"This year taught me that my loneliness has more to do with myself than anyone else. The loneliest I will ever be is when I do not have the strength to love myself."
I felt like a battered woman. And I realized I wasn’t okay with that.
It’s been a while y’all and well, I have a few, not-so-good excuses to give.
So please, choose an excuse or combination of them that make you hate me the least. Forgive me. And let’s get back to the matter at hand.
Just after the first of the year, I met someone who completely swept me off my feet. As we started talking more and more, I began to think how charismatic and charming this person is. I couldn’t get enough. I just couldn’t. I wanted to talk to him every single minute of every single day. I sound crazy, right? Well, that’s exactly how I felt. The more “swept away” I felt, the more I began to think that what Danny and I had wasn’t real! How super insane is that? That man is my absolute world! And he remains that…20 MONTHS after his death! But there I was thinking that my love for him wasn’t true because I didn’t feel the same.
Corey and I immediately started dating. Forget the friend zone; forget getting to know one another. We jumped headfirst into the lake. Sink or swim time! For a while we swam but again, something felt off. Remember, I just thought this was what real love felt like. Boy, oh boy! I have never been so wrong in my life.
After we had been dating just a couple months, I learned some things. Things that I didn’t necessarily like and things that I didn’t necessarily agree with and things that I definitely didn’t think were appropriate. I won’t completely call the boy out, but a few minor examples include his temper, his controlling nature, and his need to demean every other person around him (and that list included me). Up to this point, he’d never hit me. He never technically forced me to do anything. But I had felt coerced into doing things he wanted, when he wanted them.
I also begin to learn that we wanted completely different things. Like. I wanted to move to Atlanta and work there; he wanted to stay where he was. I wanted a large family and kids were mandatory; he wanted things to be mostly the two of us and just maybe one kid. I want to have fancy dinner parties and stay in contact with my family and friends; he wanted things to be mostly the two of us. The more differences I learned, the more I wanted out. The more I knew things weren’t going to work out. He assured me over and over than they would and that we’d compromise. After all, if we loved each other we could make it work, right?
Eventually, I walked away thinking I deserved better. While I knew I did, something brought me back. Maybe it was his charm or the promises I believed he’d keep. Whatever it was, I stuck around.
Things were better. He tried really hard to be the person I wanted him to be … for about a month.
Then. I got sick. He cheated …again. And we’re back to where we were the first time I left. He charmed me back and as much as I tried to deny it, I wanted to be with him and I didn’t care what he did.
I lied. For the first time in my whole life, I lied!
“He’s a good person.”
“He loves me! I can’t walk away from someone who loves me.”
“I promised him. I have to follow through on my word.”
“I really don’t want to be with him.”
“I’m not going back.”
“He cheated. That’s it.”
“I’m serious this time.”
After everything he’d done, I still found myself a few weeks later sitting on his couch and lying in his bed. This is when all hell broke loose. And we sank. FAST!
I’m a firm believer in telling your partner everything …even if it’s going hurt. I believe that in order to truly love one another, you have to be completely honest and allow the person you love to make his/her own decisions.
We’re lying there and my phone rings. It’s a text message from another guy. This man is seriously one of my best friends and we spend a lot of time together. Corey asked who the text was from and I told him. In the nature of pure, whole-hearted honesty, I admitted that I had feelings for him. These feelings were small and were probably just plutonic chemistry, but I hadn’t had time to sort through them.
Corey gets mad. He screams. He yells. And as much as I tried to tell him how I felt and explain that he’s obviously the person I chose, he ignores me. He tells me to get off of him and to leave his house.
That’s what he wants? That’s what he’s going to get.
I packed up my things and started toward the door.
He runs from the back of the house. As I open the door, he slams it closed and proceeds to bang on the door. He turns around, shoves me into the couch and starts to scream at me.
I was terrified. The look in his eyes was piercing and rage was shooting from them.
Finally, he walks away telling me that I should just leave. Per commands, I leave. And by leave, I mean I got the hell out of there!
If this were the end, maybe I’d have gone back, maybe I would have justified his anger, and maybe I’d be the girl that got trapped in this vicious cycle.
Unfortunately, the night didn’t end here.
I got to my car. He runs up behind me. He grabs me around the waist. He drags me back into his house. It’s probably only 30-40 feet to his door and the whole time I’m kicking and screaming and trying to get loose. The whole time, he’s quiet. He grips me harder. His nails dig into my skin. I can hear him grunting.
We get to his door and he shoves me inside, closes the door, and locks it. The rage and anger that were in his eyes before has quadrupled. In that moment, I didn’t think I would make it out alive!
He yells. He screams. He points his finger. He gets in my face. He pushes me. He walks away and tells me to leave again. As I walk out the door, he throws a picture frame with the two of us inside. Glass shatters.
I get to my car and I see his shadow coming toward me.
Would a normal person run? Would a normal person scream? Looking back, all those options were there. But I didn’t. I crouched down as he threw himself on me.
He backed a few inches and I was able to unlock my car, which set the alarm off. With the alarm beeping, he let me enter the car and crank it (the only way to get the alarm to stop). I closed the door immediately and left before he could hit my car or break my windows.
I got out. I don’t know how, but I did.
He preceded to BLOW UP my phone. He called over and over, until I blocked his number. He messaged me on Facebook, until I blocked him. He stalked my Instagram, until I blocked him. He messaged me on Kik, until I just deleted the app.
Two days after the incident, he hadn’t stopped. He figured out a way to call on a “no known caller” ID, so his blocked number is irrelevant. By Friday morning, he had called over 100 times. He then sent me a message saying he was coming to my apartment. I left, obviously. And then he sent messages saying he wasn’t leaving until I got home. He did eventually leave …BEFORE I got home.
I spent the rest of the week and the entire weekend looking over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t there. I felt like a battered woman. And I realized I wasn’t okay with that.
A man should never make a woman feel this way. He should never make her fear her life or be scared to live in her own home. I’m grateful to be out. I’m grateful that things weren’t worse than they were, because I’m well aware of how much worse it could have been. I only suffered a few bruised ribs and nail marks, but we’ve all heard the stories.
I thank God everyday for watching over me that night and protecting me in ways that no one else could have. After all, he’s the only person that knew I was there.
I always thought it was strange that I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without letting my parents (or someone) knowing where I was going. Now, I understand.
I always thought it was silly to tell everybody your business. Now, I understand.
"He never became who I wanted him to be. And that’s the expectation I should have never put on him, this expectation that he was supposed to please me with his becoming."
"I met God. Who slowly, painfully and divinely pieced me back together."
"If these nights were to be written on paper, they would hold volumes upon volumes about You. As I lay awake, my thoughts filling the spaces of my mind that should be asleep, I am writing about You."
"Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him."