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When I was about 21 years old, I met a man. For what ever reason at the time, and against my gut instincts, I moved right in with him, dragging my then almost 2-year-old daughter along for the ride. I only knew him for a couple weeks when I made that careless decision. I did not love him, nor did I ever tell him so. He started telling me almost immediately (first red flag), and I would just look at him weird and say, thank you, or I know. Not because I was so lovable, but even then I realized he was not saying those words because of how he felt about me, he was telling me that because it was what he longed for. The day I moved in with him, I told my mom that if he ever hit me to not let me stay. I knew even then, but rather than listen to myself I proceeded under the pretense that I’d be fine.
Two months after moving in with him, we went out drinking with a few of his friends. I had such a wonderful night, his friends loved me, yet he seemed confused by how funny they thought I was. I had always thought that one of my positive attributes was my sense of humor. That night turned out to be one of the worst nights of my adult life, and now I know that it was the first in many moments that reflected how I truly felt about myself, and how we attract people into our lives based on how we view ourselves.
We got home late, and I was in a happy place, and if I had not been buzzed I may have noticed he was not sharing in my happy space, he was stewing on something and was very unhappy. He asked me for a granola bar, and I jokingly flung it behind my shoulder pretending to be a ninja expecting him to either block it or catch it. He did neither, instead, when it landed on the ground he picked it up, never losing focus on me, and threw it straight at my smiling face. He then lunged at me, grabbing my hair and dragging me into the living room all the time yelling over and over, “You think you are so funny don’t you, BITCH!” “You think my friends thought you were funny, you aren’t so funny now are you, bitch!” Then proceeded to pick me up and throw me into his glass coffee table. I could not get away from him, he was throwing me around like a rag doll, and in between throwing me into things, breaking things, he repeatedly tried to break my neck and choked me unconscious. It may have been hours, it may have been minutes, I can’t be sure of the time it took for me to stop struggling, but I knew he was going to kill me and I stopped fighting back and gave up. I woke up the next day numb, and in shock. I planned on leaving him, but I still convinced myself I had to wait till the “right” time. When he raised his voice and hand to me one last time, I flinched and he laughed and said, “I will only feel bad until the bruises fade away,” I knew there was never going to be a right time to leave.
Two weeks later I left, scared out of my mind about what he may do, but more terrified to stay and find out one way or another. I didn’t realize it at the time, I took that moment, that giant ball of bad energy, all of that fear, anger, and blame with me. I’ve carried it around like some sort of trophy, that I earned in battle. The wounds I suffer from today are of my own doing. I subconsciously felt responsible for other peoples intentions, and I took that out on myself. We become separate from our true selves by identifying through other peoples own perceptions of their world.
My screwed perspective for all of the years following that night was that he was trying to break my spirit, and wanted to kill me, but he got tired and went to bed. (He tried to convince me that if he didn’t love me he wouldn’t have stayed to beat me, he would have just left). I now have a new perspective, and one that a lot of people will not understand or accept, but this is my personal truth.
He didn’t leave me on the ground to die, I had been there the whole time, In fact, I was so used to the view by then, I didn’t notice much of a change. He was showing me in a very aggressive and in your face way, how I already felt about myself. If that had not been the case, I would never have been drawn to someone with so much self-hatred, and then allowed his personal hatred to be imposed onto myself. I already hated myself, he was a reflection of my already festering feelings. If I take a step back and take his role in the moments we spent together, I can now see through the expression of his own pain, and anger how he saw himself. For him when I was at my best self, happy, free, funny, and loving, that was the opposite of how he felt, so I became a threat, and his personal longing to be happy made him hate what I reflected for him as well. I now consider him to be one of my many teachers. I don’t believe he would understand if I thanked him though, but I honestly do. Some of us are mirrors that keep reflecting back and forth until we change the way we see ourselves. Remember that the next time someone triggers an emotion that does not match the situation.
Through my worst moments in life, they were just that. Only moments. I chose to re-live those moments as a form of punishment a need to suffer. By always feeling shame, feeling bad, feeling guilt, being taught to suppress feelings, rather than being true to my self at all times. I gave in to humanities view on abuse. There is always someone to blame! When the abuse was no longer happening, I turned inside myself and continued the abuse with the inner dialogue of the worst emotionally abusive person I know. I was not forgiving of myself, patient, compassionate, or honest. I did not love myself, therefore I was not allowing true unconditional love to be in my life. It took me literally 41 years to learn from my darkest moments the worst nights and to love myself again by seeing myself as I truly am. No matter what anyone thinks of me, good or bad. I am okay with being me, and that is such a beautiful step in this sometimes painful life.
And by the way, I am a very funny bitch!