#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (i can haz abusive relationship?) PT 3

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote> 

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas

The end.

After that horrible Valentine’s Day episode and the misguided, verbalized affectations of my boyfriend Luke, I actually continued seeing him. And yes, I realize this qualifies as a huge mistake on my part. We continued to have big blow-out fights (which consisted primarily of verbal warfare) and major highs wherein we would laugh and joke and have way too much fun together. Our relationship was a rollercoaster in the truest sense of the phrase.

Some time after the V-Day episode, we had a big BIG fight. It started in his house, over what I could not tell you, and then leaked out onto his front lawn, and down the street to the nearby freeway. You see, this time, I ran. I was without my own vehicle at the time, so I had hastily and haphazardly packed my bag between insults and waltzed out the front door. I sat down on the curb and proceeded to call a friend of mine, who lived in the same area, to see if he could pick me up and take me home. As I was listening to the sound of the line ringing through my cell phone, my phone-hand was suddenly and unceremoniously grabbed, twisted behind my back, and relieved of its contents. Luke stood behind me with a look of rage and disbelief on his face, and then threw my phone into the street.

I ran.

I didn’t even pick up my things. I just got up and ran. The sound of my feet hitting the pavement seemed far away as I turned down the corner of his street, under cover of darkness, and headed toward the apartment of the friend I had tried to call. Luke was screaming at me. I got about three blocks before I heard his car screaming around the corner, and as I looked behind me to confirm that it was him, I turned down the next street I came to, hoping someone would be walking their dog or driving by, to witness my mad dash toward freedom.

There was no one.

What happened next is still a blur in my mind. I heard his SUV right behind me, and I remember turning around and experiencing that “deer in the headlights” moment, literally. Luke whipped his car around me, cutting me off, by driving up over the curb and onto the sidewalk. He jumped out of the car and tackled me, wrapping his arms around me (I was facing away from him), he lifted me up off the ground, walked me to the driver’s side of his car and threw me into the front seat. He then pushed me all the way over to the passenger seat. I grappled for the passenger door handle and as I am about to open the door and crawl out the other side, the car lurches into drive and he is making a U-turn in someone’s lawn while I am half way out of the car.

He is screaming at me, and the only real thing I can remember him saying is: “What do I have to do to make you understand that I love you?” And this is where I have to stop. Honestly, I can’t devote any further energy to the telling of this story because it makes me ill to think about it. When things finally ended, I was relieved. But I was also really angry with him. I spent a long time trying to unravel all of the bitterness and resentment I held for him. I remember talking to our mutual friends after we had been broken up for a while, sharing some of the events of our turbulent relationship to skeptical faces. Some of them couldn’t believe it. They just didn’t think Luke seemed like “that guy.” They would say, “I don’t think you’re making it up, I just never would have thought he would be that way.” Then, one day, when I spoke to a friend of his that had known him since high school; I found out that he had abused his high school girlfriend, in much the same way as he had abused me. I felt both justified and stupid; justified, because I now knew I wasn’t the first person he claimed to love that he laid hands on in anger…stupid, because I also thought I was somehow special.

The point is that our relationship took a lot out of me, emotionally. The shame I felt and still feel, at times, is maddening. I get angry with myself that I allowed it to happen, and I get angry that I never did anything about it. I get angry when I think that he could be doing the same things he did to me to someone else. And that is what I feel most ashamed about—that if there is some poor girl out there who has been or is being abused by him—that somehow, it will be my fault because I didn’t stop him.

I am giving up the gun. I can’t keep spending my energy on shame. It’s worth little to nothing—considering that the only person who suffered for it was me. Perhaps Luke did too, in some way, but that is little comfort. The truth is I need to forgive myself for it. I don’t have to forgive him, and he’s never really apologized or acknowledged the damage he did, so he hasn’t earned any forgiveness from me. I think forgiving myself is probably more important to moving beyond all of this… so that’s what I will work on.

