Scars, bared v.6: The anatomy of an abuser

John was a woman hater. I don’t know exactly what spurred this, but he definitely never viewed women as anything valuable. I say this because everything that went wrong in his life, he found some way to blame on a woman. When we first started dating, John had nothing good to say about any other girl. I thought this was a good sign, because it meant I was the only one he cared about. But if a guy can’t hold together a friendship with a girl, it’s probably not the best sign that he will be very competent at holding a relationship with one either. He told me horror stories about his last ex, how she cheated on him and treated him terribly. I didn’t know any better but to believe him, and I grew to hate this girl with a passion. She would text him from time to time, and he would lash out at her, calling her names and telling her that no one wanted her around. Before we even started dating, she messaged me on Myspace to ask me if we were together. I went off on her and accused her of being jealous and obsessed with him, and that she needed to get over him. I was heartless towards her, because I was so convinced that she had mistreated my boyfriend. He told me that the trust and jealousy issues he had were because of her, and I hated her for that. I hated her because I felt that she was responsible for all of the emotional issues that he took out on me. Like usual, he effectively shifted the responsibility of his actions off of his own shoulders, and onto someone else.

I could not have been more wrong. To this day, I consider this ex-girlfriend of his to be one of my closest friends. Somewhere along the line, when I began to see John for who he truly was, I suspected that there was more to his description of her than met the eye. Sure enough, there wasn’t an ounce of truth to anything he had accused her of, and it turned out that he had abused her as well. The two of them were only together about a quarter of the time that I had been with him, so thankfully she hadn’t seen a side of him quite as ugly as I had, but she definitely took a lot of mistreatment that she didn’t deserve. One day we decided to have lunch, and it was so comforting to be able to talk about my relationship with someone who understood. And I mean really understood. To talk with someone who has also been in an abusive relationship makes you feel like you are not alone, but to talk with someone who was abused by the exact same person who abused you? It’s like finding your long-lost twin sister. We talked for hours about all the things he did and said to us both, and found that while on slightly different scales, our stories mirrored one another. We found relief in confiding in each other, and realizing that he was the problem in the relationship, not she or I. I can look at her and tell her that she is a beautiful, smart, kind, and amazing lady, who didn’t deserve anything that he made her feel like she deserved. It’s easy for me to see that about her, but not so easy for her to see for herself. In the same sense that I can tell her that what John did was not her fault, it’s hard for me to apply that same train of thought when I look in the mirror. Which is where she helps me. Together we have helped each other come to terms with the fact that the only flaw that we both possess is caring too much. Feeling bad for his pity stories, wanting to be the one to fix up his life, believing him when he played out the victim role. Letting him talk us back into his arms whenever we tried to leave.

Not only did he devalue the girls he spent time with, he cycled through them as if they were nothing. None really had any lasting value in his eyes, and I think the only reason that I wasn’t kicked to the curb as quickly as the rest of them was because I held on to him for dear life. I’m determined to a fault when it comes to things like this, and I will hold on through whatever it takes just to prove a point to myself and everyone else. It’s like when I was a kid and my dad would take us tubing behind the boat, we’d have a playful bet going that he wouldn’t be able to throw me off the tube. He whip a corner and I’d go flying, but I’d still have that one hand gripping the handle. Not even on the tube anymore, I’d be skipping on top of the water (which felt like concrete, by the way), choking on the fountain spray that was blinding me at the same time, feeling like the waves were going to rip my arm off but there was no way I would admit defeat by voluntarily dropping my grip. I was determined to see it through to the end of the ride, and prove that I wasn’t all talk. This is exactly the kind of subconscious I had while dating John. If I was easily shaken, I would have thrown my hands in the air and walked away from him only months after I met him. But I held on for two long years, captured his heart, and became the girl he was hopelessly devoted to loving and destroying at the same time.

