An Open Letter to My Abusive Ex

Subject: An Open Letter to My Abusive Ex
Date: 29 Mar 2015

You have no idea how many times you have stolen pieces of me. You may actually have a good count on what you've done, but you hide it behind that sweet smile and those “I promise” words that roll off of your lips like candy coated cocaine.
We met on a beautiful day with a beautiful backdrop of water and trees…something out of the movies. Even over all of the beauty surrounding us, I knew deep inside that you weren't someone I wanted. For the first time in my life, I ignored my gut instinct because I convinced myself I was just being overly cautious.
You took the time to let me know you had an interest, and then spoke those sugary cocaine words that made me delusional enough to think I would end up falling in love with you.
You put my first on every occasion to make me feel secure, you wore your strong, secure, amazing man mask very well….but then, well then I went from an angel to a pathetic piece of shit in hell.
I told you I was pregnant, you told me that you would never be the man to tell me to have an abortion, that if you could have the chance to raise your child, you would do it. I had doubts about having a child, but you convinced me that you were stable and secure, that no matter what, we could do this…we could raise a child together. You told me I had to quit smoking immediately, you made sure that I took my prenatal vitamin every day.
Within a month, you were a monster who screamed at me and let me know just how much you thought I was worth to say that you didn't want me having your child….as if I were the one not good enough to have YOUR child. I was strictly anti-abortion. You were 100% for it. To top it off, you told me numerous times that if I didn't have an abortion, you would either kill yourself or move and I could raise the child all alone. I have two amazing daughters that I have raised on my own, yet I believed that I could not raise a child without you.
Unfortunately I do not know when the emotional and mental abuse started….they might have occurred from day 1, I am honestly not even sure anymore. I do know that it wasn't long after the abortion debate that the physical abuse started.
We came back from a friend’s place, you had been drinking…I don’t remember what we were disagreeing on, but I do remember that it was something I wasn't willing to let turn into a fight. It was when I said I didn't want to fight with you that you grabbed me by my face and somehow, I ended up on my bed face down. I rolled over and cried as you yelled at me…I was so scared. You threw a glass of water at my head as I cried because I was “getting on your nerves”. You finally calmed down and came over to me and tried to calm my crying, or so I thought. It became quite apparent that you weren't there to comfort me, but for the rush that abuse gave you, for the sexual excitement of it all. I said no, and turned my head from you, yet you wouldn't let up, angrier each time. I have never had sex with complete disgust willingly before, and to be honest, it wasn't willingly at all. It was out of fear that I let you have sex with me that night. If I didn't argue, you wouldn't hurt me again. I knew that immediately.
For some reason, I stayed. I held your hand and smiled for pictures. I even went as far as believing that you were the man for me…my very own prince charming.
The second time it was the same thing but this time, I ended up on the bed on my back with your hand around my throat. I finally stood up strong to you, with all of my willpower behind me. You, once again, were drinking and so you couldn't drive yourself home. I offered to drive you home and drive your car to you the next morning so that we both were safe and sound, you took me up on the offer….to show me who was boss.
You screamed at me the entire time. You grabbed my hair and swung my head around as I was driving your car down the highway….really smart. You yelled at me for asking you not to hurt me because the cops were at the stop lights ahead. You told me I was just acting out so that the cops would notice me.
You took my purse from me as I was driving, and refused to give me it back when I wanted to just cab home and not fight. You looked in my eye and told me that you should kill me, kill my children, and then asked if I knew who your niece’s boyfriend was. You then informed me that he was the guy that was going to kill my grandparents, that he would fuck my grandfather up the ass and make my grandmother watch before he killed her too. You terrified me. That was the moment that the woman I had worked a young, scared little girl into died. I’ll call it suicide because I allowed you to have that control. Out of fear, out of being emotionally exhausted…it really doesn't matter why. I allowed you.
You came back to my house that night after refusing to give me my purse to call someone or cab. It was the “save yourself” attitude that kicked in when I thought that just maybe if I could get home that you would storm off and drive home…drunk or not, it didn't matter at that point, you probably would have went off the road, but I was willing to take that chance after I got myself to my house safe and sound.
When I made it home, you made it clear that you weren't going anywhere…I was stuck with you. Once again, my brain overtook my gut and I let you in to stay so that I wouldn't get hurt. You once again exhibited your sexual hunger after abuse and once again, I just laid there and took it. Afterwards, you told me that I needed to shut up, and that you should cut the baby out of me. I shut up…you said you were sorry for saying that, but we both know that sorry is something you say a lot but never mean.
