Amy
Scene: Athens, near the OU campus, some random apartment complex silly enough to rent to a freshman (freshman were and probably are still required to live in – or at least pay for in some manner – a dorm room). My freshman year (’98-’99ish).
Long story (hopefully) short, I thought I was too cool for a dorm. Or at least, why not have an option? Especially with an older boyfriend leftover from high school willing to follow me to middle-of-nowhere? (First clue – missed.) I had saved a few thousand dollars from my job in high school and had enough scholarship and best-dad-ever money to not be strapped for textbook cash, so I could get us started, and he would find a job and pay the most of the rent, right? Ah, isn’t being young and stupid fun? (Yes, usually.) We played house for a quarter, thoroughly living “there’s a time and a place for everything, and that’s college.” Sooner than later, the reality of the situation set in: no jobs in a college town, let alone any good ones for a dude with little education and not much else. We couldn’t pay all the bills, we fought (verbally) about stupid shit and serious shit. I had myself convinced we’d make it no matter what.
Toward the end of January, my grandma died. I felt horridly guilty, because I had opted out of the family Christmas the previous month, even though my dad had somehow presciently waved his finger at me that it might be my last chance to have Christmas with one or both of my fairly elderly grandparents. Truthfully, I was a rotten teenager/young adult, more worried about my social life than most other things and people. The one silver lining I still have is that her birthday was in November, and though I of course didn’t actually know that at the time, I had happened to call her – which I rarely did unprompted by my dad – by dumb luck, on that very day. I was so embarrassed that I didn’t realize it was her birthday, but she didn’t care at all, she was just so tickled that I’d called. It will always be one of my favorite memories of her.
Anyhow, back to the point: either my boyfriend actually had some job that wouldn’t let him off without losing said job, or I actually had enough sense to not bring him to my grandma’s funeral. Don’t remember, doesn’t really matter. While I was away from school, he was hanging out with my girlfriends from and living near the dorm. Aaaand, action. Girl actually confessed to me, I went off on him (verbally), on and on and on. My grandma had just died (whoa, I glossed right over how scummy that was – to cheat on a girl while she goes to her grandmother’s funeral? Classy. Oh, wait. I guess I didn’t gloss over it), my sister was dealing with serious health issues of her own that I had let make me feel like a lousy sister with only the wrong answers, I was not doing as well academically as I knew I should be, I was already stuck with bills I couldn’t pay that I incurred because I wanted to be with this guy, because I thought he loved me, respected me…so I was pissed. Highly pissed. I smacked him across the face, which I realize now is my own responsibility, and I do take responsibility for starting the physical violence. I knew better, yet I lost control. Argued very unfairly even before I hit him. I slapped him several times…at least. I don’t know why he didn’t restrain me, he could have, but I guess he kind of felt like he deserved it. Eventually he smacked me back. Just once, but it rang my bell. Like, my ears were ringing. I assume it was a slap upside the head, but I couldn’t really even say for sure if it was an open or closed fist, and it really doesn’t matter.
I walked out. I don’t remember if we had been drinking at all that night or not. I wasn’t drunk, but I was really upset. I took off walking toward campus, it was dark…I walked quite a ways and then just said fuck it again. I walked back and told him to leave. The lease was in my name, I’m sure someone heard us yelling, want me to call the cops? He left, but the next day I went back to my dorm room.
I wish I could say that I never spoke to or saw him again after that, but I can’t. I remember sitting in my dorm room, wondering if I should tell my roommate. She was and still is a very cool woman that I respect, but I didn’t want to tell her…though I didn’t quite know why. I was just acting cranky and bitchy instead, and she was annoyed that all of a sudden her roommate she thought had all but moved out was back in her space. Totally understandable. I ended up telling her after some version of ‘okay, so what the hell is really wrong with you?’ and while I can’t remember her exact reaction, I know I felt stupid. Not that she thought I deserved it, necessarily – especially given that I hit him first, multiple times – but that she would think I was stupid if I went back to him or let him come back to me. I knew rationally that it would be a stupid thing to do, but I did have other things to consider: I had to get out of that lease. I had to pay off bills that were in my name, and I didn’t have a job. I had to move my stuff out of that apartment. I had to not fail chemistry! To say the least, I was incredibly distracted.
I don’t know if we technically ever got back together as a couple, but I did see him again, and I tried to convince myself it was something we could work past, that I loved him, but I just couldn’t trust him anymore. I didn’t trust myself around him. He wasn’t faithful, let alone safe. Too much anger between us. I thought he smelled differently than before. It was very strange. I still loved him, but I was DONE. I muddled through the rest of the quarter at school as best I could, applied plenty of self-medication, and eventually realized and told my parents that I wanted to come home, though I didn’t go into any real detail.
Funnily enough, I found him on Facebook very recently. I realized that I don’t really carry a lot of animosity toward him anymore. It wasn’t just his fault. I’ve learned so much since then about mutual respect and the warning signs of abuse and how to avoid that cycle. There isn’t just the “we don’t hit girls” rule, there is the “we don’t hit, period” rule. And some rules are not meant to be broken.
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Amy writes at Not Undecided.
14 Responses to “Amy”
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You’re very brave Amy. Not many people would be willing to admit what you just did. I wish you peace and strength. Thanks for telling your story.
Thank you for sharing your story – one that many of us may have experienced but never talked about.
I’m glad you walked out when you did. Who know how this relationship could have escalated.
Thank you for sharing your story, and I hope you find happiness.
Thank you for telling this story. It’s one not heard often
Your honesty is refreshing. Thank you for telling your story.
You are so correct. I think sometimes we think that because we are girls we can hit and it’s fair because we don’t really hit that hard. But I think we’d be surprised if we were on the receiving end of it.
Good for you for getting out and getting educated to avoid the cycle again.
I think it’s awesome that you spoke out about this, and congratulations on getting out, and stopping this cycle of abuse.
Thanks much for the support, people! I think this is a WONDERFUL forum – nobody’s experiences are the same, but there’s always something to learn from listening to people – I appreciate it!!
Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for sharing Amy!
You are brave and honest and so right in every thought and emotion you shared. Thank you for this… it really made me think.
Thank you for sharing your story. So glad you were able to find the strength and courage to walk away when you did. It’s not always an easy thing to do. Prayers for a calm, peaceful life from here on out!
Thanks for being so honest; I have been accountable to my partner for something similar but have not been brave enought to share.
Thank you for sharing, I respect your honesty and ownership of your actions and the ability to walk away from an unhealthy relationship. I wish you peace and happiness.