WARNING: content contains anecdotes of sexual abuse- Please proceed with caution
This is the hardest part of my experiences to talk about. This step left permanent scars both internally and externally.
We weren’t perfect. We had moved so fast in the relationship (moved in together after a month and almost eloped at two months) that we had both covered up some things about ourselves- eventually we both found out each other’s secrets.
I forgave him and let his go.
He used mine to torture me.
This is where it started. I feel guilt so easily and never want to hurt anyone, so when I inevitably do hurt someone, I’m easily manipulated.
He told me “I hurt him” as an excuse for anything he said or did to me- the name-calling, the yelling, the screaming, the wall-punching, the sexual abuse. It was all my fault.
Maybe if I hadn’t been so awful, he wouldn’t treat me that way.
He’d work on it. He’d work on being merciful enough to overlook my imperfections.
He started to use my worst fears, my own secrets, my weaknesses, to break me.
“It’s no wonder your dad left you; everyone leaves you because of YOU,” he yelled at me while I was balled up, rocking back and forth, crying and muttering to myself “please make it stop” over and over and over and over again, by a Bank of America near the bars to which we had gone that night. I was sobbing and on my knees at this point, trying to hide my face from all the people who walked by, because, yes, they could clearly see me. He towered over me and kept yelling at me.
What did I do to trigger this? I had been self-concious about him looking at other girls. He lied, of course, and said that he had ADHD, but he also told me that it was my fault for not keeping his attention. Maybe if I was more entertaining or fun he wouldn’t be looking around at other girls. So when I began to get panicked about the situation, I eventually froze (the freeze-effect in response to stress- read more here:https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/evolution-the-self/201507/trauma-and-the-freeze-response-good-bad-or-both). I froze while walking from one bar to another because I was so stressed and scared. I wasn’t good enough for him and if I didn’t become better quickly, he’d just keep looking at other girls. He told me freezing like this while we were out was my way to embarrass him because I’m abusive, so he left me alone and drunk on the corner. I panicked and cried and ran to my corner by the Bank of America. He found me and began to yell. He tore me apart. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I was humiliated. I was nothing. He told me things to insult me that I can’t say out loud or write. He used fears I didn’t even know that I had to break me.
Now, for those who have weak stomachs or who are uncomfortable with the topic of sexual abuse, please pick up with the paragraph that begins with “Now, I’ve spoken a bit about abuse…” Seriously- this is graphic. I am sharing this because I have met other girls who have gone through the same things and it’s important that they know they aren’t alone or abnormal and it’s important for others to know that these things happen.
Sexual abuse has many forms.
It mightn’t seem like it, but someone can be scarred just by being guilted into sex constantly against their will. If I didn’t satisfy my partner, watching porn or jerking off was threatened until I cried and begging him to have sex with me instead. He knew that I had issues with cheating etc from my childhood and previous relationships so he knew that these threats would insta-break me.
I, of course, loved my partner. I wanted to be selfless with him, so when he asked to have sex without me also finishing because it took too much time from him for him to do that for me, I agreed. I usually just laid in bed after he fucked me. Without a word, as soon as he’d climaxed, he’d walk out of the room to wash off his genital area. He was disgusted by being inside me after the fact and needed to get it off of his genital area as soon as possible. I was disgusting. So I laid there and cried. I would beg him to come back and lay with me for a bit. I didn’t need to climax, I just needed to feel less used. He’d say I was selfish for asking because I knew he had to study.
It was worse when I sat him down one day and told him about how I felt- used, pathetic, disgusting, like dirt, worthless, like a piece of meat. So he promised to let me finish as well after he climaxed. Every time he’d fuck me after that, he promised to let me climax as well instead of just fucking me and leaving me alone, disgusted. But as soon as he climaxed, he told me that he didn’t want to do that for me, or made a face, made fun of my abilities in regards to sex, compared me to other girls he’d fucked, or made fun of my genital area (apparently, there had been things that were so awful about my body that he couldn’t say them to me because it would be “too mean and cruel”). After the deed was done for him (it wasn’t often for me, but sometimes, just to string me along and let me have some belief that he wasn’t always lying), he would shower and I would go with him because after something intimate, it’s normal to be close to your partner, right? Or at least to feel not used and pathetic, right? But he would tell me to stay away and stand in the corner of the shower while he took his time bathing. After being used in a sexual way, I would stand shivering, cold and alone in the corner of a shower. Steam poured over me and into the bathroom while I stood there, humiliated. Sometimes I drew things on the walls of the shower with my fingers in the steam to pass the time or keep myself from crying. I would shower, alone, after he was done and had left, and not know what to do other than sit there and cry. I couldn’t control the crying, but he told me it was a way to manipulate him. If he ever did or said anything hurtful and I cried, he told me I was manipulative and abusive by using crying to control him, which, usually confused me so much that I would cry even harder.
Now, I’ve spoken a bit about the abuse so that you, my readers, can understand why I would be too embarrassed to talk to my family about this relationship. My family and friends knew that I was spiraling out of control, but because I loved him so much, I wouldn’t listen to a soul. Eventually, I had to start cutting them out of my life so that my own reality could make a little bit of sense. He started to cut out my friends. One of them told him that his hair looked “gay;” at the time he laughed but when we left, he yelled at me and told me to never talk to her again. My texts went through his iPad so that he could monitor me “until he could trust me again.”
We went to the mall one day. He was looking through my phone (a routing at this point) while we waited on some Chinese food to be ready. Somehow a family member’s phone and mine had shared data (some weird iTunes issue), and I was accused of watching porn (I definitely hadn’t and would never have). He kept accusing and accusing until I cried and broke down in the Chinese restaurant in front of all the patrons. I was so desensitized to the humiliation of begging for forgiveness for something that I didn’t even do (gaslighting: a way to control someone by making them doubt their memory and reality- read more at https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/toxic-relationships/201801/how-know-if-youre-victim-gaslighting) at this point that I could have been in front of the damned president of the united states or the king of the world and not cared- I would take the humiliation.
I felt that I should share these anecdotes so that you all, my loyal readers, could try to picture the situation. It’s so impossible to grasp if you’ve not experienced these things, but at least maybe specific examples can help you to understand what it’s like to doubt everything about who you are.
I had no self-respect left after a few months. I had no pride, no dignity, no friends, no identity.
Sometimes I would be so stressed that I pulled my own hair out.
Sometimes I would be so stressed that I unintentionally scratched myself until I bled to distract myself with physical pain so that the mental/emotional anguish could seem like it was lessened.
Sometimes I planned out how I would take my life, because I couldn’t be in this situation anymore, but I couldn’t not be in it either.
To be continued.
XOXO BPD girl
*Disclaimer* I am not writing this blog for myself- I don’t need to vent, I don’t need to express emotions and I don’t need to whine about some boy- writing these things triggers me and brings back PTSD symptoms- it doesn’t benefit me at all other than letting me help other survivors relate to someone and bring awareness to those who can’t relate. I am writing this blog solely to help others and raise awareness about mental health.