Let's talk about abuse: My Story, part 1

I want to do a couple of posts on domestic violence. Through these next posts I want to share my own personal stories and then explain why education on abuse is so important.

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I have always been an easy person to manipulate. I remember being in high school with my first boyfriend and everything was my fault. We had been together for two years, and for two years I found myself apologizing for instances where I did nothing wrong. One example that comes to mind is as follows: I had been told by a friend that he was cheating on me with his ex. I asked him about this. He obviously wasn't too happy about this because he told me that I was bitch. That I didn't trust him. Being only 16 it became a normal in my mind to be called this. 

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Another time, with the same guy, I had thought I was pregnant. Being 16, the thought of pregnancy was horrifying. While I was not sure if I would keep the embryo or not, my boyfriend had already decided not to. We had confided in his mother and she bought us the Plan B pill. My boyfriend left in the bathroom and told me, "I'm not going to make you take the pill, but you know whats right." I took the pill. How could I not. He was still nervous about me being pregnant because, on more than one occasion he had hit me in the stomach. While he had not left a mark or hit me exceptionally hard he would say things like, "You won't be pregnant for long" or "I can get rid of it." Now I don't think he had meant to hurt me, but he did. Maybe I'm just making excuses.

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Later on in the relationship I had broken my foot. It was very difficult for me to ride the bus as I had crutches. There was a friend of mine who had happened to be a male that offered to drive me home. I graciously said yes. This friend never made any advances and respected my relationship. My boyfriend however, did not condone this act of kindness. He accused me of cheating. Meanwhile, he was going over to his ex-girlfriends house every day. His alibi was that it also was the home of his best friend, which was true. Although he said he went to see his best friend, there were many instances of his ex-girlfriend picking him up, only minutes after belittling me for accepting a ride because I could not walk on both legs.

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The last instance I want to discuss is when he slapped my arm out of anger. Boyfriends and girlfriends play fight and wrestle all the time. I don't see anything wrong with that. I do not believe that it leads to physical abuse. This particular evening I was sitting behind him, and we were watching T.V. I was scratching his back and I tickled his ribs. He giggled and said stop. I tickled him again. He said dammit stop and at the same time he reached around and slapped my arm. Hard. It left a mark. I was shocked and just looked at him. He immediately started to apologize. I just looked at him. I told him to take me home. He took me home and we never spoke of the event again.

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I have no doubt in my mind that my first boyfriend loved me. I believe that he was taking his insecurities out on me. I am not condoning his actions. I find it necessary to understand why abuse happens. He was from a divorced family. His dad had abused his mom. And his mom's boyfriend was also abusive. His mother might have been considered an alcoholic. However, she did love her son.

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I do not believe that I was horribly abused. There are so many worse cases out there. However, we should not look at abuse in that way. Abuse is abuse. Whether it be physical, psychological, or sexual. What happened in this first relationship of mine is that it set me up for a habit of bad relationships. We need to focus on education. How to identify abusive relationships, and how to get help. 

New Experiences

I'm sure you're expecting this post to contain some awesome mountain bike adventure, or my story about backpacking through Eastern Europe. Well, it's not. To be perfectly honest, I'm poor, and I don't have a bike. I do aspire to go to Europe and one day acquire a bike, but for now I go to work and come home. I've learned that experiencing small new things such as, visiting a new coffee shop or learning a new skill, is just as exciting and fulfilling as a ride in a gondola through Italy. So what did I do that was so exciting that I felt the need to write about? None, other than quilting of course! 

I had always wanted to quilt, but I felt like what's the point. Believing that I wasn't capable of learning something new was a common feeling of mine. It still is. I struggle with self-confidence. I want to try so many new and different things, but I sometimes my anxiety and depression gets the better of me. I wind up just lying in bed most of the day, or playing The Sims 3. Some days it feels like I'm tied to a rope that's anchored to my house's foundation. I don't let this show. I don't want people to see my internal struggle. I'm afraid that if they do, I won't look the same in their eyes. 

So, what do you do when you need to mask your desires to just not exist in the real world? You pull your britches up and you go out into that terrifying real world. I know it may not seem like much but I made a quilt, two actually. My Aunt Tara helped me. I don't know if she saw how awkward I felt (yes, I'm awkward around my very own family), but she made me feel at home by chatting and offering me chicken. It really is the little things in life that make a difference. I drove twenty minutes from my home and started something, and finished it. It's not a large step towards internal freedom, but it's a step in the right direction. 

Hello there.

 Imagine being a twelve year old in an English class. You are curious about the world, and you want to tell everyone about the view from your own eyes. Aspiring to be a writer, a journalist, an activist, just to be told by your teacher that you are no good. My world shattered on that day. I wanted to change the world with words. Then Mrs. C (the name is irrelevant) decides to take it upon herself to inform me that I was not born to write, in fact, I wasn't even good at it and that I should not pursue it any longer.
    An educators job is to create curiosity and wonder in a child, not to demolish it. After those hurtful words I struggled to write. Before, I had written over 20 short stories starring a mischievous bunny. My self-worth diminished before I even understood what that meant. I continued to write short poems, but dared not show them to a soul. Most of them wound up in the trash bin next to my bed.
    I had a dream the other night that I was writing a blog or an article of some sort. I had followers and people who cared what I had to say. I was even in the process of writing a book. After discussing this dream with my love, Nick, he encouraged me to start a blog. I of course suggested that no one would care to read about my life. I felt that I had nothing important to say. He, being the wonderful man that he is, told me otherwise.
    So here is to a new chapter in my life (pun intended). And these next words are from my dream: I no longer care if you want to listen. If you don't want to hear what I have to say about my life then read something else. I'm here to change the world with words. I'm here to share a piece of me with a whole lot of people. I have things to say and people need to hear them. So, for my new and future readers, Hello. My name is Sarah Jane, and I am learning to become free.