My experiences with Intimate Partner Violence
hOW AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP CHANGED MY LIFE
By Lizzie
(Aron Visuals / Unsplash)
Warning: Content discussed addresses Intimate Partner Violence.
As a young adult in the South, I frequently see a lot of my friends and classmates getting married. The running joke at many Southern universities is that girls only go to college to get their MRS degree, which many of my sorority sisters have proved to be true. Just like all of the other freshmen girls, I showed up to college to take classes and kickstart my life as an adult, but secretly I hoped for a romance worthy of an epic Nicholas Sparks novel.
At first, my college experience was ideal and I was confident I was well on my way to finishing my four years with a career and a fiancé. But, slowly my story book ending started to unravel. Even with all the good in my new life, I was mentally and emotionally stuck in my previous relationship with my first love, who just so happened to also be my abuser.
I attended a private Catholic high school where every student, boys and girls, wore white polos and khaki pants. There were two groups of students: the average students who blended easily into the background and the students who were either alarmingly rich or alarmingly beautiful. I, like the majority of students, was just another name and face in the yearbook.
But then I met him. He was a transfer from a different school, unaware or just indifferent to the tedious nature of our school. For the first time at my high school, I felt seen. Suddenly, I wasn’t just another girl with long brown hair wearing an unfortunate and mundane uniform. Suddenly, I was special.
Your first love is called your first love for a reason. You fall hard, and you fall fast. I loved him so much, I didn’t notice, or care to notice, the direction our relationship was heading.
To celebrate our two month anniversary, I snuck over to spend the day at his house while his parents were out of town. But instead of celebrating, I got my first glimpse of just how quickly things could go from bad…to worse.
Celebrating quickly turned into arguing, and I only made matters worse by trying to walk away and take a breather. I remember being slammed against his bedroom wall, in between the door and his night stand. I remember the pressure building in my head and my eyes, and the painful throbbing that followed. I remember the sudden dizziness and disorientation that was only interrupted by the pure hatred in his eyes. I remember watching his lips move as he yelled, but I couldn’t hear anything over the high pitch ringing. I remember him growing bored of our argument and finally releasing my shoulders, leaving me to crumple to the ground.
I remember him coming back, what felt like hours later, and scooping me up to hold me. I remember thinking he came back to hold me, and tell me how sorry he was, but that’s not what he did. He laid me across his bed, and then I remember nothing. The gap in my memory could be minutes or hours long, and I may never know. The next thing I remember is being hunched over his toilet, finally succumbing to the nausea and softly crying. I was only wearing his high school hoodie and a pair of his boxers, which was odd because I didn’t remember changing my clothes. I didn’t remember, but I knew.
I thought that day would be the lowest point of our relationship, but during the following months things just got progressively worse. I became so concerned with appeasing him that I didn’t notice that I was being isolated from my friends. I didn’t notice the emotional abuse that destroyed my self confidence and shattered my perception of reality. My new reality was living with his mood swings, controlling behavior, and threats of violence. Every day that he didn’t hit me, rape me, or make me want to kill myself was a great day that I needed to be thankful for.
I knew I needed to leave when I realized one day he would kill me. One day, he might get a little too aggressive and it would be an accident. But, if he didn’t kill me himself, one day he would successfully convince me to end my own life.
I left the state and spent the following years still afraid of him. Somehow, it didn’t matter that there were over 300 miles between us. I thought of him every day and what would happen if he caught me. Years later, the saddest part of our chaotic, destructive relationship was how much I loved him. I loved the little moments of kindness he shared with me. I loved his wit and sharp sense of humor. I loved the high I felt when, even for just a second, I knew he loved me too. I spent my time in college blindly chasing that high, not because I liked it, but because I didn’t know any different. What is love if not all consuming, and bordering on mutual destruction?
Six years after our relationship ended, I can finally say I have found my silver lining. If I had never dated him, I likely would not have started therapy. Through therapy, I found my passion in psychology and empowerment in emotional healing. Through my major in psychology, I found my calling to try and help people through destructive periods in their life. Now, I am pursuing a master’s degree in psychology. I have a job I love, working with college girls, trying to support them through the demanding environment that is college and college athletics. So, I may not have ended with an epic Nicholas Sparks love story, but six years later I finally love myself again, and that’s an even sweeter ending to me.
Given the sensitive nature of Lizzie’s piece, she elected to use the pseudonym ‘Lizzie’ instead of her real name. While increasing awareness of how volatile intimate partner violence can be is very important to her, she did not feel comfortable coming forward yet.
Lizzie is currently pursuing a M.S. in Psychology and hopes to pursue a Doctoral degree in Clinical Psychology in the future. Additionally, she is working for a Division 1 athletics team so she may better understand coach-athlete dynamics and how mental health affects athletic performance.
This piece was written and shared during the IDONTMIND Writing Workshop. Learn more about our free, nine-week course and be the first to know about the next workshop here. Visit Mental Health Connecticut’s YouTube channel for a video version of Lizzie’s story.