Did I Have it Coming?

I know I deserve 1000% better than Chad could ever dream of being. He is the biggest scumbag I have ever encountered, and that is saying a lot. He has not changed. I know that in reality he is the same shameful person he was when I left him a year and a half ago. Still, it irks me to the core - this feeling I have that I am the only woman that he ever abused. I keep thinking back to him telling me, in the midst of a huge fight, that I was the only one he ever hit because I was the only one who ever challenged him so aggressively. There is no honor in this for him at all. Regardless of who he may or may not have hit, I am still halfway haunted by the fact that it was something in me that made him abuse me.

Why should it even matter? It wouldn't change anything if he had indeed abused his previous wives/girlfriends or if I was truly the only one. I cannot shake this feeling lately. I keep wonder what it was/is about me, that caused Chad to get violent on me. I know how insanely passive ignorant, and victimized this sounds. I saw his and his new wife(#3 on facebook and I found out that he met her at the Pentagon. She joked on one of the comments on her page that she is good a hiding her emotions at work because she works in human resources but that her family and her husband (gag), know better. All of these terrible thoughts keep whirling in my head. Like, is she a spitfire? She has a son and has tattoos. She doesn't sound like a shrinking violet. Why hasn't he hit her?

Pulling the Thread

Yes, I tend to write about abuse a lot. It is the only way I have dealt with it so far. I don't talk about it in detail with anyone. Although there are times when I would really like to talk about certain memories I can't shake. But I've found that it's better to write at these times. Understandably, those close to me don't like to hear stories about violence inflicted on me, particularly the vividly graphic tales that I keep reliving in my head lately.

They definitely don't want or need to hear about what I am thinking when I think of Chad. It's unfair of me to expect anyone who cares about me to want to listen to detailed accounts of the shit that I put myself through with him. I don't like to censor myself when I write so it's the best medium for me to expunge the flashbacks from my thoughts. My poetry writing rule since college has been that if my writing feels at all "inappropriate" or like it would make someone uncomfortable, I know that I've got something. I know that I need to pull the thread further to see what's there.

Real Abuse

People throw around the word abuse way too much in my opinion. A serious drama queen who is also a server at Morton’s actually told me that she felt like she was a victim of “domestic violence” after a fellow server screamed at her during a heated argument.

I bit my tongue hard, thankful that she expressed this thought in a text message and not in person. Her inflated claim stung me especially hard because she knows that I was involved in a very violent abusive relationship. A relationship that was so dangerous and destructive that it necessitated my relocation from DC to NY.

I was in a relationship with a man who once locked me in the kitchen for the evening because he was angry at me for something I can’t remember. I can’t remember the arguments that preceded the violence much anymore. I do remember that Chad had been pushing me while we were fighting in the kitchen. This morphed into a situation with him standing in the doorway, his square shoulders blocking the door frame verbally belittling me while telling me I couldn’t leave the room.

Each time I got up and tried to pass him, he would block me with his body and push me back out of the doorway. I was pretty hysterical after the 10th or so attempt at getting out failed. I resigned myself to the kitchen floor where I stayed for awhile. I was sitting on a small rug on the kitchen floor. I don’t even remember how or when I finally was allowed to leave the room. I was on the kitchen floor for awhile; until I had “calmed down.”

He would pull that on me quite often when we would argue. He would “restrain me” on the floor, push me out of his way, or confine me to a specific space – all intensely physical, until I had “calmed down.” He would always have a cool, eerily detached justification for his actions. No matter the circumstance, no matter what he did to me - to him I was responsible because I had pushed him to do it. My mistrust of him, my anger, my jealousy, my impoliteness on various occasions were all reason enough for him to verbally abuse me, repeatedly hit my head on the ground, push and punch me, give me a black eye and a fractured nose.

I know that I am one of the fortunate ones. I am out, away, free. The cycle has been broken - at least for now. But I can’t help but get angry when I hear people equating verbal arguments or uncomfortable, disagreeable situations to genuine abuse.

Contusions & Makeup Names

So I came across a dark purple nail polish today called Bruised. It bothered me, yet it did appeal to my creative/poetic side, not to mention my beauty product obsession. I love the unconventional sexy names given to makeup products. I think they're a fun bonus to wearing the colors. (My blush pigments are Deep Throat, Outlaw, and Tipsy...) I have promiscuous tendencies when it comes to colors; it's half the fun of wearing them. But back to the purple that got under my skin. The name Bruised still makes me think of the bruises I lived through with Chad. I was going through my cell phone the other day and I found a text that I sent to Joseph a few days after the final blowout with Chad. My text told Joseph that I was moving to NYC and that my bruises were still sore and my nose fractured. It was so strange to see that living in my phone this far down the road. It made me think of the light green eye shadow called Fern that I used to conceal my black eye. It still makes me feel queasy to look at it yet I can't throw it out. It's a weird reminder of the past sitting quietly in the bottom of my makeup bag. It's hard to understand and digest the fact that I was trying so hard to cover up the bruise on my eye while Chad was sitting in the next room of my apartment; that I didn't follow through with kicking him out until the crap hit the fan. I confronted his cheating and it turned into a brutal fight that changed the direction of my life.

