Everything I gave to him and Nothing he Gave to Me
A #SurvivorStory by RJaqq
It had finally occurred to me.
“I don’t have to do anything that I do not want to do,” I said to my abuser.
“Look at me in the eyes when I talk to you,” he shouted.
“No.” I said firmly.
In the next couple of seconds, my life flashed before me.
He realized he could no longer control me. And so, he lost control instead.
He grabbed my cell phone out of my hand and smashed it against the balcony wall. Then, he flung it off the balcony.
Next, my work laptop was smashed against the balcony rail with rage. My livelihood and way of earning a living, suddenly cracked to pieces and eventually chucked over 50ft, crashing on the cemented street. Finally my luggage discarded like garbage followed by me running in fear of my safety.
The neighbors ran to the 8th floor and he cracked a smile.
I knew then and there. The man I had loved for 1.5 years was a psychopath.
I ran to the police.
It takes an average of 7 times to leave an abuser.
They will convince you that you cannot live or make decisions without them. That you’re a child who must be monitored and placed in therapy. He would tell me that his ex girlfriend was a depressed child. Little did I know that I would be considered one next.
My abuser controlled my gym schedules. He made me feel like a fool for eating what I wanted at 115 pounds and yelled at me for starting tv shows or for buying clothes without consent. He would rearrange the furniture in my apt he called a shoebox to his liking. He called me a stupid f**** bitch and ran away at my brother’s wedding while I broke down crying at what should have been the best day of my life. He cracked my phone in the wedding hotel room and told me not to cry and play the victim.
He cheated on me and entered another relationship, told me he loved me and proceeded to invite whores to sleep at his house. He threw a protein shake at my face and made me shamefully walk through his building dripping wet. He told me all men cheat because they cannot control themselves. Most recently, he bought his 3rd gun and is uncontrollably looking for his 4th. He told me weapons of mass destruction make him feel like a man.
He controlled when I could and couldn’t see my family and cut off my passion for seeing the world. Mostly, he convinced me that his hypoglycemia was an excuse. And, that If I loved harder or obeyed more orders, his anger would disappear.
It never happened.
It only got worse.
Mitch’s problem progressed. He strip searched my car like the FBI, pulling open all doors and every compartment. He went into my social media accounts and emails and apps and then would put me in question sessions. “Tell me the truth, Rachel” When he found out I had given my number out. He threw my makeup bag in the toilet and kicked me out of his home.
Mitch never loved me. He loved that he could control me. That I was a robotic sparkle of his wishes that fed his ego in a materialistic world. I would spend every last penny of my savings on booking flights. I was a ray of light in his very dark life of hypoglycemic disease. A disease that I supported with love and compassion and forgiveness. His disease is not his fault, but destroying the people in his life who love him is.
I’ve witnessed him call his parents elderly and useless. He has told me of things being thrown and also requesting his mom receive help. His mom, a wonderfully educated and classy woman. I pray for them.
On June 27, I found out destruction of personal property is domestic abuse punishable by up to 3 years in jail and with permanent record. Mitch could have lost everything, but in some sense I would like to believe he already has.
Love is not money. It is not private ski lessons or $400 dinners, elaborate flower arrangements or convertible cars.
Love is respect, communication, compassion, forgiveness. It is everything I gave to him and nothing he gave to me.