I was in my late twenties at the time and was stuck in the high school mentality of "only dating the most cutest guy" syndrome. Inconsistently, when I first laid eyes on Q I was not impressed with what I saw, nor was I interested in pursuing a relationship. I had recently divorced so dating AND men were the farthest thoughts from my mind. That is until a co-worker told me that each time Q came to our department to drop off work, he always engaged in long dreamy glares at none other than me. Wasn't I the lucky one?
After several weeks of ogling over the other eventually Q and I connected. As reluctant as I was, I allowed Q to allure me into him with his intellect, wit and charming persona. W began a dating relationship shortly thereafter.
After our second year of dating, Q ended up living with my children and me on a part-time basis. They were about 6 and 7, I think. Overall, he was a very nice guy and extremely funny. I thought it uplifting to be in the company of one so animated. Especially after recently divorcing. I was optimistic and elated with the tone of our relationship. He was even attentive to my children. Q, my son and daughter would often engage in light wrestling and play time. They all enjoyed this time spent together.
Q was originally from Pennsylvania so he only lived with me during the week. Usually on Fridays, he packed up what little belongings he had at my apartment and went to Pennsylvania to visit his parents and children for the weekend. I was always the type of person that never doubted what my guy told me, especially if he and I were involved in a committed relationship. I treated a new fella in my life as I would my husband. I was dedicated, loyal and true. Did I mention trustworthy? I had no reason to doubt where he said he was going. I married right out of high school and I did not have an opportunity to have many dating relationships prior to marriage. I usually treated the few men that I dated the same way that I would treat a husband. With love, respect and trust. Made sense to me. I expected my behavior to be somewhat appreciated.
My children used to visit their dad every other weekend. During one of their visits, and also this being one of the last two years of my relationship with Q, was when I had my first insight to his darker side.
Q loved to frequent bars and I guess because he was a DJ part-time he kinda sorta got accustomed to that environment. I was never a heavy drinker so I did not particularly care for smoke filled rooms, annoyingly loud music and the drinkers set. I had grown to care for Q more than I wanted to admit, so I would just go to appease him. Besides, I actually loved and respected this man. If told him that I did not want to go, he would complain so much that I would eventually give in and go anyway. So I figured why defeat the inevitable?
I lost so much of myself being in a relationship with Q. When he went away on the weekends, I would not get out of bed, did not brush my teeth, didn't shower nor did I comb my hair. Basically without him, I felt a shell of a woman. When I wasn't around Q, I felt dead and de-motivated. I merely took up air and space. Mass is what I became. When I heard his car pull into the driveway or when he would call and tell me that he was on his way back to Jersey, I instantly came alive. I behaved as a frisky pup happy to see its owner after being home alone all day.
One evening after leaving a bar, we came home to my apartment. It must have been after 2 or 3 a.m. because the bar was closing as we were leaving. I was tired and a little tipsy also. Q always encouraged me to drink whenever we went out. If I did not he would get extremely wound up. I remember one night after coming home; Q was in the living room watching the television. I had taken off my clothes, showered, went back into the bedroom, closed the door but for a tiny crack, turned off the lights and climbed into bed and began to drift off to sleep.
Because I was not a heavy drinker, it only took a couple of drinks and I was off to la-la land. I do not recall how long I had been asleep before Q came in. He forced the door open with such power that when he pushed the door opened, he forced the doorknob clean through the wall. It goes without saying that I awoke startled.
He was really drunk this particular night because he was yelling and his speech had a slur to it when he spoke. He turned on the very bright overhead light and told me that he wanted me to get up and fix him something to eat. I KNEW he had to be joking. I did not know what time it was, but from the stinging sensation in my eyes I knew it had to be very early in the morning. I turned my back to him and attempted and go back to sleep.
Q became really infuriated. He began yanking the covers off of me; he then forced me to lie on my back and he straddled me. During this time, I must have been about 5'5" and 115 lbs. Q weighed about 190 lbs. maybe more. As I mentioned previously, he was a little-over 6 feet.
