HOW I FINALLY GOT MY VOICE BACK FROM MY ABUSER

I spent years being told that I was always bashing him to everyone and spreading lies about what an awful person he was. He would remind me that because I always “set the world on fire” when I was upset that no one would ever like him. I got told that I never apologized, I blamed everyone for everything, and I would never let the past go because I loved drama. I was told that I was selfish, self-centered, and obsessed with seeking justice. I was also told that I was a liar, cheater, manipulative, and crazy. I got compared to my brother who he also claimed was just as awful as me and when that got old for him he started to compare me to my parents. He would waiver between telling me how sorry he was that I was abused by my father growing up and then tell me “well just stop acting like him.” The next day he would scream at me that I was not my mother who was unable to remove herself from the abuse of my father. I got told how “lucky” I was to have such a perfect life and that “you should be grateful” for how well he treated me.

In his eyes this was all true. I think.

I am still not sure if he is convinced of his own delusions or if there are moments when he actually realizes the abuse he has inflicted upon me. One thing I do know is that he does not care. He has never cared or loved me because he is completely incapable of doing so. I spent years trying to prove my self worth and love to a man that would verbally, emotionally, and sexually abuse me in ways that made me feel like I was being loved. Now that is a crazy idea! How they do this is the most demonic expression of their personality because is worms its way into your neuropathways (the way your mind processes information) and your body and mind become dependent on the abuse.

I never understood how everything I said could be altered in his mind. I used my own experience and expertise in mental health to create excuses for why he always turned my words into an attack. I thought his history of women being unfaithful throughout his life was reason enough for me to tolerate the constant accusations. I actually felt bad for him that he had never been able to truly trust a woman. It wasn’t until I almost died to prove my truths that I realized something was wrong in our relationship. Sadly, the first time I considered killing myself to prove to him that I was not the monster that he claimed I was, was not the last time I had these thoughts. These continued for another year and a half every time he would lash out and rage at me. Every time he called me a c***, b****, useless piece of s***, and accused me of things unthinkable, these thoughts would rush to the surface. If I just killed myself and left a note saying that all of his lies were not true then he would have to believe me. I could prove to the world that I was a good person despite how awful he told me I was.

Somehow, I was able to stop myself every time I almost crossed that line. Somewhere in the back of head the voices of those that had heard the VERY limited information I had actually shared about our relationship would start to creep in. Ironically, the very thing he accused me, bashing him to everyone, was the one thing I never did.

I was mortified by how he spoke to me and treated me so why would I ever let anyone know what was really going on in our home. Did he really think I wanted to tell everyone that he ruined the night we got engaged by claiming I was “stalking” a random man in our hotel lobby? We slept in separate beds that night with the ring on the nightstand. The next morning he apologized, of course, and shed a few crocodile tears to lure me back in. Being the ever understanding partner of an abuser, I offered to go back to the spot so we could recreate the memory. However, the real truth, what actually happened that night, is etched into my mind for the rest of my life. This was our cycle. He would love me, he would elevate me, then he would abuse/accuse me, “apologize,” and then love me again. That night encapsulated our 5 year relationship. Yet, I never told anyone until I started to get my voice back years later. But boy did I get punished and verbally lashed for allegedly telling everyone, everything about our relationship.

So how did I get my voice back you might ask? Well, I took his advice. I told everyone, everything about our relationship. I told the good, the bad, the evil, the abuse, the insults, the hatred, the self-loathing, the thoughts of suicide, the return of a recovered eating disorder and suddenly I started to see him through others eyes. When I would tell the stories the reaction was always the same: he is abusive and a narcissist. At first I rejected these observations. I mean we had couples counseling with two different therapists and they didn’t say that! I have a laundry list of degrees in medicine and mental health and I didn’t think he was like that. Sure he had a temper and sometimes he would call me names and mess with my head, but that’s because he was hurt as a child and an adult by the women in his life. It makes sense that he would lash out against someone who was the loving, kind, and honest. But did it really make sense??

It took me getting cornered in a bathroom with his hands in my face telling me that he was going to bash my head in to take a step back and ask myself what the hell is going on. Yet, even that night I stayed with him in his bed because the reason he said that to me is because he thought I called him fat. Yup. That was the justification for screaming at me, threatening to kill me, and telling me what a worthless POS I was. Did I mention that his child was in the next room when this happened? I stayed in that bed praying that when he woke in the morning that the rage outburst was simply alcohol induced and he would come to his senses and hold me tight whispering he loved me. When that did not happen and he reaffirmed that it was my fault for his threats and words because of what I “allegedly” said, I left.

I did no contact for 6 weeks and it was the worst 6 weeks of my life. I couldn’t eat, sleep, shower for days, think, breathe, stop crying, and wanted to die pretty much everyday. And then I broke. I reached out like victims always do until they finally hit a breaking point or they are completely broken by the abuser. I let him back in and even though I thought I was in control this time because I had started domestic violence counseling. I had this man understood this time. I wouldn’t let any of his behaviors trigger me or fool me. But standing in the hall with his arms wrapped around me whispering in my ear that “this time is different,” “you know I would never hit a woman,” and “I don’t want to undo all of the hard work you have done on yourself,” I felt the rush of oxytocin, serotonin, and epinephrine (the feel good chemicals in your brain) and I was hooked. It took me two days and I was back where I started.

However, during my 6 week break when my brain was starting to clear from the years of abuse I did something. I did something that I knew, subconsciously, that if I did I could never be with him again. I told his child the truth about him. Technically, she is an adult and the conversation was predominately her confirming everything she already suspected about him but never felt strong enough to ask. This conversation was also in the context of a very dire and dangerous situation that she was putting herself in and I was trying to validate that she was not the problem in the family. Still, I knew that if he heard that I had said anything about his secrets, I was done.

Fast forward to day two of my return to the abyss…he gets a call from his daughter who tells him everything I said. Needless to say the blissful love and the promise that this time will be different was quickly replaces with cursing, screaming, and his infamous threats. Something in me snapped. I suddenly realized that I didn’t have to listen anymore. I didn’t live with him, he didn’t own me, and he no longer could control me. I hung up and I started to get my voice back in ways I never thought I could.

I reached out to the lawyer at my domestic violence program and then I reached out to the police. Telling my story to them was not only humiliating but somehow even more traumatizing than the night he threatened to kill me. Getting my voice back meant I had to own my truth. I had to tell people what really happened. I had to heal myself in order to never let this happen again. And I had to tell others my story because you never know who else is suffering at the hands of an abuser until it’s too late sometimes. Interestingly, when I had called our former couples therapist who turned into his private therapist she told me just this. When I asked her for referrals for a domestic violence program she told me “good for you. It’s never too late to get help.” My response : It almost was.