Sunday, December 1, 2013

Star Date: December 1, 2013 Cleaning Out My Closet

 Growing up, my dad always told me two things. "Don't become a statistic,"  i.e., don't get pregnant, don't drop out, don't become an abused teen. And, "If I ever find out that you're lying to me, it'll break my heart." I'm sorry Daddy.

 My mother and I were eating lunch together at my childhood home around this time last year, talking about my ex. When the subject of how he treated me came up I responded with, "You have no idea mom, no idea." 

"Give me an idea, Emy," she asked as I bit into a sandwich.

I could only shake my head and mumble, "He was just a really bad person."

"Please tell me, I'm your mom," she pleaded.

So I told her, trying to keep calm and remain tear free as I gave my mother a peak behind doors that I'd kept shut for five years. 

"Did his mom know about this?"

I had managed a pretty steady facade when I had relayed previous events to her, but this simple question was my breaking point that day.

"You know the worst part mom," I cried, "was when she asked questions, he'd tell her that I was the abusive one. He made me out to be a monster."
 

Later that evening, after I had gone home, she informed my father of the huge bomb I had dropped. I wish I had been brave enough to tell him myself.
 

My mom was the one who suggested that I write this. I thank both of them for teaching me to be strong. I wrote the following tale later that week, showed it to a close family friend and mentor (which was sort of my way of letting her know that I'd been victimized) and then let it gather virtual dust on my computer. I wanted to get it published in some magazine somewhere, but working full time leaves little time to write query letters to every magazine that might possibly care, so I decided to post it here. This is a part of my at home therapy, I haven't talked to a professional about what happened, only the people close to me and it is taking a long time to recover. I can't go on without a shout out to my mentor for helping me realize that this needs to be shared.





*
 

I was 13 and hurting. I was different and refused to conform. A mixed girl in a mostly Wonderbread town, a self-proclaimed wiccan with dark make-up and a dark wardrobe who only had a few friends throughout middle school (and it seemed like my circle of friends was always shrinking) and was more interested in writing and staying in than watching the big game and going out. I met Jess when a new friend had invited me to stay the night at her house. There were three of us, and we snuck out to meet up with Jess because my friend (I'll call her Rose) had a crush on him.

Jess was mysterious and made my heart race. I thought I was so cool, sneaking out to meet a boy and texting a different boy (who is insignificant to my story at this point). My hair was big, I was wearing heavy, dark make-up and to my surprise the boy who I only met because of Rose, was interested in me. Jess was white, and blonde with blue eyes, but he wore make-up and the same shade of nail polish as I did. We were both teased for being different and I felt like we were kindred spirits. He was an artist and a poet, so I thought we'd get along great. 

When Jess and I began our courtship, I was insanely happy. No boy had really ever taken an interest in me before. I was being introduced to the sensation that I now know as lust. Yet in the midst of my dopey first-legitimate-relationship-ever euphoria, I ignored the "bros before hos" rule and let my friends fall to the wayside one-by-one. None of them liked Jess and he had somehow managed to occupy all of my free time. Granted, there were some "friends" that I would have grown apart from anyways, but there is one I wish I hadn't lost.
 


From the very beginning Jess was poison and our relationshit was toxic. But I refused to see that until it was too late.
 


Jump ahead several months. Things had been violent between Jess and I, on both ends, but I thought that I was happy. What's a few yelling matches and bruises if you're happy? I had made a heart out of cornstarch, water, and paint as a gift for having lasted six-months. One thing led to another and we began to fight, again. Then the heart that had taken days to craft, dry and paint was thrown to the hardwood floor and shattered. I should have ended it then, but I was young and figured that things would get better. After this particular fight my parents tried to separate me from Jess for the summer, especially after they found out that he had made suicide threats during a lot of our fights. This suspension only lasted a month.
 


Our relationship was filled with contention from the very beginning, I just didn't realize it until after I stopped biting, scratching and hitting instead of verbalizing my rage. After I realized that hurting to emphasize your feelings is not okay, it became obvious that Jess wasn't changing. He wasn't growing up, and the little good times we had faded to mostly bad ones fairly quickly. I was a "whore", "slut", or a "fat pig", even when we weren't fighthing. Jess spat venom at me that made me burst into tears instantly, which classified me as a "cry baby".
 


