Stand Up For Yourself and Don’t Feel Bad About It – http://wp.me/p4dzlW-rvp
I am posting this link because I and quite a few other people that I know van relate to abuse, be it physical, verbal, or sexual. I want to say once again that you are not alone and that there is help for those who choose to seek it out. This is an interesting post on the effects of verbal abuse on the brain. Check it out…
Verbal punches and brain changes – http://wp.me/p4zVL2-dV
Abuse: What It Looks Like, What It Feels Like, and Why You Never Deserve It – http://wp.me/p4dzlW-rws
I KNOW NOW THAT I AM NOT THE ONLY WOMAN OUT THERE WHO HAS DEALT (or is dealing with) A LOVER WHO was/is A LITLE TOO CONTROLLING, A LITTLE TO CLOSE- DOES ANYONE FEEL ME? WHAT CAN YOU DO IF YOU REALLY CARE ABOUT THE PERSON, BUT YOU CAN’T TAKE THE CRUSHING WEIGHT OR THE PAIN ANY LONGER? Well I have no idea if there is a right way to handle a situation like this once it reaches that, almost dangerous, level. I do know that my first thought upon feeling that my life was actually in danger, was to have the cops do something. Well, if you do not already know this, there is really nothing they can do, until something actually happens. The danger has to truly become real.
ONCE AGAIN I HAD FOUND
MYSELF IN THE POSITION OF HAVING TO DECIDE IF MY HEARTS OPINION WAS BETTER OR WORSE THAN MY MIND’S… IF I WAS BEING HONEST, I KNEW THE END RESULT (if nothing changed) IN MY CASE. SO I’M PUTTING THIS OUT THERE FOR ANY OTHER FEMALES OR MALES WHO MAY ONE DAY BE IN THIS (or a similar) SITUATION. I LOVED THIS MAN SO MUCH, BUT I ALSO KNEW THAT HE HAD BEEN STEALING, LYING, TAKING MY CAR, AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF; MY SON HATED HIM- (this fact alone should have solved my problem immediately, but I remember thinking about how if I actually got him to go, I would be all alone. By that point everyone i loved had turned their backs on me) REGARDLESS, THE END RESULT WAS- HE HAD TO GO. ANOTHER BROKEN HEART, (and by that time my heart was already on life- support), BUT I REMEMBER THE FEELING OF SATISFACTION THAT I HAD, KNOWING I HAD MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE. (Even though the actual act of getting him away from me was a miracle in itself). LIFE IS SO VERY INTERESTING, THESE CURVE BALLS IT HAS THROWN AT ME. I WOULD SURVIVE, I HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO MOVE FORWARD. I HOPE WITH ALL OF MY HEART THAT ONE DAY THIS PERSON GAINS CONTROL OF HIS FEELINGS and ACTIONS. I also pray that eventually I, myself, will find love again. Maybe… One day… LATER READERS…
My dilemma was this. It had finally reached a point where I had to ask myself; what the hell is wrong with me? Why had I allowed someone to treat me that badly? My answer,- Either I no longer had any self-respect left, or my HUGE fear of abandonment was even bigger than my pride, and my self respect.
I remember hoping that it was the second one. Fear of abandonment could be worked through. My first answer was much harder to fix.
I loved the same man from January 2005 until 2015. I feel safe saying that it was love at first sight. It truly was. The electric current that ran between us had been positively palpable. Ours had been a, love no matter what, kind of relationship; damn the consequences- in the begining. Later, choosing this ‘love’ was ultimately the reason I lost my son, my friends, my house, my car, my job, my entire world as I knew it:
I was in love. Hopelessly. Pathetically.
But suddenly, he no longer seemed to love me back. This was a problem for me because at that point I had nothing left but him, and anything is better than being all alone, right?
The changes in him had begun slowly. So slowly, in fact, that it is only now, looking back, that I can see the actual progression. His increasing paranoia, being hyper-critical of everything I said and did, his refusal to eat because he claimed I had poisoned it, his covering of mirrors and anything else reflective, taking electronics apart, then trying to put them right again, etc.,etc…
Then the voices in his head decided to get a lot louder, and my hell was officially begun, because up until now, though awful, it was cake compared to dealing with the voices. Apparently, the main voice that he heard was mine, and from his expressions my voice did not say kind things. I remember one day in late September, I said to him; “You are going to let the voices in your head ruin what we have.” Well they already had. I was the only one still holding on.