"What are you doing?" I calmly shrieked. (as calmly as one COULD shriek), I learned early in the relationship to speak coolly when addressing him, even if I was extremely angry. As I said before, he was usually a pretty nice guy but when he was angered, he turned into Mr. Hyde himself. He kept ranting about wanting me to get up and cook. I took a quick glance at the clock on the dresser and informed him that it was 4 a.m. That didn't matter to Q. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted. I was the rational one and I was not getting up at 4 a.m. to cook for ANYONE, and I told him so. Why did I ever say that? That remark warranted a swift punch in my upper thigh. The moment that I was struck began my catastrophic sink into the treacherous world of abuse. I was stunned and shocked. Q's behavior was not conducive to the actions of a man that loved and adored his woman as he so often told me. Q didn't love me or anyone else. Q didn't love Q. I came to realize this later.
Whenever I would rewind that night inside my head I would ask myself one question. Why me?
Q was still perched over me and now he kept reaching toward my eyes. I didn't know what or why he was reaching for my eyes so I started smacking his hand away. (It is a natural reaction to move your face away from that which is trying to enter your eyes isn't it?). We began to tussle. Q was a third degree black belt and STRONG! Eventually he over powered me, (which was easy to do considering how tiny I was); he pinned my arms behind my back (mind you he still straddled me and was now seated on my lap as I remained lying on my back on the bed), and to my surprise he held my eyelids open so that I could not blink! THIS MAN ACTUALLY PINCHED MY EYELIDS OPEN AND HELD THEM OPEN SO THAT I COULD NOT BLINK!! (Can you imagine being awakened at 4 a.m., having someone straddle your body, and have your eyelids forced to remain open?). How is one NOT to blink??? Truth really IS stranger than fiction. This was pure psychodrama in the raw. While he held my eyelids open he kept asking me "are you gonna get up and cook me something to eat now? And he had this evil look on his face. He seemed like a TOTALLY different person. I could not believe this was happening to ME. He kept going on and on about how he wanted me to cook for him and since I continued to refuse he was determined to continue torment me and was not going to allow me to sleep. Think it stops here? It doesn't.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he got off of me. I said nothing to him hoping that this distressing scenario had ended.
All I could think of was focusing on the throbbing sensation that was coming from my thigh. It hurt so much, I began to wonder if something was broken or if my muscle was badly bruised or something. That punch was soooo agonizing! I was ready to chalk his actions to him being drunk. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn't get up and smack the crap out of him as I wanted. I was such a forgiving person then, or maybe just naïve would be a better way of describing me then. I found out much, much later that I was trying to gain acceptance and approval from Q of all people. Which explains why I was not angrier with him for almost knocking my muscle out of my thigh. I am still a forgiving person today however I only forgive those that are worthy of forgiveness. Otherwise, I cut them out of my life and keep moving.
I eyed Q as he went to the closet and neatly hung up his clothes. He changed into a sweat suit and sneakers. He then turned in my direction, lunged towards the bed and pounced on it. He pulled me off of the bed dragging me to the floor, feet first. In retrospect, he acted as though he was playing a game or something since all the while he kept a sinister, spine-chilling smirk on his face.
The back of my head hit the floor with a thud. At this point I was dumbfounded and truly petrified. Being abused was foreign to me. I was never physically abused before in my LIFE! This was something new to me. This type of stuff you only read or saw in the movies right? I concluded if I was quiet and did not resist him, I was hopeful that he would get discouraged and leave me alone. Fat chance, who was I kidding?
Q grabbed the extension cord that just happened to conveniently be on top of the dresser. I could have punched myself for having left it on the dresser in the first place. I bought it earlier in the week to extend a cord to an outlet for SOMETHING SOMEWHERE in the house. A plain old everyday extension cord. How could something so insignificant now carry so much weight? I never looked at extension cords in the regular way for quite some time.
