|
|
Domestic |
P.O. Box 3170 |
|
DVIP relies on Paypal for an easy and secure way to support victims of
domestic violence. Click the link below to make a donation...
|
It was love at first sight...It was love at first sight. It was at my first job, and Larry was Mr. Personality. When He started paying attention to me, I was so excited. I was fifteen. He was seventeen, older than me and already driving. He was totally romantic. He’d take me out to really nice dinners. We’d dress up and go to nice places. He’d bring me flowers and write me poetry and love letters. It was incredibly intense. He was the first guy I ever dated. It was great to have a boyfriend. My friends seemed to respect me more now that I had a boyfriend, and they thought he was a great guy. My family liked him. He was a nice Jewish boy, from a nice family. He could be so "tough". He’d want to kick anyone’s ass who looked at me. I was excited and flattered. It was wonderful having a boyfriend who wanted to spend all our time together. I felt at home with him, warm, connected. He’d help me with my school work. We’d just want to stay home and be together. Those were good times. I believed I could never be with another human being and feel so totally connected. No one else mattered. The stuff that happened to other girls never happened to me, like waiting and the guy doesn’t call. Larry was so passionate. He always wanted me, and he always wanted all of my time. After the first date, well, he just assumed we were together: "When are you going to see me tomorrow...?" But pretty soon other things began to happen, too. If we went out to dinner with my family, as soon as we were where they couldn’t hear us, he’d fight with me about them. He’d say, "Your dad is stupid; he said this or that," or other critical things. It got to be easier not to be with them, to avoid fights, so he wouldn’t find fault with them. He started talking shit about my friends. He never said, "You can’t see your friends." He just ridiculed them, said mean things about them, and fought with me about them so it seemed it was only acceptable to spend time with his friends. He was jealous of everyone, and started treating me like his possession. At first it was not that obvious. He’d ridicule guys I had been friends with for a long time before I met him. Then he made it clear it was a "rule": I couldn’t talk to guys or maintain my friendships with them. If he saw me talking to a guy, he’d ask suspiciously, "Why are you talking to that guy? What did you say to him?" He’d say, "I really love you, and I’m all you need." If any guy smiled at me when we were out, he’d say, "That son of a bitch! He really wants you." He’d accuse me of provoking it. He was twisted. He thought about sex with everyone. One day he convinced me that my closest girlfriend was after him. He’d say that a lot, when we went places, that girls were looking at him, or that a girlfriend of mine was going after him. This time, he convinced me that we had to go over to my girlfriend’s house to confront her. So we went over there and ridiculed her, told her off. I have regretted doing that forever. If something happened to upset him, he’d scream, yell at me in front of his friends or his family. When I was seventeen, we went to Las Vegas with my family. One day he wanted to wear a shirt of mine. I said no, he’d stretch it out. In front of my family, he yelled at me that I was selfish, a lousy person, worthless. He verbally attacked me - over a shirt! Then he bought me flowers and told me he got mad at me because he loved me. My parents were disappointed. They didn’t like for me to go out with him after that. One and a half years after meeting Larry, I got sick. It was diagnosed as Hodgkin’s Disease. It was a dark year. Larry was there, my only friend. After the treatments for cancer, I got better, and he said that I allowed this to happen to myself because I’m not positive, because I’m weak, inferior. But I always thought of how he stayed with me, going through that terrible year with me. And I’d always remember how he loved me so much. So even when it got bad being with him, I’d think of that, and feel like I couldn’t live without him, my only friend. He didn’t hit me. But I always thought he would, if I made him mad. The stuff he did was mind-twisting. Sometimes I thought it would be better if he hit me. I’d think, "If he gave me a black eye, I’d know what was wrong." But I was so confused. He’d search my purse and go through my things, finding things so he could accuse me of seeing someone or doing something wrong. If I brought up a subject to talk about or if I disagreed with him when we were with friends, he’d ridicule me publicly. I walked on eggshells. I never talked about anything important with him and other people. He constantly told me I looked ugly, heavy, like an old lady. He made me cut my hair short, even though I loved it long. He watched what I ate, and put me on a workout program. No matter how much or how well I did he criticized me for doing badly. I was always too fat or too weak. For example, when I did forty-seven pushups, and couldn’t get to fifty, he’d make me start over, and tell me I was too weak. Then, every time, after he got mad, he’d turn around and get me gifts and say, "I love you." I’d say, "He wouldn’t hurt me; he loves me. I must be crazy." A while after he got a new car, I accidentally dropped my compact and spilled powder in the car. He got so mad, he opened the car door and tried to push me out on the freeway. One time, I borrowed his car when mine was being repaired. I carefully parked it in the driveway of my friend’s house so nothing could happen to it. While I was there, the next-door neighbors put on their sprinklers and got the car wet. I was so scared, I was shaking. When I brought his car back to him, it had water spots. "You idiot! You moron," he yelled at me, in my face, spitting at me, for what felt like forever. His family was there, watching. They didn’t say anything. I saw darkness, as if I were passing out. After he’d scream and yell at me about something that made him mad, and he’d call me an idiot, or a fucking bitch, then he’d want to make love. He’d always say, "If you didn’t say