Free To Go

I went to Missouri to escape from the cliques and non-acceptance I experienced in high school. Hoping, of course, that I could run from such pain and start a new life where no one knew me. Well, no one knew me alright, but starting a new life is never easy. Part of the problem was that I started in June- a time when most freshman don't. It was sink or swim. I doggie paddled for a while, but eventually the undertow swept me in.

It all began the day I, like a lizard. was basking in the sunlight in a dorm courtyard (fully clothed mind you), and an older gentleman asked if he could take my picture for his photography class. After a bit of persuasion I gave in. So began the rest of my life. By accident or a godawful twist of fate, I fell in love (supposedly) with this guy. He told me I was beautiful. That I was special. That I was extraordinary. He told me all the things that I had been longing to hear all me life. He made me feel like a queen. That I actually belonged. That maybe this high school outcast was maybe something after all. He filled me with hopes and dreams where I had none. He made me realize how unique and lucky I was. That I was indeed different, but in a good way. He made me feel loved.

For about three months anyway. Then we had our first argument. I don't know what caused it, all I remember is the awful words he told me. That no one else would ever love me, that I was a screw up- a misfit- and proceeded to back up his accusations. I was stunned. I pleaded with him. I begged him. I tried to explain. Then I left him. That's when he came bursting into my dorm and threw me across the room. Shocked, I said I was sorry, and took him back. Admitting my failure as a person I took him back, promising to change my ways.

Evidently I didn't. I still talked to other males. This was taboo, yet I did it anyway. I also managed to forget to tell him of my whereabouts at every minute of the day. He didn't like it when he didn't know where I was, or who I was with. I remember one night a friend and I decided to stay up till sunrise. The Bf found out about this and told me that I was crazy. Not only did he think I was crazy, but he had contacted various 'officials' and they also thought I needed 'help' because this wasn't 'normal' behavior. The next thing I know I'm in the area hospital taking a mental/suicidal test, having been brought there by the campus cops, under my Bf urging that I was indeed in distress. Well, the hospital released me into the hands of my ex. I had passed the test. I was not suicidal. And my Bf would take care of me. Keep an eye on me. And that he did. He was aware of my every movement. Of who I talked to and when. That I wasn't pulling any more stupid stunts. Once I threatened to break up with him. Next thing I know, 10 town cops and 1 campus cop were at more door asking if I was 'okay'. Evidently my Bf told them I was suicidal when in fact I was trying to pull together a last minute term paper.

I went home for Christmas break, returning to MO assured that I would no longer make the same mistakes that made my Bf so mad, as I was now seeing a shrink. With this in mind, I greeted him with open arms, telling him that I had changed. That I was indeed a good person now. He was wary but willing to take the chance that I would be okay. A couple of weeks into the relationship I realized my mistake. My boyfriend yelled and accused me of sleeping with a male friend that I was casually talking to in the cafeteria. I was shocked at his inappropriate behavior, told him it was over, that I should have never came back, and walked off. He soon followed- hunted me down, and dragged me back. That was when I acquired my first black eye.

At this point I was thoroughly confused. Surely he must be having a bad day. Maybe I was doing something wrong. Maybe I was crazy. After all, I was really suicidal in high school (something I mistakenly told him), so maybe he knew what he was talking about. I also had never had a serious boyfriend before, so maybe this was 'normal'? So I apologized, and he apologized, and all was forgiven. Things would change for the better. After all, everyone makes mistakes; he is no different. I didn't think it would happen again. And in a sense it didn't. For he never left a visible reminder of his force on me for a while . He became very skilled at causing me extreme pain without causing me a visible bruise. It was almost always in response to my breaking up with him. I would leave, but he would always hunt me down.. Drag me back. Throw me against the wall. Tell me what a worthless ***** I was. Kick me until I started bawling. At first I resisted. What a mistake that was. That only made him stronger. He thrived on it. It was only when I learned to cry that he stopped.

