But So DysfunctionalWhen he and I got together we certainly raised some eyebrows. He was 19, I was 15. We started officially dating shortly before his graduation from high school. That summer was like something out of a dream. When we weren't on my hammock talking in silly accents, we were at six flags riding our favorites until the sun went down. He was my first love, and everything you couldn't want in a boyfriend.
It was when I entered my sophomore year of high school. That's when he completely changed. When we were apart, it was as if his world was crumbling around him. He was a diabetic and he took anti-depressants (very bad combination) He would call me certain nights and sob and cry and beg me not to leave him. He said his parents were kicking him out, and had locked the doors because they were afraid of him. That should have been the first red flag. But no, I was a naive 15 year old girl, and I just reassured him that everything was fine. He did this to me at least once every couple of weeks. As the months went by however, it turned into every week.
The first time he got physical was when he returned from the psych ward. I had a male best friend and he heard rumors that I cheated on him with this best friend. He had confronted me in the middle of my driveway. He didn't even give me a chance to explain, and I wasn't even guilty of cheating on him. He struck me in the face. It happened so fast and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground listening to the rocks crunching under his car, and him burning out of my driveway. I just held my face in shock. I couldn't even move for a good 15 minutes. As soon as I could collect myself, I just ran into the house and locked the door. He called shortly after and apologized. I reluctantly accepted it.
I envy the girls that have fond memories of high school. Back then their lives were a blur of cute outfits, charming boys, and going out at night with friends. My most unforgettable memories of high school consisted of spotty memory loss brought on by the cruel hands of my boyfriend. I loved him so much, I couldn't explain why. I loved those moments of sobriety he had, and would hold me, and spiel me apologies. I would always forgive him, after all, I couldn't imagine what it was like to live with diabetes, or to have no direction in life. I was also such an outcast I feared no one else would love me.
I remember fantasizing about other boys in high school. About what it would be like to date someone my age, with problems of someone my age. I couldn't deal or relate to my boyfriend's struggles of growing up and having to deal with reality after grade school. I couldn't deal with him taking this problems out on me. He would pick me up from school, interrogate me, he would ask what guys I talked to, and grabbed my arms and asked if I was sure. He said If I was lying and he found out, I'd be sorry. This was our daily routine. I remember keeping the secret from him that I was desperately in love with my best friend, but I was clinging to who my boyfriend used to be. Whenever he put his hands on me I could only wonder what had happened to the boy I fell in love with that first summer, and if I should get help for the things he was doing to me.
One day at the beach we were walking next to each other. I had bumped his insulin site by accident. He got pissed and grabbed me by the arm and ran towards his car. I remember him screaming at me. I remember him striking me multiple times in the face on the way back. I tried avoiding him and he got really angry and hit me in the stomach. The rest of the way home was just pain and blackness. I couldn't open my eyes because he had punched me in the eyes and it felt like they were on fire. I remember being thrown out of his car and onto his front lawn. I remember spitting out blood, and being grabbed by the arm once more up the short staircase and to his room. When I awoke next it was dark. I was on his bed, and he was hugging me from behind. He was crying, he said he went too far. I couldn't say anything. I just started silently crying. I felt like I was in one of those movies they play for you in health class. His episodes of rage continued on and off for three painful years.
It was when he threw the cross at me I knew I needed to get out. I was done. I didn't care who he was. I didn't care about the good times. He didn't love me, and from his actions, he didn't even like me. The littlest things I did or said would set him off. I was at his house one evening while his parents were away. His brothers were having a house party. It was a less than ideal situation for me to be in. Of course he was upset. He got into how he was a college dropout. About how no one loved him. He was yelling so loudly spitballs flew projectile from his mouth. I quickly ran behind his bed into the corner of the room. He took the porcelain cross above his door and hurled it at me. He said he didn't believe in God anymore, not in a world like this. It all seemed so premeditated. Like he planned to throw the cross at me. Like he planned to say that. I was done being so kind to someone that only saw me as a punching bag.
Breaking up wasn't easy. It took me a few attempts as I was out-of-my-mind frightened. I still have tiny marks on my arms where his nails dug into me. I still have a tiny scar on my back when he had thrown me into the shallow front steps of my patio. I still have the memories. And anyone in this group knows that they really never go away. I still fear running into him today. There's certain places in my town I wouldn't dare think of going alone. I avoid certain roads. I stay away from a few people.
After I had finally broke it off It took nearly two years for him to disappear completely from my life. I have a new boyfriend who treats me how a man should treat a woman. We recently celebrated our one year anniversary, and I consider this story to be my closure. I also hope this will help someone. Please get out while you can. Break up in a public place, and don't make excuses. There is never any reason for someone to put their hands on you.