Go AWAY!!!

Aug 6, 2006

What was I thinking??
This is really difficult for me.

I need closure. I need to be able to deal with this so I can completely let go of my past.

Here's the thing. I've always considered myself an open-minded, well adjusted sort of person. I know I've been through a lot of "difficult" things but this experience that you are about to read is probably one of the worst. I lost myself. Keep your mind open while reading this, even though it's a lot of information there is still so much more. If anyone ever has any questions, please feel free to ask. I'm not ashamed anymore.

In 1998 I met a man we'll name "M". When I first met him I thought he was a pretty cool guy. Attractive, quiet, mysterious. I found out about his past. He had come from a really tragic background, badly abused by his foster parents and I felt so bad for him. When we first began dating we argued a lot. I thought it was just a sign of all the passion we had for one another. The arguments escalated pretty rapidly. He would get mad about the most trivial things; being unable to locate the remote control would send him into such a rage that he would punch the living room wall. After several months of dating, we split up. I couldn't deal with that kind of temper and I think he thought I nagged too much.

In December of 1999 we began dating again. I was in a really vulnerable place. My best friend, Danielle had been murdered earlier that year and I was having a lot of trouble finding my place in the world without her. "M" had known my friend, and I thought he would be able to help me deal with the loss. I moved in with him. The arguments started right away. Now, I'm sure that I probably fueled some of the fire, but he would get really nasty. He had a history of cutting himself, and when we would get into really big fights, he would slash open his arm. One time I even had to take him to the Emergency room. He didn't just reserve his anger for hurting himself. He shoved me a lot, called me a bitch, was really ugly. Once in our 1st apartment he shoved me into the wall when a nail was sticking out and it went into my forehead.

Now, I'm not stupid. I've volunteered for women's shelters, and I knew I was in an abusive relationship, I just didn't know how to get out of it. I felt horrible about his past. I'd found out that when he was a child he tried to hang himself when he was told he was adopted. He was really badly beaten by his foster father, and I thought that there had to be a way of helping him become healthy again. If I just loved him enough, he could become the man I thought he could be. I should have known better.

After a year of living together "M" told me a secret. We had just come home from Insurrection in Atlanta, and I'd thought we'd had a blast looking at all the porno mags and what not. He sat me down and told me he felt dirty and ashamed. Crying, he told me about a secret fetish of his. "M" liked to wear diapers. I didn't know what to say. I was shocked, but confused. I don't know if I was ever in love with him, but I certainly know that I did love him. How do you respond to a secret like that? Was I supposed to pack up all my things and move out immediately? Part of me definitely wanted to, but then I also felt I could maybe help him work through this. See, in my mind, I felt he just wanted the comfort of being a child that was safe and loved. I knew that he had never gotten that from his childhood, and thought maybe I could see this as a form of self-therapy. I listened to him, and tried not to judge what he was telling me.

Time went by and "M" wanted me to now join him in his fetish. He wanted me to be the babysitter or the mommy in his sexual fantasies. He bought pacifiers, bottles, wipes, baby powder and of course diapers. He wasnt happy with adult types, he would buy the childrens kind and tape two together. He liked the rustling sound that the baby kind made. I was grossed out, but I didn't know what to do. Im a sexual being, and I'd engaged in fantasy role-playing in the past, so I just tried to go with it. I thought weird sex was better than no sex at all. Eventually he exposed more of his secret sexual life. I had noticed that my panties were sometimes missing, and I wouldn't be able to find certain clothes of mine. I confronted him and he confessed to cross dressing. Again, I was freaked out. I was seeing a therapist at the time, and she told me that perhaps "M" was just expressing his feminine side. For instance, if he had come home from worked and hugged a teddy bear would I be disgusted with that? I don't believe the comparison was fair, but I still tried to work around it. "M" started wearing the panties under his work clothes. He felt it helped him when he was at work stay close to Michelle (his pseudonym female personality.)

He still continued to be abusive. One night after some really heavy drinking, he attempted to have sex with me. Of course, now, I never felt like a sexual being. How can you when the man you're with looks better in lingerie than you do? Also, Im definitely not a lesbian. I didn't want to make out with a man wearing women's clothing and makeup. Anyway, when he came on to me, I tried to avoid his advances. One thing led to another that night, and I remembered him holding me down, me laying on the bed, his knees on my chest while I was crying. I got away for a little bit and he slammed me into a post in the living room, leaving a huge bruise on my arm. He pushed me back on the bed and head butted me. I dont remember the rest of what happened that night, it was a blur. The next day he cried and told me how sorry he was. He hadn't meant to hurt me, if I would just take him back he promised he would never again hit me. Like a fool, I believed him. To make things up to me, he would take me to Savannah, my favorite place in the world. Things were actually ok on that trip, but when we got back home, we wound up getting in another fight and he punched me in the face, blacking my eye. I called into work sick the next day. I told everyone I had gotten sick from some bad shrimp and while throwing up I had blacked my own eye.

