It Could Happen to Anyone, and Frequently Does

I have a past. No kidding...everybody does. My past regrets have more to do with what I didn't do, than what I did. I live everyday with scars from a relationship where I got physically and mentally battered for years. It doesn't matter who the guy was now. What matters is that I allowed it to continue because of my own lack of self worth. So it's my fault then? NO! I got caught up in a situation I had no idea how to handle, add to that the incredible amount of fear and what I ended up with was me, stuck, too afraid to leave, too insecure to think I deserved better and staying because leaving seemed too difficult. Domestic violence situations are sticky. When love and emotional ties are mingled with violence, the clear cut answers we swear we have when we are young go right out the window. The other issue is the embarrassment we feel at having been victimized. I thought I was too smart to allow someone to hurt me. I thought that only happened to other people. I thought I was strong enough to level anybody who laid their hands on me. What I didn't count on was the emotional bullying, the idea that I would caught in a struggle of forgiveness and repeat offending. The apologies would begin right away, only moments after I would find myself on the floor, bleeding, bruised form head to toe from being tossed around like a rag doll. "I swear I don't know my own strength sometimes. It's just that YOU make me so mad. If you would only be quiet and not talk to me when I am like this. I'm sorry, it will never happen again." And it wouldn't, until it did.
My life was wrapped up in this person. Tearing myself away wasn't going to be easy, or simple. My situation was going to be a full blown mess. When I finally did leave, that is exactly what it was, a full blown mess, that lasted for another several years. I had protected this man from others finding out the truth. I wore long sleeves in 80 degree heat to cover the bruises or tell others I was clumsy. I lied for this man who beat the snot out of me for anything he didn't like. I stood up for him against family and friends , who dared to question my judgment when it came to him. He would then blame me for all of his problems and promptly punish me for them. I never knew when it was coming. We would go months, be in love, be happy and then the bottom would fall out again. I found myself hiding from him when he drank. I found myself getting quieter and quieter, trying desperately to disappear within myself. I found myself wishing I were dead so all of the pain would stop. Bruises healed, but the verbal abuse stayed with me all day, every day. "You are a fat, stupid, worthless piece of sh*t! No one wants you. I took pity on you, you ungrateful B*tch!" Those words would play in my head on a continuous loop. I was completely forgiving of him, and completely unforgiving of me. "Maybe if I were thinner, prettier, quieter, smarter, worked harder, then maybe just maybe, he would not hate me so much. And if I could get better and better, not sleep so much, never leave the house and wait on him hand and foot, he would actually love me." Those were the lies I would tell myself, in order to live through another day. By the end of things, I believed every horrible thing he ever said about me. I was as certain as he was, that I was not worth the space I took up. I was unworthy of the oxygen I used to stay alive. It didn't take long before both of us wanted me dead.
To this day whenever somebody scares me, by jumping out of nowhere, in innocent fun, mind you, I fall to the ground and sob. There will be no haunted houses in my future until this stops. The sick games played at my expense, where I had to hide in order to protect myself are the ghosts that live with me. I have the deeply embedded scars of someone who got seriously hurt by someone who was supposed to love them. I had to sit down with my husband and tell him what happened to me. I had to be honest, because not everything has gone away. For the most part, time has healed most of my wounds. The love of a good man brought me back to the land of the living. Every once in a while, something triggers that feeling of desperation and I am back in that horrific place where I thought I wouldn't survive. Every once in a while, I confess to Michael how needy and scared I am, because of things in the past that haunt me, still. I am honest about all of it, because once I was out, I swore to myself, I would do whatever it took, to get ME back.
I no longer blame me for not being "enough". I no longer blame me for being so stupid because I put up with it. I learned my lessons, but I survived long enough to be able to do that. Not every woman is so lucky. Not every person, men, too, get the chance to heal the wounds, and learn to love again without fear.
My past doesn't define who I am, but it certainly drives me to be better and stand up for what I believe. My ghosts are there as a reminder to keep a watchful eye out for others who are need of help, guidance or shelter. When I talk about this part of my past, I still cry, as I tell the story. I cry for the young woman who was too terrified to seek help. I cry for all the wasted time spent loving someone who couldn't possibly love me back. I cry for every bad thing I ever believed that wasn't true. I cry now because I didn't cry for years when it was going on. I wasn't allowed to cry or I would get punished more, harder, and longer. I went for a life time keeping my tears on the inside so I wouldn't make things worse, as if that was possible.
Michael lets me cry whenever I want. He tenderly holds me and allows me to feel anything that my mind can conjure. He allows me to be silly, funny, angry, weepy, needy, loving, hateful, and sometimes disgusting. Because these are all things that are real to every one of us. Michael doesn't love me in spite of who I am, but because of who I am. I am safe with this man. My heart feels it deeply everyday, the security I had longed for and stopped believing existed, exists with him.
My story is not unique. My past is not jaw dropping or shocking. Domestic violence happens every day, to all kinds of people, in every walk of life. If you see someone in your life who is trapped, try your level best to get them help, even if it means calling the police as an anonymous tip. Your singular action could help them find the courage to get out.