At first it was easy to hide bruises and easily masked mental wounds. Then, one night we were hanging out at his mom's house and she had left the living room to shower, while his step-dad watched TV in their bedroom. Jess took advantage of the alone time and confiscated my phone to look through it because he was paranoid. I begged and begged for him to give it back, and when he finally did, he threw it and it hit me in the middle of the forehead. A bump formed instantaneously and apologies spewed from his mouth. He wasn't sorry because of what he did, but because he didn't want to get caught. For whatever reason, I told everybody that I walked into the bottom corner of a cupboard (I'm clumsy enough that no one thought twice about my story).

It happened a lot more than it should have. He'd hurt me in some obvious way and then get overwhelmingly apologetic and beg for me to lie to cover his ass. I should have chosen not to go along with it, but I was so afraid of what Jess would do if I ratted him out that I decided it was easier to lie and pretend like everything was fine than tell the truth and get help. I started keeping too many secrets from the people who deserved to know and could have helped. I felt like a rare, exotic bird that had been caged, or a butterfly that was collected to put on display. Nevertheless, I thought I could handle it, I figured that once highschool was over I could just run away from the situation and never look back. I had myself convinced that dealing with things until I graduated would be easier than telling someone and getting the police or school system involved and being safe.
 


I still thank the universe that I'm alive nearly everyday. There were quite a few times that Jess nearly killed me by strangling me or suffocating me with a pillow. My life was horrible and I wanted to die. I'd pop handfuls of acetaminophen to numb the pain with the hopes that maybe I'd be hospitalized or put out of my misery.  Jess had me making his food, taking off his shoes and socks  after school and putting them on for him when I had to leave. If I wanted to go to sleep, I had to wait for hours after my body and brain were exhausted to wait on him hand on foot. If I told him to do it himself or dozed off, he'd hurt me until I complied. If I cried or struggled he'd hurt me, trying to force me to be quiet, because he was ever worried about being caught. Sometimes I'd pretend to sleep just so that I could ignore him, but that brought on the blows too.
 


In July of the summer between my sophomore and junior year, his parents took us on a trip to Seattle. I thought that maybe things would be okay, that maybe I'd get a vacation on my vacation. I don't remember most of the trip, but I do know that nothing was different. I was surly and couldn't wait to get home. The warmth that belongs in a relationship was gone and we were just going through the motions. One morning in Seattle, we began to fight and Jess hit my shin so hard that a large, bruised, lump formed and it hurt to walk.Jess made me tell his parents that I had tripped and fell into an end table in our room.
 

When we got back from Washington that summer Jess had been gifted his first car. My parents' car had been forfeited to the tow shop here because they had been going through their own problems, so Jess stayed with me at my parents house for a while and drove them around to help them get a new car. Things had changed drastically. Jess thought that my parents were screw ups and mentioned it to me everyday. How, because they clean for a living, they were low lifes and how the decisions they made had made them bad people. He also accused me of doing obscene things with my parents, just to see me cry and gag. These comments about my family hurt worse than any bruise or bump, I was at the end of my rope.
 


At the end of the summer I'd decided that I'd had enough and attempted to break up with him. My parents had gotten a new car and I didn't need to keep him around anymore. I can't remember how, if it had been threats of suicide or the threat to send any specail pictures he had of me to everybody in his contacts list, but somehow he had found a way to weasle another couple of years out of me.
 


I was broken and cold, and lusting after "love" and warmth. I'd never before considered extra "marital" relationships but I was at my wits end. I began flirting a little more and attempted to make friends. The classes that I didn't have with Jess were my time to socialize and flaunt my figure a little bit. I was warming up to becoming what I would now call a monster. 

