Do more than Survive

The normal sane reaction to finding out that someone you love is in an abusive relationship, is to tell them to leave. And It’s easy to say when you’re not in it. I’ve told many friends that were with toxic partners to leave because again, hindsight is 20/20. But when I was in one, despite people who would express concern, it was still hard for me to leave. I was already going through a rollercoaster of emotion with my family, school and work, so having no direction made me perfect for this specific person. Even if you can’t leave because your brain has not reached that point where it can recognize the big neon letters of “THIS IS FUCKING ABUSE”, it’s important to keep hold of yourself. During this period of my life, I was in survival mode almost all the time to keep myself from driving off a bridge just to escape.

For background: I was still in college, but my mom had stopped paying. My grandmother had kicked me out after a fight, and I was living in my mom’s basement where I was getting ready to pay rent for sleeping on a pull-out couch. Emotions were high ,and I was vulnerable, I met my now ex through a kink website. They had just gone through their own breakup and was looking to meet potential partners, and I answered the call. We went to a play party together, hit it off and started becoming a regular thing.

The next step was to move in with each other. And right around this time, is where I should've seen the red flags. We had moved in with roommates, a 3-bedroom 1 bath apartment. The third bedroom would be an office/play room for us all to share. My partner made some rules, (since we would do a dom/sub dynamic):

I could not sleep with just anyone. They had to meet them first.

Our bed was only meant for us. So, no third-party partners could share the bed with us.

And this last rule threw me. And should have been red flag number 1.

I, specifically me, could not have other sexual partners over in the third bedroom.

If that needs clarification. My partner was allowed to use the room for whatever they wanted, if they found a cute little thing that wanted to get flogged, it was no problem. But if I have a partner who wants to take me to bonetown, they have to do it elsewhere. This should have been my clue of where this relationship was going. Because I was still mostly sane, and the gaslighting methods had not been implanted, I protested loudly about the unfairness.

I was met with: “That’s my rules. I’m the dom.”

Which brings me to the first time I broke free to regain some control and sanity.

I had a somewhat consistent, ‘special friend’. The special friend you wore a condom for, because that’s just etiquette. I may get ready to lie to my partners because of a dumb unfair rule, but I’m not giving them an STD for it. He came for me and he could give a flip about what my partner thought or their rules. He was there to get laid, and he got it, twice, then left. Maybe it was cheating, but the rules were that I wasn’t allowed to use the third bedroom for my sex romps. Technically, they had already met this person, so that first rule was satisfied.

To this day, I don’t believe they know what I did. My roommates were even home and, (unfortunately) heard the entire thing. But they never brought it up to me again, or even told my partner what I did.

Fast forward almost a year later. We had moved into a studio apartment on my birthday. At this point in our relationship, I had been

Gas lighted

Man-handled

Lied to

Cheated on

Lied about

And on one special occasion, they had grabbed my desktop computer, held it over their head and threatened to throw it on the ground and destroy it, if I didn’t stop ignoring them.

My mental state was...subdued. People who saw me around this time described me having dead eyes. Still smiling but dead on the inside. I didn’t feel free to do anything, my physical health had taken a dangerous turn, I was working two jobs to help with rent and my partner at the time was using every chance to tear me down. One of my favorite moments is when I mentioned that I had hoped to get another tattoo with a friend sometime and they started yelling at me in the car about how selfish it was when we had rent due. I had to correct myself and explain that it wasn’t soon, just a wish I had said out loud.

Fights were always an explosion. And the apartment we lived in had neighbors all around us, at one point we got a flier about the company having a zero tolerance policy about domestic abuse, we both got scared that someone heard the fighting. Correction. They got scared, because on my birthday we got into a fight and they tried to restrain me and I screamed as loud as possible: “SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME”. No one came. No one knocked. Just the flier showing up a few days later.

This leads into the second time, I tried to regain my sanity. And this was something special only to me.

When I was a kid, my mom introduced me to a vegan restaurant in town. Yes, good luck trying to turn a child who has already tasted soda and red meat into a vegan. But the menu had options for lean meat, that was healthier for you. My favorite dish and still is my favorite is the turkey pepperoni pizza. This place also served smoothies. My ex and I went to this place once together, they made a scene about the vegetables, and told me they were never going back again.

