by Band Back Together | Apr 16, 2014 | Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Hope, Intimate Partner Rape, Psychological Manipulation |
Dear Psychopath,
I loved you effortlessly. I was trusting, giving, and naive. I loved you before I knew your true nature. Your smile, your ease, your power put me at peace. We talked for hours about God and His goodness, Jesus and His love.
It was love at first sight. We talked and walked in the summer sun, we laughed and ran to avoid the Florida rainstorms. I thought in my heart that a man who feared God would be the man I would be with forever. Before I knew what I had done, my heart was yours. I would follow you to the ends of the earth.
Little did I know that to you I was a tool; you had always manipulated to get your way and were a seasoned abuser, skilled at stabbing and twisting at just the right moments. You said God told you to take my virginity away from me. Did He also tell you to shame me after my first time? You named me a whore, a temptress, a slut that lured you into hell, and then you pulled me close and kept me for yourself.
Did God tell you to scream at me in public any time you were trying to get your way? Did He tell you to publicly humiliate me, throw things at me, to make me bleed, to make me suffer?Did He tell you to use scripture to shame me, to make me feel less than human? Did He tell you to throw me against walls and scream at me? What did I do to you? All I gave was love …all you gave was abuse.
Before I knew it you had moved me in, you had planned my schedule. You controlled everything. I wasn’t allowed to talk to my parents, to leave you for any amount of time. I was either on the phone with you or next to you. You knew what you were doing. I was fulfilling some sort of sick fantasy of control, of dominance, and you weren’t going to let me go. You loved to see me shamed, you loved to break me down. You were convinced I was full of demons, convinced I was a slut who was dragging you down. I couldn’t stop myself from believing I was a slut.
One day, I stopped trying to make you happy. I became numb to it. I just phased out and let you do whatever you wanted. You raped me …like it was nothing. I was just lying in bed, and you forced your way on me, and did whatever you wanted to. When you got off I could see it on your face, the same look that I had had for almost a year: shame.
You only liked me when I was trying to please you, trying to love you. You liked the challenge of subduing, controlling, defeating, dominating. Now that I was numb and apathetic, the challenge was gone. You had broken my spirit. It was time for you to move on. You went to the church we attended every week, you told all our friends about what a slut I was and how you needed help escaping my clutches. People I trusted told you to break up with me. They encouraged you and tried to help you.
I was shunned. Outcast from everyone except one person, my best friend. She was the only one who had spoken up at all to me, voiced her concerns, the only one who cared.
Our relationship was still on and off. You said I was too much to resist. I had given everything to you, so I was still looking for a semblance of love and hope. I was convinced I needed to marry you.
You had taken everything from me, and I didn’t know who I was anymore. What did I even believe? What was there left to live for? Now that I was apathetic I could see everything for what it was. We had sex one last time before I went home to Texas. Afterwards, you put on your clothes, called me a whore, and told me to leave. I was empty. There was nothing left, and yet you took some more from me. You were never satisfied.
I tried to kill myself by just not getting out of bed anymore. My best friend and roommate kicked me out of bed after a few days and forced me to eat, to live. She loved me. A week later I contemplated drowning myself in the ocean. The Lord intervened on that night and it didn’t happen.
When I got home to my family and to support I was a shell of myself. I just slept during the day, but I couldn’t sleep at night. I started chain smoking. I had severe anxiety. I saw death coming for me in a shadowy figure everywhere I went. I had left real life and entered into an altered state of reality. I was consumed by fear. I often forgot what I was doing, where I was going. I had severe flashbacks and severe panic attacks.
You but you still weren’t done with me. You called me up accusing me of cheating on you. You texted me horrible things, verses in scripture condemned me to hell. You had to keep on hurting me. I had to change my number.
You wrote me a letter, and an email, both listing Bible verses about how I was a whore. I believed I was nothing because you told me so often. You used brainwashing techniques and extreme manipulation tactics to bond me to you. I was your slave for a year.
You are not a man of God. You are a psychopath, a devil, my deepest fears realized. You broke every belief I had, but in a way, I need to thank you. My relationship with God has become real. I no longer lean on religious stigma, and I no longer care for pleasing others. I only care for my God, His will, His love, His word. The God I know will never welcome abuse, will condemn a heart filled with hatred, and will cast away manipulators and evil doers.
The Lord my God heals the broken-hearted, lifts the meek in spirit, saves those who have been crushed, and redeems any who call upon Him. I may have been broken by your hands, by your words, by your deeds, but God has built me up stronger than I ever dreamed of being.
Although I struggle with forgiveness, my anger is well placed. I will always be changed by what you did to me and took from me, but I hope God changes you. If He can take emptiness and create fullness, He can change hatred into love. I will continue to heal, to be angry, to find a voice in me that needs to be heard.
Now that I have God by my side I am no longer afraid. I need to tell of the darkness turning into light. It was a miserable journey for me, but by the grace of God, I am so full I am overflowing. I am filled with love, strength, purity, and identity.
Genesis 50:20 WE ARE LIGHTS IN THE DARKNESS. WE SHINE BRIGHTER EVEN WHEN YOU TRY TO PUT US OUT. You will never take away my freedom to live abundantly.
by Band Back Together | Mar 31, 2014 | Date/Acquaintance Rape, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Intimate Partner Rape, Rape/Sexual Assault |
I remember kissing you, contemplating telling you that I felt I was falling in love with you, but deciding better of it. I remember knowing I shouldn’t go to your friend’s apartment but not wanting to leave the party immediately. I remember getting there and thinking, “Now he’ll finally hold me, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
I remember you being angry that I didn’t want to have sex.
