Along with that self-criticism comes disgust and the tendency to minimize my problems (like my suicidal episodes over the last few months that I accepted as really bad days and tried to play down). Over the past few years I've been cultivating my self-acceptance and compassion but I still find myself harboring a minimized problem.
No, I'm not talking about my depression-although I do tend to try and sweep that under the rug too. I'm talking about a past relationship.
As I've sat on this wonderfully sunny Friday with the smell of moldy lasagna pan wafting from the kitchen I've come to the resolution that it's time to air this dirty laundry, scrub these moldy memories, stop minimizing and let this hurt out.
I met Ex through another boy I dated in college. There was instant chemistry but it took a few life turns and many months before Ex and I came together as an item.
Ex was certainly different from any of the boys I'd dated before-I'd never been with someone so athletic or masculine or smart or poor or scarred. By scarred I mean that Ex had been abused as a child-physically and emotionally.
Emotionally, things moved slow for us. I struggled with the feeling that Ex was always withholding something from me and pieces of the puzzle did start to come together over the months. Little anecdotes or stories about his childhood-having pans or shovels thrown at him by his father or working while going school to buy his family a new refrigerator or his father wrecking the car he had saved up for so he could get to work- all the little horrors and heartbreaks that lined his soul.
All this took a toll on me. It was all so sad and I couldn't bear the pain very well. I started to crumble personally while I tried to help him grow and move past his history. I was continually trying to get him to open up and trust me and lean on me, but he never could.
Ex's life had been an uphill battle from the beginning and it was the only way he knew how to live.
His mother told him that they had tried to abort him before he was born, but it didn't take. He came into the world unwanted and unloved.
Despite the abuse and rejection, Ex thrived academically and overcame his childhood obesity to become an active adult. When we met he had been working as an instructor at the college lake house and loved to play pickup basketball.
Even though he had many successes, Ex's life was riddled with struggle and disappointment. In my eyes, his constant apprehension of failure or life's next sucker punch brought more bad luck and ill chance into his life. He also resented his body regardless of his physical strengths or progress and believed his tall, muscular stature made him intimidating and people rejected him for it.
Life was perpetual struggle with dalmatian spots of happiness.
Throughout our relationship we had pushed and pulled to make things work. Lengthy, tear stained, back aching discussions into the wee hours of the morning struck at least monthly. As our lives became more intertwined I noticed Ex would often omit bad news, monetary strife, or academic struggles to avoid confrontation or "save me the stress" as he put it.
Yes there were good parts and good times, but there was more unease.
A huge problem for me was the fact that he never let his family find out that I existed. At one point we were living together-sharing a bed and a room!-and his family couldn't know that A)I lived there B) was his girlfriend. At the drop of a hat I would have to leave the house and Ex would cover up traces of my residence there.
At one point he moved a dresser in front of a closet to prevent his brother from seeing my clothes. Of course his brother inquired as to the odd positioning of furniture and they nearly came to blows before Ex shifted the focus to something else.
Ex's mother was constantly asking favors and she managed the house we lived in. Managed remotely I should say, Ex did the upkeep and improvements.
Random visits every few months, hair raising phone calls, and demanding Ex's presence on holidays were all I knew of his mother. I only saw her once-months after we had broken up-when I drove by the old house on the way to campus one day. He did a good job of keeping me away from his family, I couldn't pick them out of a crowd to save my life.
All of the that was our general relationship and while it hurts and still presses on my heart to think of, the really hurtful part came in the last months of our relationship.
After I graduated with my BA I had a depressive relapse. I was working and living with Ex while he finished his schooling (I'm assuming he has graduated by now but I do not know). I found myself a counselor and she recommended trying antidepressants.
For the first time I was able to convince myself that antidepressants were OK and slowly I started chipping away at the depression.
Soon after treatment began I noticed that Ex was especially probing about my therapy and it came to the point where he would intersect me immediately following my appointments to hash over what had been discussed. The therapist expressed many concerns about my relationship with Ex and encouraged me to talk to him and try to cultivate a more nourishing relationship.
Eventually I wrote the therapist a note saying I wouldn't be able to come see her anymore and a couple weeks after that I stopped taking my antidepressants. The Ex bolstered my worries that it wasn't economical-that I couldn't take pills for the rest of my life, that I would have to fix my problems from the inside out on my own and I quit.
