#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/] 

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

<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

First off, I would like to apologize to the entire TNTML community for being MIA over the last week. I started off my second work week by being informed that I would be working some overtime, so we needed to get an approval over to accounting so that my paycheck wouldn't get screwed up. There were several fires to be put out and some are still burning… 

Ah, such is the life of a legal assistant!

I am still adjusting to the schedule… and the commute. I still haven't had a chance to work out in the building's gym (partly due to waiting for my access card to be set up to allow me to get INTO the gym!), so I am a bit disappointed about that. Anyway… let's change the subject… my new job has my head in a complete vice and I would much rather talk about something else until the dust settles. 

What I really want to talk about this week is something I have debated talking about online, or rather-- putting it out there for the whole world to read. Actually, let me be honest and say a huge part of me does not want to talk about it, at all. It's more like I have to.. like it's now or never. I was inspired by some of the other writers here who have written about their own stories of toxic relationships, betrayal, abuse, mental illness, and low self-esteem. From Julie's incredibly painful experience to MegCorb's battle with anxiety… Kenny's life-long struggle with weight and body image, and Jessica's survival story of getting out of an abusive, controlling relationship. The biggest catalyst was Jen's story about the shame she had been carrying since childhood. 

Shame is something I can deeply identify with.

My story is different, yet it still has similarities to all of theirs, and I'm sure, in many ways, some of yours. It's incredibly difficult to share it, especially in a non-anonymous way. But I believe it's time to shed some of my own shame, because the universe knows that I have kept much of these events to myself, due to the shame I felt because I was the girl who let someone lay their hands on me in anger, and didn't leave the first time. 

When I was 20, I met and started dating a guy we'll call Luke. Luke was a musician. He played guitar and also had a presence in the local music scene as a DJ. We met at a Halloween party, I was dressed as Nancy Vicious… of Sid and Nancy fame. I had the full regalia, right down to the padlock choker. I had ripped up the front of my tank top (revealing a vinyl bikini top) and splattered myself with fake blood, as though I had recently been assaulted. I typically go for the gore around Halloween, rather than the humorous, or various iterations of sexy nurse, or sexy cop, or sexy Mad Hatter. Oh, you didn't know there was such a thing as a sexy Mad Hatter costume? Well, there is, because for some reason costume makers believe all little girls who grow up watching Disney movies will someday feel more sexually relevant by parading around in an x-rated version of a cartoon character. (If you haven't figured it out already, humor is one of my defense mechanisms.)

I suppose I should have known that the energy I was creating with that costume might attract the wrong person into my life, but I was 20-- naive, inexperienced, a blank slate just awaiting corruption. Luke and I hit it off immediately. After only knowing each other for two hours, I was telling him everything about myself. He made me laugh. He was child-like and silly. He had this swagger and self-confidence (or what I now know to be self-loathing parading as self-confidence) that pulled me to him like a moth to flame. He was trouble.

There were plenty of red flags at the beginning. Little outbursts he would have, frustration bubbling into anger, that caused his tongue to sharpen and his words to cut like knives. He had moments, but in youth, you think everything is about passion. All the extremes you're in-- life is either heaven or hell. You're constantly pushing the boundaries within yourself, and the world around you. I thought his emotional roller coaster ride was "normal." We got along so well, and laughed so hard together… I thought I had finally found someone who "got" me. 

When his anger crossed the line to violence the first time, I was so caught off guard, it was as if I was two minds stuck in one body. Half of me wanted to run for the hills, the other half wanted to believe that it was a mistake. Luke picked me up from my house and we went to dinner, then back to his place to watch a movie and listen to some records. Things took their natural progression, and he was doing his thing, which for him always meant pleasing me first. For whatever reason, things just weren't happening for me that night. I couldn't tell you why, other than to surmise that there might have just been a chill in the air that only my subconscious was aware of, but when I tried to let him know (in the nicest way possible) that I didn't think I was going to get up the proverbial mountain, he became frustrated and lashed out at me by biting the inside of my thigh. Hard. Like, not in the sexy way… in the "if I can't give you pleasure, then I will give you pain" way. 

I was shocked. I remember scrambling away from him, pushing the covers between my own body and his, to protect myself from his fury. He immediately changed demeanor-- everything from the tone of his voice to his body language. One moment, he was pissed off as all get out, the next he almost seemed frightened. He kept saying sorry, apologizing over and over, saying how he didn't realize he had bit me so hard, he hadn't meant to, he just got caught in the moment, etc. I should have ran out of his house and never looked back, but I couldn't. After I calmed down a bit, I asked him to take me home. He wasn't happy about that, either, but I could tell he didn't want to push me any further away than he had. We rode back to my house in silence, and I can't even begin to remember what was going through my mind. I was conflicted, hurt, in pain, horrified, disappointed, and scared. 

After that, we took a break. For a week or so, I ignored his calls and texts and voicemails. I didn't tell ANYONE what had happened at that point. I was completely at a loss for what to do. I knew that kind of behavior was unacceptable, but I was in too deep. I had no sense of self-preservation… and I now realize I had paper-thin self-esteem. Soon enough, I would allow him back in… and of course, he would cross the line again, on a day that is supposed to be about celebrating love and romance: Valentine's Day. 

#nerdsunite

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

#Nerdsunite: Confessions of a ginger (back in the saddle)

<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

So, after two days of my new gig, things are going pretty well. None of the people I work with make me want to strangle them, nor do I feel as though I am a wolf in sheep's clothing, meaning that I don't feel like I have to tone down or hide my personality. Everyone I have dealt with face-to-face thus far has been fairly laid back, intelligent, and everyone seems to have a great sense of humor.

