Have you ever looked at someone you dated and felt like you lost something? Not in the "I miss the sex" or "I miss the times we had" kind of way, but in an "I really fucked this up type of way".
I ran across one of my first love's Facebook profile and became a little nostalgic. See, the thing is he has become an even better person than he was when we were together, but I have forgotten after several years what it really was that happened for him to dislike me so much that we aren't connected in any way. Almost like he is better without me. The truth that I had to come to was: he was better without me.
I remembered all of the wonderful things I showed him, he was the first guy I introduced to my mom as my boyfriend, first (and last) guy I've ever exchanged promise rings with and the first guy that had a key to my place. I remembered all of that, but I forgot about the domestic violence.
In remembering some things, we got to get to a level of honesty. Let's start at the fact that I was the definition of a fuckboy: I was escorting, sleeping around, unemployed, living at someone's house and in a relationship with him. He, on the other hand, was a college student, worked full time at a bank, had his own apartment and car and loved my dirty drawers. That should've been enough to leave me alone, but he sincerely and genuinely loved me in my mess.
We both had some infidelity in our three-year relationship, but I wasn't one to be denied. I would one-up him like nobody's business even if the reason why he was cheating was because I was too into my hypermasculinity, at the time, that I didn't want him to penetrate me. I can remember one time him and me, along with my best friend, were at the club. We had been drinking MD 2020 prior to walking in (young and broke) and so we were full before even getting to the door. The night was amazing; we split up and all went to socialize with the different people we knew laughing and dancing the night away. When it was getting close to the end of the night, I went looking for the both of them. Once I realized they may be together, I left out the club to go find that the car wasn't there. Long story short, I ended up fighting both of them and asking my ex to come over that night with him in my apartment. My ex and I slept on the couch together while my boyfriend slept in my bed. I figured if you were gonna get me, I would get you better. Fucked up, indeed, but to a person who had a bunch of insecurity, it made sense.
Mind you: he was all of 6'3'' and muscular and I'm 5'8" and, at that time, I was skinny. He probably could have thrown me across the fucking room, but abuse is always more mental than physical and I had gotten in his head.
We had a couple other fights after that. The more it happened, the farther I went. All of this fighting made me remember why he actually stopped talking to me, though.
One day, I was calling him all day and no answer which was absolutely unheard of for him. I did my research and found out it was a guy that was trying to court him he met in the club the weekend prior, so I was becoming furious and nervous about what this could mean for me. My biggest fear was: one day he would wake up and find out I wasn't good enough for him. I knew all it would take is finding someone that was. So, I got desperate. I text him and told him I was very sick and needed him over ASAP. He finally answered after midnight and tells me he was out with his "friends" all day. I calmly told him that I needed to see him because I had a bad day. Like a good guy, he came over.
I immediately picked an argument soon as he walked in. We argued and pushed and argued. It turned into a big thing and once it ended, he was on the floor, having a seizure, bleeding from his mouth and nose. I then realized that I not only could be in jail for this, but this can't be love. I ran to a neighbor's house nervous and she called the paramedics. He came to before they arrived and I was grateful that he didn't tell them what happened. After they left and we cleaned him up, he even hugged me, kissed me and told me he didn't feel comfortable staying with me that night and had to drive home.
He stayed with me still. But everything changed. He no longer felt safe with or around me. He no longer respected me the same. How can someone that loves you hurt you in that way?
We broke up and he ended up in another abusive relationship. I don't know what happened after that; he's a good guy and I truly hope he found someone that can love him in the way he loved me. He deserves it.
I'm still-- 5 years later-- dealing with the remnants of it. I was hitting him as a rebellion to my mental altercations and bullying from my past and ended up being even more emotional broken. I still see pieces of the hurt I caused him in my life as we speak. He still shows up in my current predicaments wondering how I got here. He's well over me after the physical bruises, but I am still dealing with the wounds that I refused to deal with even 5 years later.
This is a story that happens all too often. We need to talk about it.
When did we get so comfortable with abusing each other and calling it love? Why haven't we come to an understanding that putting our hands on another person is weak and says more about you than them? What way do we move people out of the desire to hurt people physically and learn that the internal pain won't be healed by it?
And maybe you are one of the few people who has never been in a situation like this, but physical isn't the only abuse we put our lovers through. We need to understand that the rage we feel is much bigger than what's going on in the relationship. It is much better-- and cheaper-- to walk away. It's not always easy, but it'll keep you out of a lot of trouble.
Love hurts sometimes, but it doesn't beat you down.