I know you said, “Why can’t you just get over it?” It turned my whole world around and I kinda like it. –Dixie Chicks, Not Ready to Make

My ex-boyfriend loved to shop. To be honest, he may have even loved it more than I ever did and that’s saying something. He would spend countless hours trying to decide which clothes to buy, which brand skater shoes were more attractive, and what hair care products could best hide his very sad, premature receding hairline. He always wanted to use my cheap Aussie hairspray for curls because he said it “smelled like grapes”. I don’t want to say that he was girly about it but… maybe he was a little girly about it.

                               

I have to tell you the God’s honest truth when I tell you that he used to hold up two shirts for me to decide which one he should wear. Then he would ask me what shoes matched and get all weird about what belt he should wear. This was daily. We could be going to the grocery store or out to dinner, it didn’t matter. He used to tell me that it was because he was color blind and had a hard time telling what matched and what didn’t. While I guess it may have been true (because sadly, with pathological liars, you never know what’s true and what’s not), I very seriously believe that it stemmed from a poor self-image. And maybe that’s why he was always picking on everyone else.

But anyway, he loved to shop, so much so, in fact that I sort of swore off men who paid particular attention to themselves. (Except for that one guido guy but let’s not count him because that was so short-lived I almost can’t remember him.) These days, I prefer rough and tumble, stubble, scruff and dirty boots. Maybe a nice cross between Chip Gaines and Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Sure, great men can wear great suits. But there is also something to be said about a man who can get his hands dirty. And not whine about it.

I bring all of this up because looking back on the relationship, I almost find it laughable that he always judged me so hard. He was so concerned about how he looked, how other people viewed him, that it almost affected his personality. He would always say that he was “confident, not cocky” but I think he knew deep down inside that he didn’t really have much going for him. He was mean to me, and basically every other single person, because it somehow made him feel better. He controlled me, and every aspect of my life, because he knew that once I realized he was just an abusive, mediocre piece of trash, I would be moving on. He cheated on me, and quite frankly, took advantage of the other woman too, because he was obviously so desperate for attention.

He called me fat because he was uncomfortable with own his body. He always lectured me on what to wear and how to act because he was still stuck in high school, hanging out with the same people, and trying to be the best one off. He controlled me because he didn’t want me to realize he was an obnoxious nutcase, and he accused me of everything under the sun because he knew he was guilty.

He came from nothing and would always be nothing and that made him really uncomfortable.

It’s all so clear to me now. Insecurity wildly breeds disgruntled behavior. His temper and tendency to be abusive grew like an invasive weed because he didn’t like himself. He was grasping onto whatever he could because he knew that once I came to my senses, he’d have to start his little controlling, violent game all over again with someone new. And who knows, she may pick up on it way quicker than me. And then where would he be?

Alone, in his little, rancid garbage can, telling other people’s stories because he had nothing to show for himself.

Our scars remind us that the past is real. –Papa Roach, Scars

One day, he had confronted me about something he was so sure he’d caught me doing. He did this, of course, in front of God and everybody, outside of the school where I worked. He chucked the alleged evidence over my Mustang and shouted angrily, “Your life is over!” He got in his blue Chevy truck and drove away.

It was daylight; I was in a school parking lot with a bunch of witnesses. But real talk? I believed him. He could be really scary when he was mad or embarrassed. And apparently, I had just woken up both of those emotions.

I went back to work, shaken but totally undeterred. This was it. It had to be, right? I mean, I came from this rough, New York, Italian family. People didn’t get to just talk to me like that, did they? I shudder to think what anyone in my family would have done had they known any of this was happening.

I approached a girlfriend of mine and asked if she would go with me to get a domestic violence injunction. She immediately said she would, told me she had gotten one in a previous relationship, and could help me with whatever questions I had. Maybe I wanted her there for moral support or maybe I needed to be driven so that I couldn’t turn back.

Cowering to him had always been my forte and this time, I knew I needed to sever this relationship for good. I couldn’t risk thinking too long at a stop light and busting a u-turn. I needed to follow through, just this once, even if it meant [very temporarily] causing problems in the career he had worked so hard for.

I walked into the government center and it was like a busy city; people were running here and there, flooding through metal detectors and rushing off to traffic ticket hearings and parental mediations. I finally made it to where I needed to be and a woman behind the counter thrust what looked like a novel at me. Fill this out using the most relevant incident first. Try to be as detailed as you can without getting derailed. We want the judge to approve this immediately for you, she had said.

I read questions like are there any firearms in the home? and what is the address of the Respondent’s employment? and my head spun. Was I really doing this?

Domestic violence is bad. I think we can all agree on that one. It’s an awful, terrible thing that happens to women, and men, more often than you would probably realize. I mean, if you haven’t Googled the stats for it, I seriously suggest you do. You’ll be floored.

It happens everywhere, to anyone, all the time. When I worked in child safety, I would have arguments with parents who said things like, “I didn’t hit him/her; I just threw something at her.” Of course I had to remain professional because we were dealing with the lives of children but I wanted to say, “Um yeah, sweetheart. Throwing something at another person is an act of violence. But thanks for playing.”

