Part 1 here. It has been updated with things that were happening at that time that I forgot to put in there.
*TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual, physical and psychological abuse and gas lighting*
By the time we got to her state, the pet names had started changing. I had been her protector, I had been babe. Slowly it started to change to baby girl, and she became more dominant in the relationship, and yet, was still very much the one that needed protecting.
V was rivaled by none in her gas-lighting ability.
When we got into her town, she told me she wanted me to meet her band mates. She called up her guitarist, who was the other leader of the band, along with her. They started arguing. They must have talked for 20 minutes, maybe close to half an hour. She said that we couldn’t meet him right now. She told me he was pissed that she had disappeared and told her not to bother coming around to practices because if she was going to do shit like that, they didn’t need her screwing up their chances.
Somewhere in my fuzzy, fucked up reality, there was still a tiny bit of my brain that ticked *tick*wrong, *tick*wrong, *tick*wrong. I took small heed to that tiny bit of sanity. I checked the phone, and there it was. An outgoing call for 0:00. I confronted her about that one. She said that she had talked to him for about ten minutes, and then he had hung up on her, and she was too embarrassed to tell me, so she continued the conversation without him. I pointed out that there was no time on it at all. She said her phone must be fucked up and that she’d need to get another one.
I left it alone.
I figure I should mention real quick that we brought A (a little over 1 then) and B (less than 6 months old) with us. This was tied into the fact that S didn’t take care of them worth a shit.
We got to her home town. It was so incredibly fucking beautiful! The whole town was engulfed by this gorgeous, thick, luscious forest. Trees that I had never seen before, and the variety was more outstanding than Bernie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. I could definitely dig living here.
We got up to her house after looking around for a while (and even seeing the house of a celebrity that I particularly like!)
It was an interesting house, pretty tore up, but that seemed to be the norm around there. The house itself was surrounded by forest. The backyard was a forest with a path to the school behind it, and right across the street was a massive forest edging up to a river about 1/4 mile away. The first thing I noticed is that the house didn’t have any locks. She said that even if there were some that nobody used them there (which of course weirded me out, because you know, city kid and all), but to top it off, her dad had a tendency of starting projects and not finishing them. This became apparent very quickly as we walked into the kitchen and one of the walls was gone. She said he had started replacing it months ago, and just kind of forgot about it.
It probably had something to do with the 16+ hours he put into World of Warcraft every day.
So, he was there, but he wasn’t ever really around, if you get what I mean. I did meet him formally, he got off the game long enough to say hi and give me a hug. He was a long haired hippy who played the bass. He stood just about even in height with me and had a goofy smile and sad eyes. He always seemed a little lost… but maybe I was just self projecting?
We made it up to her room. There was a huge poster of Amy Lee on her bedroom door. She absolutely adored Evanescence, we listened to them every day. When she opened up the door, I almost started laughing. It was still very much a teenagers room. Clothes were running amok and there were all sorts of posters tacked on the neon green walls, which were trimmed with bright purple trimming. It was somewhat of an eye sore, but a cute one. The room was so full of personality. Though I expected nothing less coming from her.
As they seemed to do, things got strange, and bad, pretty quickly. She would wake me up many nights out of breath and scared. She wouldn’t tell me why, most often just sighting nightmares, and wanted me to hold her, to which I happily obliged. Finally she told me she needed to talk to me. She said that J had been coming into the house and waiting for her to go to the bathroom (we were upstairs, the bathroom was downstairs). She said she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want me to worry. I told her to wake me up so that I could go with her. She said she would think about it.
She started yelling at me a lot for ignoring her. I constantly heard something to the effect of “Hey, what the fuck? I’ve called your name like five times! Are you gonna bother responding?” But… I never remembered hearing her. I guess I was getting too delved into what I was doing.
Around this time is also when she started wanting me to keep her safe when we slept. What that meant is that I was to place my hand over her vagina as we were sleeping. She said it made her feel more comfortable. It was odd to me, but not uncomfortable or problematic, so I obliged to it. Of course, as always seemed to happen, it turned into a repetitively negative thing, as I would just almost fall asleep and then she would wake me up and freak out on me, asking me why I was trying to do something, and yelling at me what the fuck was wrong with me. This was because I twitch in my sleep, so inevitably, as I started drifting off to sleep, my hand, along with the rest of me at random, would twitch, which mean that sometimes I would lightly press up against her vagina. I wasn’t trying to do anything, it was just something that was bound to happen, and something I had told her about before we started doing that, but that didn’t matter. I’d get torn a new one every single night.
My meds dried up a couple weeks after we got there, and things started going down hill. Testosterone started coursing back through my body and my dysphoria went through the fucking roof. I know I had told her that I would help fulfill her need, and now that I was off hormones, it would work sooner or later, but I couldn’t do it. I could not fucking continue to have sex, it was so incredibly uncomfortable. So, I figured I would let her know, we would stop, and continue on with our merry, if not kind of strange, life.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
We were in her bedroom when I finally told her. We had been fooling around, and I finally stopped and said I couldn’t do it anymore. It was too uncomfortable, I couldn’t deal with my dysphoria. She lit into me like a lighter on a gas filled house. She lost her fucking mind. She was pissed. She reminded me that I had promised that I would help her get her baby. How could I be breaking a promise like that? What the fuck was wrong with me? She told me that if I wasn’t going to do it, then god dammit, she was going to have to go about it another way, and she wasn’t past just letting J do whatever the fuck he wanted until she got pregnant.
