After we broke up, the next week was really good. I was smiling again, and not just pasting a fake grin on my face, but really smiling. I knew what I had done was right, leaving him was one of the best and hardest decisions I've ever made in my entire life.
Now, before I go any further, I want to explain why I stayed with him for so long. I'm sure you've heard many stories about how abused women (or men) stay with the abuser. I know, that upon hearing stories like this I always thought, "Why the crap would she go back to him or stay with him? He obviously doesn't love her. Is she stupid? It's obvious she needs to leave. He doesn't deserve her, and she doesn't deserve that abuse." But, after being in an abusive relationship myself, I've really gained a love for women, and men that have been in the same position as I. I'm going to give you some insight on what was going through my mind when I was still with my abuser.
Men and women that are abusive are more manipulative then you can imagine. They are very intelligent, good with words and twisting them to their benefit. They know exactly what to say to hurt you just enough, to get you to believe that you're not good enough, and you won't do any better then you have now. I mentioned in my last post that he called me his leftovers… not only did he say it to me, he brought me to believe through his actions that I really was his leftovers, and I wouldn't do any better than him. We would have really bad days, and when he'd bring me to tears, he would then proceed with buying me flowers or some sort of gift to apologize. He 'really was sorry', 'really did love me', 'didn't mean to make me cry', 'wanted me to stay', 'he would change', 'it would never happen again'. Each was a lie, and a beautifully written one at that. Most of my days spent with him were bad, but every now and then we'd have an amazing day, and it would reassure me of our relationship just long enough for the bad days to continue until the next really amazing one came.
So, continuing on, the first week after was good. However, after that it all went to crap. All those doubts he put in my mind were creeping back in, and I started feeling like I needed him. I felt I wasn't complete without him. The hole I felt in my chest, the emptiness… was unbearable. I felt like part of my soul, my existence, was ripped away from me. I thought I could only regain that through him. I never went back to him, so no need to worry about that. But, I thought about it everyday, for a very long time. A small part of me today, still, after all this time wonders if I made the right decision leaving him. That's how deep he penetrated me.
I remember walking around in a daze, I didn't believe I was really depressed, and I sure as heck didn't accept the fact I had been abused. To me accepting that those things really happened, meant I was weak, that it was my fault he fell out of love with me. I looked back on everything in our entire relationship… over and over it played in my head like a sick nightmare I couldn't escape from. I studied each little movement I made, each word I said, and wondered what I did wrong. Now and then I'd realize something really stupid that I said, or something embarrassing that happened, and I'd feel terrible about it. I'd think to myself, "Maybe that was the day I lost him. Maybe when I said that one thing he realized he didn't really want me." Then I'd go somewhere by myself and cry… for hours. Not just a little cry where tears stream down my face… I mean sobbing, breaking down to the point where I could hardly catch my breath. My chest would hurt so bad I would wish death upon myself, just so I wouldn't have to feel that pain ever again. I would get like this everyday, multiple times a day, for months.
There's one day in particular that I'll never forget. It was on this day I realized just how low I had gotten, and I realized I couldn't do this alone. I needed help, I needed it desperately.
I was in my bathroom, and for whatever reasons I was home alone. I was sitting on the counter with my feet in the sink, I was tweezing my eyebrows at the time which was a big step for me because keeping up on myself hardly ever happened at this point. I was looking at myself in the mirror after I finished shaping my brows. I had just gotten done with one of my severe sobbing episodes. My eyes were bloodshot, puffy, and I looked like I hadn't slept in weeks. At this point in time I had been separated from my abuser for about a year and a half. Even though I was numb to every emotion, I still cried as hard as I did shortly after we had been broken up. Then out of nowhere… I felt this rage… like nothing I've ever felt before. My heart felt like it was on fire. I wanted to put my fist through a wall. My eye started twitching and my entire body was tense. Then just as quickly as it came it left, and I was still sitting there, emotionless. Moments later I realized, that was the first time I had felt any kind of emotion in a really long time, probably about 4 months. I wanted to feel it again, even though rage was the last emotion I wanted to be exhibiting. So then I started coming up with ideas, ways I could force myself to feel an emotion, feel anything at all… then I get the worst idea I think I'd ever gotten. "I could feel something if I cut myself. I won't do it deeply… just enough to bleed so I feel some sort of pain."