You don’t get to say, “Oh hey, sorry, I just threw that thing at you but I’m not a violent person.” No. GTFO.

And don’t even get me started on that man child O.J. Simpson…

But what my ex-boyfriend took from me is so much worse than all of those terrible things. My self-esteem, my ability to make my own decisions without some kind of permission from another person, and my ability to love myself or think confidently are still kind of non-existent. Those kinds of things seem irreparable and far worse than any of the beatings or embarrassing meltdowns I endured. And what’s worse is that it doesn’t matter how much positivity has counteracted it since. The ridicule, the insults, the insecurities, all that bullshit, it never goes away.

When would I ever be myself again?

I never really wanted you to see the screwed-up side of me that I keep locked inside of me so deep. –Crossfade, Cold

But you know, sometimes I think that’s just way too much power to give to a person. Especially a person who, quite frankly, really took more than enough from me. Sometimes I think that maybe I just need to be a little stronger, do a little more of that mind over matter stuff and stop letting my past control me. I mean, sure, we all come from somewhere but we make choices that prevent us from getting stuck there.

We get hurt. We get knocked down. We pull ourselves up. We dust ourselves off. We don’t look back. Because we’re not going that way.

I remember I would go on dates after all of this had ended and I would find myself being extremely hyper vigilant. I was easy to anger, quick to fly off the handle over things that were pretty miniscule, so ready to lose my cool because that’s what I was used to. In my most recent past relationship, I always had to be ready to fight back. I had to brace myself for the sting and put on a brave face when people asked questions. It took a little bit of time for me to realize that while these men may not have been my soul mates, they weren’t my enemy. And they certainly weren’t him.

Even the worst ones were a huge upgrade. They were kind, they didn’t lose their temper, they told me all the time how beautiful and awesome I was. And to this day, I don’t think I believed any of it. Because how could anyone love me?

But then some more time went on and I felt my personality change. I no longer popped off or got upset with these poor, mostly innocent men. I didn’t get all aggravated when the plans changed and threw me off my routine (because in my old life, nothing could ever come up, otherwise I was being “scandalous”). And while I still didn’t believe them when they paid me endless compliments, I tried to seem flattered by it all.

It wasn’t their fault I was so messed up. It was his.

This aforementioned personality shift was one that I have only continued to further in my years. When I started hearing things I didn’t like, when I started to lose even an ounce of control over myself, I shut it down. I had no time for hurtful remarks, even if they were warranted, and I had no room in my life for people who tried to boss me around. (True story, I recently took a break from a girlfriend of mine, who I really, really liked, because she was really into pushing me around. And I am not about that life. Not anymore. It’s unfortunate that I’m so sensitive to it but that’s just the way it is.)

I became a lot more attuned to the way the words came out, far more aware of their underlying meanings, and a lot more sensitive to temper flairs. During this time, I was, I guess, kind of semi-seriously dating this military guy from Orange County, New York. He was super, super nice. He was extremely respectful, didn’t push to sleep with me, and made it a point to introduce me to his friends. Weirdly though, he looked a lot like my ex-boyfriend, which I tried not to really focus on. They were definitely two very different people.

But one day, after having driven like an hour to his house in St. Pete, he made this weird little comment about the shirt I was wearing. It was innocent, I guess, looking back on it. Maybe it was something to the effect of, “I’m not a fan of that shirt but you still look cute.”

“I don’t really remember asking you if you liked it,” I snapped back before making up some reason to leave. I never saw him again after that and in fact, I ghosted him. I remember he called me about a million times (and not in a stalker, domestic violence way but in an I’m-so-sorry-I-hurt-your-feelings kind of way) and I kept hitting deny with this weird sort of satisfaction. I was proud of myself for blowing him off.

When my best friend asked me what had happened (because she was hanging out with one his friends who was also in the military and lived in the apartment downstairs), I just told her that he pissed me off and now things were awkward. I explained that I liked him (because I knew she was asking more for his friend) but that I didn’t really appreciate being told how to dress.

It’s kind of like, didn’t your mother ever teach you if you didn’t have anything nice to say, don’t fucking say it…?

Maybe it was all a little dramatic but at the time, it didn’t feel like it. I would never, ever let a man talk to me like that again. Polite about it or not. I had finally found that little fight that was inside of me and I wasn’t about to let it get burned out.

Moral of the Crazy: You know, for a really, really long time, I really believed that I was the problem. He was always calling me crazy, always accusing me of being scandalous when I didn’t call him after arriving and leaving every errand. He was always commenting on the way I looked, telling me I was overweight, reminding me that if I continually ate protein bars and missed a day at the gym, I would get fat.

To this day, I worry about this. I have a pretty vast amount of knowledge regarding health and fitness, due mostly in part to my husband, and I still ask my husband over and over again if I’ll get fat from drinking my super lean protein shakes now that I’m not as physically active as I used to be. “You are crazy,” he laughs, “you will never be fat, babe. And certainly not from drinking those.”