I made the appointment after that. I decided to become what I thought was a murderer because maybe, just maybe, God would forgive me for saving my own life so that I could stay for my children if I took the life of the child that I didn't know. I still didn’t agree with the decision I made, but I spoke to everyone as if I was 101% sure.
The day of the abortion, my life unraveled…your hand was on the other end of that string.
We waited in that little waiting room as you didn't even so much as look at me. You showed me a bit of affection in the elevator to the “private” clinic, yet when it was time for us to part ways, I looked back to see the other woman with me hugging her partner as you continued walking. I stayed strong and walked away like it didn't matter, but it did.
I tried to keep communicating with you through text because even though you couldn't be with me in person, I wanted you there with me. You answered me when I told you that it only takes 13 minutes to end a life; when I said it was done. As we walked away from the hospital, you squeezed my shoulder…I honestly thought it was because you weren't sure what to do, and that was enough reassurance that we would be okay. Why, I wonder now, did I even want us to be okay???
You took me home and napped with me so I could sleep off the Ativan…or so I thought. I woke up to texts on my phone being completely deleted and questioned about the people I had been texting. All family and close friends, but you questioned me anyways. You dropped me off at my grandmother’s house and told me to fuck off. You acted like I was the worst person in the world, and somehow twisted the situation around so that I believed I was too. You came back that day so that “I wouldn't be alone”. You amused me for that night and then turned into your ugly monster again.
Time and time again you kept me hanging on, each time believing that I wasn't worth more, that I was only worthy of your love and would never get better. Each time I allowed your voice to be louder than mine.
We broke up, you moved on; I started to finally move on and you found out. You were back telling me your cocaine lies within the week. I believed every word you said.
Within the next week, your hands were on my throat again, but this time you stepped up your game and yelled at me, then waited for me to come in the room so that you could try to smother me with a pillow. Within another hour, your cocaine lies were all I knew as truth. You not only killed whoever I was, you ripped my soul from me and demolished it right in front of my face. I didn't even put up a fight.
Christmas came, and my gift was giving you $100.00 to make up your payment to your drug dealer. You were pathetic and I hated you, yet I stayed believing that you were the man of my dreams. You were the nightmare in my life, and some nights, you still are. The nights that my fingers ache from being broken, I usually dream of you.
From that moment on, I was grabbed, thrown against walls, had hair ripped out of my head and completely sick. My body ached; I went from a tiny 104 pounds to 92.5 pounds. You complained that I was losing weight, that I looked sick, that something was wrong with me. You damn well knew that you were the ‘something wrong with me’.
On February 7th, 2015, I thought I was going to die. We left from a visit with my aunt, you hated me as soon as we were out the door. You beat the shit out of me that night.
You spit in my face, and when I found my own voice and told you that I was done, you pinned me up against the passenger side window by my throat. I thought you were going to crush my trachea and in a complete panic, or maybe a moment of “Enough”, I managed to get my foot up and kick you in your face. Either way, it might have been the biggest mistake I made.
I don’t remember exactly what you said, but you yelled, and your hand connected with my face, then again on my mouth. I was punched in the ribs, had my back pounded on like you were an ape on crack, you head butted me and let me know just how inferior I was. You yelled that I was to shut up because the cops were right behind us, and I did. You held me so that I couldn't open the car door or do anything to alert them of what was going on.
As I begged you to just let me out so that I could walk home, you yelled at me. You told me over and over that I wasn't going anywhere, that you were driving me out to kill me with your 9 mm you kept in your car. I didn't know if you had the gun or not, but I vividly remember begging you not to kill me, repeatedly saying, “Oh God, please don’t…what about my girls?”
Somehow I made it home alive. Well, as alive as a broken person can be. You were with me.
You stuck around for another two weeks. Just enough time to make sure that the bruising was gone. Little did you know that I took a picture when you went out for a minute one day.
It was March 10th, what I now call Freedom Day, that I left you. It hurt me so bad to do it, but somehow my voice was still there, and your cocaine lies were not.
I called my aunt and told her everything, well, except the last beating. She let me have it good, but in a way that allowed me to see that you weren't worth my time, not worth my love. I sent her the picture of what “Love” you left on my face. I felt strong enough to do that, and I thank God every day that I had that strength.
Your “closet” only exists to hold the souls of women you have managed to break down into shells; zombies of the beautiful individuals they used to be before you.
Mine however exists to hold my clothing, the new stuff I've been buying myself to help support my self-esteem that is slowly coming back.
I sleep like a baby every night knowing that I have the opportunity to love, to love my family, my friends, and eventually, I will fall in love with a man who will love me back.
I hope and pray that something in you changes, that maybe one day you will realize that loving someone really is worth it. Until that day, I feel sorry for whoever you meet and suck into your world.
Your Ex Punching Bag