After all, what was I doing in this apartment if I didn’t want to have sex with you? Why would I have kissed you if I wasn’t willing to go all the way? It’s not like it was anything we hadn’t done before! Didn’t I like you? I practically owed it to you, didn’t I?
But I didn’t want to give it to you. I lay down with you, kissed you, and told you that I was sorry but I just didn’t think going further was a good idea.
Then your hands were on my breasts. I moved them away, and you brought them back. Away, back, away, back. Then under my bra, pulling and squeezing. Again, I moved your hands away, you brought them back. You took off your pants and put my hand on your penis, I quickly pulled away.
Now my adrenaline was kicking in, and my breathing increased.
You paused.
“Are you afraid of me?” you asked.
“Oh, sorry,” I whispered, not really answering. I didn’t know what to say, or what was happening. But I was afraid of you.
You kissed me again and I kissed you back, then I settled down, hoping for some sleep. Your hands came back.
Why didn’t I say no? Or stop?
The words trapped inside my throat, I felt weak, overwhelmed. Although my voice failed me, my body hadn’t. I pushed your hands away. You removed them from my breasts and settled them on my stomach, perhaps a little farther south than I would have preferred, but this was an improvement.
Until it wasn’t.
You only quickly fondled me over my clothes before putting your hands under my dress and leggings. I felt a surge of panic race as I pulled your hands away only to have them back. Was I pushing against you this time? I can’t remember. This time you seemed stronger, angrier, more determined. You put a finger inside me and I squirmed to get away.
I’d made it as far as rolling onto my stomach to try to crawl to other side of the couch before you put your free hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down onto your fingers. I reached down and grabbed your hand, using all my might to get your fingers out of me while simultaneously trying to pull away from you. All this time,m you wouldn’t fucking budge. I couldn’t move you at all. I couldn’t move myself at all. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
Then you were taking off my leggings and underwear and putting your mouth on me, which I had told you I didn’t like. That was when I knew that you knew, but you were angry and didn’t care. I was furious and powerless and terrified of you, the person I thought I knew and could trust and would be with one day.
And then you stopped. I knew what was coming but I wasn’t sure what to do. I was in shock.
And then you were inside me. I felt so betrayed: “Are you fucking serious?” I said to no one in particular.
Then, “Don’t you have a condom?” This wasn’t consent, this was resignation.
You moved away and I could hear you going through your pockets. I took the opportunity to pull my leggings and underwear up and my dress back down and rolled into the fetal position. I’d only bought myself a couple seconds. I could hear you jerking off to work yourself back up again. Still, what could I do? I was so far from home or anywhere I knew – it was a choice of staying there or sleeping on the streets. Leaving was potentially more dangerous than staying. But why didn’t I scream? Those thirty seconds could have changed everything.
Satisfied with your erection, you turned me over and took off my leggings. I hated you so much. When you started fucking me I could feel that you hated me, too. There was none of the playful intimacy that colored our previous consensual encounters. You fucking me as hard as you could, making sure that it hurt so that I knew what a bitch I was for leading you on, and me digging my nails down your back as hard and as deep as possible so that you knew how much I fucking hated you.
I was silent, but I could feel a soul-wrenching scream burn up in my chest. Every warm feeling I’d had towards you curled up and died. I lied there whimpering and trying to hurt you as much as you were hurting me.
For a moment, you hesitated. “Are you crying?”
“No,”I whispered.
But I wanted to.
by Band Back Together | Oct 14, 2010 | Abuse, Alcohol Addiction, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Intimate Partner Rape, Rape/Sexual Assault |
It’s your 27th birthday today. All day today, everything I signed and dated put knots in my stomach.
This is the first time in three years that I am not bending to your will.
The first birthday of yours that we spent together was the first time I felt truly afraid of you. It was the first time you made it entirely clear what you were capable of and willing to do to me.
I was to start my first post-college job that day. The night before you got drunk. You were throwing things, making degrading jokes, grabbing at me and my clothes, and cutting me down to size. You made it clear that I was worthless and that the job I was to start as a social worker was pointless.
That I had no worth…to society or to you.
After you destroyed our living room and kitchen, you began throwing beer cans and blasting your racist music. You kept me awake until three in the morning with the noise. Besides, I was too afraid to sleep and leave you unattended in the house. You came upstairs and realized that I was still awake. I tried to explain to you that I needed to sleep which you thought that was funny. You said that I had kept you up many a night when you had to work and that I would be fine.
You then proceeded to “do” what you wanted. After my first day, I came home and surprised you with a cake and a card. You thought they were both bullshit. You wanted booze instead. You did not ask about my day. Instead, you sent me a text in the middle of the day to pick up alcohol for you.
Now we’re done. So entirely done. And I still have moments where I feel worthless, useless, and unable to ever love or be loved again. I don’t trust men. I don’t like being touched. I have a hard time eating, sleeping is impossible, and romance makes me so angry.
My emotions are raw and I feel like I’m trying to swim out of the center of a lake. I can see myself on the shore but it takes one stroke at a time to get there.
Now you’ve moved on to another woman. I’m relieved that it’s no longer me that is the center of your “affections.” I’m hurt that it was so easy for you to move on when I’m stuck. I still hurt and rage and ache.
I didn’t expect today to be so hard. After all, it’s YOUR day, not mine. But I’m proud because I made it through. I’ll keep swimming back to myself and away from the sinking pit that you pulled me into.
I’ll find myself.
I will heal.