For a really long time, I told myself that maybe I wasn’t at the best place in my life. I mean, I had dropped out of college (only temporarily) to be with him and was working at a primarily government subsidized daycare. I hadn’t had a raise in like, ever and I came home dirty everyday, sometimes with binkies in my pocket that I had taken home by accident and snot all over my shirt. He was technically a “college graduate”, with a pretty decent career under his belt already (he was more experienced than some of the guys twice his age) and worked two jobs just to save money. (And by save money, I mean, support his clothing and shoes habit, obviously…)

My friends were all just like me: struggling to make ends meet, dating terrible guys, and saving all their pennies just to shop at the Dollar General Market. His friends were all just like him: strapping, thick as thieves, and firemen. Maybe he was better than me.

So I tried, really hard, every day to try and be who he wanted me to be. And maybe that means he isn’t entirely to blame. Because for awhile there, I was brainwashed enough to do literally anything. And sure, he was a total creep and kept tabs on me like a Gestapo (in fact, I used to call him my Gestapo to my friends) but it’s not like he was holding me captive. He definitely didn’t make it easy but I could have gotten out earlier if I had tried a little harder.

There was one time when we had this pretty big fight. I was supposed to be meeting him at his house so we could go out to dinner. I got there, on time and completely ready, and as usual, he had just gotten out of the shower. He answered the door in a towel like he was Channing fucking Tatum instead of who he really emulated: Danny DeVito as the Penguin.

(And I’ve seen some recent pictures, y’all. Let me just tell you that karma is the ultimate bitch. Score number 1 for yours truly.)

He looked me up and down and then laughed. “You should probably go back to Ryan,” he chuckled, mentioning my prior ex-boyfriend, “maybe he would take you out looking like that. If you want to go out with me, you’d better go home and change.”

So I did.

I changed out of my outfit that cost probably over $100 (I wore head to toe Limited back then because I had a second job there), kicked off my super expensive black wedges and cried. I just cried and cried. But I changed and I went back. Because maybe I did look like shit. And when we went out to dinner, I ordered a grilled chicken Caesar salad because I didn’t want to get fat.

And while he sat there eating his grisly fried chicken sandwich, licking his disgusting fingers, and smacking his greasy lips, I thought about my life. I thought about where I had come from and where I was now. I thought about the ex-boyfriend I dumped for him. I thought about all the friends I had pushed away because of him. I thought about all the times my mom called me crying saying she had slept in my room just to “smell me” because I had run away because of him. All of this was because of him. But not because of him; because I was letting him.

What the fuck had happened to my life?

And you know, nowadays, I’m not the most confident person. And call me what you want, friends, I blame him for that. Some things you just can’t fix and while I’m working on it, it’s a definite problem. It’s definitely something that hinders my daily life. Sometimes I cry getting ready for work because I look at myself and my heart sinks. Sometimes I go out in public and I shrivel up when I see all the beautiful women around me. Sometimes I think so hard on a decision that I just end up picking one way or the other because I’m so insecure I just can’t focus. Sometimes people say one off thing to me and I seriously contemplate never responding again because I just can’t deal with people being fresh to me anymore.

Those days are long gone.

A couple of weeks ago, I actually had this exact issue with my sister. She is the type of person who is just fresh sometimes; it’s her spunky personality. It’s not meant to really offend anyone. But this one day, I had just had enough. “I love you but I’m your sister, not a piece of trash. Don’t talk to me like that,” I texted, showing her that I can be fresh too. We didn’t talk for a few days and then it was over, of course. Because we’re sisters and she knows she can be bitchy and I know I can be sensitive.

And while confidence has been a struggle for me for a long time, despite what anyone tells me, I do have other strengths.

I am kind, or nice, almost to a fault. I actually go out of my way to be nice to people because I feel like that’s what the world needs more of. I actually went to college to help people and to meet them where they’re at. I was advised in my learning against judging, jumping to conclusions, or stereotyping others. I have learned, through social work school, the utmost about loving unconditionally, seeing without color, and listening without talking.

My husband says that I’m too nice and you know what? I’m okay with that. Let me tell you why. It takes a lot to get me mad. I don’t get upset about really anything. Sure, there are a few things I don’t appreciate. For example, I don’t like being lied to and I don’t like being ignored. But save for those few things (and obviously domestic violence), it really takes a lot to get me angry.

However, my kindness should not be confused with weakness. I’m kind because I choose to be, not because I have to be. And I don’t take shit from anyone (despite what my super protective husband believes). I’m not the same battered woman I was more than a decade ago. And while I’m not on any kind of Archer-esque rampage at the moment, that should frighten people.

If I’m mad, you’ll know.

I’m not scared, I’m not broken, and I’m not much for cowering anymore. If you’ve got insults or negativity, go ahead and through them out there. They’ll just be useless, empty phrases because I’ve got way better things to read. (Seriously, you should see my bookshelves…)

If I saw my behemoth ex-boyfriend today I would probably just stare right through him because there’s not much that surprises me these days. And there was never much to see to begin with.

Sometimes, you’ve just got to bat your eyelashes and keep on living. And sometimes, you’ve got to remind them who they’re dealing with.

I will fight, for those who cannot fight for themselves. –Diana Prince, Wonder Woman