Why I stayed…

19 Feb

I think a lot now on why I wanted to please my boyfriend so much. Why I let all of the warning signs pass me by, why I didn’t hold onto my sense of self. I don’t think I can blame anything in particular. Perhaps it was trying to find images of Appa, perhaps it was because my adoptive parents didn’t give me the kind of love I was looking for, perhaps I was in love with the idea of being in love. But whatever it was, the harder I tried, the more I let myself be swallowed up. The more I stayed, the more I found myself being more and more lost.

I ignored the dreams that told me this wasn’t right. I ignored the fact that I would wake up crying without knowing why. I ignored that despite being with him for a year he said he couldn’t love me.

But there was a trap set in my mind. My choices were to go home and have my parents put me down for “failing” or find my way out on my own. But the thing that I didn’t realize was the longer I stayed with this man, the more that I was allowing myself to be swallowed whole.

I would call my Mom and she would constantly be after me for not going to college. I told her that it hurt. I cried over the phone. I yelled at her, but she ignored me. I had told her constantly how much it hurt in person, over the phone, but it was a compulsive act for her. She compounded things by saying that sometimes she felt like she should divorce my Dad. (She never did… but it didn’t help my situation any). My already shattered self esteem was plummeting more because I felt like I couldn’t go home, especially as she was saying things like she was glad to have an empty house now. I felt horrid calling her, but guilty not calling her.

On the other end, my boyfriend was starting to put me down and it was slowly starting to cycle. I’d only learned from television and everyone around me that abuse was only physical. If the person didn’t hit you directly, then it was not abuse. So I let things get bad because it was not “abuse” because no one had told me that emotional abuse was abuse too. Teachers hadn’t spotted or protected me from the teasing. My parents had put me down or neglected me. I didn’t know the difference between the two, so I let it go. I had no control group to base anything on.

I can’t blame anyone for this. But the learning curve was a tough one. My subconscious started to wake up to the fact at some point and started sending me warning signs through my dreams. But still, because I was trying to run away from the words “failure” from both my boyfriend and from my parents, and the ghost of the parents I couldn’t quite remember, I stuck it out.

I would have dreams of trying to climb up hills and not being able to get over it. I would always slip down the hill and fall. And like before in college I started to hear songs that weren’t playing around me when I was conscious. I could pick up melodies. My subconscious is strange in that I can’t consciously make music for the life of me, but when I feel horrid or depressed, I’ll get various music and melodies in my head.

I ignored all of them. Because the option was that I was a failure. I was told that much every day by everything around me. If it wasn’t from my boyfriend, then it was from my parents. If it wasn’t from my parents it was from my job. I had no scraps of self confidence left to find a way out. Since my boyfriend was around more, I started to crave more and more some sense of affection. Some kind of affirmation that I was worth something. But he couldn’t give it to me. He instead sucked it from me by putting me down or demanding that I give it to him.

This was most apparent at our Year anniversary. I bought him an expensive gift. He bought me a card. I bought him a gift that would help him get a job. He didn’t get a job at all. I admitted to him that I loved him. He said he didn’t feel that way. A month later we fought. I was ready to leave and break up, but he took it as a cue to say “sorry” and tried to “make it up to me.” Then we went through the honeymoon phase where I was flinching and waiting for him to yell at me. I didn’t even realize it. Then he’d get mad and then throw a tantrum. He’d apologize and it would cycle again.

It was only when I spent 1,000 dollars on him that he finally said he loved me. He got an allergy to these moth products. I read the back of the labels, which is a compulsive thing for me to do. I read it aloud for him and told him, we shouldn’t get more than one of them. He ignored me. He later said that he didn’t heard me.

He got a severe allergy that sent him to the hospital. Through my generosity, I used all of my saved up money on hotels until the apartment could be cleared up of the gas that the moth poison was putting out. I was the one that pointed out what it could be. I had to eventually buy a bed for him out of my personal tips (since I refused to share a bank account) and I paid for the hotels. He yelled at me later because I’d run out of money which were spent on *his* hotel nights.

He forced me to throw out my clothes at the time and I knew if I stayed in the house he’d not get near me. Because he was that sort of person. So I stayed with him.

We ended up sleeping in the car. He forced me out of the passenger seat, which was more comfortable so he could sleep in it. I slept on the floor of the apartment when he threw out the previous bed.

He whined later on that he wanted to stay only in hotels.

In another words, he fell in love with me because I could provide him with money. But this was far from the worst of what he did. I later found out that it could get much, much worse than this.

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