This will be a hard one, but I think it's worth writing.
I grew up in a trailer park in the middle of a small southern town, and alcoholism/drug abuse was a big problem. A common narrative I witnessed as a child was an otherwise sane and reasonable man would get drunk and become a monster; physical abuse, financial irresponsibility, adultery, and every other relationship unpleasantly you could imagine would become fair game. I actually lost friends because their dad got them evicted.
For years I assumed that this is how domestic problems went: Drunk abusive father and a scared family. I was a child who didn't think to question such binaries, which made me a prime candidate to be Amber DeSantos' next conquest.
Amber was a native Filipina who emigrated to the US when she was two. Her parents were both doctors, in addition to her oldest sister, and her middle sister was a flight attendant; her family was relatively successful, and they owned at least 8 houses.
She hated all of them, and was quick to tell that fact to anyone who would listen. A common theme I noticed with her was deciding how much she liked someone based on how much sympathy they gave her during her rants about them.
Our first conversation was in OChem II; she told me I had a MCR vibe, which was actually rather flattering as I thought Gerard Way was really cute and fem (obviously I did not tell her this). She told me she was doing poorly in the class and I offered to spend some time with her and see if I couldn't help her understand the topics a bit better. She spent the bulk of that session complaining about her family instead; concerned, I spoke with her at length about her worries and fears.
We eventually started dating, and right away I noticed several red flags, all of which I carefully ignored. She was impulsive, mercurial, and feared abandonment the way convicts fear guards. I use that comparison because that's effectively what our relationship devolved into: guard and convict. The following is a list of things that, where I to do them, would end with her either dumping me, fucking someone else (for pleasure or profit), or hitting me:
- Not loving her enough, as demonstrated by not talking to her enough
- Talking to her too much
- Not hating everyone she hated
- Not intuitively knowing who she hated
- Letting her know when any of her behavior hurt me
- Not letting her know when any of her behavior hurt me
- Not liking Miley Cyrus
It goes on and on.
Amber became a prostitute; her own justification was that I didn't love her enough and she needed to feel special. It was obvious dysfunction, but I stayed with her. She hit me. Physically I was fine, but emotionally I was imprisoned; I had no choice, I couldn't strike her back for fear of incarceration, and I couldn't leave for my own fear of abandonment.
I suppose the happy ending hear is that she eventually dumped me, for which I spent almost no time morning her, but I've had to come to terms with the fact that I've changed. No matter how minutely, domestic abuse stays with you. It changes you. It becomes a part of you, and that's probably the hardest thing about it to deal with