I've been watching this Instagram account, "Healingbythenumbers", she has a series detailing her complex escape from her abusive ex-husband. Before the videos, I had an inkling that my ex was abusive, but the feeling grows stronger each time she details her relationship with her own abuser.
I have a habit of invalidating my experiences, though. He never beat me, but he did use every opportunity to make me feel small, to belittle me and take away my identity. Funny part, I was never his girlfriend, on my own accord. because it was such a short-lived fling, its hard to definitively say it was abuse. There are some facts I adhere to, though, as pointing me in that direction. He accused me of cheating, constantly, if I was out with my friends too long, I'd get a message like "hope you're not coming over my house later with a hickey." and it was exhausting. The constant battle to prove my loyalty drained me. Every time I heard that text tone, it was enough to make my stomach turn.
I felt stupid afterwards, I heard the stories my mother had told me about her first husband, who read her diary, cheated on her but accused her of the same daily. I knew he ramped up in their four year marriage and turned her into a borderline agoraphobic. All of the signs were there and it wasn't until my ex started cheating on me that I finally said enough.
Maru always talked about how I didn't open up, how there wasn't clear communication, but every time I tried to be honest somehow I would say the wrong thing. He would storm off or hang the phone up, refusing to talk to me. He wasn't the first person to hurt me and when I would express my disdain for the similarities in our relationship and the relationship I shared with my rapist he would shut down, accuse me of hating him, wanting to make him into the bad guy, into a rapist. When I would get fed up enough and all my friends would get through to me enough that I felt like I was ready to leave him, he would miraculously have a revelation. Suddenly, he was sorry for all the things that he "had never done", the things that I had accused him of because I'm "bipolar and avoidant". He could be so sweet and make all of it feel so real that I would crawl back in bed with him and offer to take him to dinner. I told myself that he wasn't taking advantage of me, there was no power imbalance. To be fair, I have a bad habit of distasteful age gaps in relationships and Maru was only a year older than me, the youngest guy I had dated since, well, ever.
Maru didn't have to do very much heavy lifting in the manipulation department, I dug him so much and he convinced me that we were soulmates, twin flames, meant to be. I could overlook things because "relationships aren't always easy, but it doesn't mean they aren't worth it." When he read my diary, I didn't tell anyone. The entries went back a while, when I was writing about the boy that I slept with in my freshman year of high school. He quoted a bit of the entry to me, something similar to "no one is as special to me as him and I look for him in everyone." It made me sick. Everything he did made me sick. Yet, I loved him like I had loved no other. I saw a future with us, living abroad, learning languages, being in the stands when he is awarded his PhD. Although all of it was a child-like fantasy, I saw it with him. I saw his deep-seated rage and short temper fading away and only the kind, in-touch with his feelings, thoughtful guy I had fallen for being left behind.
The funny thing about abuse is the way that you can convince yourself that the version of them you met, the idealized, best behavior, goal-oriented individual is the real one and the anger and violence is temporary. That its just a hiccup in your relationship and they'll eventually snap back into who they once were. The hard truth is that "who they once were", was only an illusion to make you drop your guard and that the intense person you have known for so much more of the relationship is who they are when they drop their guard. Regardless, when they sense you are slipping from the control, you get a glimpse of the beautiful person you fell in love with and all the eggshells you have walked on seem to have purpose now. "He's going through a lot right now, he's under a lot of stress, I shouldn't have said that, I crossed a line." You can excuse the behavior and cut them seemingly infinite slack.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss the good days, or that no one seems to scratch the itch of understanding that I thought Maru did. It wouldn't be truthful to say I don't think about him running his hands through my hair, or sitting on the beach with him, quietly smiling at one another. But I am trying to find purpose in the boring life without the extremes that I had with him. I don't ever want to be scared of the look someone has in their eyes again when I say the wrong thing talking about feelings. I don't want someone's hand to be raised and cower waiting for it to come down ever again. If passion means violence and fear, I'm no longer interested, or at least I'm trying not to be.
At the end of the day, if he had known I had a blog where I spill my guts on the worldwide web, he probably would have hit me. Something so intimate shared so publicly, so much individual being showcased. If he knew how strong of a sense of self that I had, he probably would die, because that means he failed. I like to think he failed, his ego and fragile confidence would crumble at the idea that he didn't ruin me, that he couldn't shrink me and keep me wrapped around his finger forever. I feel proud that not only do I hold power over myself, but now over him as well. Farewell, Maru, I hope no one else lets you treat them how you treated me, I hope no one else ever fears you.
Getting cheated on (was the best thing that ever happened to me)