This was a giant plus for me. Because this restaurant was quiet and soothing for me. They would sometimes have local musicians playing but it was always soft and relaxing. Even though I was working 2 jobs to pay for an “efficiency studio” apartment, I still made time for a meal every once in a while. For the longest time, I did it in secret.

I would pick a day I had a few hours to relax. I would swing by the comic shop to check my pull box. I had one series on hold for me so I would spend only $10 at the store. Then I would go to the restaurant, it was in walking distance and order an orange smoothie with the pizza and this was exactly $25. For a pleasant hour, I would hang out, read my comics and enjoy my pizza.

Does it make me a pig that I downed a whole pizza myself? Kind of, it was a small pizza that you could easily devour on your own or share but it was a comfort. It brought back memories of my mom trying to make me a well-rounded person and introduce me to new ideas, like that turkey pepperoni exists. The comics were fun, because it gave me some escapism to look forward to. I could forget that this person I was supposed to be marrying in a matter of months, still felt the need to yell at me, control every aspect they could while also making me feel like I was unworthy.

It was calming and made me feel ready to face anything until they found out one day. We were in a long drawn out fight. My phone was on silent because I was driving. I was in the zone to get some well-deserved peace and forgot to text them back. They assumed I was ignoring them and then called me repeatedly, furious over me ‘blatantly ignoring’ them and demanded to know what I was doing. I explained I was at the restaurant they hated and they yelled, more. The server could hear them and gave me a worried look. I smiled and told my partner to calm down, but they went off about how I was wasting OUR MONEY. (Note: We had separate bank accounts. Because my mom may have raised a dumbass but not a fool. They had no access to my money or authorization to access my account without my say so.)

The fight dissolved, as it did, either with them playing up the “I’m horrible but I can be better, and you make me better.” or “If you had just heard me out, you would know that I only meant the best for you!” These were the two resolutions we went back and forth with. I was heartless and couldn’t see how much they cared, or I was the glue that held them together and if I left, they would fall apart.

At one point they even threw in the popular defense move. Guilt. They threatened suicide if I had left. Things had gotten heated, and actual damage had been done to me, and our cat (yes we brought some poor kitten into this) was terrified and wouldn’t come out until we had both calmed down. But this time, I was shell-shocked. They had actively tried to harm me and do damage, and I remember telling them: “I should leave. I can’t do this anymore.” No mark was on me, and there were no defense marks on them, and they begged me to stay. When I said no, they spelled out exactly what they would do if I left. It ranged from, having to lose the apartment and the cat (my family was not fond of them so she would have to be given away), moving back in with their family, and then suicide.

This tactic worked for several reasons. My second job was working with people with disabilities. The job included background checks, drug tests, fingerprinting, classes on CPR, basic psychology, First aid and at one point how to change a feeding tube. The people in charge of training explained that because of the nature of our job we were considered mandatory reporters. In short, if someone say your partner threatens suicide, and attempts it, and you knew about this attempt and still left. Guess what? Your job was on the line because it shows a lack of empathy and good judgement and when your whole job is centered around empathy and good judgement, it doesn’t look great that you “let your partner attempt self harm.”

The other reason this worked: someone close to me committed suicide years prior. Without going into too much detail, it was somebody, that perhaps I was in love with. Their death lingered on me because it felt like we had run out of time, and if I had known, I would’ve told them, even if it was selfish, to stay. For me.

My ex- fiancé knew this. They literally shook it out of me. They were never a fan of secrets or boundaries and felt that me not immediately spilling my guts about my dead lover was proof that I didn’t trust them. (Because it’s not like the whole incident was emotionally draining and damaging and left some scars which made it hard to talk and articulate. No, it was just because I wanted to be secretive and mysterious.)

Regardless, I stayed, knowing I shouldn’t. If I could prevent a death, I was going to. Even if it meant the cost of my freedom.

This next point will need some context. My ex and I met before their transition. They had an epiphany, realized they were a woman, and started the process. I was supportive, in the sense of if I left they would accuse me of being transphobic. (No joke, after the official breakup I was told that she was claiming I never supported her transition. More on that later.) But this came with some side effects I didn’t expect. Because I did my research on how to be supportive and be helpful, but on no blog, book, Facebook page did they prepare for this level of insecurity. Suddenly any cis/trans man I was attracted to became a competition.