What I have learned about myself through that experience is still muddled with the color of the abuse. It’s tainted. I could say that I shouldn’t regret the relationship because I learned from it, but honestly, I want to spit in the face of that idea… because I would give a hell of a lot to go back to the night he bit me and walk away from that whole situation right then and there. I truly would.

Everything after that is bittersweet and salty with the taste of regret behind all the good things that may have happened.

So, I urge you: if you’re in a situation like mine or worse… get out. Get out now. It’s not worth it and you can’t save anyone or fix anyone like Luke. An abuser must save themselves, and only after they admit that they need help. If you need help, go here:

http://www.thehotline.org/ or call 1-800-799-SAFE(7233). It’s safe,

it’s anonymous, and it’s free.

#nerdsunite

Want more from Layne? Click here to follow her on the twitter!

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (i can haz abusive relationship?) PT 2

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Layne. I forget how we first started talking ... I think it was on twitter, and then we totes became besties on Facebook, and then we started reading each other's blogs and like commenting and like and like and like ... this chick is RAD annndd she's a ginger. No, seriously. Welcome to the world of Layne and the thoughts that are inside of her head. HIT IT GIRL! </editorsnote> 

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @redheadintexas

When I saw Chris Brown on the Grammy's Sunday night, I became very angry. Here was a man who is known publicly to have abused someone he claimed to love, being celebrated by a community of individuals who have a huge platform for bringing awareness and visibility to domestic violence and abuse. I am disgusted by this person-- not just because of the abuse, but because not once has he shown any true humility or repentance for his actions-- no contrition whatsoever. Not only do I wholly doubt the sincerity of his apology (mostly, due to his subsequent actions at the studios of Good Morning America when he cause property damage and lashed out at several people during his so-called "meltdown"), I believe he actually thinks he has been treated unfairly by those few in the media and the public who continue to call attention to the fact that he has yet to fully shoulder the consequences of his actions, nor has he made an honest effort at rehabilitating his obvious anger issues. 

And people wonder why so many abuse victims remain silent.

Last week, I shared with you the beginning of an abusive relationship I was in during my early twenties. Part I of this story can be found here. As I mentioned before, my paper-thin self esteem and the rock-bottom price at which I valued myself led me into the downward spiral of an abusive relationship. Like many abusive relationships, the abuse wasn't a constant. In fact, when things were good, I was almost able to completely forget that things had ever taken a dark turn. It wasn't as though he was controlling; he never attempted to dictate my life. None of the abuse that happened ever seemed calculated. It all happened in the heat of the moment. He didn't chip away at my ego with demeaning or belittling commentary. He was a classic case of someone with deeply repressed anger, who lashed out whenever he felt vulnerable. Even though what I experienced seems mild in comparison to some, I now know that no level of abuse is acceptable. Period.

After the first incident, I took a huge step back from my relationship with Luke. I ignored his attempts at contact and tried to forget he existed. But, eventually, I allowed him to worm his way back in.

It started with phone calls, and eventually, I agreed to meet him out at a club one night, while he was playing at a weekly event. Over the course of the evening, I allowed his charm and his flirting to bring down my guard, and we ended up having a really great time. After a few weeks, that awful night was tucked away, in the very back of my mind. We didn't talk about it, he didn't bring it up and neither did I. We spent time together doing normal things couples do. We went to the movies, the museum, art galleries, bars, clubs, etc. We spent time hanging out at his place, listening to music and watching Seinfeld on DVD. Things were good. Very good.

By the time Valentine's Day came along, we had been dating, seriously, for at least three months. At that time, I was working at a popular steakhouse, so as anyone who has ever eaten Valentine's dinner at a steakhouse can imagine, I was in for a long night as a hostess. Due to that fact, Luke and I had planned to hang out during the day and have a "romantic" lunch, but I distinctly remember feeling like he wasn't putting much effort into the "romance" part. I don't exactly remember how we got into it, but we ended up having a bit of a spat towards the end of our meal. I think he might have shared some kind of catty comment his mom had made about me, which got my heckles up even more, after I mentioned that I wished we'd done something a little more special-- not only because it was Valentine's Day, but because he was leaving the country that night to go on a family vacation-- meaning we wouldn't be seeing each other for at least a week (it may have been closer to two).

