Breaking Point

So what you’re telling me is that you are now in physical danger. You stay quiet. You’re not sure if your therapist is making a statement or asking a question. It is physically dangerous for you to be walking alone in L.A. at night in a dangerous area, and it is physically dangerous for you to make a 2.5-hour drive in the middle of the night when you’re tired. A statement. She’s definitely making a statement.

You’re quiet. You had just retold her the latest events, the worst of which ended with a freeway chase for at least an hour until you made it home at 2:00 am.

She had been right. From the moment she told you that you were in an abusive relationship, she carefully noted the fact that, realistically, the abuse will get worse over time and will end with violence and physical danger. She had been right every step of the way.

How did I even get here? How did this happen?

Just hours before this conversation with your therapist, you were sitting across from him in a restaurant, a regular dinner date post gym session. It was a Thursday night. You remember because you were supposed to be back home by then for various appointments that you had to cancel at the last minute to stay an extra day. You were leaving to return home the next day, making this a last night the two of you could have together until…? You value quality time, togetherness, and attention. Your phone was in your purse. You sat facing him, full attention on him. His phone was out. He seemed tuned in to that more than you. You brushed it away and tried to bury your hurt feelings, keeping the peace. I’m checking the score of the game, he told you. And, I’m checking my fantasy stuff. You go quiet. You feel hurt. But you say nothing. You feel pain burn through you like wildfire.

If I say something, it will go badly. If I say how this is impacting me or ask him to be present with me, he will get upset. How can I delicately bring this up without a fight?

You say nothing for most of dinner. When you break your silence, you are met with a cold and defensive response, you’re always on your phone. You go cold. My phone is in my purse right now. Him: Yeah, but you’re always checking your phone.

Few words are exchanged. But a lot is said.

You feel hurt, sad, scared. You know there is no way to discuss this calmly and constructively without a massive blowup. You begin to shut down as you feel the pain and sadness wash over you, shrinking yourself to avoid any type of confrontation with him. You’ve become a master in psychological warfare, tiptoeing around the minefield of what might detonate his anger, defensiveness, verbal attacks, and bad mood at you.

Later at his home, you’re each doing your own thing, winding down and preparing for bed. You have resolved to wrapping up in a blanket on the couch and watching a comfort show. It’s after 10:00pm when you realize how tired you are and decide you’re going to take yourself to bed. This is also the time he reappears in the same room as you, sitting next to you. When you tell him you’re going to bed, you sense the mood shift in him. You have become a master at identifying his energy and tone shifts. Something is not right here, you think to yourself. So you try to fix it. Always trying to fix it.

As you stand there, and before you leave the room to go to bed, you ask, is everything ok? Would you like to talk about something? There was no coming back from his response.

You’ve been giving me dirty looks all night. You’re the one who’s acting weird. What’s the matter with you — I came in here to be with you and then you suddenly left the room — what’s up with that? You’re the one who has an attitude. Your heart starts pounding. Your mouth is dry. You are quiet at first. Then, I wanted to spend quality time with you at dinner and I felt hurt that… he rolls his eyes and throws his head back. It’s always something with you — do you just want to be miserable? You make life miserable. Why cant you just be happy? Why do you have to be so negative? You make life miserable.

“You make life miserable.” The statement echoes and takes up all the space left in the room, and it sucks every ounce of try left in you to keep fighting for the “potential” that will never be actualized.

In an instant you know what to do. You know what, I’m not doing this anymore. You throw whatever belongings you have in whatever bag you have close by. You are in your pajamas. You begin packing and removing your items from every room of his home. When your suitcase is by the door, he’s telling you, oh so you’re just going to leave? Stop doing this. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to go. You walk out the door with your heart pounding.

It isn’t until you’ve been driving and on the freeway by now that you look over and see he’s honking and has been following you. Your phone hasn’t stopped ringing since you left. When you eventually answer, you’re met with pure anger and hatred and verbal abuse: You are so selfish and self centered. You are acting insane. What are you doing? Pull over now. I don’t want you to leave. Come back. Please come back. Why are you doing this? You’re acting like a child. You need to grow the fuck up. You are so immature. This is insane. You are insane. Let’s just talk. Get off on the next exit. That’s it, I’m going to follow you all the way home. Pull over. Get off the freeway now. I don’t want you to go. You’re insane. You are so childish. Look at what you’re making me do. Look at how you’re acting. What is wrong with you?

By the time it eventually stops, your voice is gone from holding your ground, and your eyes are bloodshot from driving the late hours of night well beyond your desired bedtime. You’re thankful you are pumped full of adrenaline to make it home safely. You think about what you said to him that got you here: you know, you’re upset with me because all I wanted was your full attention at dinner. The “girl of your dreams,” the “love of your life,” she wanted to spend quality time with you. What a compliment that is, to know you are special enough to someone that they want your undivided attention for the limited time you get to spend together.

Abuse doesn’t leave scars and bruises that are perceivable to the naked eye. Sometimes all that is left are experiences like this that are burned into your memory….

And chances are; This isn't the last time I'll dance with your memory. (~Benson Boone, To Love Someone)