Abuse

I remember him pointing out that I had dared to try and fight back. As if that wasn't my basic goddamn right. How dare I try to smash an empty glass candle holder on your head to get you to let go of me. How dare I try to put my fingernails in your eyes when you're sitting all 300+ pounds of yourself on me. When we recounted it to our therapist, I said "I don't remember if I wiggled free or you let go," and you said, with pride I found as infuriating as I did sickening, "You wouldn't get away on your own." Pride in being able to hold down someone less than half your size? Pride in being able to convince someone that they were about to die? I could easily switch our positions, and sometimes I dream of it. Slipping through to your office, opening the door silently. If you don't have headphones on, the first thing you will hear is the cocking of a pistol. If you do have headphones on, you won't know I'm there until I shoot through your screen. I can handle firearms. And I can handle stress, delay it until I have the luxury of breaking down. Having never shot inside a tiny room, I don't know how true the loudness/deafening cliches are. But I'll be prepared, and you won't. You've never feared for your life. Your fears are pathetic, honestly. Upper middle class white boy, no record, no drug issues, more afraid of the police than losing your family. You're afraid to lose the second life dream you've ever had. I've been through so many life dreams, all I have left is pieces of hope to shove together into a wish for a happy life. I'd tell you that as you stared at the barrel. The back third of your desk between us, you grab for it and you'll have a bullet in you. You're helpless. As helpless as I have been every time you've shoved a pillow over my face, wrapped my head in a blanket, shoved me to the mattress, and plopped your full body weight on me, put your arm around my neck. Prevented me from walking out the door. Why couldn't your issues have manifested in literally any other problematic way? If you'd gotten hooked on something, started stealing, started cheating, none of that would be on me. Your violence isn't on me either, but I still feel like it is. You can't openly admit someone was just abusive to you without ending the story with "and now he's dead" or "and then I left." There is no understanding for someone who understands you don't know how to grab control, and is giving you a short amount of time to do it. You failed. Now I can talk about it, kind of. Now I feel stupid for not leaving immediately. And now I'm marked, somehow. I went so long without dating anyone, knowing anyone who was that fucking barbaric. You turned like a rabid dog and now I probably have blinking signs that say "BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ME," visible to those who would. You completely fucked my trust of you, which, no big deal except we have to co-parent for the next fifteen to thirty years. Somehow, you didn't fuck my trust of other people, but I think that has more to do with my awareness of how everyone is an individual than anything you did or didn't do. I know you're still human. But you're going to have to prove to me you're a human who can control themselves if you even want to see your son occasionally. I understand you're finding yourself unable to break the cycle your dad started or carried on. You have a very short amount of time to break it, or I'll break it for you. Not with a gun, not with the police, unless you necessitate calling them for help. But I'll remove your poison from our lives completely if necessary. As bad as it is for me, it would be even worse for him. And I'm talking about him seeing you hurt someone else. If you hurt him, I'll probably kill you. You're stronger than me, but there are ways of equalizing things out, and not all of them have waiting periods. How dare I react at all when someone I've loved for two years suddenly becomes physically violent? Fuck you. You drove me into a hole of depression, literally shoved me into it. I've given you more than enough time. Kids sense things. I've spent more than a few nights hoping you'd do me a favor and make good on your manipulative suicidal threats, which are as transparent as air to me now. Hoping you'd crash your car into a bridge support at 90 mph. It's a selfish thought, the kid deserves as many supportive relatives he can get and I don't actually want you dead, but you gotta understand. If your personal bogeyman threatened suicide enough, don't you think you'd get sick of it eventually and start hoping he'd just go through with it? Get your shit together before you lose more than you've lost already. Get your shit together for kid you made me think would be safe to bring into the world. Get your shit together, because, while I could never hurt someone who wasn't hurting me, I have, can, and will hurt someone who is genuinely making me fear for my life. Pussy-ass motherfucker.

I'm scared that my significant others anger is out of control. Over the years I have seen their actions towards me when angry become more severe. Where as it use to just be yelling it progressed to making fun of me and throwing my personal belongings out of our room or at walls. Now it includes pushing me out of their way and holding me down to yell at me. I'm terrified it's going to continue to progress and even though they say they would never hit me I'm not so sure anymore.

It's heartbreaking.

I like to think that if I were a victim of physical abuse I would immediately pack up and be done until I saw SERIOUS effort such as counseling. And of course if it was reoccurring be done all together.

Now for the tricky part.

Verbal abuse.

How does one know where to draw the line? Am I bleeding? No. Bones broken? No. Bruised? No. In pain? Yes.

And this pain is deep. Comes with nausea, shortness of breath and light headed-ness. Not to mention the harder to see side effects including but not limited to thoughts of worthlessness, broken trust, fear of the one you love and self doubt.

As I sit, squinting to see through the tears, hands shaking, chest aching I just want to know, where do I draw the line?

The same friend that I once accidentally locked in a locker, later shot his uncle.

I still remember his screams, his tears, as I tried with everything in me to pry that locker open.

I remember, when I was finally successful, he fell from the locker, crumpled on the ground.

I wonder how that poor, sweet, shaking boy, could EVER have tried to kill a man.

But there were moments when I could have killed my abuser too.