I wasn’t going to tell my story just yet, however I realized that my story was the impetus behind the blog in the first place. So, while I’m not ready to go into great detail (and may never be), here goes nothing:
I met someone in late November, 2019 – we’ll call him Bob. We got to know each other throughout the holidays and into the New Year, and in early February ‘Bob’ and I had ‘the talk’ that led to an official relationship. March brought Covid and all of the changes that came with it – which we weathered together at his apartment.
In late May/early June, Bob announced that he had some money for a down payment and was thinking about buying a place – and would I like to move in with him? (Yes that was fast, but…Covid.) Before I knew it, we had found a place which he purchased and September 1st saw us officially moving in together.
Almost immediately I knew it was a mistake. It wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t as good as it should have been. It didn’t feel like my home at all – I was merely there to be the caretaker. It felt transactional. I wasn’t happy – but I had upended my life to move in with him – what was I supposed to do? I chalked it up to a lot of the stress of moving and whatnot and hoped it would get better.
On Halloween we decided to sit out at the sidewalk, have a few drinks, hand out candy and be social with neighbors as they chaperoned their kids around the block. After traffic died down we went inside where the rest of the night was a blur. There are details I remember clearly and a lot that are very foggy – but something triggered him as we got ready for bed and for at least an hour I was subjected to verbal and emotional but mostly physical abuse in our bathroom.
When Bob ran out of steam, I was able to throw some things in a backpack and Uber to my friend’s house. I’ll never forget the look on her face as she took in mine – my swollen, black and blue, tear-stained face. When she asked what happened, all I could manage was ‘he hit me’ – as if it was anywhere close to the full reality of what I had just endured. The cops were called. A statement was made and evidence photos were taken, but when I was asked if I wanted to press charges or have him arrested, I declined. I was in shock. I wasn’t fully able to comprehend what had just happened to me.
I spent two weeks living/hiding in my friend’s basement like some sort of Quasimodo – watching the bruises on my face and body go from purple to that sickly yellow-green, and eventually start to fade away. Bob wanted me to come home. Was sorry. Didn’t know what happened. Etc. I said I would come home on two conditions: he got help (anger management and therapy) and the understanding that if he EVER touched me in anything other than a loving manner again, I would be calling the cops and pressing charges.
Things were okay for a while – the holidays were pleasant into the New Year, but then I didn’t see any action from Bob towards getting the help he promised. I asked about it innocently enough one afternoon and was sharply told that he ‘didn’t need to get help’ and there wasn’t anything wrong with him.
We had some good times, but mostly just existed until one day mid-April when we both must have gotten up on the wrong side of bed. We started the morning with a few arguments and a cloud settled over us for the remainder of the day. We spent the afternoon and evening apart from each other in the condo not speaking. When it was time for bed, Bob took his pillow and a blanket to the living room, but quickly decided that I was to be banished to the couch for the night instead. An argument ensued and in a moment of frustration, I tossed the ice tea from the glass I was holding into his face. As I turned away from him, he grabbed the glass and threw it at the back of my head, cutting it open. A short tussle followed.
True to my word, I called the cops. They arrived and upon seeing my head wound, they arrested Bob on the spot. I was taken to the hospital where I earned three staples in the back of my head. Again, a report was given and evidence photos were taken. I was told that Bob had to stay away from the condo for 72 hours after the incident so two days later my mom came to get me and whatever I could pack in her vehicle. I then moved my stuff into a storage unit and spent the summer at my mom’s where I attended Zoom court, worked remotely, and tried to figure out what to do next.
This past fall saw me back in the city into a great apartment with my two crazy kittens. I’ve been going to therapy and surrounding myself with great friends and working on my healing. It’s been a lot – and nothing I (nor anyone else) deserve. I know my experience isn’t even close to what many suffer on a daily basis, but it doesn’t make it any less real or unacceptable. As my therapist says: trauma isn’t a competitive sport.
If you or anyone you know is suffering from abuse, please get help: National Domestic Violence Hotline. 800.799.7233 https://www.thehotline.org/
Refreshingly Honest 