It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn: When and How to Leave

It's hard to lose someone you love, but there are other situations that are equally as dire. Recently, the television show Glee did a two part episode about domestic abuse and the forms it can take. It featured a woman named Beiste, who seemed outwardly confident and independent but was in an abusive relationship, and followed her through her struggle to decide if she should leave or stay. This story truly struck home with me, because I, too, have been in an abusive relationship. This week I would like to present to you my second blog post: It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn: When and How to Leave.


Abusive relationships don't tend to start out abusive. If they were abusive from the start, the abused party wouldn't stay. They stay because they have formed a connection with the person abusing them - in most cases it's a connection of fear and/or love. In my case, it began as a connection of love, and evolved to be a mixture of love and fear. You have no idea how much rage they have inside of them until they think you are hooked; in my case, when I moved out of state to live with him. I cut myself off from family and friends to be with him. That was when he knew I couldn't leave. That was when the abuse began.

It's subtle at first, so much so that you don't even see what's happening. They begin to wear you down with their words. They make you feel useless, like a waste of space. They make you feel like without them, you wouldn't make it in this world. They make you feel like you need them. This is the earliest sign of an abusive relationship, and ideally, this is when you should leave. Any person that asks you to push away your close family and friends is someone that you don't want to be around.

Let me tell you right now; you don't need anyone but you. An abusive partner wants you to think that you're a lost cause and that they're doing you a favor by being with you and caring for you. This isn't true. Your greatest ally is you, and you should never doubt your ability to do what you put your mind to. I lost sight of this, and quickly began to believe that I was just as hopeless and worthless as he said I was.

At some point when they're trying to break you down emotionally and mentally, their words will turn nasty. They want you to hate yourself, and they're willing to say anything to make you feel that way. It took me a long time to open up to him, but once I did, everything I said was used against me to make me despise myself. I told him what was, at the time, my closest kept secret - that when I was a child, I was raped. He told me no one else would ever love someone as broken and used as me. Someone as defiled as me. And I began to believe his words. I began to hate myself.

Once they think they have you dependent and resentful of yourself, they're going to start showing their anger. Once again, this may be a gradual process. It might begin with yelling. Then they begin to throw, hit, or break things. Sometimes inanimate objects, sometimes themselves. This is the second sign of an abusive relationship. This is also when your self resentment will come into play. They will use that to their advantage, making you feel responsible for each outbreak of anger you witness. I asked too many questions and it frustrated him, I made him feel like a bad boyfriend. It was my fault. You will definitely be able to identify that something in this stage of the relationship is not right. If you have allowed the relationship to progress this far, you should get out now. It is very likely they will threaten to harm themselves if you leave, and they might actually go through with their threats, but you need to get out before the relationship progresses to the next level.

If you are anything like me, you've ignored all the signs. You're in love. They would never hurt you.

But then, they do. Their anger get physical. For me, it started with wrist grabbing. He had gone into one of his tantrums, throwing things and yelling. I had retreated to his bedroom and was crying to myself. Even after all that time, I still wasn't used to his anger. It frightened me. He suddenly became quiet; then he came into the room. He grabbed me by my wrists and started dragging me towards the doorway. I remember he said "This is my room, not yours." His grip was tight; it hurt. I tried to tell him as much but he wasn't listening to me. He flung me into the hallway and slammed the door. That, for me, was a defining moment. I remember every moment of it so clearly, and sometimes I still relive it, in my nightmares. I told myself it was my fault. I had upset him. I gathered myself, got up and apologized. That was how blind I was. I didn't even realize at the time what had just occurred - the first of what would be many physical encounters.

From there, things can only get worse. I received "punishment" for multiple offenses: not having dinner ready on time, not greeting him at the door when he came home from work, disagreeing with something he said, defending a friend or family member that he said something awful about. It's important to try to get out soon after the physical blows start, if you haven't already. Rely on friends and family; even though you've been forced to abandon them, they're still waiting for you to ask for their help. They care.

So when it comes time, how do you leave? That's a tough one. For me, I moved back when my mother got sick. I wasn't around him as much, and I began to see the truth of the things he had done. I began to see that maybe I wasn't such a loathsome person. I began to see that my friends and family were concerned and had been all along. Above all, I began to see the pitiful shell of a woman I had become.