That fall a work friend of mine left the country to teach abroad for nine months. I rented her condo and moved some of my things there, hoping that Ex would move out of his mother's grasp and things would get better for us. But he refused, claiming it was too inconvenient and far from campus. He also mentioned his damned male pride preventing him from letting me pay the rent and be the provider.
Whatever the reason, we still spent most nights together but eventually I would shower and get ready at the condo every morning and when he moved in a friend of his that I didn't like, I started sleeping at the condo more and more often.
My second relapse a few months later was far worse. For the first time my work suffered because of my depression. I came late, broke down in the office, and eventually quit my job to facilitate my recovery.
It took me long time to hit bottom and encouragement from my family before I sought help. The therapist I began seeing this time changed my life and not only be assuring me that antidepressants were OK!
It wasn't until I met this therapist that I really appreciated how dysfunctional and dangerous my relationship with Ex had been-and that is what I have been minimizing for so long.
THAT RELATIONSHIP WOULD HAVE KILLED ME.
That's the truth, unminized. Being with Ex crushed me and broke me down and the depression it put me into would have claimed my life if I hadn't found help.
Yes, I am responsible for my actions and myself-I understand that. I put myself in that relationship, but it became an abusive relationship that I couldn't recognize as unhealthy and couldn't rescue myself from. He never hit me but the emotional control wreaked worse damage than some bruises would have.
During my second run at therapy and medication discussions with Ex became more charged and suddenly very terrifying. With my self-preservation and worth reanimated through therapy I was no longer passive and accepting toward Ex's interrogations and the "norm" of our relationship.
Ending the relationship became a possibility in my mind and Ex sensed it.
Whether intentional or not, Ex became very aggressive in our discussions.
As far as women go I'm above average height, 5'9", and as far as anyone goes, Ex was TALL, 6'6". During our talks he would become agitated. Standing, walking and gesticulating violently (grabbing his head, clenching his fists, throwing his arms down and up, and sometimes punching the wall or slamming a hand down on furniture) and it scared me.
At other times he movements would back me into a corner. I found myself flinching and shirking away from him. He was mortified by my response but also maddened. I could see the sadness in his face when he saw me afraid but his anger overcame that remorse and he would shake his head or slam the wall, "I would NEVER hurt you! How can you flinch? How can you act like that?"
For the first time my constant current of unease had become a tremulous fear of this man.
Despite my fear it was difficult to extricate myself from the relationship. Our discussions continued, trying to repair the mess of emotions and lost trust.
He even met me late at night with flowers.
But my sense of trust and safety were gone and I couldn't ignore that fear inside me and the sense of relief I had when he would leave.
One night during a phone conversation he made jab at me that rankled me to the bone. He implied that my lack of energy and motivation from the depression was part of my personality, that he couldn't live with someone "like that." I told him I couldn't talk to him anymore and hung up.
I was furious. He had brought me to these depths of depression and then blamed me for the consequent symptoms as if I were inherently lazy and hopeless.
I called my mother and my sister and my sister came up and we moved all of my things from the house into the condo. It was a huge moment to withdraw from that lifestyle but I still wasn't out of the woods. It would be weeks before we were finally separated.
For nearly two years I've kept this mostly to myself. Thankfully the fiance is very understanding and comforting, but for both our sakes I wanted to express this and try to let it go. I'll never be without these memories but I hope that by writing this out I can come to a more full acceptance, gratitude for my life now, and resolution.
I never thought that I would be in an abusive relationship and I certainly never intended to be in an unhealthy relationship, but I see now that I was vulnerable and that it can happen to people that would never expect it.
I hope that anyone else in that situation will trust their gut, not be afraid to reach out for help, and care for themselves enough to fight for their livelihood. It doesn't matter how little their actions might seem-it matters how they affect YOU.
To some our relationship seemed fine, but under the surface I was dying a slow death. I don't know if Ex will go on to find a healthy, successful relationship with someone else or if his past will get the best of him and hurt someone else-but I hope he can stop the pattern and I hope no one else will have to be afraid like I was.
Please tell me your stories and feelings and don't be afraid to ask questions. I changed my life because I spoke up ;o)
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Be well, HBF