  Many years ago in what now feels like a former life, I met J.W. He was attractive, charming and talented. He bought me flowers, took me out to dinner and wrote songs for me. My deflated ego lapped it up. I thought I fell in love with him, and I used that to justify staying with him through nearly three years of emotional, physical and sexual abuse. One day I finally found the will to push him out of my life.
And somehow I found the resolve to withstand the torments that followed. The promises, the pleading, the threats. He was an alcoholic and a psychopath (by the DSM IV criteria), and I could finally see him for what he was. A few months later, as the haze began to lift, I fell in love with the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. I had known him for years, and had a crush on him from the time I met him. But graduation and job prospects had lured him away for several years.
Now he was back. One day, in an uncharacteristic move of courage, I told J.C. that I had feelings for him. His response was little more than “Oh.” I was crushed, and worse of all, we worked together. So I had to see him every day. Our friendship continued to grow, and I remained optimistic. However as time stretched on I decided that he truly had little to no interest in being anything other than my friend.
Then one day he started talking about something our boss had said about us…long story short we kissed. Thus began our relationship. Things were tough from the get go. He was the first person I had dated since my ordeal with J.W. Not only did I have those issues to deal with he was also my first boyfriend after having my daughter. I also worked 20 hours a week and went to college full-time.
It’s hard for me to put into words exactly what my mental state was at the time. I was terrified of J.W. I truly believed that he would show up at my door one day and try to kill me and J.C. and take my daughter (also J.W.s daughter). I was afraid of being home alone. I was scared of the dark. The smallest unexplained noise would leave me crying or locking myself in the bathroom.
I felt like a horrible mother. I felt guilty about the type of man my daughter’s father was. I felt guilty about sending my daughter to daycare all day while I went off to work and school. Our time in the evenings was also divided between dinner, housework, homework, my boyfriend, and the ever-elusive time alone. Bedtime was a fight almost every evening. For all that I know she loved him, I felt that she resented my boyfriend.
That made me feel even more guilty. I felt like a horrible student. My school work was done in the evenings after I put my daughter to bed when I had the energy not to pass out (the deep state of depression I was in had left me with hardly any will to live let alone energy to stay up late and study). Oftentimes, “studying” was reduced to reading the chapter(s) the night before the test. I felt like a charlatan. When I got As I felt like I didn’t deserve them.
When I got Bs I chastised myself for not working harder. But most of all I felt like a horrible girlfriend. I was damaged and in search of security and stability. But I had absolutely nothing left to give in return. I knew that life had not been easy for J.C. and I wanted to provide him with the love, security and stability I so desperately wanted for myself. I truly believed (and still do, for whatever it’s worth) that he was the most amazing man in the world.
He is intelligent, compassionate, talented, sensual, generous, sensitive, and kind. Unfortunately, I was not all of those things in return. I was wounded and angry over everything that had happened with J.W., and I was determined to never let the things that had happened in my last relationship ever happen to me again. At the onset, J.W. seemed like a wonderful man, but as time went on I realized the demon I was involved with. With J.C. anything out of line with my initial perception sent up red flags.
During our courtship, J.C. spent excessive amounts of time with me, didn’t eat meat, and didn’t smoke. As these all began to change, I reacted as though Dr. Jekyll was morphing right before my eyes—and I would be damned if Mr. Hyde was going to appear. I played upon his fear of me not staying with him if he failed to live up to my expectations (staying within the Dr. Jekyll persona). It was a stupid gamble and an out-and-out bluff. But he bought it. God, if only I could quit loving him over a steak!
Despite his best efforts to adapt to me and my daughter, I complained about J.C. not “doing his fair share.” He would drive her around at night to try and get her to fall asleep so I could do my schoolwork, and I would complain that he didn’t cook enough or clean enough. Despite almost all of my furniture coming from someone who didn’t want it anymore (several items literally rescued from another’s trash), I refused to let him put posters on the wall (for fear that it would make the place look “dumpy.” Isn’t it ironic? After many lectures from my father regarding the inability of the male half of the species to properly use a toilet, I insisted that J.C. sit down while peeing. (My dad actually does—and this is his own desire not that of my mother. ) Partially because of my fear of being home alone at night but mostly because of my frustration and anger over my lack of time for my own social life, I tried to make J.C. feel guilty about hanging out with his friends. Anytime he tried to do something that didn’t involve me I would play “poor-little-me” and make him miserable.
He had wanted to change careers, and I encouraged him to do so. After Sept. 11, J.C. lost this new job. This only further worsened our relationship. I felt incredibly guilty for encouraging him to pursue the job in the first place. I tried with everything I had to make it easier on him. I knew that he felt like a failure, and I didn’t want to make it any worse.
But nothing I did seemed to help. Sometimes when someone needs help or advice or even just an encouraging word I can say the most eloquent and thoughtful things. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times. I truly didn’t know how to act or what to say. A couple of months later when he got another job things yet again got worse. The job was doing what he had done before the career move—only with worse hours and a huge commute.
Instead of being supportive and understanding (as this was incredibly hard on him) I was upset that we would now spend even less time together (he now worked Saturdays and got home an hour before I went to bed). I also made cruel jokes. In my mind, most of them were good-natured and intended to pick on him for caring about (what I considered) stupid things. J.C. has issues with just about everything from his weight to his graying hair. He’s absolutely beautiful and has a few grey hairs. (I still think he’s crazy.
) I would pick on him in hopes that he would see how ridiculous he was being. In my ignorance and outright stupidity, I failed to see that I was indeed not helping. And worse, I was only deepening the wounds. This is not to say that everything was bad all of the time. We had the most amazing physical relationship the world has ever seen. We have shared secrets and shared our crosses more times than I can remember.
I know things about J.C.s life that literally make me cry. I’m sure he can say the same. There were many times—as there still are—where he was the only person who could comfort me because he knows things about my life that no one else knows. I know how desperately he wants to be loved and accepted for who he is. When I was not being sucked into the black hole of my own affairs, I think I did a good job of making him feel that way. But my “tragic flaw” was my inability when things were rough in my life to get outside of my own problems and see how I was treating and meeting the needs of those I love.
I’m sure this has not been exhaustive, but I believe it was sufficient. I am a fiercely private person by nature, so admitting personal problems, flaws, shortcomings, and outright failures is not easy. But here you have it. I have laid out my sins for any interested party to see. I am deeply sorry for all of this. There is not a single day that passes when I am not consumed by the guilt and humiliation I feel for all of this.
But I decided that it was time to stop hiding what I did. I have been in two relationships since J.C. and both have been emotionally intense yet free from the head games and abuse that the proceeding two relationships had been plagued with. I’m going to share a quote from my quote jar. This is from Maya Angelou’s inaugural poem for President Clinton “On The Pulse of Morning.” “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.” Truer words were, perhaps, never spoken. Until next time. 