I could not let her get hurt like that, even if it was by her own hands. So… I just let her do what she wanted to. I asked her, in tears, even while she was on me, to please, just give it a little bit. My dysphoria would pass, it always did. I couldn’t promise it would be quick, but it would pass, it really, really would, we could do things then… But she would have none of it.
She would make sure that we had sex 3-4 times a day, because it needed to be frequent since “we” were trying to have a baby she said. For the 3 months we were there, I asked and begged again and again just to wait, just to stop. We didn’t need to do it right then. She would always threaten to go to J. It was the same thing again, and again, and again…
We started arguing a lot, because… I don’t even know. Every time we did, she would start slapping the shit out of herself. I would beg her to stop, but she said she couldn’t. It was what happened when she got really upset, and the way I was treating her made her so mad it just kind of happened. I told her I wasn’t sure what I was doing, and that only made her more upset, and she would hit herself more. So I just said I was sorry, and I would keep a better watch on my actions.
About a month into being there, I weighed myself for the first time since I had been on hormones. From 17 to 20, I had never broke 125 (at 6’1″). That’s what I was used to. Well, when I weighed myself, I was 155 pounds. I flipped my shit. I couldn’t believe I had gained 30 pounds in just under a year. I’ve admittedly had some serious anorexia type weight issues for the majority of my teen and adult life. I had wanted to lose weight (while holding the want to gain some weight at the same time, but it’s scary to lose weight), because I looked too big at 125, as far as I was concerned. So, for the first time since we got together, I went to her for help. I was in a panicked state, tears streaming down my face. It was my worst nightmare come true, I’d gained so much weight, I couldn’t stand it.
I asked her to help, and of course, she did.
No, not really. Of course not. She told me “I’m sorry, I have to much going on right now, I can’t help you.”
That crushed me. I had given up everything. My jobs, my friends, my family, my stomping grounds, and everything I knew to be comfortable. I had given up every spare second of time that I had to her. I could not understand what it was that I had done so badly, so wrong that I deserved this.
After bawling my eyes out, I promised myself I would watch my actions better, so that she would be happy with me and find me, her baby girl, worthy of helping out.
She yelled at me a lot when it was time to… sleep together. I would never initiate anything, and I got into a lot of trouble for that. She constantly harped on me about how fucked up it was that she had to start everything. Things just seemed to be falling apart around us, and I was completely to blame, she told me.
Well, our arguments continued to get worse, and worse, and worse. Finally, one night in the early AM, she told me she was leaving. Moving to another city. I could stay there, and she would send me money to support me. I told her I couldn’t do that, I didn’t know anybody here, and this was her house, what was I going to say to her dad? She blew me off and went outside. So, I followed her.
I was scared. I didn’t want to make her more upset than I already always did, but I couldn’t be there without her. I just knew it. So she told me to just fucking leave her alone, and I got gutsy enough to tell her no. I needed her. The girls (A and B) needed her. We needed her to stay. She stopped and turned around. She continued to yell at me to go back inside, and I continued to beg her to come with me. We were close, nearly nose to nose. Suddenly, she tells me to back the fuck off and shoves me as hard as she could. I’m not sure how I didn’t completely lose my balance, but I managed to pick myself up quickly, only to have to run down the street after her.
I was bawling at this point, begging her to please come back. I promised I would do better. Just to please explain to me what it was that I was doing so I could help. Finally, I don’t know how, I got her to come back.
We got up into her room, and she said one of the big things was that I still continually ignored her. I knew I had been doing this, though I tried not to. I knew it because I kept hearing her “Hey, I’ve called your name like 5 times now!” I had to remember to do better about focusing on what she said.
I said I’m sorry. She said we needed to fuck.
A week or so before we left, we got into a huge argument. As usual, I made her so mad that she started hitting herself. I grabbed her hands and begged her to stop. She gently put one hand over the top of mine. Her palm on the top of my hand. Slowly, she picked up my hand, and then quickly and very, very hard, while holding my hand she forced me to slap her. This came out of nowhere. One moment she was holding the top of my hand, the next she had lead my hand to slap her in the face. I burst out in tears. I would never, ever hurt someone I was with. I asked her through thick sobs why. Why did she do that?
She told me it wasn’t any different than what she did. I might as well be the one slapping her, because I was the one getting her to that point. I couldn’t argue anymore. She said jump, I said how high. That was the end of that.
[That’s all I can do for now my sunshines. Thank you for reading. This is heart wrenching to write again. I just hope that one of you beautiful people can be helped by it. You are not alone. There are places that can help. There are online places that can help. If you need to talk, I am by no means a counselor, but you can email me. I can not help with emergency situations. Please contact a suicide hot line if needed. There are also places like RAINN that specialize in victims of sexual assault. If you are in immediate need, call them at 1-800-656-HOPE. I do believe that they are a US only hot line. I’m sorry my international readers… I am sharing my story in hopes that it can help others connect, and hopefully move you toward a path to healing. I know for me, finding out that I, in fact, was not alone was so incredibly helpful. It was hard for me to read other people’s stories, but it gave me something to relate to, something that I could tangibly understand. When stories resonated with mine, I was able to pull myself out of my own situation for a little bit. It allowed me to be able to process my own story better. So, as hard as this is, if I can help even one of you, then it’s worth it. It will always be worth it.
I love you fellow humans, and I hope you have a beautiful day.]