Junior prom was an interesting time for me. I ordered a black, goth-lolita dress online and was super excited because my only two friends were coming with. Dre, my best friend since I was seven, and Mary, who had moved to my hometown that year, met Jess and I at a faux-fancy Italian restaurant. It was miserable. Dre and Mary both saw that my relationship was unhealthy. At the prom Jess sat down, and, while I desperately wanted to dance, I knew that if I did what I wanted he would make me suffer. We weren't there for very long. I wanted to dance and Jess just wanted to leave.
 


It wasn't until the end of junior year that I fell...not in love, but in lust for a better life wih a mysterious senior (I'll call him Chester) in my math class. We became friends and by the end of the summer, had both expressed a dislike for our relationships and an excitement for each other. From the end of August to mid-October I was insanely happy again. Jess didn't know about my (for lack of a better word) affair, and the abuse had tapered off because Jess had finally gotten a summer job (which was the only job that he had during our relationship. His other sources of income were his parents and me). I knew that I had found something better, so the small bit of harshness that was left seemed bearable.
 

Then Chester decided that what we were doing was wrong. If I could, I'd thank him for our time together and his decision to end it with me and be with his girlfriend. But at the time of the end of our affair, I was crushed. I couldn't eat, cried all the time and was desperate to at least just be friends with the boy (which couldn't be because of the monster that had been brewing inside of me).
 


Then the abuse dwindled a little. I was spending as little time as possible with  Jess and asking my parents to say "No, you can't hang out with Jess" so that I could go hang out with the friends I made second semester. As the abuse crescendo-ed again, going from only verbal to being so aggressive that I was afraid for my life, I accidentally reunited with an old friend (I'll refer to him as Eric). He listened and comforted me, and being broken, the monster in my soul looked for love in him and thought that I had found it. It didn't last long, but I was so desperate for a way out that I clung to it for as long as I could.
 


Senior prom, I went with a group of friends sans Jess and felt no remorse because he had a second girlfriend (which I approved of because Megan distracted him, even though we didn't break up). I danced the entire time. It was the most fun that I'd had the entire time I was in high school. That was right around the time that my monster emerged. I knew that I could control the world if I wanted to and played the game so well that Jess never truly knew what I was capable of behind his back. I entered into a terrifying stage of my life where I was toying with the boys that I knew. I was flirting with Eric while trying to rekindle a relationship with Chester. In the middle of this I had made friends with a stoner-surfer boy who I'd known since middle school (I'll go with the name Daniel). And just like Nancy from the Showtime series "Weeds" I started stringing Daniel along too (no sex, just talk and once there was a make-out session). As graduation neared, I began to worry less. Soon, I could be free and none of it would matter.
 


One day before we graduated, Jess and I were walking to the car when he mentioned how hot a classmate of ours was. I immaturely responded by yelling about how much of a pig he was for saying that to me. The monster in me enjoyed yelling and causing a scene because that part of me hoped that maybe someone would intervene. When we got into his truck, he backhanded me, giving me a fat lip. I told everyone that I'd punched myself in the face trying to zip up my hoodie (because I'd done it before. The zipper on that hoodie was kind of broken so I had to pull it with some force. But I'd never busted my own lip). Another time, I think it was after this incident but it could have been before, he hit me in the face and left a lump above my eyebrow and a nice purple bruise on my eyelid that I had to work very hard to conceal with eyeshadow. I blamed these injuries on my large, overzealous black lab.
 


Graduation was on my birthday. I was pretty upset for a while because my parents viewed the ceremony as mandatory. But Jess wasn't going, so I was thankful for the reprieve. But after receiving my diploma, celebrating with family and friends (I had invited Eric to my party instead of Jess, in my head Eric was the one who was supposed to be there), and opening presents, Jess "needed" to see me (Eric had already left because his girlfriend thought he was having dinner with his mom). I had pushed my luck to it's limits. When I got into his car he unleashed his anger with a vengance that made me wonder if I'd ever see the people who had come to my graduation party again. This, too, was a common occurance. If I was driving he'd punch me in the right leg until it hurt to accelerate or brake, warning me not to cry or scream or make a scene. If he was the one driving, then my left leg would become so bruised that I'd wonder if I'd be able to get out of the car.
 


