ‘Til death do us part, yet still I stayed.

Fourteen days later, I found out I was pregnant. I told him and there was no emotion. He told me it was my choice whether I wanted to keep the baby or not, that he supported my decision. He made no efforts to tell me whether he wanted the baby or not. I knew this was a discussion to be had with a spouse before getting married, but I didn’t really have a say in how things went up to this point and I was of the mindset that I didn’t have a say here either. I told him I was keeping the baby and he shrugged his shoulders, said “Okay,” then filled up a beer stein and sat on the couch. Two weeks later, I miscarried. I was left at home by myself to deal with the aftermath while he went to work instead of calling in sick to be with me and grieve with me. He took me to lunch on his lunch break when I called him frantic after I passed the baby and didn’t know what to do. He was smiling the whole time, but I don’t remember what he said. I remember his mouth moving, but no words of comfort passed his lips.

We were fighting over something, I can’t remember what. He was drinking. I didn’t want to listen to him yell at me anymore, so I went and shut myself in our bedroom to create space in the hopes he would sleep it off. Much to my dismay, the door met with his fists and soon I was screaming that I would call the police. His fists made little work of the door, so I didn’t have to scream much, I just had to make sure I yelled through the hole. Why I didn’t call the police? I still don’t know. I called his mom and told her to get him out of the house to cool off and sleep it off. He still has the scars on his arms to this day from punching through the door. Yet still I stayed.

Our due date for the baby came and I was upset. We never spoke about the miscarriage after that day he took me to lunch. He was sitting on the couch drinking and I told him I needed to talk about the miscarriage. He said he didn’t want to. I told him he didn’t need to talk, but I wanted to talk. He told me he didn’t want to hear it and that I couldn’t talk about it. I was so devastated, I threw a picture on the floor and broke it. He got on the phone and called the police and told them, “Get her out of here or I’m going to hurt her.” The police showed up and I’m removed from my home because he’s too drunk to drive. Yet still I stayed.

I got pregnant with our son. He was having seizures. I beg him to stop drinking and take care of his seizures by getting on medication. He agreed to “cut back” on his drinking, but refused to quit and refused medication. I was eight months pregnant. We were going to go black Friday shopping. He gto in the truck to drive, had a seizure, and I had to choose between letting the truck hit a possibly occupied house or an unoccupied truck. I opted for the truck and lost a part of my pinkie as a result. Yet still I stayed.

His mother asked me to take his sister to a movie. I agreed and put him in charge of watching our 9 month old son. I go to the movie, come home, and my son is passed out on the floor with no diaper on by the front door. There is a beer stein on the floor and he is passed out drunk on the couch. To this day, I have no idea whether my son got into that beer stein or not. Yet still I stayed.

We had a daughter. He was going through something and was acting high strung and upset. He was in the laundry room and was very emotional. I asked him to tell me how I could help him and in his drunken/emotional state, he looked at me dead in the eye and said, “You can never help me the way Kayla can.” I learn that Kayla was the woman that taught him how to love and that they just reconnected through social media. Yet still I stayed.

He asked if we cold have an ”open“ marriage, so that he has the opportunity to see other people. I’m hurt, but to please him, I tell him okay. I start focusing on myself and focusing on how I feel about myself since it appeared I wasn’t going to be able to satisfy my husband. Yet still I stayed.

I decide on a career change. This career change teaches me about inner strength and I learn about domestic violence laws. I learn that abuse is not just physical, but can be mental, too. I still stayed, but I learned more about boundaries and what I will and won’t put up with.

My sister died by suicide. He feels it’s his right to grieve before I do and forces me to hold in my emotion about my own sister’s death. His frequent line of “stop crying, it doesn’t solve anything” repeatedly played through my head. At this time, I’ve decided I need space and want to find myself and what I want without him trying to manipulate me to his will. We separated but were still married.

I learn that my needs matter and that I am seen and heard by everyone I’ve surrounded myself, minus him. Feeling empowered, I stand my ground against him. He told me we need to talk about things, I told him I have no desire to talk and walked out the door. He followed me and as I tried to get in my car, he stood behind it and told me the only way I was leaving was if I ran him over. I got out of my car and walked away. He followed. I told him to stop following or I would call the police. He stopped following me and went back home.

I made my decision to get a divorce. I returned home after the previous fight, told him that what he did to me the night prior was a crime and that if he ever did anything like that to me again, he would be arrested. He tried to tell me it wasn’t a crime, so I pulled up the vernacular for the specific crime and made him read it, then told him again that he would be arrested if he ever pulled anything like that against me again. I walked out the door and felt freer than I had felt in over 10 years.

Ten years it took me. To learn and recognize that abuse comes in many forms. To learn that I have worth and that I matter. That words can and do hurt just as much as physical abuse can. It took me ten years to learn my body, my rules and I’m so very happy that I did. I continue pushing myself to remember the empowerment I felt walking away and it is a constant struggle. But someone once told me that I can move mountains, so I’m moving mountains. Even if it is just an inch at a time. I stayed for awhile, but I chose to walk away after learning my worth.