that or act that way, I wouldn’t get mad." He’d say he got so mad because he loved me. He said I was lucky to have him, no other guy would want me or look at me. I couldn’t make any decisions, even easy ones, like if I wanted soup or salad. I’d look at him, and ask, "What do I want?" If I wanted what he wanted it was okay. I was only comfortable if he made all the decisions. Then I knew I was okay, safe. I’d only be comfortable with his friends and his family, doing his things. I was too uncomfortable around my friends or my family. I was always looking at him to see if I was okay, always afraid to displease him, to make him mad, and never sure if I was okay or doing something wrong. I still feel ashamed to talk about sex. I had sex with him when I didn’t want to . He’d tell me how other women did it, and what other women like. He often wanted me to have sex with another woman and with him together. I avoided it. He wanted sex all the time, and he told me something was wrong with me because I didn’t want sex enough. The first time we ever had sex, it was beautiful. It was on graduation night, on the beach. I trusted him. It was romantic, perfect. I wanted to have sex with him, to be close to him. That first night is painted clearly in my mind. He knew what to do, and I was totally inexperienced. It didn’t hurt, like other girls say happens the first time. It was like I was being taken care of in a comforting way. We were always sneaking somewhere to make love or to spend time together. We couldn’t be apart. I believed two people become one, which I don’t feel now, but then I had this sense of oneness. I felt good about myself because I had this wonderful man. My friends thought he was great because he was so romantic. He’d bring balloons or flowers to me at school. No matter how bad it got, there were always these wonderful moments. I felt protected, under his wings - a safe place at times. Then it became a frightening place at times. After the beginning, sex turned bad. It hurt. He forced me to do it in positions that were painful. He made me do things that felt humiliating, like when he made me masturbate in front of him. I began to hate it. All I wanted was "spoons," to cuddle. He told me men have to have sex; if they don’t ejaculate often, they get in a bad mood. He said that was the reason for his rage and anger. Later I felt stupid when I found out this wasn’t true. I never said no, but I didn’t want it. I’d just die. I’d mentally be in a dark place in a corner of the room watching. I’d think, "Take my body; do what you want. But you can’t take me completely." I know now I was surviving. But then I thought I was crazy ... and he’d tell me I was crazy. I started to believe something was wrong with me. Now I think maybe he raped me. I was so afraid to say no to him. I had no voice. I tried to kill myself in different ways. Once I stepped on the gas in an alley, took off my safety belt, and started to drive into a wall. But something stopped me. I finally had it because he was so controlling. I wanted to have fun, to have freedom, the way my friends did. So I broke up with him. Larry kept calling. He was frantic, and pressuring me to get back together. I didn’t want to see him. My parents wanted me to get away from him, so they arranged for me to go to Israel for a few months. The first week after we broke up, it hurt, but it got better and better. When I got back from Israel, I started dating another guy. I was seeing all my friends, and I was having fun. It was not the romance and fine restaurants. It was the normal kid stuff, like roller skating and hanging out. I could be myself. People listened to me when I talked. I went to college. I felt good. But then the guy I was dating broke up with me, when he went away to a different college, to "do his thing." I couldn’t handle it. Larry was still calling me. He was security. I knew he would be there, that he still loved me. I had grown my hair long. He said, "My god, you got heavy!" I was a size seven at the time. I thought, "Oh, god, I got fat again. I look like an old lady." He talked about his sexual escapades. I thought, "Thank goodness I have him again; I need him." A year later, we got married. Larry’s abuse escalated on our honeymoon. After we were married, it wasn’t romantic. Suddenly, he wanted me to do everything for him. I went to school and had a full-time job, and did everything to take care of the house. If I ever did anything for myself, he’d punish me by making me do the laundry or something when I got home. He wanted complete control over me, our money, our home, everything. He forced me to quit college. He controlled me even at my jobs. He started hitting me. I didn’t think I could live on my own, or do anything without Larry. I didn’t have the confidence to leave home on my own. When we got married, I thought it was the way out of my parents’ house, the way to be independent. Was I wrong! It was worse! I was more restricted by Larry than I ever was by my parents! Before I left him, Larry was shoving me, spitting at me, lifting me up and shaking me. I was totally intimidated by him. I’d pray he’d die. I thought, "I can’t ever leave him." I wanted to die, but I thought if he’d die, I’d be free. But with my brother’s help, I went to see a therapist, and I gradually got my strength back, and I finally left Larry for good. I am married now to a man who is thoughtful, gentle, comfortable, warm and safe. We have passion and friendship. We don’t have the intense highs and lows I had with Larry. We make decisions together, and he encourages me to do things that are important to me. We are good for each other. Only recently I realized that what I experienced with Larry was emotional abuse. I didn’t know it was wrong. We had such an incredible bond to each other, it was hard to break away. But Larry really hurt me. Now that I’m myself again, I know that even if I never have that intense bond again, I will never be treated badly like that again. - - - From "In Love and In Danger" a teen’s guide to breaking free of abusive relationships by Barrie Levy. |
|
 |
Domestic Violence Intervention Program
|
Warning: Learn how your partner can discover your internet activity! |