The last handful of months of our so called relationship was particularly violent. I planned to buy a car (because the wonderful POS Station Wagon I had driven all through high school had finally died in late April) and disappear. I'd stop talking to Jess, change my phone number, and maybe go to the women's shelter to finally seek the help I needed. When the day finally came, I bought a beautiful, red, 1982 5-speed that I didn't know how to operate (I'd later learn that this car belonged to my soulmate's friend, it was then sold to the guy that I bought the car from...small world isn't it?). That same day, my parents' car stopped working. I let them borrow my new ride until they got their situation figured out (the car they had bought the summer before my junior year turned out to be more of a lemon than we had realized and they had to get yet another new-to-us vehicle). I didn't mind, a family is supposed to stick together in times of hardship, but Jess made sure to add it to the list of things that made my parents losers.
 

Soon, I told myself, just a little bit longer and it will all be okay.
 

When I got my car back I let Jess teach me how to drive stick shift. One day I refused to go up a (then) daunting slope in an awkward parking lot, I was still learning and unsure of what I was doing. Jess was enraged when I showed some backbone and didn't listen to his command. He hurt me for not listening. I demanded that he get out of my car, and he refused, making things worse. A neighbor of his heard the commotion, boldly walked to my car and asked if everything was alright. We lied, claiming that I was frustrated because I had stalled my car. Then Jess told me to drive away to keep up appearances. Sobbing, in pain, and just wanting to be left alone, I had gone into auto-pilot mode and wasn't really paying attention.
 

This is how I managed to lose my car before the license plates arrived in the mail. I pulled out to cross the street when a car was coming down a one-way and I got T-boned. The accident wasn't bad, no one was injured, but my car suffered, and because it was my fault there was no real way for me to fix the damage. The next day I got a call back for an interview. I eagerly started my job as a clerk at the gas station (My first day was on the fourth of July to put the timeline in perspective). Every 8 hours there was a chunk of time that I didn't have to be near Jess. The abuse continued, and most of my money was wasted on keeping him happy. Worst of all, he had brought another third party into our relationship after Megan broke up with him that month.
 

And then I met my Pumpkin, a tall gorgeous man with kind blue eyes and a mop of brown hair. From the first moment i saw him, I knew that I loved him (although it had taken a month or so for me to get his phone number and admit to myself that my feelings were valid.). He had made going to work that much better. When I had finally manned up and non-chalantly asked for his number, I had decided that if nothing more I wanted to be friends with him.
 

Pumpkin and I began texting constantly. Then he'd come see me while I was at work because I could never sneak away from home to see him. The introduction of this fabulous being, my soulmate, into my life made me not want to take the pills anymore. I stopped hurting myself so that I could live to see the day when I would open my eyes and see his face. Finally, after I confessed to Pumpkin that I love him and he concurred, I started finding excuses and blatantly lying so that I could see him. I felt safe, and I had this feeling in my heart that things would get better. Pumpkin and I had had several of the "Why are you there instead of here with me if you love me" conversations and I had a deadline in my head. I wanted to be living with my soulmate by December 21st 2012, because if doomsday really was coming, I wanted to go through it with him. 

Breanne (Jess's girlfriend) had a lot of problems. Jess would bring her over to my parents house (because he couldn't let his parents know that he had a girlfriend who wasn't me) and they'd fool around when I was there and have sex if I was out. He'd bring her over when she was in her darkest places too...she nearly overdosed in my bed twice. The first time made me an hour late for work (but hey, Jess wasn't hurting me and didn't notice if I was going to hang out with Pumpkin outside of work). The second time we took Breanne to the hospital. After leaving Breanne and Jess in the ER I fled to Pumpkin's house because what I'd just witnessed was too much for me to bear. Emergency rooms are terrifying...the night we went there happened to be a couple of other patients who were screaming in agony, not to mention the sight of Breanne high out of her mind on cough syrup, Tylenol and oxys while being hooked up to machines and pumped with fluids to ensure that she didn't die.