He was driving me home so I could get ready for work when things started to really get heated. By the time we pulled into my driveway, we were arguing in earnest. I said something that pushed him to the edge and he reached across the car and slapped me. I was shocked-- again-- it seemed to come from nowhere. One minute we're arguing like a normal couple, the next minute, he's in a rage. I jumped out of the car as fast as I could and I slammed the car door, screaming at him to never call me or come near me again. I'm sure I launched a few obscenities at him as well, and as I marched up to the entry of my house and opened the storm door, all I remember is the sensation of being yanked backwards, my feet leaving the ground. I landed in the flower bed, my hand breaking my fall on the stone bricks that lined them. My hand was bleeding and I was sobbing. 

Again, the mood suddenly changed. He started babbling how he was just trying to stop me, he didn't want me to leave angry… he was only trying to make me stop and listen. Again, this was a huge red flag. Again, I should have run from him and never looked back. I got up, without his help, and told him to go fuck himself. I slammed the door in his face and went inside to get ready for work. I was already running late because of our fight, so I threw my uniform on and sped to work. I had to bandage my hand up and I was cradling an icepack in my hand on the way into work. When I got there, the bartender on shift at the time was also a mutual friend of ours. He was the guy who had actually helped me get the job at that restaurant. When I saw him, he could tell something was up with me. He asked me what happened to my hand and I just lost it. Tears welled up in my eyes and I told him I couldn't talk about it. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to tell him what had happened, but felt a sudden sense of overwhelming guilt-- what a ridiculous thought! Here I was, battered and bruised, having been thrown across my lawn by someone who was supposed to care about me, and I was the one feeling bad about possibly spilling the beans and letting his friend in on what a jerk he was! 

Insanity. I don't understand it. Looking back, I have no idea who that girl is… it's as if she is a stranger to the person I am now. I actually played it down and acted like I tripped and fell while storming off after an argument. I lied. To protect him. 

How sick is that???

That night, after hours of seating and cleaning up after countless couples out enjoying each other for Valentine's Day, I clocked out and walked out to my truck. I pulled my cell phone out of the glove compartment and saw that I had several missed calls from him and a voicemail. Note: remembering this in particular really makes me uncomfortable with how much I allowed myself to be manipulated by this creature. In his message, his voice took on this quality of someone speaking as though they're afraid what they're about to say will hurt someone. He said he was calling from the airport, while waiting at the gate. He went on to say he would miss me and would call me from his destination, that he hoped I was okay and that my night went well. Then, after a long pause, he said he hoped he would see me when he got home, and ended the message by saying "I love you."

Yep. My boyfriend, who had thrown me around my yard just a few hours earlier, was telling me he loved me for the first time, via voice mail. If that's not the behavior of someone who has no sense of how love should be communicated, then I don't know what is. Looking back, I can see it so clearly. So sharp and icy slick-- the slippery slope of delusion. How easy it was for me to believe that somehow, all the wrong actions could be made right with words. I still struggle with that. I find that I put a lot of unearned value in words, when actions worth far more. 

And with each incident, my inability to speak up-- to friends, family, anyone-- continued. As the number of times he would lash out at me increased, so would the shame I felt in remaining silent. Things would only get worse.

#nerdsunite

Want more from Layne? Click here to follow her on the twitter!

[Author's note: If you or someone you know is dealing with an abusive relationship, please reach out for help. It doesn't have to be a life or death situation, as any level of abuse, emotional or physical, is too much. No one deserves it, and no one should stand for it. The National Domestic Violence Hotline is a confidential, non-profit organization that can help anyone willing to ask for it. Get help.http://www.thehotline.org/]