Every failure in his life that he couldn’t blame on a girlfriend, he blamed on his mother. She left his family when he was little, and the story I got from him was that she walked out with no explanation and no reason in the middle of the night and no one has seen her since. She left his family stranded, broke his dad’s heart, and ruined everyone for life. He said his dad had cancer, which is why he didn’t go to driver’s ed. He never got a job because he was too busy taking care of his dad. And he didn’t trust girls because he will never be able to forgive his mom for what she did. It was a really sad story, and like I said, it broke my heart. But the longer we dated and the more I got to know him, the less his story seemed to fit together. His mom was actually still in town, but refused be around his dad because of the scene he would cause. Bits and pieces that I had picked up from family members over the years lead me to wonder if John may treat women the way he does because he grew up watching his dad treat his mom the same way. I can’t know for sure, but having been there, it would make a lot of sense. I also eventually came to terms with the fact that his missing out on driver’s education may have had more to do with a lack of commitment to his classes in school, let alone sticking around extra hours in the evening, than it did his caring for his father. And the fact that he didn’t have a job pointed more towards his utter lack of motivation and inability to acknowledge authority.

It was a manipulative cycle of his but in the end it simply came down to him wanting to gain everything but work for nothing. He expected everything to be handed to him, and somewhere along the road he found out that pity was a great way to accomplish that. Throughout our relationship I tried so hard to push him to be self-sufficient. With no driving permit, car, job, or high school degree, John wasn’t exactly in a spot to move up in the world. Over the course of two years I helped him get his GED, pass his learner’s permit test, teach him to drive, get his driver’s license, find a job, and get enrolled in a local community college. This took hours on end of encouragement, driving him around, and working in the background to get all the details sorted out. It was somewhat tiring but to see him gain some independence made it completely worth it for me. I just wanted to see him succeed in life, I wanted him to be happy. And I thought that he was finally getting there.

Unfortunately, he soon decided to quit showing up for work which ultimately got him fired, and lost his source of income, thus preventing him from buying gas to do any driving. He even dropped out of college only a couple weeks into the semester, following our break-up. It was disappointing to see all the progress I had made be tossed aside, but if he doesn’t want to provide for himself, no one can force him. I hope that he one days discovers the satisfaction of earning your own way in life, and quits riding off the pity of those who care (and brute force for those who do not).

At this point, two years later, I truly do wish for happiness for him. I hope that he can start pulling his own weight in the world, and I hope that he can drop these manipulative games he plays with women. I know that he’s been dating another girl over the last couple of years, and I think about her on a regular basis, praying that he doesn’t hurt her the way he hurt me. I may still be broken, but I’m not bitter. I may have legally prevented him from contacting me, but only for the sake of my sanity. I want him to be successful, and go on to live a meaningful and fulfilling life. But like I said, that’s not something that I can force him to accept. That’s not something that any woman can provide to him. He’s going to have to want it himself, and he’s going to have to work for it. If there’s one thing I learned about John, it’s that he’s determined as hell. I have no doubt that he could do whatever he set his mind to. More than anything, I just want that determination to be focused on positive things. He can do it. I know he can. The sad part is, I just don’t think he ever will.

The unfortunate follow up to this is that it’s now been almost TEN years since our relationship, and he has continued to leave a trail of destruction everywhere he goes. He’s dated quite a few girls since me, and I am not exaggerating when I say that every. single. one of them. has contacted me at some point asking for help on how to either get away from him or keep him away. And, as I’ve mentioned in other posts, only a matter of months ago he was arrested for domestic assault. Which breaks my heart. Yes, it’s comforting to see him finally get caught and hopefully see some consequences for his actions, but it just means that he is still out there abusing people. And I hate that.

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Week one: Introduction
Week two: Where it all began
Week three: Summertime sadness
Week four: The concussion
Week five: The break-up
Week six: The anatomy of an abuser
Week seven: The last word
Week eight: Emotional repercussions
Week nine: Warning signs
Week ten: For loved ones of domestic violence victims

scar [skahr]
noun
1. a mark left by a healed wound, sore, or burn.
2. a lasting aftereffect of trouble, especially a lasting psychological injury resulting from suffering or trauma.

 

bare [bair]
verb
1. to open to view; reveal or divulge.