The catalyst for my lifestyle changes
Since the time I was about 12 years old I’ve been a drinker, smoker and partier. 16 months ago all of that changed. As a general rule it takes something quite significant happening in a persons life in order to bring about changes on this scale. The following is the story of my catalyst. I wrote this originally last year soon after my lifestyle changes. It’s hard to share this story – brings back a lot of pain. I only hope that my pain can prevent pain in another.
We met in a bar, of course, and spent that first night together. At the time neither of us wanted anything serious and were just out having fun, enjoying life. There was such chemistry between us that it quickly turned into exactly what neither of us wanted.
At first, it was little manipulative things, wanting a back rub, not willing to give one back, wanting sex on his terms, never on mine, telling me I needed to work on my weight because it was unhealthy for me. There were good things though, him learning about me, as a person, learning my soft spots, my hard spots…my ins and outs.
Next it was the sex. He knew I’m bi and that I’d had threesomes in the past. He said he’d never had one and it was a fantasy of his. He kept pushing for me to “arrange” one. I tried to explain that things of that nature often can’t be arranged and just “happen”. He couldn’t comprehend this. So he tried pushing for one. He started propositioning my friends. This began the isolation.
I remember one night, out partying, he and I walking next to each other, my 2 lesbian friends (a couple) walking in front of us, he screams at the top of his lungs that he wants to fuck one of them. He meets another very close friend of mine, who happens to be stunningly beautiful. He tells me he wants her for the 3some. He knows that she participated in one before with me which ended in extremely hurt feelings and almost ruined our friendship.
He knew I couldn’t have any more kids, but wanted his own someday, so he would talk and talk and talk about finding a baby mamma so that he could have kids, eventually it progressed to him wanting the friend I mentioned above to be his baby mamma.
He talked about wanting a community family, marriage, but that he would be the only man, and could do whatever he wanted with the other women, but we would be bound to him. (Cultish much?).
One night I told him something about myself I’d never shared with another partner, and was very leery of sharing with him. He was so upset. We started fighting, I asked him to leave. He choked me, told me he wasn’t leaving, he had nowhere to go. I guess another time which I don’t remember because I was too drunk, he dragged me across the apartment in front of friends by my hair.
He choked me one other time, but I don’t remember the circumstances, because again I was drunk. All of these things kept piling up…one on top of the other. But…there were good things!
My number of friends had dwindled from hundreds to a handful as a result of being 86d from my favorite bar, so he was my only friend/support. And we WERE friends. We could talk about anything. We laughed a lot and there was love between us. I was convinced he loved me way more than I loved him. He loved my kids, wanted to be part of their life, wanted them to be part of our life. Told me we would ALWAYS be together.
All of the bad things are adding up in my brain, but I push them away…because we love each other, we can work this out, he has so much potential, so much good in him.
And then….It was mother’s day. May 8th, 2011, probably around 7 or 8 in the morning and, like usual I was hung over…no, that’s not right, still drunk. I’d had over a gallon of wine the night before and had fought with my boyfriend about him hitting on other women and calling ME a dirty whore…He had passed out eventually when I locked myself in the bathroom to get away from the fighting. I’d fallen asleep not long after he did but woke up early…still drunk, still angry and hurt about the night before. So I woke him up. I’ll admit I was not nice. I turn into a demon sometimes when I’m drunk, especially when I’m wounded. I was kicking and screaming, throwing a tantrum. I told him he needed to get up and go home, that I didn’t want him there at the moment. I put his bag out in the hall way of our apartment building. That’s when he freaked.
It all happened so fast it’s all a blur. He punched me, somewhere in my head/face…he punched me again…at least 2 times in the face…I fell to the ground and curled up into a ball…he kicked me, in the side, the ribs, at least six times, probably more than that…eventually it ended…and all was silent. He realized what he’d done and was immediately “contrite”. I got up and went to the bathroom, hobbling, in pain. I looked in the mirror and saw the welt and bruise beginning to form over my left eye. I’d never seen my face look like that. I’d never been hit like that before, ever in my life, and I was in shock…
I went to the bed and curled up. He wanted to help, I wanted him to leave, but he wouldn’t, and I couldn’t make him. I couldn’t do anything but lay there, in shock. He eventually fell back asleep, like nothing had happened and left me there, in shock.
I lay in bed all day, with ice held to my face to reduce the swelling. My jaw aching and popping, unable to lay on my left side, unable to move, I was in so much pain. He drifted in and out of sleep, as did I. I remember thinking to myself “this is the worst mother’s day ever”. I didn’t even get a call from my kids that day. My oldest daughter texted me, but was absorbed in her own world and I didn’t want to burden her with my ugliness, so I just cried. I cried so much.
