The Insanity of a Creative Mind

Abused. Victim.

Words I never thought I'd use to describe myself. I'd been raised around abuse- surely I knew the signs? Surely I knew how to avoid being in such a spot?

But I didn't.

When he said I should go on a diet, he said it was because it would make me happier. Not because he thought there was anything wrong with the way I looked.

When he told me he didn't want me to see certain friends and family, it's because they were in the wrong and made him feel unwelcome. He didn't want them poisoning me against him.

Then there were things he didn't offer any excuses for. When I'd say no and he'd try to make me. When, after a scene that was what he wanted but did nothing for me, he wanted me to suck him off and offered no aftercare for me- the one who had spent the last half hour to an hour being beaten. Not beaten into subspace or in a way I desired, but to his preferences. When he'd hop right into sex sans any foreplay of any kind.

The times he'd go on about his exploits but anytime I got invited out to play he'd throw a fit if he wasn't included in the invitation, even if it was with people he actively wasn't into.

The manipulation that extended from what movies we watched to whether or not I dyed my hair because, as a Freemasons, his girlfriend needed to look polished at events.

The blatant ignoring of my traumas and triggers. From driving 80 in a 45 when he knew I had issues with speeding because of a wreck I was in to making me watch films that featured rape and child abuse rather prominently without warning me (huge triggers).

He'd tell me that conversations we'd had had never happened- forcing me to doubt my own mind.

But Everytime I tried to leave, he'd cry. He'd promise to change. He'd say he'd be better and do more for me. That it was all because of his past and it wasn't fair of me to treat him the same way his ex treated him, that I was giving up and being unreasonable.

And Everytime I let him convince me I was wrong. For a whole year.

I've only been free for three months. It's natural for me to not be ok. And I'm not. I'm not ok. But I will be.

I needed to write it all down though. I needed to be able to look at everything he'd done to me so I could look at it and say, “I'm stronger than what he did to me. I'm more than what he tried to make me.”

I will survive. I have survived. And I will get better a little more everyday. Some days I might be worse, but everyday is moving forward.