•|Trigger warning.|•
The following contains adult content, my experience with mental, verbal and emotional abuse, mental health struggles. Reader discretion is advised.❤
🌱
At 18 years old I had decided what I
was going to do. I was in love. Oh, so in love. Within two years I
was a full time carer for my ex partner. It was a lot. To be honest
it felt like the worlds easiest decision. Like, who wouldn't want to
spend every waking hour with the person they love?
-hint of sarcasm, isnt hindsight
fun?!
Fast forward to 2013 to when I was 23
and he ended our relationship. This was one of the most painful days
of my entire life. I rang my mum – I don't remember this but I'm
guessing it was pretty emosh. I had to ask my mum if it was okay for
me to move back home, she was incredibly understanding and said yes
in a heartbeat. Within a few hours I was on her front doorstep.
-would you believe me if i told you
that i hung the washing out before i left? -__-
I was in so much pain, the type of pain
that I was unable to describe. I remember I slept in my mums double
bed that night. I left my phone downstairs so as not to be
disturbed/not to be checking it every 6 seconds. When I got up the
next day I looked at my phone. He had messaged me. He was full of
regret and just wanted everything to be okay and to be together
again. That he'd made a mistake. I felt a whirlwind of things which
confused me. I was happy, we'd been together for about 5 ½ years and
you don't just throw that away do you? But there was a small part of
me that felt disappointed. It felt like I had been set free... and
now re-captured.
Over the course of our relationship I
was on the receiving end of mental, emotional and at times, verbal
abuse. Not only from him but from his father. Now, let me be clear,
this isn't a roast or an opportunity to 'spill tea', this is my life
and this is what I went through. It wasn't like walking on eggshells,
it was walking on Lego. Every step I took hurt me. While I looked
after the two of them I did my best to make them happy and it came at
the cost of me and my well being. I once described to a therapist
that living in that house with my father in law (so to speak) was
like living with a grenade. No matter what I did, how much I sweat,
how many things I took on to lighten his load, it was always
inevitable that he was going to explode. My partner and I often being
the casualties. Each and every day was filled with fear. I tried to
predict everything. Chores that needed to be done, dogs that
needed to be walked, shopping that we would need etc.. Whatever I
could think of to prevent a blow up. God, it was exhausting. Him
having a good day meant that my partner would have a good day =
mission accomplished.
Me? Who??
I kept it all inside. I never told a
soul. Somehow I managed to keep my family in the dark. I kept them
completely separate from my life there. Not once did my parents visit
when the men of the house were home. I had tremendous anxiety about
specifically my dad meeting my father in law. I knew he would be able
to see right through and, as a result, he would see what I was living
with. If my parents had had any idea of what was going on they would
have been round like a shot packing my bags and bringing me home.
There was a part of me that wanted that but there was an even bigger
part that felt I deserved what my life was. The pain became familiar.
The gut wrenching anxiety would eventually become just a part of
daily life. There was always an undercurrent of me feeling like I
wasn't good enough. Nothing I did was enough. I was wrapped up in a
world where perfection was something that was seen as achievable and
anything less was shit and unacceptable. The tears I shed in that
house haunt me. I remember laying on my bedroom floor crying as
quietly as possible
-because heaven forbid they did
anything wrong or upsetting
praying that I would be taken away from
that place. I couldn't understand why no matter what I did it was
never enough.
My partner and I would have arguments,
but nothing would ever come of it. Nothing changed. I loved him
wholeheartedly and would have done anything for him. When the
relationship ended I felt a sense of relief because I was free from
them and their clutches. But when I woke up that morning and read the
text he had sent me, I was being called home by the person I love.
But I was also being called back to prison. How long would my
sentence be this time? With every fibre of my being I couldn't fight
the urge to go back. Their hold on me was stronger than my will to
fight for my freedom. After a year he ended the relationship again,
this time for good. Once again I was making that phone call to my mum
asking if I could come back home. More pain. I wouldn't care to admit
how long I waited for a text from him asking me to come back. Telling
me that he'd made a mistake again. Saying me how much he missed me.
Making more promises that things would be better. That message that
never came.
Having not been in that situation for
some years now, I can see it for what it was. It took me such a long
time to be able to see the pair of them flawed in any way what so
ever. For so long, I took full responsibility for everything and
wouldn't hear a bad word said about them. Now? Not so much. How I was
treated and what I went through wasn't acceptable. And that's putting
it lightly. Out of everything, I feel anger towards myself for not
leaving. Both times that I tasted freedom, it wasn't due to me
recognizing my self worth or knowing that what was happening was
wrong. I was pushed out. Thrown out like garbage. It well and truly
cemented for me that to them, I wasn't enough. Never was, never would
be. I didn't see it as abuse, I just thought that for someone you
love, you'll put up with anything. When looking back, it isn't what
they did that upsets me most, it's what I didn't do. I saw the
warning signs, had multiple red flags but ran full steam ahead
anyway.
A lot of who I am has been tied to what
I am able to put up with. What pain I can withstand. How many times
you push me away for me to still be willing to stand there when you
come back. I wish I could say that after this relationship I am a
changed woman but that would be a lie. I have gone on to be on the
receiving end of abuse from others and I still don't quite understand
why. It has gotten me into, some would say, more dangerous situations
to still have the same outcome. Abused and alone. Heartbroken and
depressed. Scared and empty. It almost feels like being abused in any
way is some kind of a comfort blanket. It's familiar, it's known
territory and I can play the role of the obliging servant very well.
When it comes to other people and making sure their needs are
met, I'm level 1000% but when it comes to me? Nah, why waste my time.
Out of everyone who has used and abused
me, I am by far the worst culprit. Filling my head with everyone and
everything else making sure there's no room left for me because God
forbid I take care of myself. This is what it always comes down to.
The root of it all. I don't see me. And if I can't see myself how can
I be there and look after me? My lack of self worth has led me down a
long and dark path. It has contributed to my mental health issues, my
poor lifestyle choices and just all round bad decisions to be honest.
By continuing to not be a priority in my life, I don't particularly
have one. No idea what I want, where I want to be, who I want to see,
what I feel is fair or unfair treatment, acceptable or unacceptable
behaviour towards myself... It truly is life destroying.
Having recently left an incredibly
abusive relationship I am trying to pick my life up. I would say
'back up' but I'm not sure I ever held it to begin with. I've always
allowed others, whether family, friends or partners, to choose for
me. With everything. I need to try and understand that at 30 years
old I am capable of choosing the path myself. In 2018 I came the
closest I ever have to building a relationship with myself but it
slipped through my fingers, landed on the floor and has been being
kicked around and gathering dust ever since. I am on a journey of
self acceptance and forgiveness. I don't believe that I ever meant
to hurt me, I just didn't particularly care if someone else or the
consequences of my decisions did. I am realizing more and more often
how short life really is and I don't want to take it for granted or
treat myself like I am nothing. I put up with the abuse and what did
it get me? It didn't make him love me more, it didn't make my father
in laws respect for me grow. What I got from it was lessons. Lessons
of what not to do perhaps.
Life is challenging enough, I don't
need to weigh myself down even further by piling up things that
aren't mine to carry. I hope that you won't either.
As always, sending you love and kickassery 😏💪💋💖
