In my last post I spoke about the #metoo movement, but I didn’t quite give insight to my personal story.  Like many women out there, I have more than one I could tell.  I’ve had the unfortunate experience falling into a pattern of abusive relationships.  Some men were verbally abusive with hot tempers that grew, yet even with the abuse I found these men non-threatening, and I saw the source of abuse coming from immaturity and a sense of entitlement.  However, the one real abusive guy that stands out is one that my mind tries so hard to erase.  Unfortunately, I still wake up crying because of the trauma he inflicted on me, much akin to PTSD.

Unlike the other immature, passively abusive men I have met, this one was different.  He was aggressive and manipulative.  His abuse was calculated like that of a serial killer.  I very much felt threatened by him.

I don’t want to get too much into the gory details, but the abuse was pretty deep.  He isolated me from my friends.  I was afraid to look out the window when we drove in a car because he accused me of looking at other men.  I slept like the dead at night, with my arms crossed over my chest because I feared he would accuse me of touching myself, as he had so many times, claiming that my body was not mine, but his.  I can’t even believe I am writing this in a blog right now.  He did so much more, but I can’t share those things here.  Just the thought of all the things he did triggers tears and sadness.  I think this is why some women cannot share their #metoo stories.  Some stories are just to painful to share.

I broke up with the guy after he bit me, like a rabid dog, on the nose, and I still have the scar.  I remember waking up one morning, and he just attacked me for no reason.  For some reason my broken and shocked psyche went through denial, and I continued my day as if nothing happened, even while the blood poured onto the floor.  I just took a shower, dropped my kid off to class, and continued on my day.  My kid’s preschool teacher did intervene.  She saw the huge gash and bite mark on my face, and called this place called Shakti Rising, an organization that helps women in trouble.  I eventually went to that place for help.

I had a test that day he bit me on the nose so I went to my classes like nothing happened.  I could feel people looking at me as I tried to cover my face.  No one asked me questions.  No one comforted me.  Like me, they pretended nothing happened.

When I went home he was there crying and apologizing, saying he was half awake when it happened, and that he bit me because he thought I had been unfaithful by touching myself.   I gathered the courage to break up with him, but since we lived together we had to work it out as room-mates.  Although we were no longer together, he would stalk me.  He tried to beat down the door at my son’s preschool once, and would not leave until the teacher threatened to call the police.

One day, he accused me of having had an affair with our neighbor, whom I have never met before.  Let me remind you that at this time we had already broken up so what was he point of this accusation? I remember asking the neighbor if he had said anything.  The neighbor, of course, denied it.  Then, when he came home, I remember him roaming back and forth like a lion in a cage, only he was in the kitchen and he was holding a large knife.  I saw him and pretended nothing was going on, and I went into the living room to watch television.  My three year old son kept tugging at me, asking me to go home.  “We need to go home,” he said.  “But we are home,” I said.  “No,” he said.  “Home to the car.”

It was after he said that that I snapped out of it.  I saw the fear in my son’s eyes, and he knew we were in trouble.  I took him and fled to the car and called my mom.

I believe if I had stayed I probably wouldn’t be here today.  Yet, this man is out there somewhere free.  Years later I was driving to the beach and saw him at the parking lot so I drove home.  Years after that I saw him as an audience member at a place I was working at.  Thankfully, he did not see me, but I saw he came with another woman.  I thought, is he doing the same to her?  Is she also in danger?  Those questions torment me to this day.

I’m sure people are wondering, why not report him?  Make sure he never does this again to anyone else? My truthful answer is, I don’t know.  It’s hard enough just trying to survive after the abuse.  This is why it may take women YEARS before coming forward, and some never do.

Here’s a poem, that isn’t quite true because I guess I am still afraid.  Maybe it will be true one day.

I Use to Be So