Let me begin by warning you, this post isn't pretty. It may trigger you if you've been in any type of abusive relationship. It includes information about my own abuse, mostly emotional and verbal, but some sexual. Some of you reading this post may know my abuser. I will never mention him by name, but if you are concerned that you know him or that you may be related to him, please stop reading now. Close this page and don't ever think of it again. There are things here that you don't want to read. Finally, a word to my husband, do not feel obligated to read this. Many of the things found within this post we have already talked about, and it may not be worth it for you to relive those initial feelings again. Proceed with caution, readers. It's about to get ugly.
I was 16 when I met him. Actually I was younger when we first met, but I was 16 when we started being friends. "Friends" didn't last long, and soon we were dating. The warning signs were there from the very beginning. He would puff out his chest as my ex boyfriend walked by in the hallways at school, he would run into him in the hallway on purpose and then feign innocence. But it took about six months to really get into the abuse. But I'm skipping ahead of myself.
Let me tell you a little about who I was when I was 16. I was an A/B student. I was in show choir and drama club, English and school work were really my passion. I had just gotten a tattoo and I thought I was bad. I was a very outgoing person, and I had no social phobias. I wanted to be friends with everyone, and I wasn't afraid of anything. I knew I was going to do something with my life.
When I met him, I had just gotten out of a short but rocky relationship. I am a serial committer. I had to be in a relationship because I liked the attention. But my last relationship had ended rather poorly for a few different reasons, mainly because I was good at picking real "winners". I thought he was a winner. He was in the grade below me and I thought he was so great. He was interested in things that I had no idea about, but I learned to appreciate them more as time went on, like video games. Of course, as you'll read, I became very disinterested in those things.
It starts like any other abusive relationship, he let me think he was amazing. It was about six months into our relationship when he had his first episode. He laid on his bedroom floor having some sort of panic attack, I think. He wouldn't get up. He was cold. He was emotionally unavailable. And I fought to bring him out of whatever fog he was in.
I won't give you every instance of abuse, but I will highlight a few that stick out in my mind.
-He once ran away from home. No one knew where he was. His dad had to drive from out of town to come find him. He wouldn't get into his dad's car as his dad drove along the side of the road. His mom later had to pick him up from the police station. "You don't understand him" I remember saying to her. I didn't understand.
-We got into a particularly ugly fight one evening. He wouldn't drive me home. I had to call my best friend who lived in a different town as I walked home. My friend called his grandma and she came to pick me up. He had been following me and as she drove up, he got into the car too. She and I never spoke of that day again, and I was too afraid that he had followed me so silently to even know what to say.
-He threw a hanger at my head. He intentionally missed, by inches. And he didn't just toss it. He threw it with all of his strength.
-He slapped me in the face.
-He would make me lay with him while he slept. I wasn't allowed to move. I couldn't get out of bed, I had to lay beside him. Often times, he forced me to have sex, because I felt like I had to. I didn't have a choice.
-We would have all out screaming matches when we were in his house by ourselves. I was always the bad guy. When I would leave, he would call me and tell me he had swallowed a bunch of pills and was going to lock the door. I had to come back to make sure he was okay. He always told me he threw them up.
-I would go to his house in the mornings to wake him up, because at 16, 17, 18 he couldn't be trusted to get himself out of bed. I would beg him to get out of bed so I wouldn't be late to school, but instead he would make me lay down with him and wouldn't let me leave. I still have panic attacks to this day trying to wake people up.
-He told me to kill myself. I wanted to die. I would have done anything to get away from him. He told me if my life was so bad that I should just kill myself. I tried, and when I failed he laughed at me.
-I had an emergency surgery when I was 18. He wouldn't leave my hospital room, even when my family came to visit me. He never left the hospital the entire week I was there. He failed out of summer school because he wouldn't attend his classes while I was in the hospital.
Most of the abuse though were the little things he told me every day. "No one else will ever love you" "you're getting fat" "you're bipolar" "no one loves you"
He threatened several times to blow up my church and kill my entire family. He told me I'd be divorced by the time I was 30 and that no one would stay with me because I was crazy.
I had no friends because he wouldn't let me spend time with anyone.
I went to college and when I went for my orientation, I tried to break things off. I was afraid of him and tired of fighting. I thought it was time to move on. He threatened to call the cops on me because I wouldn't drive the 45 minutes to bring him his house key during my orientation. He called me time and time again, probably close to 100 times during my school orientation.
Why am I telling you this?
I'm not sure.
I'm just tired of hiding it.
This is part of who I am.
Chances are, you don't know much about me at all.
For two years, I couldn't make eye contact on the street with anyone because I was afraid of them. I was afraid of everyone. I didn't talk. I didn't sing. I didn't laugh. Mostly I cried.
I miss him still sometimes. And it makes me sick. But he was my "best friend" and the only one there for me, because he forced everyone else out.
Sometimes, I still can't look people in the eyes, because I don't want to see the emptiness that I saw in his eyes.
If a man stands over me, I have a panic attack. If he puffs up his chest, suddenly I am small. I do not do intimidation well, and I have a general fear of men.
I have a hard time accepting love.
I gained 60 pounds in the course of a few years. I stress eat, because it's the only thing I could control.
What is left of me is a shell of a teenage girl. I was emotionally stunted at 16. I have problems processing things as an adult and seeing myself as older than that 16 year old girl, though 9 years have passed since I turned 16. I am empty.
But I am rebuilding myself. I am focusing on me. I am working towards health, mental, physical and spiritual. I am learning to rely on those people around me who show me love rather than just spewing hate and disguising it as love.
I am still afraid. But I have friends and family who love me. I have a church that supports me when I am weak, and I have Christ, who has felt every pain that I have, and who carries me when I cannot carry myself.
I am committing to you, who ever you are who is reading this, I will be better. I will not fail. I will not let myself remain empty.
-Emily