Where Are you Neo-Cary Grant?

With all of the affection that I have for classic movies - particularly romantic comedies with lightening fast dialogue and wit, it's easy to get eagerly swept up in the respect and adoration for women in so many of these movies. But yet another vieiwng of one of my favorites, Pillow Talk, has reminded me of the double-edged sword as far as sexual politics goes. Yes, the women (and yes, I realize this entire conversation is in the context of "movie women and men") are treated with such reverence and there is an obvious level of respect that seems to be all but gone today. But at what cost were women treated in such a manner? Protection and fragility don't end with dating.

The Porterhouse

Tonight I decided to use "The Porterhouse" as the alias for the man in my stories that I am currently referring to as "N."

N is too easy, and not decriptive enough as aliases go.

Congratulations Goodbye N

Here come those famous words again. Dripping with excitement, guilt, sadness, security, and nostalgia, " I spoke to N tonight."

MY Silver Fox.

It was a big one for me. I was informed by my current GM that N was recently promoted to regional mgr. I knew that meant that soon I would no longer be able to give him a late night call whenever I felt like it. Despite the fact that I have had no desire to talk to him since our last encounter in January, it still feels significant that the option will soon be gone.

So I called. I sucked up the bad feelings lingering from January and thought about the fact that I couldn't bear never speaking to him again. I wanted to hear his voice. His deep voice and sexy laugh.

He kept harping on the fact that I hadn't called him since our tryst in January. I pointed out that he had not called me either. That's when he brought up the angry, inebriated texts that I sent him the night he left my hotel, and I ended up wasted in Morton's on Conn. Ave. and sad about him leaving so abruptly. I felt sick when he mentioned the texts. He said that they freaked him out and that he has wanted to talk to me since then but felt uncomfortable.

I told him that I was drunk and surprisingly hurt at how fast he booked. I was very frank and said that I felt like he "couldn't get away from me fast enough." He was quiet and then admitted that he didn't know what to say to that. Then he finally stated that he din't want to get away from me, ("that wasn't it at all") but that of course I know that he has to go home to someone, he felt awkward and didn't want to explain. I pointed out that he didn't need to explain; in the 4 years since we first started this whole thing, I never, EVER asked him about his personal business. He acknowledged this fact and told me that he was glad that I called

I told him that I was not asking for anything from him and he said "that is questionable." He said that he knows if he called me it would have "stirred up emotions." That is great, but I know that if he truly wanted to talk tome then he would have called. That is okay. I feel good about myself. I just will always have a place in my heart for him. He is very special to me and I know that I am special to him. Regardless of his lack of calls and his frantic paranoia and guilt, I know that he cares for me. I just love seeing him. I wish his arms and body were more confident, and not riddled with guilt when he was with me in January.

I told him that the texts were not indicative of me, that I am not an angry person - he interrupted to tell me "No, you are a terrific person- a fantastic person." I told him however, that I was surprised myself at how hurt I was by how he left. I know nothing can ever grow between us but the painful reality is that there are feelings between us already. I want the best for him and I know that he is sincere when he says that he wants the best for me. I know he wants me to be happy and knowing that makes me feel comforted.


I also know that he is not completely fair with me. He teases me and I let him. I told him I called him tonight because I didn't want to never talk to him again. He said he was really glad that I called. I told him that I felt better after talking to him and he told me that made him happy.

It was some sort of closure for me. I care about him and want to have his presence in my life be a positive one. You never know what will happen in life and I am happy that at least he knows how much I care for him and that I was thinking of him. He shied away from the talk veering toward feelings/sex. It is crazy to think that this started in the fall of '04 and that we are still in contact. That makes me happy. And at least I can always contact him through J. And I do have his cell, for a text perhaps in an emergency situation.

I feel like I have to bury him mentally like I had before- only now I can feel okay that I spoke to him. I feel good but also a little sad. Glad that I spent the time I have with him but sad when I think of what never will be. But I want to be friends like he suggested. This is the first time in my life that I can tuly say that I want what is best for him even if it is not me; I would rather be friends with him than not have him in my life at all.