Star No Star

I met him when I was 16. He was 18 and all the girls wanted him. But he chose me. 

In our rocky, on again off again relationship that spanned 3 years, I slowly became his possession rather than his girlfriend. 

It happened innocently enough. He requested that I stop talking to former boyfriends who were now friends. Done. Then he requested that I stop talking to girls who were friends with the former boyfriends. I was hesitant, but agreed. 

Once I slipped up and said Hi to a friend. All hell broke loose. I broke a promise. It was my fault. I would do better. 

I was now the faulty one in the relationship. It was constantly hung over my head. I could not be trusted. 

Once, I slipped up again. I took a 15 minute shower. In that time, I missed 24 calls. He screamed obscenities at me for an hour. I spent that time crumpled on the floor in a towel, trying to figure out how I couldn't hear my phone ringing. I was the worst girlfriend. 

Any time I broke a rule, and these rules were sometimes made up after I broke them, I was blasted with belittling, name calling, screaming, and suicidal threats. 

If I ever considered leaving him, he would describe in detail how he would end his life. Always with a written declaration that it was my fault. 

My hair was thinning. I stopped eating. I never slept. I was a shell of myself. 

But I never had a black eye. Never a cut lip or a broken bone. Surely this is not abuse. I couldn't even fathom comparing myself to women who fear for their very lives. 

I drifted through my high school without notice. I had no real physical sign on my body that anything was amiss. I felt cut off from everyone. I was cut off from everyone. Even my favorite teacher. He was a man, so he was off limits. He knew what was going on though. With my entire being, I felt grateful for the reassuring glances, the squeezes on the shoulder. "I see you. I know you are still there" he seemed to say. 

But I wouldn't open my mouth all day. Not until I was back in his presence. Then I was allowed to speak. Funny, since I'd lost my voice long ago. 

Eventually I began wearing my pain. But my injuries were from my own hand. Razor to flesh. I punished my weakness. My inability to be a good girlfriend. My stupidity for believing him. Maybe I wanted to show him my pain. I wore it like a white flag. He called me a stupid idiot. 

Sometimes you have to go through great lengths to rid yourself of someone. Like I did. 

To be continued...

National Domestic Violence Hotline:

1-800-799-7233