I wasn't myself anymore. You could see it in my demeanor; I couldn't look anyone directly in the eye and I walked one step behind everyone else. You could see it in my words; I asked less questions and apologized even for things that were in no way my fault. You could see it in my eyes; they appeared tired and worn down, because I was. I was so worn down from years of emotional and physical abuse.

I had been trained to hate who I was, but I hated who I had become even more.

That was when I knew I had to leave.

I took the coward's way out; I called him on the phone, told him I didn't think it was going to work. He was sad at first, and he cried a lot. It made me feel awful. I almost took back my words, but I knew I couldn't, knew this was only a manipulation technique. Sure enough, his sorrow soon turned bitter. He told me he had cut himself and that it was my fault. He told me I had driven him to it. From bitterness, he turned to anger. He began to yell at me. He told me no one else would ever love me, that he was too good for me. I was nothing, a worthless piece of trash. I was losing the best thing in my life. I listened, tears silently streaming down my face, still apologizing. But I couldn't budge. If I relented now, I knew what would be in store in the future. I knew how bad the repercussions would be. Once I had said I wanted to leave, there was no turning back. I had everything to gain if I left, and all that would await me if I stayed was increased abuse. And I think this is what kept me moving forward, rather than backtracking. I think that my fear of what he would do if I stayed after trying to leave spurred me forward. Your fear can be empowering in this situation, so don't be ashamed of it.

Somehow, I stayed on the phone for close to five hours after telling him I wanted to leave. I endured all of his crying and anger. Eventually, he hung up.

I can't even begin tell you how to get over the emotional, mental, and physical scars left behind by an abusive relationship. I'm still figuring it out for myself. But what I can do is tell you what I've learned from this experience.

You are never worthless. People can make you feel that way if you let them, but you always have a purpose- something you can be doing to better yourself and others.

You are never beyond hope. Sometimes it may feel like you are beyond saving; I often feel like I am "broken" and can't be repaired. I sleep less than I should due to a fairly consistent barrage of nightmares. I still apologize for things profusely. I certainly have trouble looking people in the eyes, and I have to be reminded not to walk behind someone. But I am slowly getting over these obstacles with the assistance of those closest to me. Every day I live without my actions being controlled, every day I live without having to fear someone I love feels like a victory.

You never deserve to be harmed in any way. You never deserve to be told you're worthless. You never deserve to be struck for not having dinner done on time or not greeting someone at the door when they come home from work.

Even though you may blame yourself, it is in no way your fault. You didn't provoke them to abuse you. They would have abused you no matter what, and if you had never dated them, they would just be abusing someone else instead of you.

Lastly, although it may feel like you are in a hopeless situation, you are not alone, and there is always hope. Once you take things into your own hands and move forward, life genuinely get better. It's been a few years since I left, and I have never been happier. The term "It's always darkest before the dawn" has never made more sense to me than it does now. Despite, no, because of my struggles to overcome so much in my past, I can truly appreciate life and the joys it has to offer.

Because life truly is beautiful. There are so many amazing people out there that are the exact opposite of abusive. They are kind and gentle. They support you rather than tearing you down. They encourage you to pursue your dreams. They never yell at you. They never hit you. They respect you and your opinions. But best of all, they never try to control you.

And that is so, so much better than the alternative.

A Day in the Life of Loss

I saw a post on Facebook today. It was from a friend of mine who had recently lost her mother. She wrote about how much she missed her, and it was the end that stuck with me: "I've been told that it'll get easier, but it's only getting harder". It felt like such an accusatory statement, considering that is what I had told her at her mother's wake. It was as if she was saying "You promised me it would get easier. You lied to me", and this wouldn't be exactly wrong, but it isn't exactly right, either. Being poor at spoken word, as I stumbled past her at that wake, all I managed to blurt out was a slurred "It will get better". I did not say when. I did not say how. How could I expect her to think anything but that it would get better soon? It was at this moment in time that I realized that what I have to say might actually be of some help to her. I might actually be of some help to a lot of people.

In my 21 years on this planet I have experienced a lot of... unique... situations. Because I have experienced these situations, I have an insider's view. I know, to some extent, what to expect. And I can pass that knowledge along to others who are going through the experience. In the case of the loss of a direct family member, I am triply qualified; I have lost my Father, Mother, and Sister. So, without further adieu, I would like to present to you my first blog post, A Day In the Life of Loss.