This story finally comes to a close at my parents' house, where I had been staying with Jess and the more than occasional Breanne. I didn't complain about him bringing her over, her presence kept the attention off of me and gave me the time to text Pumpkin without worrying about getting caught. Yet, despite my lack of concern, it was still my parents house and they were getting  burned out by the inconsistant visiting times. They had never expected their house to turn into a youth hostil.
 

In a strange twist of fate, my father's war with alcoholism (which he ia now winning) saved me. Jess and Breanne were out of the house and my parents were drunk and fighting. I couldn't deal with the negativity and texted Pumpkin to come and get me. My mom told me to make sure that Jess knew that he couldn't come back to their house. I never looked back. Having been given the chance to fly, I soared.

Pumpkin saved my life, not only because I am no longer at risk for being severely injured, but also because I no longer fell the need to touch the acetaminophen that I used to shovel down my throat to feel numb. 



I wish that I would have gotten help, and forced help upon Jess instead of fleeing from the terror, but it's hard to admit that you need help when in your head you're strong enough to deal with the problem. 


I would never wish my nightmare on anyone. No girl or boy deserves to be treated like trash or brainwashed into feeling worthless. No child should ever purposely alienate themselves from their parents. Mine didn't know about what was going on because I didn't want them to know. Furthermore, I had also pushed away people who cared about me. People I've known since I was seven years old. Being trapped turned me into a cheating, lying, secretive monster. I wish I had gotten help, butI'm sfe and happy now and that's all that matters.
 

Now, from the sounds of what you just read, you might draw the conclusion that I need a man to be happy. However, this is not the case. No one needs a special someone in their life to complete them or in order to be happy. Happiness is a contentment and satisfaction with your life, and when you find someone you can truly share your life with who doesn't subtract from the contentment and satisfaction, it makes things that much better. I had already gone through the rebound and emotional detachment from Jess. I had wormed my way into poisonous relationship after poisonous relationship, and then I met a man who took my words away with his mere presence.


Remember, it doesn't matter when you get out of an abusive relationship, what matters is that you get out of it. It's never too late. At 19 years old, I know that abuse doesn't wait for you to grow up and be strong enough to know what to do. Abuse is a boa constrictor that wraps you in a friendly hug and then slowly begins to suffocate you. The only way to be free is to kill the beast. If you become the  victim of violence, whether it's abuse in your family or a relationship, or if you are sexually abused or assaulted, remember that it's not your fault. It doesn't make you weak or any less of a person. Whomever is treating you like garbage is committing a crime.
 

You are strong. You can overcome. Don't be afraid to ask for help, it will save your life. 

About the Picture: The photo is of a necklace I made my Senior year during a technology based kind of spirit week (I think it might have been called geek week, but I'm not sure anymore). My English class was in the library (or maybe it was history...it was so long ago) and there was a table set up where you could make jewelry (or whatever) out of old keyboard keys...I made a couple because I needed a break from whichever assignment, but this one was the most profound. *1.N3ED.2.esc...It reads "I need to escape". On the outside I was being creative and artistic, I love weird things like that, but on the inside, I was crying out. I didn't want to be captured, killed and put on display like a rare butterfly, I wanted to fly. 

11 comments:

  1. Thank you for telling your story! "Jess" will get what's coming to him. Stay strong beautiful one.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The only crime committed by a victim of abuse is being willing to take responsibility for her actions, being willing to believe that if she could just make him happy, then it would not happen again. It is 23 years since I was able to divorce my abusive ex husband and my eyes still fill with tears at the thought of your pain. You were strong enough to fly, you will come through the healing process even stronger. YOU ARE NOT ALONE! <3

    ReplyDelete
  3. I have shared the link to this page to survivor pages on Facebook. As Marie Dickens writes, you are not alone! Once again, thank you for your courage in sharing. It is my hope that you have healing and that your story will help others get out of abusive situations.

    ReplyDelete
  4. I've known you since before you were born, but have yet to meet you as an adult. I know you've got great parents who raised a strong and lovely daughter. You deserve so many of the good things the world has to offer and the world deserves the good of you, too. Thank you for sharing your experiences. You may make the difference for someone else going through the same thing. Hold your head high!

