A few months have passed. Life has thrown a few curve balls my way, ones that I never expected. I’ve been trying to figure out how I got here and how to deal with the situation I find myself in. Some days I’m resolute, others I’m at a loss. It’s very unlike me.
The man I’ve been seeing has a mean streak. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard a man spew the kind of vitriol that so easily escapes his lips when he gets angry with me. It’s disarming, looking at the handsome face, trying to rectify the ugly human that he becomes with the lovely man he can be. I think I finally understand how my mother felt when she suddenly found herself in an abusive relationship.
The sad fact is, as I sat with him last summer meeting a number of his friends for the first time, I received a lengthy message on Instagram from a stranger. Unfortunately, I read it. I truly wish I hadn’t because nothing has been the same since that day.
She told a lengthy and detailed story about how truly deplorable he can be, sending screen shots of text messages he sent using language that, at the time, I simply couldn’t imagine he was capable of summoning, let alone using.
She also included photos of a deep handprint that he had allegedly left on her buttocks the last time he slept with her just a couple of months before we met.
I was torn. I have never let my past color my judgement of someone and I do believe that everyone is entitled to the benefit of the doubt. But for some reason, this really stayed with me. It was for that reason when I found myself on the receiving end of the first verbal attack, I wasn’t sure what to do. He got slightly physical with me that day, grabbing my face and squeezing extremely hard and grabbing me by the arm so tightly that I screamed from both the pain and the shock of the deliberate actions.
The source of his anger that day? He went through my old phone while I was at work and read all of my correspondence going back as far as 4 months before we had even met. He found conversations, old and current that he didn’t like. He lost his temper, even spit in my face, but when he saw me cowered in the bedroom crying harder than I can ever remember crying, he collapsed in a heap of tears. His apologies went on for days. It appeared to be an isolated incident, we agreed to let it go and things seemed okay.
I should have known better.
That was last fall. I’ve been living with a constant barrage of insults; physical, verbal and emotional abuse. His favorite game to play is stringing me along as though he wants to have sex, only to throw the conversations he found upsetting in my face when I attempt to follow through.
He won’t leave. Unfortunately just before he blew up I asked him to move in. His name is on the lease, something he enjoys reminding me of every opportunity he has. I keep asking, though, hoping that he will finally grow tired of the game he’s playing with me, and move on.
In the unlikely event that actually happens, I will be sad but know that it was for the best. I am afraid, though, he’ll just stay here until I finally pick up and leave. Something I feel I need to truly consider, seeing as this has gone on rather consistently since the end of September.