You want to know what I did?
I went downstairs to my basement. Walked right over to my dads toolbox, and found an exacto knife blade. I tested the blade on a piece of cardboard to make sure it was still sharp and it was. Then I sat down right there and started cutting at my wrist. I didn't even sanitize the blade, in all honesty I hoped I'd get an infection. After making a small incision, I realized my idea had worked. As I watched the blood dribble down my arm… I found myself putting the blade to my wrist again. It was messed up, entirely messed up… and the worst part about it was I liked it. I liked finally feeling something again. I ended up making the triforce symbol…. but I wouldn't say I had any wisdom, power, or courage flowing through my veins at that point. That was one thing he didn't take away from me, my absolute nerdy side.
After I finished, I laid on the cold concrete floor for awhile. My arm was burning like crap and I didn't even care. Then I went upstairs and washed off the blood from the blade and my wrist. I put on a long sleeved shirt and hid the blade in my room. Later that night after my family had gone to bed, I laid awake, staring into the darkness, tears were running down my cheeks. Then I felt my second emotion for the day. Fear. Fear that I would take my own life. All these other emotions were on the back burner, but deep down I knew it was time for me to confide in someone. I couldn't trust myself to be alone anymore.
There's one day in particular that I'll never forget. It was on this day I realized just how low I had gotten, and I realized I couldn't do this alone. I needed help, I needed it desperately.
I was in my bathroom, and for whatever reasons I was home alone. I was sitting on the counter with my feet in the sink, I was tweezing my eyebrows at the time which was a big step for me because keeping up on myself hardly ever happened at this point. I was looking at myself in the mirror after I finished shaping my brows. I had just gotten done with one of my severe sobbing episodes. My eyes were bloodshot, puffy, and I looked like I hadn't slept in weeks. At this point in time I had been separated from my abuser for about a year and a half. Even though I was numb to every emotion, I still cried as hard as I did shortly after we had been broken up. Then out of nowhere… I felt this rage… like nothing I've ever felt before. My heart felt like it was on fire. I wanted to put my fist through a wall. My eye started twitching and my entire body was tense. Then just as quickly as it came it left, and I was still sitting there, emotionless. Moments later I realized, that was the first time I had felt any kind of emotion in a really long time, probably about 4 months. I wanted to feel it again, even though rage was the last emotion I wanted to be exhibiting. So then I started coming up with ideas, ways I could force myself to feel an emotion, feel anything at all… then I get the worst idea I think I'd ever gotten. "I could feel something if I cut myself. I won't do it deeply… just enough to bleed so I feel some sort of pain."
You want to know what I did?
I went downstairs to my basement. Walked right over to my dads toolbox, and found an exacto knife blade. I tested the blade on a piece of cardboard to make sure it was still sharp and it was. Then I sat down right there and started cutting at my wrist. I didn't even sanitize the blade, in all honesty I hoped I'd get an infection. After making a small incision, I realized my idea had worked. As I watched the blood dribble down my arm… I found myself putting the blade to my wrist again. It was messed up, entirely messed up… and the worst part about it was I liked it. I liked finally feeling something again. I ended up making the triforce symbol…. but I wouldn't say I had any wisdom, power, or courage flowing through my veins at that point. That was one thing he didn't take away from me, my absolute nerdy side.
After I finished, I laid on the cold concrete floor for awhile. My arm was burning like crap and I didn't even care. Then I went upstairs and washed off the blood from the blade and my wrist. I put on a long sleeved shirt and hid the blade in my room. Later that night after my family had gone to bed, I laid awake, staring into the darkness, tears were running down my cheeks. Then I felt my second emotion for the day. Fear. Fear that I would take my own life. All these other emotions were on the back burner, but deep down I knew it was time for me to confide in someone. I couldn't trust myself to be alone anymore.
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