I was in an abusive relationship for about 2.5 years when I was 21. It started when my mother had just died. He moved in with me and my roommate pretty much right after we got together, I’d known him for only 6 months.
I already knew he had potential for abuse when I got with him, he had clear narcissistic traits, but I thought I could stand my ground.
Obviously that isn’t what happened.
I was so unwell when he first moved in, I let him insult me, and take his anger out on me. He would hit me, though not very hard as I never got any bruises. He was manipulative and he made me feel so small and useless.
Eventually my mind cleared a little and I put my foot down, told him to stop with the hitting and the insults, and he did. This was the most insidious part, that about half the time, if I managed to identify his behaviour and point it out to him, he would stop for good. And then I would think maybe it was worth the effort, maybe it would be good someday.
I wasn’t blind either, I knew he wasn’t good. From the beginning, I had a list where I would write down all the really terrible things he’d done. I would read it every week or so, to make sure I didn’t let my guard down. I noticed the cycle, I saw how unhappy I was.
And of course most of the behaviors never went away. Like how he would tell me how much he hated our roommate and would call them names. They’re my best friend and he knew this hurt me.
This is what made me try to break up with him the first time, but he asked for just one more chance. I caved, but a less than a year later I broke up with him for good after he threw a tantrum and broke my roommate’s TV.
They never liked him, neither did they like living with him. And they’re very perceptive too, but that only made me put more effort into hiding the abuse. And I’m a good enough liar, so although they know he was a jackass to everyone else, they truly believe he was good to me.
It’s been over a year now, and I still haven’t told a single soul what happened to me, this is my first time sharing. I think I’ve come to terms with it, I know I’m a victim, a survivor, whatever you wanna call it. I think I’m okay with it in the privacy of my own mind. But I can’t stand the thought of others seeing me that way, even if those around me would never think less of me.
Whenever I practice telling people in my head, I start to change the story, I make it mutually toxic instead of one sided abuse. I find myself practicing like I’m preparing for an interrogation, trying to create an air tight alibi.
I have really bad problems with controlling how I appears to people, and I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to share this.