When I began my relationship with my ex, the one that I would eventually have a PFA against, I ignored all of the warning signs. It had been six years since I had dated or had any type of relationship. He was someone that I had a crush on in junior high, but I wasn't the type of girl he ever would have glanced twice at. In fact, he dated many of my friends, but had no recollection of ever having met me. I was beneath him. I wasn't pretty. I was shy, awkward, a virgin, an A student, wore hand-me-downs, had acne--not the pretty, glam girl type he generally went for.
So when I bumped into him twenty years later and he was interested, it was almost impossible to say no. He was the type of guy that had I run into in a bar, I would have completely ignored. He was drunk, obnoxious, and already giving ultimatums upon this initial meeting--while attempting to get my phone number. Yet, the junior high me that was always so far beneath the "hot guys," screamed that my chance had finally come. And besides, six years is a very long time--where was the harm in appeasing my urges?
One date led to another, we actually seemed to have a lot in common and I found many of his qualities amusing. He was blunt, but it seemed refreshing. He seemed to be beyond the games that are normally played when pursuing a partner--on our first date, he stated: "If it weren't for sex, I wouldn't bother with relationships." Well, yeah, lots of truth there, but how many people actually come out and say it? Maybe I should have saw it as a red flag. Truth is, I agreed.
We shared a lot of interests--a simple life, travel, antiques, imagination, dreams, the outdoors (camping, kayaking, hiking, any activities involving water). The image we saw for our future meshed better than anyone else I had ever been with. I loved how random he was and that on any given day, adventure may ensue. I grew to love his family and craved the ties and bonds that they shared.
I saw much of myself in him--we both had poor relationships with our fathers, broken due to not being capable of amounting to anything in their eyes--dysfunctional mothers that were often not capable of providing for their children due to their own mental health issues and eventually abandoned by them in favor of a man--siblings that were best friends because growing up, they were the only people capable of being counted on. Perhaps our backgrounds were too similar. At the time, it was nice to have someone that understood the dysfunction--someone that had lived through similar issues and understood the pains. I had lost my mother. He had lost his father. It seemed right when we found each other. We were two broken souls attempting to create one that worked.
I see the folly in all of that now. But at the time, I was sure that I had found the one that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I have never been married. I have never had children. I was always waiting for the right person. I was sure that it was him. He was the first one I could actually see that future with. But oh, the red flags that I ignored. The red flags that eventually became flares which later became flames which burnt.
Our relationship lasted two years. I made it six years with the one that physically abused me. Two years of emotional abuse was much harder to deal with. Bruises heal. Words remain forever. It wasn't easy to give up on either relationship, but self-preservation kicked in with each of them. It didn't make leaving easy in either case. I truly loved them both, but there is a limit to what love can tolerate--especially when their idea of love equals pain. Not to mention the part of you that desperately wants to believe them when they say that they will quit drinking; the part that desperately wants to believe them when they say that they can change.
Perhaps what was hardest for me when leaving the last one, was the shattered dreams. I saw a future there. I saw myself capable of growing old with him, yet never growing bored. It was like living with Peter Pan and having never-ending adventure. Even more difficult, I saw that future that is expected of each of us: marriage, children--a future I always denied wanting but secretly craved. True, Peter Pan isn't marriage material, but I was able to imagine it. While I loved past partners, I always knew in the back of my mind that marriage/children couldn't work with them for one reason or another. I saw it with him.
He already had a child early in life and became a grandfather shortly after we began dating. He claimed he didn't want any more children and I decided to have elective sterilization. This contributed to the issues I was facing with depression and I regretted the decision before I even had the surgery. After I had it done, he told me that he would be willing to have a child with me and told me to get the procedure reversed. By that point, I didn't know what to do.
He brought up marriage on the occasions when I was ready to leave the relationship. I recognize now the blessing in that. I never truly saw it as sincere due to feeling it was simply manipulative tactics that must have worked with his ex-girlfriends. It wasn't until he was sure that I wasn't coming back that he began talking about how we were "soulmates," that we were "meant to be with each other," and that he was looking forward to making me his wife. By that point, there was no hope of reunion. Too much damage had already been done.
So another piece falls into the puzzle--April 2010 also marked the two year anniversary of a choice I have since regretted. In addition to the other events that were occurring in my life, I was feeling the regret and angst of never being able to bear children. There were so many things that I lost. My ability to bear children. The potential to ever hold my own child in my arms, to create a family. I lost his family, my friends. My family, even the ones I thought would always be there for me. The dream/illusion of a future together. My feelings of safety/my belief that I had personal rights.