He removed all of my clothes, forced me to the lie on the floor and onto my stomach, put my hands behind my back and tied my feet to my hands. (I am now on my stomach with my feet tied to my hands, behind my back). When this was happening to me it felt like an out of body experience that's for sure. Still, I said nothing. I was beyond fright. I was now petrified! I never let him see how afraid I really was, and I think that enraged him even more. Sometimes people that have lost all power come across as being very much in control.
Q dragged my anchored body to the corner just behind my bedroom door, turned the lights off seemingly without doubt or hesitation, and as naturally as one would breath, he walked out. He closed the door behind him consciously, as though he was exiting the bedroom of a colicky baby who had finally quieted down and fallen asleep. Q closed that door s-l-o-w-l-y and released the doorknob even slower. Not only did he leave the room, HE LEFT THE APARTMENT!!!
I don't remember how long I was left on the floor in the darkness that night. I do remember thinking how grateful I was that my children were visiting their dad. I thought that he had gone to Pennsylvania and just left me. I knew that I was too terrified to say anything or move. I was cold and confused. I was too afraid to utter a sound. Eventually, somehow I drifted off to sleep. I awoke to the snippets of daylight appearing from behind the curtains. I was shivering and my hands and feet ached from being in that awkward position for so many hours. My back felt numb from being tied up for I don't know how long. To my chagrin the rudest awakening for me came when I looked up and saw Q lying comfortably, serenely, in MY bed, whereas I remained on the floor behind MY door in captivity.
Once he awoke and saw me lying on the floor tied up (I am now in tears), he jumped up and ran over and began to untie me. He hugged and kissed me and whispered apologies in my ear. At that moment, he sounded and looked like the Q that I knew. Far cry from the man that tied me up and left me on the floor the day before. I actually saw concern in his eyes. I wondered if he had a split personality or something. He reminded me at that instant of how much he loved me. "I love you baby", is what he said to me between miniature kisses to my neck. "You know this is your fault", he whispered while slowly untying me. Whenever he violated me, he never failed to tell me that it happened because it-was-my-fault. No matter what I did or did not do, it was ALWAYS MY FAULT. If you hear negativism all the time you tend to believe it. Me and all my infinite wisdom did in fact begin to believe that somehow the beatings that I frequently endured were in fact, my fault.
Subsequently, and from the benefit of counseling, I realized that none of it was my fault. None of it! It never was.
Once when my children were home, I believe we were all in the living room watching television or playing video games. Q got angry about something. I can't remember exactly what it was that set him off THIS time. Maybe it was because the sun went down or the wind blew or something, I can't recall. He and I were seated together on the couch. Out of the nowhere, without rhyme or reason, he cupped the back of my head (I thought he was going to rub the back of my neck or something), and rammed it into the wall. Out of the clear freaking blue he did this! As I fell to the floor I heard my daughter cry out "MOMMY", and my son made a hissing sound. At this time, they knew all too well how erratic Q's temper was. Although I am sure that they wanted to run to my rescue, their intellect told them to stay put. Thank God for that! I didn't want them to see me cry so I sat there holding my head. I felt like such a fool. The bottom portion of the back of my neck or the top portion of my spine pains me occasionally. I'd like to think that I am lucky that my neck was not broken.
I remembered feeling dim-witted coupled with dishonor because my children witnessed what was happening to me. I felt blameworthy. Witnessing the maltreatment that was being inflicted upon me was stripping them of their innocence. This was the "hub" that launched the indestructible bond between my children and me.
We grew to hate Q based upon the way that he controlled each of us, chiefly me. Although he never hit my children, he sometimes disregarded them. In my opinion that was just a speckled form of abuse.
After he would leave, I would go to my two and together we would laugh and talk about how silly Q's behavior was. I would always remind them that Q was the one with the problem, not us. I insured them that soon we would rid ourselves of him. I always meant what I said, and always said what I meant. This time was no different. They were reassured and entrusted that we would one day be free from the fury of Q.
