This is not how love is suppose to be
MBy y Anonymous
Where there is HELP,
there is HOPE!
had. I was 19
had ever 19 and came from a family with an abusive
sive father (who is n
priate behavior for
now dead) so my preception of appropriate
behavior for a man towards a woman was very much
distorted. My ex treated me the way my father treated my
that this was simply how love was supposed to be...A necessary
evil that you endured if you didn’t wish to be alone.
So much of our relationship was cliche in the cycle of
abuse. Love bomb then punishment, humiliation then affection.
I had always wondered how abusers knew their trade so
well, was it instinct, were there secrets
know my ex took a college class on the
subject of domestic violence but surely
this wasn’t done to perfect his craft.
He acted as if he was entitled to every
aspect of my being, my protest to this
notion were as absurd as a dessert on
a tray asking not to be scooped up and
eaten by a hungry patron.
I had slowly lost the autonomy of
my person, mind, body, soul. I couldn’t
choose where I went. I couldn’t choose
who I spent my time with. I wasn’t free
to express emotions, I couldn’t choose
when and how I had sex, and even the
when and if I would use my body to
carry a child was all ready decided for
me in well in advance. This was such
a notion of control of his behalf that I
was punished greatly for my insubordination.
His method, like my father’s,
was to get me alone and trap me. My ex
had tricked me into taking a car ride with him that had no
real destination, the journey was used to berate me into being
was rarely mentioned if ever) and using the money gifted
to me by my grandparents for graduate school to buy him a
place of “our own” to live in.
He drove us out to the edge of no where, all I could see
the ride was over and I had no idea what city I was in. We
to good, before I was allowed out of the car I was instructed
to clean the tears from my face so people were unaware of
what took place in the vehicle. This was standard protocol for
when he made me cry, he never wanted people to consider
that he might ever be anything but the perfect boyfriend.
Nevertheless, there was a spark in me, a growing scream
crying out in the darkness desperate to be heard and vowing
never to be silenced. It lit my world through the gas lighting,
the fear, the self doubt, and second guessing and even though
As the relationship went on I found myself becoming
more and more rebellious towards his wishes and all the
things he wanted to make of me. I was taking
back what was mine and fear had been replaced
One day I had decided to adorn the vessel
he had lay claim to for almost 7 years. I had be-
Hayworth. Gilda to me, despite the situation
she was living in, remained strong. She had
crafted ways of taking control and had mastered
them as an artist. Her image was empowering
to me and so I decided to have her vissage
tattooed on my arm.
My ex protested and even despite his fetishism
of inked women. He told me that if I got
a tattoo he would never want to see me again.
I got it anyway. My mother and grandmother
chipped in to pay for it, somehow they were
aware of the power the image possessed but
none of us knew how it would set me free.
When the deed was done he called me to
but also that I was done with his games, his bullying,
his inpiration of my self doubt, and that I reclaimed
what was rightfully mine. My body. I took control and I chose
to end the relationship.
Now this could be where the story ends but if you know
anything about abusive people you would know that they
After the break up phone call he would seek any av-
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