NOTE: The following was written by a real person about their experiences with domestic violence. Please note potential triggers in this important piece.
For as long as I can remember, my concept of love was tainted. Love was presented to me as something that was given with conditions and impossible expectations. After years of confusion I began to replace love with codependency. The grips of codependency brought me to my knees long before I indulged in any mood/mind altering substance. Before I ever picked up a drink/drug, my addictive nature preyed upon validation and approval. Maybe traumas and the environment of my childhood propelled my incessant need to please, or maybe I was always a glutton for punishment. At the root of almost every human heart is the desire to love and to be loved. I was no exception, in fact I clung to validation for survival. From an early age, I never learned how to validate myself. Perhaps it was the lack of emotional safety I experienced or maybe it was the fundamental inability to deal with life on life’s terms. Either way, I was spiraling, out of control, with no safety net in sight.
My first experience with domestic violence started at a very young age. My stepmother was bipolar and untreated. Her angry outbursts were unpredictable and seemingly unprovoked. I could misplace a dish in the dishwasher and war was raging. I vividly remember my father having to step in between her attacks, on too many occasions. In all honesty, the emotional abuse I endured was far worse than any mark or bruise left behind. During the most impressionable adolescent years of my life, I was constantly reminded “you just need to be the adult, you know how she is.” I wore the “adult child” title like a badge of honor. I was reminded that she was not my biological mother and she did not sign up to raise me. As you can imagine, this caused an ungodly amount of confusion and ravished my self esteem. I became the unwanted stepdaughter and I wasted years of my life attempting to fit into the ever changing box she wanted me to fit in. I lived in complete and utter turmoil, always feeling that I was less than and I acted as if.
Fast forward to the day my first abuser, my stepmom, passed away unexpectedly. I was absolutely wrecked and the only viable solution: oblivion. I crossed over the threshold and my drug addiction had me by the throat. I walked through hell and back, dancing with opiates along the way, and completely delusional. I found solace in chaos. Opiate detox was my reprieve, perhaps I was a glutton for punishment. This became the theme years to come, until the fear of change was far less agonizing than the pain I was experiencing.
I was finally willing to get help for my addiction but I had no idea that beneath the self medicating, was a scared little girl. A year sober, and I met him. He was charming, attractive, spontaneous, and seemed to be everything I wanted. Truly sober, for the first time ever, I really had no concept of what was best for me. My shallow standards made it easy for him to enter in and wreck my world. I’ve always been the giver and I’ve always gravitated towards the takers. Again, a glutton for punishment I assume. Infatuation set in, and I was all in. My entire world became him. We never spent any time talking about anything other than him. The first red flag probably would’ve been the night I wanted to leave his house and he threw my keys at me. I remember it was 12am and dark in the room, barely missing my eye, I was a bloodied mess. He didn’t believe he hurt me until he turned on the light and saw the carnage. A quick trip to the ER (of course he tagged along to be sure I complied with the lie we orchestrated) and a swollen black eye, I concluded he really didn’t mean to hit me in the eye. I remember him apologizing but always ending the apology with some form of “but you or because you”. He always wiped his hands clean from any sort of accountability. Yet again, another red flag. We were maybe 8 months into the relationship when the verbal abuse started. Slowly but surely then came the financial abuse and crazy control manipulations. Physical pain would eventually subside but the emotional trauma scarred me. I remember being 9 months pregnant, scrubbing bathroom floors to bring in some income and avoid the abuse. Just like the 15 year old girl trying to earn love through obtaining impossible perfection from my stepmother, I was sure I could win him over if I could just play my part. I was wrong.
As time progressed, I realized I was in a relationship with the male version of my stepmother. The abuse progressed, as it always does, from pushing me, to blows to the body, to eventually breaking my ribs. Want to hear the insanity of abuse? I still didn’t leave, I actually lied to my family and all of my coworkers. I told everyone I fell on my daughter’s toy. We moved into a new place and per usual, the ups and downs ebbed and flowed like the sweet but piercingly cold mountain stream. The abuse continued and the severity of the total demoralization was incomprehensible. I couldn’t separate delusion from reality, just like when I was actively using drugs/alcohol. So here I was, a year and a half sober and living in mirroring insanity.
The turning point… I can remember it vividly, as if it happened yesterday. We had one of our very common explosive arguments but this time the kids woke up and walked into the room. He had me on the ground with his hands around my throat and my kids were screaming for him to stop. Something broke inside of me. I got up, ignoring his desperate pleas, grabbed my kids, left the house, and called the cops. God moved my feet, just like the day I got sober. He was arrested and spent the night in jail. CPS got involved (because the children were present) and demanded we separate.
For the first time in my life, I pulled myself up off the floor and I met fear face to face. I valiantly walked through the fire, but not without the help of the people who loved me the most. I told everyone the truth about what had been going on and I swore to myself that I would never go back. We have children together so this relationship continues to be a work in progress. I have set boundaries and I hold firm to the consequences when he doesn’t follow suit. I believe the phrase “don’t let your past come back to haunt you” was coined from situations like this one. The truth is, unhealed trauma resurfaces and from my experience I kept seeking out what I was familiar with: abusive chaos. The life I live today is so liberating. Breaking a grueling generational curse, I make decisions today that harvest the future I want for myself and my kids. I continue to seek out therapy for my PTSD, addiction, and trauma. I am constantly surrounding myself with women that have my best interest at heart. I am almost 3 years sober today. I have walked through the fire with dignity and grace. If you are a victim of domestic violence, don’t give up. Don’t stop reaching out to the people that love you. Anonymously reach out to the resources on this site. Visit your local battered women’s shelter. Never give up, you are beautiful.
The author of this piece wishes to include this link with their story:
www.detoxlocal.com/resources/domestic-violence-addiction/