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Don't Look Back

Surviving an Abusive Relationship

By Kimberly AlcornPublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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"We have to end this," I said, looking out the window. My breath fogged the glass, marking the barrier between myself and the frigid winter night beyond.

"No, please don't. You can't be serious," he said quietly. His bright blue eyes glistened with unshed tears and he took my hand in his and squeezed gently. "Please. I'll change. I'll do whatever you want me to do, be whatever you want me to be. Just please don't break up with me."

It made my skin crawl. Feeling his hands on mine. I clenched my teeth, steeled my resolve. "I am serious. I can't do this anymore! I can't keep up with the lies, the fights, the apologies, the broken promises, the guilt-"

He didn't let me finish. "I know, I know. I've been a douche, but I will change. I swear to you, Kimberly." He used my full name. A trick to lull me into forgiveness. No one ever used my full name except my grandma... who was dead. He knew that.

"But you've said that before," I argued. My patience—and my resolve—were wearing thin. As angry and exhausted as I was, I would be a fool to say I didn't still love this man. That I didn't still swoon when I heard the timbre of his voice, or that my heart didn't flutter when I saw him bat his long lashes over those ocean eyes.

"You're right. You're right. But Kim, there have been promises you've made and haven't kept either. And I mean, we're both just human. We can't be perfect." There it was: the guilt.

Sensing his victory, he added with a grin, "And you can't expect me to behave myself around someone so incredibly gorgeous."

I laughed and it turned into a choked-back sob. Part of me wanted to cling to him, to his affection and adoration. But part of me... part of me wanted to get out of that car and run as fast and as far away from him as possible. It was like I could see myself from a distance, sitting in the passenger side of his Bronco on that dark night as we idled in front of my house. I was a prisoner in this relationship because I didn't have the strength to tell him "No."

See, I knew the drill because I'd done this twice before. I break up with him, he calls me and texts me endlessly until I have to block his number and all of his social media profiles. Then he starts calling my friends and won't leave them alone until they agree to talk to me for him. He shows up at my work with roses and smiles and promises. He's sorry and he's so lost without me. He's pitiful, he's adorable, and in the end I can't say no to those baby blues. I've always been weak for them... And I hate thinking I'm hurting anyone; I'd rather hurt myself than anyone I care about. So I give in and let him back in my life, and it's not long until he's back to his old ways: telling me twisted versions of the truth, hiding things, making me feel like the guilty one for pointing those things out, pressuring me into doing things I'm not comfortable with (sometimes sexual in nature and other times slightly illegal in nature). All the while my family and my friends can see the strain on my face and they know—they know!—but I'm in love so I deal with it.

I clenched my hands into fists as the memories washed over me anew. "No. Stop. I need you to leave me alone this time. Don't call me, don't call my friends, don't show up at work. It's over for good this time."

The tears started to roll down his face and he looked frantic. "Wait. What can I do? How can I fix this? You can't—you cannot—leave me. I need you!"

I didn't look at him. I couldn't. Instead I just opened the door and stepped out. He called after me, begging me not to do this. My heart was ripping in half and my legs felt numb as I walked up the icy steps to my front door. Before I could get the key in the lock, my phone was ringing. I silenced it. He rolled down the window and yelled at me, his voice breaking in the wind. I didn't look back. I went inside and shut the door behind me and then collapsed against it, shaking. My eyes were hot with tears but I didn't cry. Not yet. There were too many emotions coursing through my veins: sorrow, relief, joy, hope, emptiness, guilt, exhaustion. My phone continued to ring until I finally turned it off. I'd done it. Finally.

He didn't stop. It was just like I knew it'd be. He contacted both of my best friends and several co-workers and then finally, in desperation, my parents. And they—thankfully—were strong enough to do what I couldn't do: they put a restraining order against him. I felt terrible about it (which is absurd), but it gave me the room I needed to breathe and to be. To figure myself out again.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

My abuse was not physical; I never had to carefully cover bruises or cuts or fingernail marks. I don't have scars anyone can see. My abuse was constantly being told I needed him, that I couldn't live without him, and that it was wrong of me to point out his flaws. It came in the form of promises, gifts, and kisses, but left me feeling guilty, trapped, and alone. It tore me from family and friends who loved me because they didn't like him and that made them evil. It changed me from the inside out like poison, slowing working its way through my life until everything was under his control. And the crazy thing is I loved him. No, love him. Still. Ridiculous, right? To this day, when I think about him I'm filled with warm fuzzies and fond memories and I ache to be with him again... but I know those memories are wrong. That image of him, of my happiness during that time, isn't real and I have to force myself to remember the cold, sad truths. I also hate him to my core for what he put me (and my friends and family!) through. Sometimes I want to drive the 600 miles between us and knock on his front door and then give him a black eye when he answers. I want to yell and him and curse and scream and beat him until he's as hurt as I was. Am.

But I haven't done those things. Nor have I allowed myself to read any of the letters he has persistently sent me over the years. There have been fleeting moments when I've wanted to, but I am so thankful I haven't. It's a struggle sometimes and I'll never understand why. Why does part of me still cling to him? I've grown though. I know I can't ever go back.

I'm a little bit sadder because of him, but also a little bit wiser and a little bit stronger.

But more than any of that, I am free.

breakups
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About the Creator

Kimberly Alcorn

Lover of dogs, the outdoors, classic literature, and horror movies.

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