    ReplyDelete
  5. Relationship abuse is a huge problem in today's society . . . and it is very rarely addressed. It happen to females, males, blacks, white, pinks, greens, young and old. It has no boundaries of whom it will claim. I am saddened to read your blog and yet so proud of you for stepping forward and saying "I'm worth more!" Schools, families and communities need to open their eyes and ears to relationship abuse. Hopefully your story will help other young people realize they are not alone and it isn't ok.

    ReplyDelete
  6. You are a strong beautiful woman. KNOW that you are loved and will always be loved.

    ReplyDelete
  7. It's important that you remember those feelings of having your power taken away, of having your life stolen, and the fear that was left in the places where your life, your power, and your will used to live. It's important so that if you should ever feel the beginning of those feelings again you can shout, "enough" and run as far and as fast as you need to. You'll find that many (too many) women have been in that place and understand the bad place it comes from. I do notice though, that you keep saying "should", I should have done this or said this, I should have known better. In to words of affine old saying, "Don't should on me and I won't should on you".. You should have done exactly what you did, Survive. No one expects you to rescue the whole ship if you're on the Titanic. Staying alive is hard. Hindsight is easy. I forgive you, now forgive yourself.

    ReplyDelete
  8. I Was older and had a child of my own. I had sworn I would never be an abused woman. The abuse was insidious. It started as verbal abuse and slowly escalated from there. None of us are imune. The worst part is while when he physically abused me I had brken ibs or black eyes but when he abused my son he left no physical marks. My son onset with bipolar disorder and when he was 14 beat the hell out of our abuser but he ended up in jail. That was 7 years ago and it is still something we both suffer and each blames ourselves. Abuse is not always something you recognize sometimes you fall in the rabbit hole and think you are not abused but for some perverse reason you are getting what you deserved. I will never look at an abused person the same way. I use to think they were weak but now I know better. Bless you for you strength to voice your ordeal. I hope you can forgive yourself because we alwys blame ourselves. You are a survivor you are strong and now you know what you DON'T deserve.

    ReplyDelete
  9. You are a brave warrior for yourself and for countless others that will find strength by reading your story. Your necklace is such an amazing metaphor, even when we lie to ourselves, we know the underlying truth. We saw changes in you, your creative and confident self withering away like a beautiful radiant light slowly being extinguished, then choked out all together. I am devastated that I had no idea the depth of the abuse you were suffering. While I wish I could go back and would have reached out to help you, I am so blessed to see you emerge from that hell and once again see the beautiful, kind, creative, talented, gentle hearted being you have always been since the day I met the little you. We all love you so very much. And like your loving parents, more than anything we are thrilled to see you in a relationship where you are loved, respected and encouraged to pursue your creative adventures. Your writing is the beginning of a whole new beautiful life ahead of you!

    ReplyDelete
  10. My precious girl, I love you so much. You are a strong woman and God has a special plan for you. You were just a child when you meet Jess, and I wish I could have intervened. You were not a monster by the way. You were coping with abuse and dysfunction the only way you know how. I hope you continue to write and seek support, I am proud of the woman you are. Danielle

    ReplyDelete
  11. Thank you all for your love and warmth. When the comments started pouring in I was floored. This has been the breaking point for me, meaning that there was a wall in front of me, and I'd been chipping away at the wall that was holding me back for a year, when I finally decided to post my story that wall in front of my crumbled and I feel like I can move on with my life. I'm stronger now and I know who I am, which is incredible because I thought that young lady was gone. This is also a turning point for my writing, I had the epiphany last night that I want to spread messages of hope instead of weighty messages of murder and so on. I have finally been able to forgive that 13 year old girl for thinking that things would change, finally been able to forgive that 16 year old girl for deciding that waiting things out was in her best interest and finally been able to forgive that 17 year old girl for latching on to every bit of kindness and calling it "love". I am glad that I decided to post my story on my blog instead of trying to get it published in a magazine (and still, maybe someday) because I have been able to receive all of this positive energy, warmth and love.
    Thank you all so much
    The Captain

    ReplyDelete