I changed myself to suit your needs
Abandoned my morals, ignored my creeds
I bent to keep you from lashing out
But my true self suffered, filled with doubt
The strip club, the cocaine, the pain I endured
Every slap, every punch, every word that was slurred
I became someone I didn’t recognize
Just to keep the peace, to avoid your lies
But now I see that I can’t live this way
I won’t let your darkness lead me astray
I’ll reclaim myself, my likes and dislikes
No longer will I be subject to your strikes
I’ll break free from this cycle of abuse
No longer will I make excuses or refuse
To be the person I was meant to be
Unapologetically, authentically me
I’m ashamed of my behaviors from when I was with my ex-fiancé. I still don’t remember likely 90 percent of everything that happened. My brain was great at dissociating things to protect my emotions. That’s a part of why I do this; to bring those nasty things to the surface so I can work through and process them.
Yes, I appeased his need for more sex, by going to strip clubs, and often. I hated it. I watched him look at the women like they were a piece of meat, the way he never looked at me. He desired them, but he hated me. There was this one incident where I asked him to watch my purse at the strip club while I went to the bathroom. When I came back out, he was away from the bar and putting dollar bills in a stripper, and my purse was sitting there, unattended, full of thousands of dollars, in the shadiest of shady parts of town, at a strip club… I got so mad. All the beatings, all the words, they came out at this exact moment. I grabbed my purse and went to my car. He followed shortly. I said to him, “Are you stupid or something? You left my purse unattended at a fucking strip club with thousands of dollars in it.” Boy, that was the wrong thing to say. He slapped me so hard that my face hit the driver’s side window. I drove off. I wasn’t speeding or anything, but I was yelling and screaming. He kept slapping me while I was driving. “How dare you talk to me that way you stupid retard. (Retard was his favorite thing to call me) You fucking retard. You’re retarded. A retarded dumb bitch. We’re going to get pulled over and I'm going to go to jail for this cocaine.” He threw the cocaine in his pocket out the window, as he’s slapping me. (Like, that’s not what’s going to get us pulled over) As I now have a black eye, yet again, I pulled the car over. He got out of the car and started walking away. Stupidly, I followed him. I chased him all over the streets, begging for him to love me, telling him how sorry I am. Every time a car passed by, he would hold me and kiss me to not draw attention.
I got into the habit of using cocaine with this man, too. Not because I enjoyed the drug itself, but because I enjoyed his behavior. He was nice, loving, and caring. That’s when he would tell me how much he loves me, wants to spend the rest of his life with me, that I’m beautiful, perfect, blah blah blah. I did develop a bit of a habit afterwards for about 3 months, but I haven’t touched the stuff for over 5.5 years at this point.
Like my mother, I engaged in behaviors that my body told me was wrong, but that my mind felt was right. Simply because of how I was groomed. Groomed to please. Groomed to do whatever was necessary to keep the peace, to not get hit, to not be berated and called names.
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