The Abuse is in the Begging
The abuse is in the begging.
It’s in the kindness and thoughtful gestures, the tearful remorse and sincere apologies and promises. It’s in the flowers, the cards, the concert tickets, and the longing puppy dog looks. It’s in the depression and the sadness, the heavy heart and heavy mood that travel wherever you go.
It continues with the grand gesture — the purchase of something once purposefully withheld, an opportunity, item, or experience finally granted for your suffering. It grows in size and weight with however long it takes to crush your instinct and desire to leave. It is cemented with the admittance of wrongdoing to you and to others, who feel compassion and sympathy, then frustration and judgement because you won’t forgive.
He’s sorry.
Nobody’s perfect.
You promised.
Can’t you find it in your heart?
It’s in the moment it becomes too hard to carry any longer, the mental tricks and traps that whisper, well, maybe they’re right…maybe this time will be different….maybe he really is sorry…maybe?
Because you need him to be. He has to be. You can’t live like this any longer. So you don’t.
Fine.
Come home.
We’ll figure it out.
I love you, too.
It’s in the euphoria of reconciliation that makes you feel simultaneously alive and dead, safe and terrified, grateful and ashamed, unsure if you just saved your life or sacrificed it.
Because you know it won’t last. No matter what you do, how hard you pray, or how truly you forgive — no matter how much you write or read or discuss — no matter how hard you try to forget you’re in danger, you can’t. Your body won’t let you.
It’s on high alert, with or without your consent, waiting for evidence, looking for clues or signs to convince you, you’re right to be cautious.
Anxiety, phobias, insomnia. High strung and always on edge, you speak sharply and sometimes ugly — contempt and rage buried so deeply and wound so tightly it can’t help but subconsciously spill out.
You are quietly wild with uneasiness, a sense of being trapped by invisible walls of your own construction, constantly overreacting and not responding, often judgmental and irritable, even sometimes cruel — unhappy with and resentful towards your life around you but unsure why.
You stayed.
You chose this.
You wanted it to work.
Didn’t you?
Guilt creeps in alongside self doubt and self judgement. Maybe it isn’t just him after all. Maybe it is you…maybe his family is right…maybe you are just as much to blame…maybe?
You’re sorry.
Nobody’s perfect.
You promised.
You’ll try harder.
It’s too late. Your look, your eyes, your comments, your actions — all communicated dislike, distrust, and disrespect, and it was felt. Once victim, then retaliator, back to victim you’ll go. Your punishment is coming.
Not today, you know, but soon, you can feel it. The distance, the silence, the withdrawal, and the disdain begin to permeate your walls. The depression, the drinking, the smoking, the risk taking, and the lying suddenly cover them.
Or do they?
You know they’ve always been this dark. You just never choose to look. The truth has always been too hard for you to face, and even as you shame and judge him mercilessly for not telling it, you know… you know…no one lies more to yourself than you.
The abuse is in the blow, the momentarily unexpected yet secretly anticipated punch in the gut, the rug pulled out once again in a flash — your dreams, your family, your finances, your security, your career, your future, your reputation, your friendships, your secrets, your body, your heart, your love, your vow, your home — take your pick — used against you as a weapon in a way you never saw coming.
Betrayal. It lands like a knife across the stomach, first sharp and wide, then deep and dull, leaving you breathless and paralyzed by the ruthlessness and cruelty of the unexpected attack.
How did you not see this coming?
Because of course it was coming.
But he promised it wasn’t coming.
And he lingered until you believed him. The abuse is in the wearing you down.
Still reeling and broken, your instinct to survive speaks up. Anger, that you have refused to acknowledge or experience consciously, finally finds its voice, silenced for a lifetime by your dysfunctional and disabling empathy. Everyone has always been more important than you.
It’s okay.
I’m fine.
I understand.
I forgive you.
The compassion you’ve always given him begins to change for yourself, and as uncomfortable and unnatural as it is to put yourself first, you laser focus on your future and your babies and your dreams and you know…you know…
This is where this ends.
So you pick yourself up and lick your own wounds, and you fix what you can of his destruction. And you visualize the new life you so desperately desire and the end to all this pain — so much pain — and with every ounce of strength you have left breathlessly muster the word…
Enough.
A boundary — the start of the line that was always needed to separate yourself from him. No longer enmeshed as one, you tear yourself away in spite of a force more powerful than the strongest magnet on earth, something potent and toxic inside of you compelling you to stay, an addiction to this person and this drama that few people believe is even possible.
It’s possible.
There is nothing wrong with your mind that knows this can’t and shouldn’t continue. It’s your body that won’t let you leave.
You are no different than a gambler, always doubling down, always risking the jackpot of your life in one last ditch effort to make all the previous losses and pain worth it. You have to win sometime, right?
Not this time, you insist. Not this time. Not just in words, which have long been empty for you — now in action. It’s time to cut your losses once and for all.
Get out.
We’re done.
It’s over.
Please leave.
At first, compliance, the evidence too strong to defend another option. But slowly, so slowly, and sadly, so sadly he’ll go, testing your words and your will to keep them. He will leave on his terms. And when taking his time won’t work, he’ll try something else.
More drinking. More smoking. More reckless behavior.
Come save me.
I need you.
I can’t do this alone.
Then tears, and remorse, and depression, and the half hearted hint of self harm. Then gestures, and looks, and promises, and gifts, and finally, the others.
He’s sorry.
Nobody’s perfect.
You promised.
This time will be different.