I left him that week. I went to Atlanta and stayed with my friend Ryan. (He was the only person who ever knew what happened during the relationship.) "M" called me constantly, showed up at my work, left flowers on my car, and finally when he couldnt get a response from me, called me telling me he was going to kill himself. I left work and came to our apartment. He was laying in a full tub of hot water with long vertical gashes running down both his arms. He was bleeding a lot. When I left him that night I was deeply confused. I didn't want to be responsible for his suicide, but I never wanted to get hit again. That night I went out with an old friend. He told me he was dying. He was really sick, and didn't know how to handle it. I cried, not wanting to lose another friend and called "M" to talk about it. He asked me to come over, telling me he had started going to anger management. I moved back in. (I know, I'm a fool!) A week later I found out that he wasnt telling the truth. He hadn't gone to therapy at all. He had tried, but felt embarrassed, so he backed out of it.

A couple of weeks later we moved out of our apartment into a much nicer one. I felt like we could make a fresh start. For the next couple of weeks, it seemed like real progress. He had promised me that he wasnt going to wear panties anymore, and the whole diaper thing seemed like an old nightmare. One night, however when we were cleaning house together, we got into a fight. I had asked him to hand me a roll of trash bags and instead of handing them to me, he through them at me with such force that it whacked me on my back and left a huge whelp. I started crying and yelling at him, and he ran into the kitchen and stomped on my toes. I got away from him and grabbed one of his belts that was laying on the floor and started swinging it around me in a defensive maneuver. I didnt want him to get close to me. Of course, he still came at me, and when I hit him with the belt he reached to the floor and grabbed a boot of mine. He hit me on the head with it. All of a sudden my head felt wet. I ran into the bathroom, screaming and he followed me in there apologizing. He claimed to have felt like I was his father with the belt, and he said he just freaked out. I probably needed stitches, but I was too embarrassed to go to the ER.

After that, I know I should have left him for good, but again, I felt like he was just lashing out because of his messed up past. I tried to see the good in him, tried to make things work, but it was hard. "M" started with the cross dressing again. I would come home (he was supposed to pick me up, but would invariably have passed out, leaving me to catch a ride with co-workers) and find him sleeping on the bed with remnants of mascara around his eyes. I would yell at him to wake up and he would rush to the bathroom to clean himself. I started finding other bizarre things, too. My tampons would go missing. I later found out he was using them on himself. I found receipts for underwear, and vibrators that I knew didnt belong to me. I found my computer toner had been run out when I hadnt printed anything. He had been going to cross dressing web sites and printing out pictures of the she-males on there. Then, I found my diary next to his porno magazines. I was going crazy. How is anyone supposed to live like that? Every time I would try to leave him he would tell me I was being unsupportive and judgmental. He would call me "vanilla" and tell me I was close-minded. I tried to tell him that his lifestyle choice was fine for him, but not for me and how dare he try to make it? He wanted me to become his mistress. He wanted me to lay down the law and boss him around. He wanted to give me his paychecks and make me in charge of everything. He wanted me to yell at him and call him names, humiliate him. The f*cked up thing is, I tried it. I started hitting him all the time now. In my head it was payback. He didnt clean up the kitchen like I had asked him to? I would beat him with clothes hangers. In my mind I knew how wrong it was, but I was so very angry. I hated him for making me something that I wasn;t. I hated him for hitting me. I hated him for hurting me. I hated him for making me feel sorry for him.

I would come home to weirder and weirder situations. He started shaving his legs and underarms. One night I came home and found him in a reverse eagle position using a vibrator on himself. I also came home to find him vacuuming the house in a French maid uniform. I remember being dull to that sort of thing, but still being in shock that he didn't have the decency to close the blinds. For everything that I was going through, I didn't want anyone else to know. I felt like they would judge me. Think I was a sick person for staying through all that crap. In my mind I made justifications. He had been abused when his sister hadn't so maybe he thought women were treated better and thats why he wanted to be one. How could I explain that to someone else?

Finally, I grew sick and tired of all the crap. I was sick of yelling all the time. I was sick of being pushed into the walls of our apartment. I was sick of being called a bitch. I was sick of making excuses to my family and the few friends I had left. I was sick of being sad. I was sick of trying to explain to him that we in fact, did NOT have a healthy relationship. I tried to get him into counseling. Nothing worked. One night I had a dream about a man that I had been in love with for a very long time. I saw myself happy. I didnt know how to get to that place, but I knew I had to try. I had given up on myself. I no longer believed in me and I was absolutely miserable. I had gained so much weight, stopped wearing makeup, and had begun dressing in baggy clothes. I now know that those are the symptoms of someone who is depressed and beat down.

I left "M" in April of 2004. Of course, he never understood why I left. I didn't leave him for someone else, even though he thought I did, and I'm now in a happy healthy relationship. He hates me now. He thinks I'm the one responsible for all of his pain. I know I'm not. I don't put up with bullshit anymore.
I stick up for me.

If you have ever been abused, know someone who has, or know someone who knows someone please tell them it is never to late to leave. I can't tell you how many times I felt alone, scared, and fearing for my safety. Forward them my blog. Trust me, if I can come through this and still retain my dignity, anyone can.

Thank you for reading this.