He hurt me again, this time it wasn’t physically. At this point I don’t know which I prefer. If I had to pick between getting body slammed to the ground with possible injuries and broken bones, or having my already low self-esteem as well as mental health picked apart till I’m left more broken every day, I wouldn’t know what to choose. I can’t describe the pain I feel every time I wake up and realise that this isn’t just a very vivid nightmare. Some part of me believes that this is for me, this is what I deserve, at least someone wants the trash that I am. At least someone is willing to stay with the disappointment that I am. At least he apologizes when he hurts me sometimes.
I don’t know what’s worse, remembering who I was and how I wouldn’t have settled for this bullshit, or looking at who I am now and wondering what the hell happened to me. It doesn’t matter what way I look at it its all the same. I’m trapped with no way of escape. He’s my physical captor but my mind is my mental captor. I want to leave; I know I have to leave but I just can’t. It’s like there are chains keeping my legs from moving. Its not like I haven’t tried before. There are two ways those attempts have ended. One is that he finds me himself, all hell breaks loose and I’m beaten to the point where I won’t be able to move for days and even weeks. He couldn’t care less.
In those situations, he’d send me off to the hospital with some bogus excuse that I was beaten up during a roadside mugging or I was involved in underground fighting or one creative excuse or another. I was always left to be scrutinized by medical professionals and police. It seemed like they were willing to help me if I told them the truth but after the first time I reported him and nothing happened, I realized there is no one that can help me. He was in custody for 48 hours before he was released. He didn’t beat me up when he returned like I expected him to. He ignored me mostly, then after a couple of days his manipulation intensified.
He continuously remined me that he was untouchable, and I was too worthless for anyone to give a fuck about what happens to me. He told me that he is the only person that cares about me and that’s why he’s doing his best to make me better and sometimes getting better requires some tough love. I believed him, I still believe him. After that whole ordeal I never reached out again. I did try to run a few times but I never succeeded. The second thing that happens is that I carry myself back home. I only get so far before I have a meltdown or full blow panic attack and get ushered home by passers-by or an ambulance.
Other times I get so far and the questions begin to flood my mind. Where are you going? Who are you going to tell? Who’s going to believe you? What now? What are you even going to do? How can you live without him? He was so good to you do you think you’re going to find anyone better? He’s all you have and will ever have! No one can save you! No one will save you! You better go back to the only person that loves and cares for you! Who’s going to look at you once they hear all the depraved things you’ve done? Who’s going to want to keep you once they find out how fucked up you are? You think you can survive out there by yourself?
Thought after thought pump into my head until I realise I don’t have an answer or that the answers are not in my favour, then I turn around and go back to whence I came. Pathetic isn’t it? He likes to say so. I’m so trapped in this prison that I can’t see a life that’s not this current hell that I am in. I want to be free but at the expense of what? If I’m good he treats me well. If I make a mistake he gets violent. So all I have to do is not make a mistake. All I have to do it be perfect and everything will be fine. Sometimes it doesn’t matter if I’m good. I’ll always be a punching bag when the outside world fucks him over.
I’m his scapegoat for all his anger and frustration.
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