Dirt

I was in an abusive relationship when I was younger. It's still hard to admit. There is so much stigma. People wonder... why would she stay? She must be stupid. What is wrong with her? She deserves it. And so on.

I was madly in love with a very complicated man. I had never been in love before, and so you can imagine how I might have been feeling... that whole first love thing. It's incredible. I was completely consumed with loving him.

I won't go into all of the details of how our relationship came to be. Even that was complicated. It evolved over time and involved a lot of confusion and drama. But it did come to be.

(Wow, this is hard to talk about.)

I knew being in a relationship with this person, loving this person, was unhealthy. He had a lot of demons. Even though I had a vague sense of this from the beginning, it didn't stop me from loving him. I thought, oh, he just needs ME to love him... he will change... if I love him enough, he will love me enough.

When I was a freshman in college, my roommate dropped out. A high school friend moved into my dorm room (because it was far superior to her dorm room). She was a confidante. And she was a witness to this hailstorm of a relationship. She was the one who actually said the word "abusive" for the first time. Out loud. I had thought it and I had felt it in my gut, but I couldn't articulate it. Hearing her say it... oh my God. Oh my God.

I didn't leave though. Why? Because he was smart. And funny. And could be so sweet. He was endearing. We had passion. I was closer to him than any other person. And he would apologize. Beg for my forgiveness. Make promises. Tell me how much he loved me. And so I stayed. And stayed. And suffered. He never beat me, but there was physical violence. He was controlling. He would cheat on me, and then tell me details about his sexual encounters with other women. He made me feel like dirt ("You, you are so special, you have the talent to make me feel like dirt. You, you use your talent to dig me under... and cover me with dirt"). The emotional suffering was intense. A part of me died. I'm not kidding. It sounds melodramatic, but it's true. A part of me died.

I'm not able to pinpoint the ending of our relationship. As with everything else, it was complicated. But it ended. And I went on to date other men, fall in love, get married, get divorced, date other men, fall in love, get married.

I share this story only to shed light. Not for sympathy or shock value, as I know most of you don't know anything about this, including my own husband. I don't talk about it. Not because of the stigma so much, but more because it is not important. It does not define me in any way.  

Yes, there have been long-term consequences related to being in an abusive relationship. Some have resolved over time, some have not. A long time ago, I forgave him and, more importantly, I forgave myself. I have no ill will toward him and wish him the best. I rarely think about our relationship. It tends to rear its head when I find myself struggling with certain things... confrontation... letting someone know they did or said something to hurt me... saying I'm sorry... letting go of "walls" that keep me from being closer to someone. In those moments, if I really stop to think about it, I can trace it back to him. How it affected me over the long haul. I guess there will always be certain scars.

But I don't consider myself a victim. Not at all. I am a strong woman. And I still have an enormous capacity to love. That was not taken from me. My heart is pretty open to possibilities. This sarcastic and surly chick is still an optimist.