So when I bumped into him twenty years later and he was interested, it was almost impossible to say no. He was the type of guy that had I run into in a bar, I would have completely ignored. He was drunk, obnoxious, and already giving ultimatums upon this initial meeting--while attempting to get my phone number. Yet, the junior high me that was always so far beneath the "hot guys," screamed that my chance had finally come. And besides, six years is a very long time--where was the harm in appeasing my urges?
One date led to another, we actually seemed to have a lot in common and I found many of his qualities amusing. He was blunt, but it seemed refreshing. He seemed to be beyond the games that are normally played when pursuing a partner--on our first date, he stated: "If it weren't for sex, I wouldn't bother with relationships." Well, yeah, lots of truth there, but how many people actually come out and say it? Maybe I should have saw it as a red flag. Truth is, I agreed.
We shared a lot of interests--a simple life, travel, antiques, imagination, dreams, the outdoors (camping, kayaking, hiking, any activities involving water). The image we saw for our future meshed better than anyone else I had ever been with. I loved how random he was and that on any given day, adventure may ensue. I grew to love his family and craved the ties and bonds that they shared.
I saw much of myself in him--we both had poor relationships with our fathers, broken due to not being capable of amounting to anything in their eyes--dysfunctional mothers that were often not capable of providing for their children due to their own mental health issues and eventually abandoned by them in favor of a man--siblings that were best friends because growing up, they were the only people capable of being counted on. Perhaps our backgrounds were too similar. At the time, it was nice to have someone that understood the dysfunction--someone that had lived through similar issues and understood the pains. I had lost my mother. He had lost his father. It seemed right when we found each other. We were two broken souls attempting to create one that worked.
I see the folly in all of that now. But at the time, I was sure that I had found the one that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I have never been married. I have never had children. I was always waiting for the right person. I was sure that it was him. He was the first one I could actually see that future with. But oh, the red flags that I ignored. The red flags that eventually became flares which later became flames which burnt.
Our relationship lasted two years. I made it six years with the one that physically abused me. Two years of emotional abuse was much harder to deal with. Bruises heal. Words remain forever. It wasn't easy to give up on either relationship, but self-preservation kicked in with each of them. It didn't make leaving easy in either case. I truly loved them both, but there is a limit to what love can tolerate--especially when their idea of love equals pain. Not to mention the part of you that desperately wants to believe them when they say that they will quit drinking; the part that desperately wants to believe them when they say that they can change.
Perhaps what was hardest for me when leaving the last one, was the shattered dreams. I saw a future there. I saw myself capable of growing old with him, yet never growing bored. It was like living with Peter Pan and having never-ending adventure. Even more difficult, I saw that future that is expected of each of us: marriage, children--a future I always denied wanting but secretly craved. True, Peter Pan isn't marriage material, but I was able to imagine it. While I loved past partners, I always knew in the back of my mind that marriage/children couldn't work with them for one reason or another. I saw it with him.
He already had a child early in life and became a grandfather shortly after we began dating. He claimed he didn't want any more children and I decided to have elective sterilization. This contributed to the issues I was facing with depression and I regretted the decision before I even had the surgery. After I had it done, he told me that he would be willing to have a child with me and told me to get the procedure reversed. By that point, I didn't know what to do.
He brought up marriage on the occasions when I was ready to leave the relationship. I recognize now the blessing in that. I never truly saw it as sincere due to feeling it was simply manipulative tactics that must have worked with his ex-girlfriends. It wasn't until he was sure that I wasn't coming back that he began talking about how we were "soulmates," that we were "meant to be with each other," and that he was looking forward to making me his wife. By that point, there was no hope of reunion. Too much damage had already been done.
So another piece falls into the puzzle--April 2010 also marked the two year anniversary of a choice I have since regretted. In addition to the other events that were occurring in my life, I was feeling the regret and angst of never being able to bear children. There were so many things that I lost. My ability to bear children. The potential to ever hold my own child in my arms, to create a family. I lost his family, my friends. My family, even the ones I thought would always be there for me. The dream/illusion of a future together. My feelings of safety/my belief that I had personal rights.
I know that to live in the past is to have no future. But I also know that burying pains and wounds allows them to reemerge down the line. It is no different than a wound that becomes infected--you have to clean out the infection and the damaged flesh in order for healing and new flesh to grow. You still have a scar either way. But in order to truly heal, the infection has to first be removed. Plus there is the old adage, those that cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. I, for one, do not wish to repeat any such events, relationships, or situations. I prefer to move forward with both eyes open and a heart still capable of growing. To do this, making sense of and understanding the past, my choices, and how they fit together are part of my healing. Forgive my scars; they do run deep.
