#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (i can haz abusive relationship?) PT 2
<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote>
#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas
When I saw Chris Brown on the Grammy's Sunday night, I became very angry. Here was a man who is known publicly to have abused someone he claimed to love, being celebrated by a community of individuals who have a huge platform for bringing awareness and visibility to domestic violence and abuse. I am disgusted by this person-- not just because of the abuse, but because not once has he shown any true humility or repentance for his actions-- no contrition whatsoever. Not only do I wholly doubt the sincerity of his apology (mostly, due to his subsequent actions at the studios of Good Morning America when he cause property damage and lashed out at several people during his so-called "meltdown"), I believe he actually thinks he has been treated unfairly by those few in the media and the public who continue to call attention to the fact that he has yet to fully shoulder the consequences of his actions, nor has he made an honest effort at rehabilitating his obvious anger issues.
And people wonder why so many abuse victims remain silent.
Last week, I shared with you the beginning of an abusive relationship I was in during my early twenties. Part I of this story can be found here. As I mentioned before, my paper-thin self esteem and the rock-bottom price at which I valued myself led me into the downward spiral of an abusive relationship. Like many abusive relationships, the abuse wasn't a constant. In fact, when things were good, I was almost able to completely forget that things had ever taken a dark turn. It wasn't as though he was controlling; he never attempted to dictate my life. None of the abuse that happened ever seemed calculated. It all happened in the heat of the moment. He didn't chip away at my ego with demeaning or belittling commentary. He was a classic case of someone with deeply repressed anger, who lashed out whenever he felt vulnerable. Even though what I experienced seems mild in comparison to some, I now know that no level of abuse is acceptable. Period.
After the first incident, I took a huge step back from my relationship with Luke. I ignored his attempts at contact and tried to forget he existed. But, eventually, I allowed him to worm his way back in.
It started with phone calls, and eventually, I agreed to meet him out at a club one night, while he was playing at a weekly event. Over the course of the evening, I allowed his charm and his flirting to bring down my guard, and we ended up having a really great time. After a few weeks, that awful night was tucked away, in the very back of my mind. We didn't talk about it, he didn't bring it up and neither did I. We spent time together doing normal things couples do. We went to the movies, the museum, art galleries, bars, clubs, etc. We spent time hanging out at his place, listening to music and watching Seinfeld on DVD. Things were good. Very good.
By the time Valentine's Day came along, we had been dating, seriously, for at least three months. At that time, I was working at a popular steakhouse, so as anyone who has ever eaten Valentine's dinner at a steakhouse can imagine, I was in for a long night as a hostess. Due to that fact, Luke and I had planned to hang out during the day and have a "romantic" lunch, but I distinctly remember feeling like he wasn't putting much effort into the "romance" part. I don't exactly remember how we got into it, but we ended up having a bit of a spat towards the end of our meal. I think he might have shared some kind of catty comment his mom had made about me, which got my heckles up even more, after I mentioned that I wished we'd done something a little more special-- not only because it was Valentine's Day, but because he was leaving the country that night to go on a family vacation-- meaning we wouldn't be seeing each other for at least a week (it may have been closer to two).
He was driving me home so I could get ready for work when things started to really get heated. By the time we pulled into my driveway, we were arguing in earnest. I said something that pushed him to the edge and he reached across the car and slapped me. I was shocked-- again-- it seemed to come from nowhere. One minute we're arguing like a normal couple, the next minute, he's in a rage. I jumped out of the car as fast as I could and I slammed the car door, screaming at him to never call me or come near me again. I'm sure I launched a few obscenities at him as well, and as I marched up to the entry of my house and opened the storm door, all I remember is the sensation of being yanked backwards, my feet leaving the ground. I landed in the flower bed, my hand breaking my fall on the stone bricks that lined them. My hand was bleeding and I was sobbing.
Again, the mood suddenly changed. He started babbling how he was just trying to stop me, he didn't want me to leave angry… he was only trying to make me stop and listen. Again, this was a huge red flag. Again, I should have run from him and never looked back. I got up, without his help, and told him to go fuck himself. I slammed the door in his face and went inside to get ready for work. I was already running late because of our fight, so I threw my uniform on and sped to work. I had to bandage my hand up and I was cradling an icepack in my hand on the way into work. When I got there, the bartender on shift at the time was also a mutual friend of ours. He was the guy who had actually helped me get the job at that restaurant. When I saw him, he could tell something was up with me. He asked me what happened to my hand and I just lost it. Tears welled up in my eyes and I told him I couldn't talk about it. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to tell him what had happened, but felt a sudden sense of overwhelming guilt-- what a ridiculous thought! Here I was, battered and bruised, having been thrown across my lawn by someone who was supposed to care about me, and I was the one feeling bad about possibly spilling the beans and letting his friend in on what a jerk he was!
Insanity. I don't understand it. Looking back, I have no idea who that girl is… it's as if she is a stranger to the person I am now. I actually played it down and acted like I tripped and fell while storming off after an argument. I lied. To protect him.
How sick is that???
That night, after hours of seating and cleaning up after countless couples out enjoying each other for Valentine's Day, I clocked out and walked out to my truck. I pulled my cell phone out of the glove compartment and saw that I had several missed calls from him and a voicemail. Note: remembering this in particular really makes me uncomfortable with how much I allowed myself to be manipulated by this creature. In his message, his voice took on this quality of someone speaking as though they're afraid what they're about to say will hurt someone. He said he was calling from the airport, while waiting at the gate. He went on to say he would miss me and would call me from his destination, that he hoped I was okay and that my night went well. Then, after a long pause, he said he hoped he would see me when he got home, and ended the message by saying "I love you."
Yep. My boyfriend, who had thrown me around my yard just a few hours earlier, was telling me he loved me for the first time, via voice mail. If that's not the behavior of someone who has no sense of how love should be communicated, then I don't know what is. Looking back, I can see it so clearly. So sharp and icy slick-- the slippery slope of delusion. How easy it was for me to believe that somehow, all the wrong actions could be made right with words. I still struggle with that. I find that I put a lot of unearned value in words, when actions worth far more.
And with each incident, my inability to speak up-- to friends, family, anyone-- continued. As the number of times he would lash out at me increased, so would the shame I felt in remaining silent. Things would only get worse.
#nerdsunite
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[Author's note: If you or someone you know is dealing with an abusive relationship, please reach out for help. It doesn't have to be a life or death situation, as any level of abuse, emotional or physical, is too much. No one deserves it, and no one should stand for it. The National Domestic Violence Hotline is a confidential, non-profit organization that can help anyone willing to ask for it. Get help.http://www.thehotline.org/]