I realized that if I did not resist him and gave him whatever he wanted, my children would not have to experience more abuse by seeing what/how he treated me. So I endured and did whatever he wanted me to do to protect them. Usually they were in their bedroom (as I recall, he made them remain in their bedroom quite often), while I was in another part of the apartment getting choked, slapped, kicked, punched, spat on, humiliated, degraded or threatened. He forced me to keep quiet or he'd muffle my mouth so that they wouldn't hear my cries of agony.
My primary concern was ALWAYS to protect my children and their emotional esteem to whatever extent necessary. I adhered to what he did to me in silent seclusion. I mastered and became an expert at practicing "mind over matter".
During the period that I endured Q's abuse, which now escalated to getting punched harder in the thigh or having my arm-twisted until I heard the joint crack. Once when I was walking away from him he actually kicked me in my butt. My coccyx bone throbbed for months afterward. Another time I was choked to the point of passing out, only to awaken to his voice telling me that I was "faking" the entire unconscious scene in the first place. As a result, I was promptly whacked in the head with his shoe. What a jerk he was!!
Getting socked in the breast or any place where a bruise could be hidden with clothes was a mere formality to me. Yes I was a battered woman. Even though I didn't have the black eyes, or the busted lips, I was weather-beaten still. I was humiliated to tell the few friends I had and I never thought about telling my family back home in Chicago. NEVER!
For two years I never spoke about this to anyone. Being assaulted was second nature in my world. Through it all, my spirit was never broken. I knew the determination that I harbored inside of my soul. I held onto the thought of one-day escaping Q.
I surmised people would think that I was too intelligent to allow myself to be/remain in a situation such as this. Fear and doubt are very powerful, powerful emotions. I have experienced first hand just how debilitating they can be. TRUST ME!! I had to teach myself the meaning of courage during that time in order to free myself from that cataclysmic circumstance. Which is exactly what I ultimately did. I began to develop a plan for my eventual escape.
In the long run, I sought help from a therapist for myself and for my little ones. Due to the fact that I immediately came to my children to explain away what they saw in terms of how Q abused me, luckily they did not internalize on a detrimental level, what they saw. I later learned that I was defined as a co-dependant. The therapist classified co-dependants as "some of the most loving, caring people in the entire world". As I said before, I lost myself in loving Q. Loving Q was as toxic as drinking acid.
Two women were instrumental in getting me to a safe retreat enabling me to re-establish my life. One remains a very dear friend and the other is her mother. Every time I think of these women, my heart continues to overflow. (Thank you Carolyn and Karen. I know that I have offered thanks time and time again, but I can never say it enough. You two really were my saving grace. I was reborn the moment you reached out to me.)
I moved out of my apartment during one of Q's weekend visits to Pennsylvania. I left no note, no forwarding address, no nothing. I just disappeared. I heard from a mutual friend of ours when he came back from Pennsylvania the weekend that I moved away, he cried like a baby. PICTURE THAT!!! How uncanny was that? What is REALLY alarming is years after I left Q and remarried, I still missed him. (I guess old habits really do die hard). I knew full well that I had no intention of speaking to him ever again, but I missed him still. I immediately got on the phone to share this feeling with my therapist. I never gave Q the power to invade my thoughts again. EVER!
Today, I no longer loose myself in ANYTHING, relationships, or otherwise. Well maybe constructive issues like sharing this story with you.
I used to think for years before I sought help that I was somehow Damaged because I was a battered woman. So abashed was I that it took YEARS before I would share my experience with my extended family. And when I did, I felt a sense of shame and embarrassment.
It took a couple of years before I finally stopped blaming myself for what happened to me. (I mastered feeling "guilt ridden" countless times in my life). In due time I was able to get past my condemnation hence, my self-esteem began to skyrocket to a healthy level.
Now if I see a man who stands about 6'2", has the waviest-curliest-jet-black hair, deepest dimples, hazeliest-green eyes, physique to die for, is immaculately dressed, AND smells good, sure I'm reminded of Q. For a microsecond.
Today I know that I was never the one damaged. Deplorably I cannot say the same for Q.
© 2005 by C.V. Harris. All rights reserved.