You never forget the moments leading up to the discovery that a close family member has died, or the words when you are told. It doesn't matter how many drugs you do or how much alcohol you drink, you will never forget. The night my father was found dead, I couldn't sleep. I was laying in bed thinking about finals. After awhile, I noticed a faint rumbling noise, like a large truck was parked nearby but still running. I looked out the window and saw flashing lights. I immediately thought we had been robbed. I went downstairs and saw our front door was open. There was a stretcher being wheeled in. My mother saw me and rushed to me, cupping my face in her hands so I wouldn't look behind her, and she said to me "Dad's dead". I can't even remember what I had for dinner last week, but I remember every moment of that night, even though it has been 7 years.

When you are told, you immediately go into a state of shock. Not shock in the conventional sense; you don't necessarily feel surprised or upset. As a matter of fact, you don't really feel anything. As soon as the words "Dad's dead" escaped from my mother's lips, a wall hit me leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. I felt dazed. I asked her to repeat herself. Nothing seemed real. I was sure this was all just a dream and that I'd wake at any second. If I just didn't think about it then everything was okay. So I didn't. And I became cold or hostile to anyone who tried to bring up the topic with me, including my family. And I continued to not talk about it for three years.

Which brings me to my first bit of real advice -- You need to talk to someone. A friend, a family member, a stranger on a hotline if you really need to. I didn't because I was afraid talking about it would put me in increased pain, and it does, but you get it out of your system a lot faster that way. I slowly spiraled down from the shock into a world of depression, which kept getting deeper and deeper, all because I refused to talk to anyone about it or even acknowledge that it was a problem. My attendance suffered. My grades suffered. My mom suffered.

My second piece of advice is don't alienate your friends and family. It's probably true that most of them don't understand what you're going through, but it's probably also true that they're trying, because they care. You may feel like you need to be strong in front of them, but you don't. They feel this loss too, whether personally or through you. Comfort each other.

The first time a loved one dies, the shock is significantly longer lasting. My theory for this is that I don't think we are really capable of understanding that bad things can (and will) happen specifically to us. Bad things happen to other people. You don't expect it to happen to you. When it does, it takes you by complete surprise. I went to school the day after my father died and I saw people carrying out their lives like nothing had happened. At the time, I was completely disgusted and outraged that the world could just continue on when someone so close to me had just died. When someone I loved so much had been taken away from me. What I didn't realize until that exact moment is that the world goes on, even when you don't want it to. Why? Because bad things happen to everyone.

After the shock finally wears off, there will be sorrow and you will feel lonely. After my mom died, I found myself constantly picking up the phone to call her and tell her about my day, or getting excited when I found something on reddit I knew she'd like. When my sister died, I officially lost everyone I had known all of my life. It was an extremely lonely feeling.

Even though you may feel alone, it is important to know that you never are. There are people who care about you, even if they were not as close to you as your family. They want to be there for you. Trust me.

Though it may take many years, it gets better. It's so gradual you aren't sure, at first. You smile a bit more. You find things more amusing. You start wanting to go out and meet people. It's as if you're waking up after a long nap. Sleep struggles to pull you back under, but you know you have to wake up. You have to live again. And eventually, you do. You move on. You are able to love, live, laugh, and learn once more. You are able to remember them fondly, and their memories will make you shed a tear of happiness instead of sorrow.

Someone once asked me what my happiest memory was, and although it is bittersweet, I'd say it is this: the night my father died, after his body was taken from our house, my mother, my two sisters and I sat around the dining room table. We stayed up all night reminiscing about my father -- telling stories and passing around photographs and laughing. I have experienced two more deaths of close family members since then, but this good experience has altered little after them: I sit down with the ones closest to me and my family, remember the good times we had, and I laugh.

I laugh because life is short and a life long lived does not equal a life worth living. I laugh because the people you truly care about never die, they live on in your memories and the things you may do later in life. They live on in the person that you become after the clouds clear and the sun comes out again. They live on in the people you influence for the better, the people those people influence for the better, and so on, into infinity.

I laugh because I owe it to the ones I love to live my life to the fullest.