Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there
I recently read a sentence that resonated; "this isn’t a form of abuse that causes real bruises, but it bruises the soul." And that's how it was for me.
I can count on one hand the number of people aware of my past. It’s not that I’m ashamed, I used to be, but not any more. However because of my past, I do have trust issues. I have friendships going back 20 years that I'm still wary of and others, fledgling in comparison, where the trust has come quickly and easily. I’m not an easy person to get to know, but if you can break through my barriers you will find someone who will love and protect those she cares about. It's no easy feat and is down to the person who chipped away at me over the course of a few months and who, after we began living together, decided to change me.
What I went through was over a fairly short period of time, and overnight he turned from someone who had made promises, to an abuser. It started with the little things; what I wore, how I acted around people and over the course of a couple of months escalated to my weight and distancing me from my friends. My decisions and ideas were constantly dismissed as stupid, I was belittled in public and private, he'd disappear and I was being ridiculous for questioning where he'd been. He used me like an ATM and if I “loved him”, I’d buy him the sneakers he wanted or the latest cell phone.
The fun stubborn girl was replaced by a shell, intent on simply keeping the peace. But it was six months in, when I discovered I wasn't the only woman in his life, that I found the strength to walk away. Something in me snapped. I took the debt and walked. He didn't care. I’d lost contact with many of my friends, and I didn’t want to explain to my family what I’d been subjected to; they'd voiced concerns so many times when he'd pulled one of his disappearing acts, only for me to brush it aside, that I felt foolish and chose to handle it alone, with the exception of one friend who propped me up. Who saw but waited for me to open up. But even she couldn't stop the night I sat in the bathroom with a bottle of wine and a box of pain meds.
What stopped me was fear, and from nowhere, fight. Enough was enough. Hitting rock bottom actually gave me the kick up the ass I needed and I picked myself up, slowly.
The scars have eased but they're still there. I can come across as standoffish and I don't like people entering my personal space. Except with one; the man who was patient, relentless in his pursuit, and who listened and proved I deserved better. Who helped bring me back, helped me rebuild some trust and although he sometimes struggles to comprehend how someone so stubborn and opinionated could let someone treat her that way, he never forgets what I went through.
Something I've come to realize is I'm not unique. I've met people who've been through similar and have come out the other side the best they can. Everyone deals with it differently and I know I've been fairly lucky. And if none of this had happened to me? My life likely would have taken a different route and I'm not unhappy with how it's turned out at all.