There was this adorable guy who was trans, but it was last on the list of things that mattered. He was cute, sweet, horny, into geeky stuff and cosplay. I did not give two fucks about what was in his pants I just wanted in. And my partner also became attracted to them. This next part floored me.

They asked me to let go of my crush because she would have more in common with him because they were both trans.

You read that right.

I liked this person for who they were and wanted to sleep with them on this basis. My ex wanted to bang this person because of this one thing they had in common and felt that trumped my reason. Any self worth or free will was gone so I let it happen. She left and came back ,talked about (in graphic detail) what they had done and thanked me for it. (Imagine the face of devastation, like a puppy losing its ball and that was how I was feeling after being told what they did.) It didn’t end there either, if I mentioned me having a vague interest in someone suddenly they were on her radar. It made me give up on even trying to have sex outside of the relationship because she would want to share them too. I started not expressing genuine interest in people and at one point stopped hanging out with my crush because I was afraid of her being pursued by them.

Third time, I reclaimed some control and sanity (immediately lost it afterwards but it was still worth a damn shot)

This will also need some explaining. Before all of this, the transition, the manhandling and everything there was an incident that stuck out in my mind that made me scared to try new things with other people. Someone had offered to tie me up and wanted to meet up and chat. We had a set date and time, but my fiancé also had a dentist appointment wanted me to drive them to the appointment.

My naïve brain truly believed there was no problem. I would go have coffee with this individual and then head back to pick up my partner from their appointment. My partner threw fit saying it scared them to go to the dentist. (While it is completely valid to have this fear, they had just turned 30.) Then accused me of abandoning them. This was not a calm conversation, there was yelling involved until I agreed to cancel my plans. But by that time they had decided to not go to the dentist and canceled their appointment. This made me terrified to pursue anything outside of the relationship again.

To compound this fear, my doctor found a fibroid in my uterus. It’s a benign tumor that’s common in women of color and even more common if other people in your family have it had it. Which I did. It was the size of a grapefruit, and because it fed on estrogen that made birth control out of the question. It also made sex very uncomfortable, and I gained weight. In short, I felt unattractive.

One day an old “special friend” texted me, and they hadn’t seen me in a while but still cited me as one of their best times. I asked for permission, and either out of pity, or actual concern she said go for it. And I did, I tried to be confident, but I was still feeling frumpy but I still went through with it. Laying there afterwards, my heart rate was up, I was sweating, he was panting like a dog, and I felt more like myself again. Even felt confident enough to ask for a second go (that was mean of me to ask, he was so tired). I went back home, and apparently I was glowing, and brimming with confidence that my partner tried to get me to sleep with them.

If you remember back to the fibroid part, it made sex very uncomfortable, so it limited me to one ride per day. I reminded her of this, and instead of seceding gracefully. They turned over and shut me out. I tried to be affectionate, but they rebuffed my attempts. This is where I made my mistake and let my confidence get the best of me.

I pointed out the hypocrisy in how they would go out and sleep around and at no point did I expect them to have sex with me immediately afterward. I had a real medical reason for why I shouldn’t try that for the rest of the day, and also it had happened only about an hour prior to this conversation. I was still sore!

I turned my back on her, (first mistake) and sat at my computer to play some games. I was still running my mouth. She then gave her first warning: “Shut up”

My response: “Or what? What are you going to do?! It’s all true!”

No warning. I felt her grab the back of my neck, knock me to the floor and pin me. Then repeatedly yelled at me to shut up.

Just like that it, gone. Within a few minutes of coming home, my confidence just vanished. I started crying, and I don’t remember her even apologizing but like with a lot of our fights we just moved on and went to bed.

Being in a relationship with someone who is not afraid to use physical and even emotional violence against you, will put you into some form of survival mode. Would have it been easier to just leave? Yes, but there were so many factors that became anchors for why I couldn’t. As seen above I tried to leave, and that was the third time I had seriously considered leaving them but was dragged back with the promise that things would get better. I never saw that relationship ending, all I saw was a fight after fight, and me breaking down further. I didn’t look for ways out I just looked for ways to survive it all.