When I met this man, I had no clue what was coming. I was young and had never been in a serious relationship before. So, when he took me on a date to Chili’s and opened the door for me while wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots, I thought I was in love. He was tall, six foot four inches, and had a wide chest. He made me feel safe and protected after a childhood full of trauma. But that didn’t last long.
It started with small things, like if I chewed too loudly when I ate, or if I squeezed his hand too hard when he swerved on the road – these things infuriated him. I figured that everyone had their pet peeves; I tried to eat with my mouth closed, stay completely still in the car as he slammed on the brakes, but it didn’t seem to calm his temper.
Things got worse – he told me I smelled and that I didn’t do enough around the house. Therefore, he did not want me sleeping in the same bed with him and said I needed to do the dishes more often. Mind you, I was working three jobs at the time and when I got home, I was unable to do dishes or laundry in our apartment for fear of waking him.
As things got worse, so did both of our tempers. My confidence was at its lowest and I didn’t understand why. I was doing everything I knew in order to make our relationship work. When we would get in arguments, he would scream. So. Loudly. I would hide which only seemed to make him angrier.
I don’t remember a lot about how I came to the decision to leave the relationship. I just remember getting this urge to run and not look back. I told him I was leaving in a month. My family was happy to hear I was planning on leaving; I had been isolated from them over the past two years. The situation continued to escalate. One month quickly turned into one week, then it turned into that weekend, then it turned into that afternoon. I had enough.
I gathered my important documents, a suitcase of clothes and mementos and left; I honestly didn’t know if I’d be back for the rest of my things. I had called a couple of friends to stand by me as I walked out of the apartment and to my car; they let me sleep on their couch that night. They also helped me pry off the shackle of a bracelet that was on my wrist. It was a permanent bracelet that He had gotten me as a present. It took two people, pliers, and wire cutters to get it off. That night I called my sister and she and her husband came from several hours away to help me get the rest of my belongings.
I had called the police department and requested an escort to make sure everyone would be safe. Since I had no bruising, current threatening texts, and was not in immediate danger, it would be several days before they could spare anyone to assist.
We arrived at the apartment to find he had put my belongings on the porch. He didn’t step out; he didn’t say anything. Only cold silence came from the apartment as I rushed to get my things off the porch. As we drove away, I took a picture and labeled it, “I’m free.” I never looked back. That’s not to say it’s been easy; there have been nightmares and hardships, but I’ve never had to feel as I did when I was hiding in the closet in that tiny apartment. I get to choose my future now.
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