I hated to cry. Always have. Still do. I could knee him hard to no effect. You can't fight a crazy man. And he was crazy. Crazy with anger. Crazy with hate. Abused as a child, he took out his past anger and frustration on me. And so this continued for several months. He'd accuse me of being interested in someone else, I would say he was ridiculous and that I was sick of his accusations. I tried to leave and he'd hunt me down. He'd fill up my answering machine with his pleads for forgiveness. Have the police after me. Come after me himself. Drag me back. Beat the s&#t out of me. Physical pain is always easier than emotional pain. It was easier to sustain the beatings than to have someone tell you what a worthless piece of s^@t you are. Friends tried to tell me otherwise. They tried to tell me to get the hell out. My shrink was worried I would be killed. But I didn't listen. I thought I could handle it. Part of me thought I deserved it. So I took it. God did I take it. It was only when he tried killing me that I decided that enough was enough. I was on the bed, scarcely clad, when my ex told me that if he couldn't have me then no one else could. Then he proceeded to choke me until I blacked out. When he released his grip and I regained consciousness I fled. Called my friend, who in turn took me to the police.

Now that was a nerve-wracking experience itself. Filling out incident reports, being photographed and questioned by a cop and his trainee. It was unreal. Then it was over. And I was told I was 'free to go' like nothing ever happened, like my life hadn't been destroyed. Life might march on dang it, but what about those trampled in the process? Sure, they might get up and march again, but do they not feel the effects?
blueskydays blueskydays
31-35, F
4 Responses Feb 27, 2010

This story is nothing. It will never fully capture my agony….my terror….my despair. It doesn’t have me constantly walking with my head down to avoid any accidental glances with the opposite sex. It doesn’t have me cowering in the bathroom holding a bottle of pills thinking there was no other way out. It doesn’t have me screaming for help at the top of my lungs in the apartment complex and only hearing the neighbor’s television being turned up louder in response.<br />
It doesn’t have me being raped to prove that I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else.<br />
It doesn’t have me learning just to lie there and take it, feeling like a piece of meat, hoping that its over quick. <br />
It doesn’t have him strangling me before or after he rapes me because if he can’t have me, no one else ever will. He knew I was gonna leave. And that’s what he was gonna do about it.<br />
<br />
But it doesn’t matter. Because even if it did have all that…if it did have all those truths and more, I would still be asked “why would anyone stay with a guy like that?” What kind of person stays? <br />
But I didn’t stay. I tried to leave. It was the leaving that got me beaten.<br />
<br />
So I ran. I ran so far away. But I couldn’t get away from myself. I couldn’t escape from the shame that I felt. That I still feel. A shame that is strengthened with each relocation that I make, with each person I meet, with each secret that I keep. The fear that people will agree that I did deserve it because I am crazy.<br />
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Which is silly, I know. Crazy or not, no one deserves that. So why the hell does it haunt me? Why do I have to feel so ashamed?<br />
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I think it’s so hard because he did such a good lob of convincing me I was a bad person. First he got me to love him. Then he got me to trust him. Then he’d give me helpful hints that were actually helpful. I was a naïve college freshman 1000 miles from home, trying to navigate a completely unfamiliar territory. Some guidance is good. Problem is I didn’t realize when the guidance was bad. What professors to avoid, what clothes to wear, what friends to have, how to behave. Seriously, the bastard could have been a lawyer for how well he supported his arguments. Everything he suggested just seemed so reasonable. Helpful. Caring & concerned about my well-being. Until he told me I was better off dead and all the reasons I was better off dead. Even I recognized that as extreme, but I was so filled with self-doubt that instead of breaking up with him I ended up seeing a shrink instead. And thus ends my first fall semester at college.<br />
<br />
Go home for winter break. Come back. Get expelled from college for all the fall craziness. Appeal the expulsion and get put on probation. Talk about getting married. Go to the courthouse but turns out it’s a holiday (thankfully!!!!). Move in together instead. And thus begins my spring semester……..

I am sorry you had to experience this.

They sure do feel the effects. I'm happy to know you got away. Time will pass and you will be able to move on from this. But the hurt will always remain. There are many scum who are out there. We have to be careful, but even the most careful aren't always so lucky. The positive thing is that you found the strength to leave and never return, I hope.

what a sad story,i hope u never see him again..he belongs in jail