Wait, I do work at a law firm, right?

Of course, this could be the "honeymoon phase," wherein everyone is on their best behavior and none of the hidden terrors have reared their ugly heads… but I am going to go with the opportunists point of view by choosing not to over-analyze the moment, and enjoy the fact that no one seems to have any high-grade neuroses or a habit of flying into uncontrollable rage. You've heard that saying, right? The pessimist says the glass is half empty, the optimist says the glass is half full… and while they're busy arguing, the opportunist finishes the drink.

Who knows what the coming weeks will bring? I am getting back into the saddle, finding that many things are coming back easily, while other things are in that "use it or lose it" category, like all that Spanish you knew in high school, but can't remember a few years into college. There are some pros and some cons to the situation, so far, and I would like to share them with you.

Con: My commute to and from work every day is about an hour each way, so spending two hours driving (more like 45 minutes driving and the rest is spent riding the brakes, or parked on the freeway) is kind of a bummer.

Pro: Free gym in the building! (I haven't had a chance to use it yet, so I will report further findings once I do.)

Con: It takes a lot of walking and two elevators to get to my floor, meaning that even once I get parked, it still takes 10 minutes to get to my desk (and that's 10 fewer minutes to sleep… boooo.)

Pro: I can wear jeans (as long as they're not ratty or torn) every day! (Bonus pro: this also cuts down on the expense of buying work-specific clothing)

Con: My computer is kind of lame (although, so far, it's working alright and they do have a great IT vendor) and the monitors they have are so TINY that I elected to bring in my own so I could have some actual work space.

Pro: My work space is pretty comfortable… lots of storage and room to spread out when I need to work on a big project. Also, I can verify that there is enough room under my desk to take a nap. (Not that I did that or anything, but I did spend some time down there getting my computer all hooked up.)

Pro: Flavia coffee maker that has MILKY WAY SWIRL packets for making delicious lattes. FREE! I cannot stress how important the coffee-making situation is in my work environment. We even have a pumpkin spice flavor that is amaaaazing.

Pro: Medical and life insurance paid 100% by the firm, not out of my pocket. Very nice!

Pro: Paid parking… which is awesome, since the garage is not free to visitors, and this garage is very safe, secure, etc.

Okay, so far that's three cons versus six pros. I think that's a winning outcome, thus far. Next week, I'll have more to say about the ins-and-outs of the daily grind, and the real test will come when and if a trial is looming, because that's when the chaos and stress kicks in. That's when I'll really see how everyone holds up and the dynamic between everyone when we all have to pull on the same rope.

In the mean time, I really need to improve my casual footwear wardrobe… I don't think heels are going to be a regular thing at this place, but you know, maybe the fact that I don't have to wear them means I might actually enjoy being six feet tall a few days per week by choice. Oh… I think I just found another pro.

P.S. I am officially moving in with my boyfriend next month… dun dun DUUUUNNNN! 

#nerdsunite

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

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of a ginger (Slight Detour)

<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

So, remember how I said I wasn't really all that in love with being a paralegal? Uhm… yeah… well…

Something has come up.

I can't say too much, but basically, a long time client (someone I have been a personal assistant to for almost 9 years-- on and off-- who is a lawyer) has offered me a short-term position with her to get her started up at her new gig. She knows how I am, and she knows that this is something I'm very conflicted about doing as a permanent commitment, but she also knows that right now, while I'm figuring things out, I could use the money.

Right now, internally, I'm experiencing a lot of conflicting emotions.

So, for as little as three weeks to as long as three months, I will be putting my paralegal hat back on. This is pretty much a temp job, but of course, it has a possibility of becoming more. I am going to be painfully honest and say that I have absolutely no clue whether this will be closer to a three week thing or a three month thing. It's not my passion, at all… but then again, the quality of a job often has a lot to do with two things: the money and the culture.

By culture, I'm talking about the mojo, environment and vibe of the people in relation to how things are done. Sometimes everyone hates everyone else, and no one is looking out for anyone other than themselves… other times, you get a tight-knit, supportive and "we"-centric group of people that make the job enjoyable. Likewise, if you're getting paid well, you can deal with certain things. If you're not getting paid very well, motivation often bottoms out and things get a bit rough. The relationship between these two factors can be a deal maker or a deal breaker.

I know I promised myself I wouldn't give up on my dreams, and I have no intention of doing so, but I simply cannot balk at the opportunity to at least make some money and put my hustle into a new network of people. If after three weeks or three months I am no more into the idea of this industry as I am now, then no hard feelings, no promises broken. I am going into this as a temp, and no one is expecting any more from me than that.

Is it worth some extra padding in the bank account? Absolutely.

So, the day this is posted, I will be meeting with some people at this firm to make official introductions and iron out the details. I'm really unsure of what to expect, but at the very least, I think it's worth a few months of my time to check it out. Also, I'll get some more use out of my paralegal wardrobe… everyone loves a nerd in heels, right?

Wish me luck, and I'm counting on you all to keep me honest. I will likely be writing about this experience as I go and reflecting on the pros and cons, and I would love your feedback and your input as things unfold.

The universe has a way of testing you, especially when you think you've got things figured out. Who knows, sometimes slight detours have ways of bringing us to roads we never knew we needed to travel.

Challenge accepted.

#nerdsunite

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