Long Sleeves in 90 Degrees

I probably would have let him beat me forever, I loved him that much. It got to a point where I thought I craved the violence, but really what I craved was the affection and adoration he would pour upon me after he had beaten me into immobile submission. The feeling that something was wrong was like a steady brown aura engulfing me but I didn’t care. I loved him and he loved me and maybe we were just two fucked up people who needed things to be a little unorthodox.

But the beatings kept getting worse. What once was a slap has turned into a punch. What once was holding me down has turned into choking me out. What was once one punch is now a wild wailing, furiously pounding my head and every part of my body with his fists. Bruises spread all over me like mold. It’s 90 degrees and I am wearing long sleeves and scarves to work, I am covered in concealer that melts off my face by mid afternoon. Before I get home each evening, he meets me out at the car with my make up so I can “touch up” before going inside and seeing the kids. And I would remind myself how sweet and thoughtful he was to meet me at the car so I didn’t have to worry about hiding my face until I made it to the bathroom.

Then, he started pushing us to do drugs again. After being clean for almost two years, I told him no. He would beat me. I told him no. Beat. No. Beat. Finally, fine, we’ll do a couple lines. One day later, more drugs? No. Beat. Round and Round, over and over again. Funny (but not in a ha-ha way) that he wouldn’t just go do the drugs. It’s like he didn’t really want to, just knew I’d say no and then he’d have a reason to get angry and hit me more.

I asked him to leave 2 months ago. He begged me not to. I gave him an easy out. Make an appointment for counseling and start going to Narcotics Anonymous once a week again and you can come home. Yes, he promises me. Yes he will have that done within 3 days and be back. He’ll never hit me again. I am his world and he is going to make this up to me, he says.

He has never come back.

Never did any of that stuff, going to counseling, getting back into NA. He, of course, went back to the drugs.  About every 3 weeks or so he will text me something angry or call threatening to kill me, but he doesn’t want to come back. I’ve seen him twice since he left, and both times his face is gaunt and he looks dirty and skittish. I’m disgusted and angry and all I can think of is loving him. I thought he would be pining over me, but it’s me miserable over him. I feel so guilty and bad for missing him because in my mind I know what he was doing to me was wrong and I know if I stayed around him like that, I would end up back in full blown drug addiction again. If I stay with him, one way or another, he’ll end up killing me.

I read something comparing boiling frogs to domestic violence the other day. We’ve all heard about how if you put a frog into a pot of boiling water, the frog will immediately jump out but if you put him in room temperature water and slowly boil it, the frog will sit in it until he dies. It was saying that’s like how it is in abusive relationships. We’re like the frog. We don’t realize we are dying. We don’t realize how fast things are getting heated and when that heat turns from warmth to burning.


Luckily, I am not going through this alone. I have been working with an organization that provides help for abused women and it has really been a life savor. They set me up with a therapist and a trauma specialist as well as group therapy. And it’s all free. It’s a lot to take in at first but I don’t think I could have made it through these first couple months without the support they have offered me. I found this organization by calling the Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-SAFE(7233).

As of today, I am still sober and the bruises have healed. Well, the bruises on my skin have healed. And even though it hurts like hell right now, I know the ones on my heart have begun to heal too. I still hope every day he calls me and says he is ready to do what needs to be done for us to heal again but each day that possibility seems less and less likely and maybe that is for the best.

It has been so hard in my mind to separate ‘us’ from ‘me’. It’s time for me to accept, it’s over. We’re over. Him and I are over. But I am not over. I am just starting. I am going to be great.


Not me. I don’t even know where I got this picture. If this is your picture, I give you full credit.




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