At some point I came to the realization that alcohol was the catalyst for these events and resolved then and there to never let another drop cross my lips. I was aware of the fact that the only thing in this whole world I could control was my actions, and so I decided that my action would be sobriety. My boyfriend said he would quit drinking too (he’d been just as drunk as I’d been). After a couple of days of processing, I decided to try and work things out with him. He seemed honestly contrite, and I thought we could move forward and not have this tarnish the good things in our relationship.
By day 4 after the event, he’d left and I decided I needed to go to the hospital. I was feeling worse, not better and I was flying out of town that weekend to go to my mom’s wedding…yes, with a humongous black eye and bruised or broken ribs. Everything, well, almost everything checked out at the doctors. It must have been providence I went because he told me some things about my health which I didn’t know and needed to get fixed ASAP (unrelated to the beating) but which re-confirmed for me this path of sobriety.
I called my boyfriend after getting out of the hospital. Guess what? He was drunk…that was my first clue that he didn’t take what had happened seriously.
Time passed as it does…I continued on my path of sobriety. I met new people who are on the same path and with each passing day my mind and soul became more clear. But, I saw that he was not improving, he was not on the same path as me, in fact he was regressing, drinking more, getting in touch with old drug dealer friends. And with each passing day it became more and more clear to me how unhealthy everything was.
It took weeks, no months for my eye to heal, and no one even saw or knew about the ribs and insides that still hurt so much I can hardly breathe or walk. I made up a story about what happened. Some believe, some don’t. Those closest to me know the truth. I only fess up to 2 of my friends. They are supportive of me regardless of whether I decide to work things out with him or not. They allow me my time to come to terms with what happened, without pressure or should do’s. I start to believe the stories I’ve made up, I think it was the only way my brain could deal with the trauma I’d experienced.
As my health improves I begin to have good things happen in my life, and every time something good happens, he tarnishes it for me in some way. The last straw was about a month after the incident.
I’m moving into a 1 bedroom apartment! Yay! A home of my own for the first time since moving to Seattle. He tells me he’s not coming that weekend, so I arrange for help with moving. I get everything packed, alone, get everything moved, via my connections, get everything unpacked and cleaned. At 1:30 am he shows up to my new apartment…drunk…within 10 minutes of showing up his phone rings, he answers and starts yelling something along the lines of “I’m through with you bitch! Don’t ever call me again! You want to treat me like a pauper (word’s he’d used toward me before)! I’m done with you bitch” and hangs up.
He tells me he was at Pike place market that day messing around. He was less than a mile from where I was working my ass off, and couldn’t come to help…because he had other plans…
He tells me that his “friend” (a woman whom he wants to be part of his “community”) was looking at my Facebook profile and had told him that I wasn’t “hella fat” like he’d kept saying I was.
He tries to take credit for me getting a new apartment, for me seeing my kids 3 times this year, like he’s the one that’s done all the work and effort to accomplish those things.
He tells me he still wants to have sex with the friend I’d mentioned before. That he still fantasizes about her all the time.
And then he wants sex. He doesn’t do anything to get me in the mood. He just wants sex, again like always, on his terms. You can probably guess I’m FAR from in the mood. But, I submit. Why? Because he’s drunk, and the last thing I want to do is make him angry when he’s drunk. I’m still not all the way healed from mother’s day.
Eventually we fall asleep, the next morning he wants sex again…still on his terms, I’m even less in the mood now, my back hurts from the air mattress leaking, I have a headache because of the emotions I’m feeling, and …I don’t want sex, but I don’t want confrontation either, not in my new home which symbolizes peace and serenity and a new start. So I submit, again. Eventually he falls back asleep and I go to the living room to read. He leaves a few hours later and I have peace.
We chat that night about superficial things, but everything is processing in my brain. I begin to have clarity of thought about what’s happened, what Im going through, and who he truly is.
The next day, after chatting with one of my closest friends my resolve is set. I try to get the point across to the man, formerly my boyfriend. He, like always doesn’t take what I have to say to heart, instead he twists it around, tries to place blame on me, tries to make me think I’m crazy. Finally I just stop responding. And I am done…I want no more of it. I am done.
He’s been quiet all week. I ended it on Monday. I know the other shoe will drop at some point, I keep waiting for it, but I also have hopes that he will realize that I am truly done and will just leave me alone. One can hope right?
I wanted to write this for those I’ve lied to, those who suspected, but didn’t know, and for myself. Now it is out, it is off my chest, off my soul and I can truly be done. Thank you for letting me share.