It was around this time that WE also experienced his first psychotic break. It was, to this day, the most terrifying, horrible night I have ever spent. As well as the most ‘on edge’, I have ever felt. There have been 3 more after that night, to my knowledge. Each more terrifying than the last. He still refused to go get help, choosing instead to blame me for his behavior, for everything. Needless to say life was quite challenging then. More than anything though, I feel so ashamed of myself. Why had I allowed myself to be completely disrespected repeatedly, and until that day ignored it? No more. At that point even I had had enough.
Two nights later I had concluded that I could not take any more emotional abuse; and at 4 am I told him that i had finally realized that I deserved someone better, a LOT better. I told him firmly to get out. He did. He returned later the next afternoon. So I sat in my room, and he sat like a zombie on my couch. What should I do? I remember wondering. Then I did something I had long since forgot how to do, I prayed. The Lord truly does work in mysterious ways, because two days later there was a knock on my door. I opened it to see 2 county cops. They had a warrant for his arrest. I believe they saved my life that day. Well, them and the man upstairs.
while three police officers tried to pull me aside, they were asking “What happened to him?“, at the exact moment I saw a paramedic cut my carefully applied bandanna from his arm. I screamed “NO!” and tore myself away from the now impatient officers
“Put it back on!!! He will bleed to death!” I stated, with as much force and authority that I could muster at that moment. Now I was sobbing. I knew that if they did not take action right then, Mike would die. He had lost almost half of the blood in his body.
He would die on my kitchen floor. No way. This death escape of his was not going to work. Not today.
Suddenly my breath, which I hadn’t even realized I was holding, whooshed out of me. The medic inflated a blood pressure cuff on his arm, and the river of blood slowed to a trickle. It was then I remembered the officer’s question.
My mind flashed back to recall my mad dash for the phone, I replayed the firm instructions he had said to me, “Tell them I fell off a ladder while I was changing a light bulb.” I remember thinking, he is not making any sense, I mean, changing a light bulb? Really? . Needless to say, I told the truth, hoping that they would not only help him, but maybe they could do so while detaining him elsewhere, so I could stop living in fear. That is, if he lives…
What if next time he cuts me? He had threatened to on several occasions. I clearly remember him forcefully grabbing and then holding onto my arm, while he lightly dragged the blade across my skin. I remember the teardrop of blood that formed, then ran down my arm. This memory sent a shiver down my spine.
EMS had him loaded up on the stretcher. He was unconscious. No one could lose that much blood and remain conscious, that in of itself would have been a miracle. The medics told me that if he survived the ride to the ER, it would be a miracle. I had certainly heard that word tossed around a lot, so I prayed for one..
I was informed that I could not ride in the ambulance. They also advised me that I was in no condition to drive myself either; so I called the only friend I had left, Jody.
The ambulance and police sped off, lights and sirens blaring, cutting into the night, fearlessly, like Mike had cut his arm. I turned on my heel, my eyes sweeping across the room, surveying the damage. Damage? That was an understatement if I had ever heard one.
Standing in the doorway, my gaze traveled from left to right. There was a bloody hand print that began on the kitchen wall, and continued through my den all the way to the front door. A long, red, dripping, smear. I walked further into the kitchen and immediately flashed back to that blood scene in the movie Carrie. Had I had buckets of pig blood, I could not have done a better job.
From my new perspective of the damage, I could not believe that anyone could survive after losing that much blood. It would take hours to clean this much blood up, and I knew without looking, that my favorite goose down comforter would have to be thrown away. Much like my once-loving relationship had been. There is no going back. Something like this can not be undone.
Jody pulled up then. His tires screeched from the sudden stop. He leaped out of his truck and pulled me in for a bear hug. I, once again found myself shaking from head to toe. This time, not from fear, but relief. His strong arms felt like a shield around me. Nothing bad could happen to me here, I felt safe.
We were silent during the ride; each lost in our own thoughts.
Please don’t be dead. please don’t be dead. Please, Please…
Upon arrival at the ER, I ran to the trauma bay, bypassing the desk altogether. I had to know. He was alive, and conscious. The nurse in the room told me he was about to be taken into surgery. They had to repair his self-inflicted damage. My gaze wandered, there were bags of blood with tubes running into his other arm, replacing what he had inconsiderately left all over my bed and kitchen floor.
Before I knew it they were whisking him away to surgery. He would be fine, physically.
*If I had known then what I know now- I would have turned around and walked out. Not just out of the hospital, but out of his life. Forever. But I didn’t. I allowed his suicide manipulation to do exactly as he had intended it to do. I stayed. I nursed him back to health. It took over 100 staples and stitches to repair his arm. And the scar is huge. He tells people he was in a car accident. Yeah right, car accident my ass. This is not the last post you will read about Mike and me. He was the best and the worst of more than 10 years of my life. He is my one regret.